give her hell from us!

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work. 

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life. 

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation. 

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you. 

But you weren’t needed on that front today. 

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated. 

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer. 

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks. 

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next. 

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving. 

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target. 

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.) 

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it. 

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information. 

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap. 

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else. 

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position. 

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.) 

Speaking of which: 

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation. 

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.” 

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously. 

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.” 

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way. 

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics. 

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console. 

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation. 

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply. 

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback. 

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off. 

… 

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes. 

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves). 

He was being far too quiet for your liking. 

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was. 

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all. 

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. 

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said. 

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him. 

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself. 

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his. 

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you. 

Again, you found it so utterly adorable. 

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road. 

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off. 

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid. 

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.) 

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.” 

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this. 

You continued. 

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. 

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got. 

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance. 

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore. 

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!” 

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment. 

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting. 

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you. 

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him. 

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear. 

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview. 

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car. 

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off. 

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out. 

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault. 

… 

The ex-wife didn’t know much. 

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years. 

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back. 

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused. 

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood. 

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one. 

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.) 

… 

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help. 

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do. 

… 

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car. 

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car. 

“Your room key?” 

You suppressed another grin. 

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?” 

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle. 

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves. 

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you. 

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed. 

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together. 

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin. 

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it. 

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head. 

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes. 

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words. 

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-” 

“I don’t think it was stupid.” 

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking. 

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.” 

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain. 

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric. 

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore. 

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second. 

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve. 

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?” 

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited. 

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was). 

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound. 

“Nngh.” 

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy. 

You giggled quietly. 

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.” 

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain. 

His mind was racing, chanting out: 

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’ 

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was: 

“Please.” 

“Good boy.” You sighed. 

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second. 

It was cute, to say the least. 

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed. 

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.” 

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins. 

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him. 

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now. 

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples. 

“Here, come on, baby.” 

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it. 

Truthfully, he did get something out of this. 

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet. 

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling. 

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears. 

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.” 

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits. 

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence. 

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more. 

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.) 

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh. 

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest. 

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically. 

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.” 

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too. 

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint. 

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.” 

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up. 

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.” 

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him. 

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load. 

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath. 

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest. 

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.) 

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that. 

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly. 

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants. 

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked. 

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum. 

“So pretty baby.” 

He only whined in response. 

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him. 

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him. 

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked. 

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again. 

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’ 

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop. 

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.” 

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.” 

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” 

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.” 

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock. 

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears. 

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again. 

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?” 

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy. 

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop. 

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix. 

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth. 

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover. 

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team. 

You came back with a small grin on your face. 

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.” 

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.” 

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him. 

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again. 

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns, and is generally described as feminine (mentions of the reader wearing make-up in this chapter); there are no mention of the reader’s race, hair type, hair colour, or eye colour, and throughout the fic there is slight implications toward her being plus sized that can be easily ignored, and it’s not a main plot point of the fic; this fic DOES use the term Y/N throughout, and I would recommend using a word replacer extension on your browser to put in your actual name in order to get the full experience; mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - though it not stated how much taller, and it’s based on the idea that Daniel Sharman is six feet tall, and he would be taller than most people; Stiles and Isaac argue a lot during this chapter - I’m sure some people would call this OOC Stiles, but this was heavily inspired by the whole ‘are you still milking that?’ scene (Stiles does get a character arc in this fic, so hold on); Stiles being generally mean and bitchy; implications of Stiles having a crush on the reader (one sided) (everyone seems to know about it but her); mentions of Scott x Allison (which will be a theme throughout the fic - they are a background ship, but pretty far in the background and not a major focus); mentions of Erica’s canon death, and mentions of Isaac’s having trauma surrounding losing Erica and how she died; descriptions of Erica’s dead body; descriptions of violence - Isaac beats up Ethan and some random side asshole (two separate incidents), which includes descriptions of blood, punching hard enough to break bones, and choking for the sake of inducing major harm, but no major injuries are inflicted (especially because one of the victims has werewolf super healing); the reader is called ‘ugly’ and ‘fat’ by some random asshole; mentions of the abuse Isaac’s father inflicted on him (which is a warning on pretty much all the chapters); Isaac having a negative internal monologue due to being abused in the past; Isaac exhibits symptoms of PTSD and symptoms of being emotionally abused by his father when interacting with other people; mentions of Scott and Stiles having different accidents and injuries over the years, including: vomitting (from high alcohol consumption - this is due to inappropriate underage drinking/binge drinking) (in context, it’s a single incident, not a pattern of binge drinking), a broken bone (with the bone sticking out of the skin), playing with a nail gun, Stiles having a rash on his penis due to poison oak; mentions of inappropriate eating habits when dealing with stress - both under eating (from Allison) and stress snacking (from the reader); mentions of Allison’s mother dying (in alignment with the canon); carried over from the prologue oneshot - mentions of the reader’s mother being dead, killed by Peter Hale/The Alpha; mentions of Isaac ‘cheating’ on the reader with Erica (again, read the prologue for context); Isaac attacks the reader during a panic attack - a flood of panic induced adrenaline causes Isaac to semi-shift and he attacks the reader with his claws (a minimal injury, small scratches, is the result); I believe that is it for this chapter. 

A/N: I am incredibly proud of this whole story, and I love this chapter. Something that has continually happened to me with this story is that when writing, I will off-handedly mention something in one sentence and then go in and further flush out the idea later because I can't stop thinking about it. And the Raven painting and the Edgar Allen Poe metaphors are a huge example of that. At first, it was an off-handed mention of how Isaac and the reader met, and then it turned into this whole entire flashback - so, I hope you like it. I had a lot of fun revisiting this chapter and reinforcing the ideas and I am really proud of getting to post it now.

...

Your second period of the day was English. 

It was a subject you excelled in - you loved reading in your spare time, and since elementary school, you had been someone who devoured books far beyond your years and sought to bury yourself in stories to avoid the troubles of the real world. You loved the library and the mental peace of a good book. 

Miss Blake was one of your less abrasive teachers, though she seemed to have some kind of quiet vendetta against you. Whenever you raised your hand to comment on the themes of the material, she would dismiss you easily rather than continuing the discussion, and she would scold you for making your essays ‘too long’, telling you that nobody would bother to read all of what you had written, even if she hadn’t set a limit on certain assignments. 

Strangely, she seemed to dislike you for being ‘too smart’. But some teachers could never be pleased. And you had no plans of dumbing yourself down to please her. 

On this day, during a reading and discussion of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart, your mind was still heavily fixated on Isaac. Because of course, even this reminded you of him. 

… 

You thought back to the final days of middle school, right before everyone had transitioned into the rocky, drama filled hell of high school. Days when you had sequestered yourself in the art room right before summer vacation. 

Your art teacher had put on a ‘contest’. She wanted everyone in the departing eighth grade class to make their best art piece - no prompts, no rules. The only outline of the contest was to make a piece of art of your own choosing - to express yourself. And the best ones would be chosen to be displayed on the front bulletin board at the beginning of the next school year as inspiration to incoming sixth graders - supposedly showing them what they could achieve during their time at this school. 

The assignment was entirely optional, and that meant that time spent on it was optional as well. The art teacher left her room open for students to use during lunch hours and after school, and you found that you were pretty much the only person there working hard on a piece. 

The only person aside from a lanky, curly-haired boy that you didn’t quite know. Someone you would come to know as Isaac Lahey. You had seen him around, and sure, you knew his name somewhere distantly in the back of your mind - but you hadn’t spoken to him before. You had never shared a class together and you had never interacted before during your three years at the school. Others would have known him as shy, or even a bully at times - if he snapped and his anger got the best of him. 

But at the time, to you - he was a nobody. 

For those first two days in the art room, you knew him as someone who came in, sat down quietly, and worked hunched over a notebook without saying a word. He was a silent presence in the otherwise empty room, and he almost always left shortly before you did, timing himself out the door as you cleaned up your supplies, never over-staying his welcome. Occasionally, he would glance over at you, and then whip his head back down if you dared to look over at him - as though being caught looking at you were some kind of crime. 

Finally, on the third day - he spoke to you. 

You were fussing over a large canvas - one you had bought with your own money, wanting to put your all into a project that had no true guidelines, no limits. You were curious when Isaac moved from his usual spot across the room toward you, gently coming up behind you, clearly with the intention to peek at your artwork where it was sitting on the easel. After a moment of silently looking over your shoulder as you painted some calm brushstrokes, he finally spoke up. 

“What - what are you working on?” He stuttered out, his voice nervous for some reason. 

“The Raven.” You told him. You backed off slightly, stepping to the side so that he could get a better look at the picture - it was a large, highly detailed portrait of the aforementioned bird, sketched out and half filled in so far. 

At first he had mistaken it for a crow, and he didn’t quite understand the difference, or the significance. 

“A raven?” He mirrored back, his voice quiet and gently curious. 

“No, The Raven.” You corrected. “It’s inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe poem.” 

Isaac was glad that somehow, this didn’t feel like scolding - just a natural sharing of knowledge. It felt like you offered him a hand up, trying to make him better by giving him a bit of your brain, instead of tearing him down because he didn’t already know. 

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. 

Isaac was shorter back then - you had been to, but he had rocketed up far past you in height while you hadn’t grown much. You had changed in your looks, but he had far outgrown you. His hair had been longer at the time, hanging in his eyes as something for him to hide behind in shyness - and Coach had demanded that he cut it when he started playing First Line because he couldn’t properly see. 

“Never heard of it.” He shrugged. 

Little did you know, the next time he was in the library, he looked it up just because he had been thinking about you. He found the poem droning and slightly confusing to read. But he soon found a clip on youtube of a segment from The Simpsons which depicted the poem, and he found it easier to understand when visualized as a cartoon. He didn’t quite understand why you wanted to paint a picture of a bird that tormented someone, but your version did turn out to be beautiful. 

“It’s about a man who mourns for his lost love.” You explained. “But it could also be interpreted as someone who battles with the inherent dichotomy of darkness and light in life - the most basic contemplation of evil and hope. Or it could be someone grappling with his own morality.” You mumbled quietly, thinking aloud. “Either way, I like what The Raven represents.” 

“What does it represent?” Isaac asked, naturally wondering this. He liked listening to you speak, and he couldn’t help but to prompt more of the conversation. 

“It represents balance. The necessary darkness life needs in order for hope and light to thrive.” You told him. 

As you spoke, you began painting a few more gentle strokes of the bird’s feathers, and you were too busy concentrating to notice Isaac - to notice the way he was looking at you. Intrigue and gentle affection flowing so easily through his expression. 

He had never truly noticed you before, but now that he was speaking to you, he couldn’t help but to love every single word that came out of your mouth. You were intelligent, and so passionate. You were better than reading any book, and he had a feeling that he could listen to you talk about any subject and never be bored. 

“I also think they’re beautiful creatures.” You added on. “A lot of people see them as evil, but that’s not true. In actuality, they’re incredibly intelligent - they’re some of the most intelligent animals, even among birds, who have some of the highest trainability and best memories. Sadly, they just have a reputation as being a symbol of darkness or evil due to their dark appearance - that plays into their symbolism in literature a lot. It’s sad… too many people only know that reputation and don’t know the beautiful, gentle creature they are.” 

Isaac gave a small smile. 

“That’s really cool.” He said, nodding. 

He felt a tingling in his stomach because in the back of his mind, even if he knew it wasn’t true, it felt like you were talking about him. He liked to think that if you could see a dark evil bird as ‘beautiful’ and ‘gentle’, then maybe you could be the one person in the world who could see the good in him. Maybe you could look past his sour reputation and see something more. 

“What are you working on?” You asked, using your hand that was holding the paint brush to gesture toward the notebook he had left open on one of the desks. 

“Oh, uh -” He let out a nervous chuckle, swaying on his feet as he looked down at the ground, as though he had been caught doing something wrong. “Nothing.” He admitted, and paused, waiting for you to scold him or tell him that he was breaking some kind of rule. “Nothing - not really. I just kinda like hanging out in here. It’s quiet.” 

His instincts recoiled with shock when you let out a gentle laugh, rather than threatening to tell on him. 

“I get it.” You said, giving him what you hoped was a reassuring smile in return. “I hope I’m not the only one submitting a project. That would be so awkward. I hope other people are working on theirs at home, or something.” 

“Probably.” He nodded, wanting to give you reassurance in return. 

There was an awkward pause, and then you let out a huff. He thought that you might tell him to leave so that you could have the room to yourself and enjoy the quiet alone, and he was surprised by what happened next. 

“Well, if you’re not busy, you can help me.” You said brightly. “Pass me that container of paint, please?” You pointed to one high on a shelf, one that he would be able to reach that was just out of range for you. 

He let out a soft laugh and grabbed it for you, setting it down on the desk next to your easel. He then sat down in a nearby chair, not returning back to whatever he had been doing in his notebook. He watched you work for the rest of the afternoon, the two of you exchanging gentle conversation about a range of topics, slowly getting to know each other more over the coming days. 

Those days in the art room had been so precious to you. Isaac had smiled at you sweetly, the first rays of your crush forming - something that would turn into the devastating love you would come to have for him. But like an egg in a raven’s nest - it was small and so new back then. 

… 

“I don’t get it - it’s so stupid. If he killed the guy, how the hell is his heart still beating? That means he didn’t kill him, right?” 

You were drawn out of your lovely memories by the annoying, nagging voice of Greenberg. Without thinking, and without putting your hand up to ask permission to speak, you couldn’t help but to charge against his idiocy. 

“It’s a metaphor, you mouthbreather.” You hissed at him. “Hearing someone’s heartbeat becoming increasingly louder after you have killed them and buried them under the floorboards is a symbol of guilt, not a sign of their ongoing life. Especially because it states in the story that the police clearly can’t hear the sound of the heartbeat - because it’s not literal, it’s a hallucination that the protagonist hears because he’s experiencing intense guilt due to taking someone’s life.” 

Without stopping to take a breath, you continued.

“And nobody has one literal single blue eye - it’s likely a symbol for surveillance. The idea that an omnipresent being is constantly watching us, and the protagonist has a desire to stamp out that surveillance and be free, but he feels guilty when he does. It’s about personality morality and grappling with one’s conscience - about doubting the literal existence of God.” 

By the time you had finished your rant, everyone in the classroom was staring at you, some of them snickering quietly under their breath, some of them mouth agape. You even caught one person taking notes, as though what you had said would be on a test. 

“What the fuck?” Greenberg replied, curling a brow at you, confused. 

“You are so hopeless.” You mumbled quietly. 

“Language.” Miss Blake said, putting up a warning hand toward Greenberg. “But yes - Miss L/N is correct. It is all metaphorical. That’s why we’re studying it. Though please, next time, don’t speak out of turn.” She said this sharply toward you, scolding you for making a very intelligent point. 

You raised your hand, asking permission to speak this time, and she sighed before she nodded at you, giving you that permission. 

“Can I have the bathroom pass, please?” 

You needed to escape. Maybe it was because you hated all the eyes on you, or because you couldn’t stop thinking about how Isaac would have commended what you said, even if he didn’t fully understand it. He was the only person who always let you speak your mind freely. And you felt far too smothered - you felt lost without him. 

“Yes.” Miss Blake huffed out, clearly annoyed. 

You stood up as she handed over the pass, and you whisked out of the classroom without a second thought. 

… 

For their second period of the day, Scott, Isaac, and Stiles had PE, and of course, Coach basically just used it as an excuse to squeeze more cross-country practice in. 

As they changed in the locker room, Isaac was only subjected to more nagging chatter about how he was handling the situation with you poorly. It was bad enough that he had his own guilt brewing inside of him, but now he had to listen to Scott and Stiles go on and on. 

“You know, you can’t avoid her forever,” Scott sighed, taking off his shirt. 

“Really? Because I think it’s a splendid idea. Just stay away from her. Stay away from Y/N, because she doesn’t need a dumb dog like you nipping at her heels.” Stiles whined, giving Isaac a glare. “If she wants to adopt, I’m sure there’s a nice shelter mutt somewhere-” 

“Stiles.” Scott sighed, a scolding warning toward his best friend, along with a glare. 

Stiles sighed and kissed the inside of his teeth, whipping off his own shirt with a fierce annoyance in every single movement. 

“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Isaac glared Stiles down intensely, his eyes flashing golden for just a moment, resisting the urge to grind his teeth as Stiles agitated him. “I’m pretty sure if I died tomorrow, you still wouldn’t have the balls to make a move on her. You had plenty of time before I came along, but you’re just a damn coward. She’s too good for you anyway, you pathetic-” 

“Okay, woah. Stop.” Scott hissed, raising a hand in Isaac’s direction as a warning. “Both of you - stop it.” 

“Why do I have to-?” Stiles whined, and was quickly cut off. 

“Stop!” Scott jabbed out. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything more. He was slightly flushed pink, clearly slightly embarrassed at having been called out so blatantly. He obviously believed that his ‘secret’ crush on you was a lot more secret, and a lot less obvious. Little did he know, pretty everyone but you had picked up on how he felt about you - how he had felt about you since sixth grade. 

“It’s not like you’re one to give advice, anyway.” Stiles huffed at Scott, picking a new target for his annoyance since he wasn’t allowed to combat Isaac anymore. “How are things going with you and Allison?” 

Isaac wanted to add on, but he remained silent as he pulled up his jogging pants and knotting them stiffly, his whole body tense. He didn’t want to be caught agreeing with Stiles - at least not out loud. 

Scott’s eyes flickered to the floor, and he shrugged as he pulled on his athletic top. 

“Allison and I are friends.” He replied, his voice full of a strange kind of guilt that solidified the fact that this was definitely not true. 

Stiles let out a snort of laughter at this. 

“Friends?” He replied, sarcasm ripe in his voice. “So that’s why when I called you the other night, she picked up?” 

Scott didn’t reply to this particularly incriminating thread of conversation, and instead continued on: 

“We are trying to be friends.” He amended. “But that’s a whole lot different than me pretending she doesn’t exist.” 

He finished by staring at Isaac, who was focusing very hard on tying up his sweats, rather than daring to look in Scott’s direction. 

“Yeah, and the last time you and Allison tried to be ‘friends’, she ended up nearly being choked to death by a giant lizard.” Isaac reminded him, pulling his own athletic top over his head. 

“Which was because of her totally insane grandfather, not because of Scott,” Stiles said, all too quick to defend Scott. 

“Yeah, and last time I checked, Y/N doesn’t have any insane relatives,” Scott said, half joking, trying his best to be light-hearted, a grin on his lips. 

Isaac frowned, tying his shoes too tightly, every muscle in his body still too tense. 

“Exactly my point.” He replied, standing up to his full height and folding his arms tightly over his chest. “I’m the only one in her life who could get her hurt. And she’ll be fine as long as I stay far away from her.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles sighed, nodding. 

Before either of them could argue, Isaac swiftly left the locker room, happy to have some mindless time to run on the trail and hopefully not be stuck thinking about all of this. He hoped that he could run hard enough to get a good sting in his legs and his lungs and finally empty his mind. 

Isaac took off hard and heavy, ignoring Coach’s voice behind him telling him to ‘wait up for everyone else’. He didn’t entirely care. He needed the ground hard underneath his feet, he needed the morning air in his lungs. He passed most of the class in a few moments, entirely uncaring that he sped past everyone. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear Erica’s voice chuckling, telling him that he looked like a try-hard asshole for running so fast. 

Erica. 

A vision flashed in his mind - her eyes wet with tears, crying out for help while she was trapped in the bank vault. Her crying out his name, reaching a hand out to him desperately, begging to be rescued. 

He hadn’t gotten there in time. 

She had been so cold when he had picked her up to hoist her into the make-shift grave that Derek had dug. Her skin grey and half-rotted. The Alpha Pack had stowed her away in a closet somewhere like she meant nothing. Tossed her next to some old files and dusty shelves like she was just some thing. They had used her up and thrown her away like she wasn’t even a person - like she didn’t belong to someone, like she didn’t have a fucking family. 

Isaac forcibly shook his head, trying to force the memories out. He had to get her out of his head. He had to forget about the way she smiled at him when she called him a dork. She had to forget about her bright laugh. He had to forget about the chunk of her blonde hair that he had found attached to his coat after the burial, fallen off her, still attached to a piece of her withered scalp - 

He tripped over a tree root and went tumbling across the ground, the air knocked from his lungs as his body collided harshly with the dirt. It didn’t hurt, not with how radically his body healed and how strong the werewolfism made him. Not much could hurt him anymore. Not his body, at least. 

When he settled, he turned to sit upright, and he found himself sagging against the dirt. There was no air in his lungs, and all his muscles - for all their supernatural strength - felt as limp as wet paper, sogging pitifully against his bones. He couldn’t get up. He was stuck. 

He wanted to blame you for ruining him. He wanted to blame you for switching something inside of him, for forcing him to feel again. You had forced that box open that he had been stowing everything away in, shoving it all down deep and locking it up. 

And now it was all spilling out - the grief he hadn’t felt for Erica, the way he had missed Boyd but felt like he couldn’t tell him, the fact that he was constantly seeking approval from Derek that he knew he wasn’t going to get. The way he yearned for Scott’s attention, for guidance but felt like he could never just ask for help. 

For a small time, he had a pack, a family. And now he was more damn alone in the world than he had ever been. 

“And you aren’t alone. You’ll never be alone as long as I’m around.”

Those words echoing through his skull again. A haunting - a curse. 

You were likely the only family he had left in the world, but he could never let himself be weak enough to go back to you again. If he did - he would only be hurting you. 

Isaac gripped the dirt under his palms, shaking furiously as he resisted the urge to cry. 

“Fuck!” He screamed, his voice echoing off the trees as he kicked out his legs, utterly frustrated, unable to do anything but throw a tantrum. 

“Aww, did the baby fall down?” 

Isaac was rocketed out of his self pity by a horribly familiar voice. 

When he looked up, the twins were circling. He didn’t know which was Ethan and which one was Aiden, and he didn’t care - all he knew was that they were grinning at him, clearly satisfied that he was visibly upset. 

“Fuck off.” Isaac huffed out, finally able to push himself up off the ground, glaring at both of them harshly. “I’m not in the fucking mood, okay?” 

He moved to take off again, wanting to literally run away from his problems - but one of them stepped directly in his path. It was a stupidly childish move to make - blocking his way. And it only served to further annoy him. 

“I don’t know if this occurred to you,” The twin standing behind him said. “But we don’t care.” 

“You’ll care when I break your fucking jaw.” Isaac snarled, his annoyance and anger overtaking him in a horrible way. 

Truthfully, he didn’t want to fight them. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to go through the rest of his day without any major conflicts. He already had enough problems in his life without adding them to the mix. 

He was tired. 

Both of the twins laughed, and Isaac’s annoyance only grew, filling his stomach like a terrible sickness that made him feel too heavy. He had been here before, and he knew that he was liable to snap if they didn’t leave him alone soon. 

“Screw this.” Isaac breathed out, going to dodge around them once again, once again flaring with rage when they blocked his path. 

They were daring him to strike first - daring him to be the one to start the fight. He wasn’t even sure why. He had no clue what the hell they wanted from him. Maybe they wanted him to tackle one of them so they could blame it on him, get him in trouble. Maybe they wanted him to appear crazy in front of everyone else. He wasn’t even sure if he cared about deciphering the reasoning behind their game, because he just wanted them to stop. 

“You know, if you don’t wanna play with us, I’m sure we could go find someone else.” One of the twins said, that terrible grin still painted on his face. 

Isaac knew that they were playing at something bigger, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

“Please do.” He grunted out, his voice barely able to escape his throat, bitterly weighed down by anger. 

When he moved again, he was finally able to get around them, surprised when they didn’t move to block his path, didn’t move to grab him or stop him in some way. But of course, he only made it a few steps away, and then - he heard the fatal words that finally drew him into their game, finally got the reaction that they had been wanting out of him. 

“We should go find Y/N.” One of them said, a light, airy chuckle in his voice. 

Isaac froze. All of his muscles tensed. Your name was too sweet, too sacred to be allowed on their cursed lips. 

“We should. She’s a pretty girl. So cute and innocent. I’m sure it would be so much fun to make her scream-” 

Isaac didn’t have time to even begin to decipher if the nature of the threat was violent, or god forbid - sexual, because he had become absolutely blinded by rage. He whipped back around and grabbed the first body he saw, tackling the twin to the ground. Without a second thought, or even a first one, he began wailing punches across the guy’s face, filled with nothing but the intent to maim. 

Of course, the other twin tried to pull him off. Now that they saw the unruly beast that they had unleashed, they weren’t pleased by it. There was an arm attempting to lock around his neck, trying to pull him in the opposite direction. But a swift, deep bite with his fangs extended, digging into the guy’s forearm caused him to yelp and recoil, ridding Isaac of that problem for now. 

And with blinders on, only seeing the target in front of him, he continued on, throwing punch after punch down toward the skull under his fist. He felt quickly healing bones crack and mash and race to shift back into place under his powerful fist as he tirelessly pounded down onto the guy’s face. 

Voices fluttered in. He knew other people from the class were catching up, but as the twin stared up at him, completely fearless, mocking him with a bloody grin, he only felt more angered. 

They had dared to threaten you. 

He wrapped both his hands around the guy’s neck and began to squeeze, fighting to press both his thumbs against that windpipe - you were too good, too good to be touched, too good to be looked at by these monsters - he saw the face turning redder and redder and he channeled more of his divine anger into that brutal hold, uncaring if he killed the guy underneath him - 

“Isaac!” 

His attention was only snapped away when Scott called his name, and very suddenly, all the energy fuelling his rage left his body, like some sort of switch had been flipped. Like Scott had pushed some sort of nerve that shifted all of his instincts. When his head snapped up and his eyes met Scott’s, he saw nothing but intense disappointment lingering there. 

Maybe he was a monster too. 

“Lahey? What the hell?!” Coach Finstock pushed his way through the crowd, led by the other twin. 

He was clutching his bleeding arm - or rather, hiding the bloody spot on his sleeve where the bite Isaac had delivered was now completely healed over. 

The boy underneath Isaac was still very red faced and sputtering for air, but if anybody looked too closely past the blood lingering on the surface, they would have noticed that his broken nose and damaged eye sockets were shifting back into place far too quickly. Luckily for him, all of them were too busy staring at Isaac with horror on their faces. 

Isaac stumbled to his feet, and he soon determined which twin was which when Danny rushed to attend to the one he had left bloody on the ground. 

“Principal’s office! Now!” Coach Finstock yelled, sounding very angry as he pointed a hand back toward the school, directing Isaac. 

Isaac remained frozen on the spot, slightly shocked with himself that he had let his rage overtake him, still hating the way that Scott (and pretty much everyone else) was looking at him - with intense horror in their eyes, like he was someone to be feared. And they were probably right about that. Coach closed the gap and crept into his personal space, lowering his voice to whisper his next words. 

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops, Lahey.” He said, looking Isaac in the eyes very intentionally. “Now - I like you. And you’re one of my best defenders on the field. So I’m gonna assume that he had it coming, and if need be, I’m gonna ask the Principal to take it easy on you, okay?” Isaac nodded. “But if you ever get violent off the field again in my presence, I will rain down a unique kind of hell on you.” 

Isaac nodded again. His throat was so damn dry. He wasn’t going to bother trying to defend himself. He knew how it looked. 

“Now go!” Coach yelled. Isaac was finally sparked into action, and regretfully, Coach Finstock added on: “Stilinski, make sure he gets there!” 

“Ugh, why me? Okay - fine.” 

Of course, Stiles couldn’t do anything without whining. As he slowly sulked off back toward the school, Isaac felt the looming presence of a skinny idiot trailing behind him. 

“You don’t have to come with me.” Isaac huffed, not even bothering to turn his head to look at Stiles. “I am man enough to go and accept my punishment without you babysitting me.” 

“Oh, that’s what you call manly?” Stiles replied, his usual sarcastic tone coming through loud and clear. “You wanna know what I call it?” 

“No.” Isaac easily answered, knowing that it was likely a rhetorical question. Of course, unlike he hoped, Stiles did not take it as a hint to shut up. 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway.” Stiles hummed dutifully in return. Isaac rolled his eyes sharply, still facing away from Stiles so that he couldn’t see. “I would call it: insanity. Being a complete and total psychopath. Grossly uncontrolled violence, among-” 

As they walked into the school, Isaac dropped the door on Stiles, and he gave a small smile when he heard him let out a small ‘ow’ as he unexpectedly ran into the metal. Stiles huffed and pushed past it, racing to catch up with Isaac’s long strides. Isaac growled in annoyance when Stiles stepped in front of him, blocking his path in the middle of the empty hallway, seeming determined to be the next person to harass him today. 

Isaac crossed his arms sharply over his chest and glared at Stiles. 

“Seriously, man, what the hell is wrong with you?” Stiles posed. Clearly another rhetorical question. 

Even if it wasn’t Isaac would have no clue how to go about answering it. Even he had no clue where to begin. His mother’s death, his brother’s death, his father’s abuse and subsequent death that he somehow mourned. Breaking off his perfectly great relationship with you, throwing away likely the only good thing in his life because he was allergic to good things after all the crap that had been piled on him. 

And that didn’t even come close to touching the werewolf stuff, and the parade of crap that had followed after he had been turned. 

“Your guess is as good as any.” Isaac said, his voice quiet, lulling his head in shame. 

“Yeah, well - I don’t want you around Y/N.” Stiles announced, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. “I don’t care what Scott says. You’re dangerous. And you’re too much of an insane psycho to be allowed around my best friend.” 

Isaac clenched his jaw. Despite knowing that Stiles likely just wanted you to be single so that he could make a move himself, or that Stiles wanted you to date anybody but Isaac because of his underlying dislike toward Isaac - the words still hurt. Something deep inside of Isaac took it and filed it away as true. His knuckles were still sore and covered in someone’s blood, and he didn’t think those tainted hands should ever get to touch you again. 

“So you’re gonna protect her when Ethan and Aiden go after her?” Isaac posed, his voice dull, his throat carrying the weight of what he was feeling that he tried his best to push down.

“Scott will. She’ll be fine.” Stiles brushed it off, even though they both knew that Scott had a lot on his plate already, and it would be hard to add worrying about protecting you too. “You can stop worrying about Y/N - just forget about her. And in the meantime - go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, okay? I’m actually starting to think that your dad kept you locked in the basement for a reason.” 

The words were entirely thoughtless. Words launched at Isaac out of anger and frustration, fear at the idea of you potentially being in danger. Stiles was worried about you, still stressing about the increasing body count piling up around them, thinking about the childhood friend that he had just lost and wondering if somehow you were next. And unintentionally, he said one of the most horrible things that he ever could have. 

“Stiles.” 

Both boys were harshly ripped from the conversation by your voice. 

Isaac whipped around and found you standing there, your eyes bright and shining with tears that were threatening to smudge make-up that you definitely hadn’t been wearing earlier that morning. (Somehow, you were so beautiful no matter what - when your hair was messy and your eyes were circled dark from lack of sleep, or when you were made-up purposefully with glossy lips and dark eyeliner and cute blush. You were just so fucking perfect. Too perfect for him.) 

“Okay, that was completely out of context. You have no clue what even happened-” Stiles began rambling, trying to explain himself, but you refused to listen. 

“Shut up.” You growled through your teeth, and Stiles shamefully looked down at the floor, already feeling guilt lapping at him harshly. 

Your eyes flickered from glaring at Stiles to Isaac, your gaze easily softening on him, giving him that same look at you always did: staring him down like he was a scared animal, liable to run at a moment’s notice. 

Isaac hated that he could feel tears forming in his eyes - such blatant weakness spelled out in front of you. And in front of Stiles, of all people. There was a huge knot in his throat, and once again, his muscles felt far too weak, almost unable to move him. 

“Isaac, baby-” 

You reached out toward him, taking a step forward to try and catch his hand, and he practically jumped away, taking a large step back. Instantly, this caused a sharp jab through your chest. You used to be the one he would come to for comfort, and now he was acting as though you were some terrible poison to him. 

You knew this look too well. The glossy eyes, the quivering jaw, the dirt on his clothing, the bloody knuckles. Something terrible had happened. You wanted nothing more than to trap him in a hug and never let him go. The way he recoiled from your touch hurt more than any smack to the face ever could have. 

“Don’t.” Isaac choked out, refusing to look at you. “I - I have to go.” 

And just like that, like the startled animal that he was, he took off at top speed, practically running down the hallway to get away from you. 

“Y/N-” 

Stiles reached out toward you, ironically, him trying to comfort you in the same way you had tried with Isaac. And you did the same to him - you whipped out of his touch, a tear running down your face now, creating a large streak through the beautiful, neat make-up that Lydia had done on you. 

“Don’t touch me.” You told him, your voice quivering and weak as sobs threatened up in your chest. “Stiles - I can’t believe you would say something like that. I can’t believe you would even think it.” 

“Look, you don’t know what happened-” 

“I don’t care.” You replied. “You have no idea what his life was like.” 

“Why the hell do you always need to defend the guy?” Stiles asked, frustrated and clearly looking for an answer. 

‘Because if I don’t, then no one else will.’ 

You refused to justify the words with breath. If Stiles didn’t get it now, then he never would. 

Instead, you simply shook your head and fled yourself, walking off in the opposite direction. Stiles considered following you, until he saw that you retreated into the girl’s bathroom. It was what you had originally left class for - though your intentions hadn’t been to end up crying loudly in one of the stalls. When the door locked behind you, you couldn’t help it. 

It was just too much - Isaac rejecting you yet again, Stiles saying something so cruel. 

You felt so pathetic as you balanced on the edge of the toilet seat, wiping your messy black eyeliner tears with some toilet paper. You knew how much Lydia would pester you later for ‘ruining her work’ - she often said that one of the biggest reasons in life not to cry was because good cosmetics were too expensive. You weren’t even too focused on that. 

No - your mind was still on Isaac. You couldn’t help but to think about the last time you had seen Isaac like that. Downtrodden, knuckles bruised. The last time you had seen him snap due to overwhelming rage and then regret it. 

… 

You thought back to a lacrosse game from over a year ago, back before you knew about the presence of anything strange in Beacon Hills. Back when Isaac’s power on the field was only driven by his personal anger, not by anything more unexplainable. When he had been driven by his father’s voice in the back of his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough, telling him that he wasn’t a ‘real man’ unless he took the other players down and made them cry. 

Of course, Beacon Hills had won the game. 

They had a reputation to uphold, and even if the players on the team only did so well due to a mountain of personal issues - Jackson leading the charge due to his overwhelming perfectionism - they got the job done. They were consistent in their perfection, leaving other teams very little room to beat them.

You had been in the stands, cheering Isaac on the entire time, and naturally, you flooded onto the field to celebrate along with everyone else. 

Luckily, Isaac’s father was nowhere to be seen. It was an early season game, and he didn’t come out for anything less than quarter-finals - he always told Isaac that he didn’t associate with losers, and Isaac better not be one. Even if the Beacon Hills lacrosse team hadn’t lost a game since its inception - he often told Isaac that he feared Isaac’s tendency to ‘fuck things up’ would scar the team’s perfect record. So far, in the dozens of games that Isaac had played, that was not true. 

You were glad that Isaac’s father wasn’t around, because it meant that you could have a nice night with Isaac - a take-out dinner in celebration of his win, spending some quality time alone with the guy you loved. It was certainly preferable over listening to his father run down every single ‘wrong’ move he had made on the field as he dragged him away. 

Isaac pulled you into a tight hug as soon as he saw you, sweaty and slightly dirty from being on the field, and you squeezed him incredibly tight, even though you weren’t a huge fan of the smell. 

“That was so amazing!” You easily praised him. “You were totally great out there! You-” 

“Oh come on, I was totally slacking during the final quarter.” He sighed, moving back over to the bench to lay down his helmet and grab his water bottle. He chugged a healthy amount of it before he continued. “I left Danny wide open and I totally let them get in that last point-” 

“Yeah, and it was twenty-two to five.” You chuckled. You hated that even without his father there, he seemed to be doing the work of dragging himself down - likely unconsciously, that negativity worked into his mind like a habit, like a tense muscle that he couldn’t ignore now. You hated that you were the only one trying to combat it. “Let those sad little babies have one point to make themselves feel better. It probably raised their self esteem a bit, I’m sure.” 

Isaac gave a subtle grin at this, and chugged more of his water. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a strange voice entered the conversation. 

“Yeah, well at least we know how to play by the fucking rules.” 

You turned your head to the source of the voice and realized that it was a player from the other team - they wore black and yellow uniforms (their team was The Hornets, you believed). It was a shorter brunet guy with a snide facial expression flanked by a couple of his lackeys. 

“Do you even care that you broke our best scorer’s wrist, or are you that much of an asshole?” He spat out, glaring at Isaac. 

You had seen Isaac make a particularly hard tackle - something that wasn’t unusual for him. And the player ended up limping off to the medical tent on the sidelines. But that wasn’t something entirely unusual for a game like this. 

Isaac’s features flashed with guilt at this - the news that he had broken someone’s bone. He could get very into the game in the moment and definitely not realize how rough he was being, but he tried not to feel too bad about it because in the end, everyone had signed up to participate. 

“That’s just how the game goes, man.” Isaac shrugged, capping his water bottle and picking his helmet back up. 

“Oh, that’s a real convenient excuse for you, isn’t it?” The guy hissed, getting even more worked up. “If we had known you guys were gonna pull that bullshit, we would have brought our wrestling team along to fuck up you ‘roided up assholes.” 

“Might’ve helped.” Isaac mumbled, sarcasm lulling in his voice, not really engaging in the passionate fight that the guy so obviously wanted. He turned his attention back to you as he stood up from the bench. He leaned down and kissed you lightly on the cheek. “Meet me out in the parking lot in fifteen? I’m gonna go shower and change, and then-” 

“Oh my god, this is your girlfriend?” The guy shouted, cutting Isaac off. He let out a sarcastic chuckle, pointing at you with a purposefully rude, harshly extended hand. “It makes sense now. You need those big dumb idiot muscles to lug around this ugly fat bitch.” 

Isaac glared at him, and from the visible grinding of his jaw, anger flowing so tensely through him - you knew that this asshole was finally getting the reaction he wanted out of Isaac. He had found the perfect button to push - messing with you. The exact wrong button that would set Isaac off every single time. 

“Isaac,” You tried getting his attention, reaching for his wrist, which he abruptly snatched away from you, his eyes still laser focused on the poor, ignorant asshole who was winding him up. 

“You guys may win a few games - by cheating your way through - but then you have to celebrate with that? Geez, I’d be angry too.” 

His lackeys laughed along with him, fake and theatrical, clearly trying to annoy Isaac more. Without another word, Isaac tossed down his helmet and whipped off his gloves. You saw it coming before anybody else did. Isaac was deadly silent, the veins in his neck popping - you had only seen it once before. 

“Do you put a bag over her head when you’re doin’ it - or do you just close your eyes?” 

“Isaac, he’s trying to piss you off-!” 

Your words were lost to the air when Isaac tackled the guy, someone who was easily a head shorter than him, and shoved him down to the muddy ground with ease. In a blink, he began wailing punch after punch into what was only a second ago, a very smug face. 

You gasped in horror as Isaac’s firm fist broke the guy’s nose - but he didn’t stop there. He cracked teeth, bruised an eye. It wasn’t long before everyone in the celebratory crowd had craned their necks to stare - some people making horrified sounds, others cheering. It was only when Coach Finstock managed to pull him off by force that it stopped. It was ironic that he had come over complaining about his friend’s broken wrist, and he ended up in the medical tent much worse off. 

Isaac got two months detention for it, and every day before and after practice, Coach made him run suicides to ‘think about what he had done’. 

Isaac thought you would hate him for it. And while you didn’t exactly like his violent side… you could understand it. The next time you saw him, you took his bruised knuckles in hand, running your fingertips gently over his hand - and you had a quiet understanding. He had done it for you. 

He had done it to protect you. And strangely - you admired that. You admired that protecting you always seemed to be his one goal. You hated that now his singular goal in life seemed to be keeping the two of you apart. 

(You didn’t know that for him - now, those two things were distinctly the same.)

… 

You were distracted all morning. You hated it, but you couldn’t focus during any of your classes because you kept thinking about Isaac. 

In between classes, you spotted Scott, and you wanted to ask him what the hell had happened - had Isaac gotten into another fight? Would he be suspended? Would he be expelled? What had caused the fight? 

“Scott!” 

You called his name, desperately weaving through students to try and get to him, and of course, the second that he realized you were headed toward him, he began walking in the other direction. He moved swiftly, clearly trying to escape you. You let out a growl of frustration - but with all your tense annoyance and general upset about the day, you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

“Scott! Scott, come on!” 

He continued to high-tail away from you, but eventually you caught up and got a hold of his backpack, grabbing onto it tightly and taking a stiff stance, causing him to freeze on the spot as he was unexpectedly yanked backward. You weren’t strong enough to overpower him, but you had startled him into stopping dead in his tracks. 

“Look, Scott, you can stay and talk to me, or-” 

You scrambled to come up with a good threat on the spot, not actually having much room for violence in your heart. But - you did have a lot of room for blackmail. A smirk formed across your face as you thought of the wicked idea. 

“Or I can call your mom and tell her about that time during freshman year that you got drunk off UV Blue and puked blue dye all over her brand new white rug, and I rushed to clean it up before she got home.” 

You let go of his backpack, and he rushed to face you, a look of insulted shock painted across his features. 

He barely remembered that night - it was the first time he had ever gotten truly drunk (and, according to his werewolf status, apparently one of the few times he would ever be drunk). But he remembered feeling intense shame and panic at the gross blue vomit getting all over the rug. And then feeling safe and assured that you would clean it up and cover for him so that his mom would never find out about his drunkenness. 

So that night, he went to bed and crashed, and when he woke up, his mom made a laughing comment about how Stiles had fallen asleep on the couch, and how he had parked his Jeep so awkwardly that she couldn’t fit her car into the driveway. And she had made a comment that you were ‘the only good one’ - because of course, as always, you had left the place clean and tidy. 

You always had Scott’s back. 

He knew that it was an empty threat. 

“You wouldn’t.” Scott hissed, attempting to call your bluff. 

“Oh really?” You posed, purposefully being large and over-dramatic as you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your cell phone. You didn’t unlock the screen or start dialing, but you looked Scott in the eyes as you said: “Is she still at 551-023-2024?” 

“Why do you have it memorized?” Scott asked, entirely flabbergasted that you knew his mom’s cell number off by heart. (He wasn’t even entirely confident that he knew it off the top of his head.) 

You rolled your eyes. “Do you have any idea how often I’ve had to call her?” 

Scott looked confused by this, which surprised you. 

“The time you crashed your bike in front of my house and broke your arm, and part of the bone was sticking out,” You explained, taking a breath as you began what would be an exhaustive list. Scott cringed at this memory. If it hadn’t been for your first aid skills, he probably would have been a lot worse off. “The time you and Stiles were playing Chicken with his dad’s nail gun and you nearly took his eye out,” 

Scott laughed as he remembered this, and you glared at him. 

“The time that Stiles called me panicking because he thought that he somehow got herpes even though he’s never had sex before, but he neglected to tell me that the two of you took a trip out into the woods to shoot cans with a BB gun and he took a piss and ended up wiping his junk with poison oak.” 

Scott let out an even brighter laugh as he remembered this. 

Stiles, at the time, had theorized that he had gotten an STD from the ‘sketchy looking’ urinal in the gas station bathroom that they stopped at. Which meant a far too detailed conversation about his bathroom habits when Scott jokingly asked if he had humped the urinal in order to get said STD. 

“Oh, and let’s not forget-” 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Scott sighed. 

He knew that he couldn’t avoid helping you. With this… thing going on between you and Isaac, being a good friend meant not picking sides. Especially because, hearing all these stories only reminded him what a good friend that you had been to him over the years. And he had to pay it back now. 

“What do you need?” He asked. 

You grinned at him, glad that he had finally wised up and given in. On the surface, it might seem like he was giving in because you had threatened to tattle to his mom, and because you had so much blackmail to hold over his head. But in truth, he just needed a reminder that you had been there for him so many times before, and now, he just needed to be there for you. 

“Well - I need to talk to Isaac.” You insisted. “I-” You sighed, thinking for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I’m gonna get back together with him. I’m not gonna force a relationship on him if it’s not really what he wants.” You said, forcing yourself to face the truth. “But I’m not just gonna leave it all up in the air without even talking to him first.” 

Scott nodded, very understanding of this. It was something he had needed with Allison too - something everyone needs at the end of a relationship. 

Closure. 

“Okay.” Scott said. “I’ll talk to him. And I’ll get him to make some time for you.” 

You couldn’t help it, you stepped forward and embraced Scott in a tight hug, which he easily returned. 

“Thank you.” You said as you pulled away, glowing a relieved smile at him. 

“No problem.” He nodded. 

“You know - you’re really warm.” You noted, putting a hand on his shoulder, referencing his blaring body heat. “Is that part of the whole… werewolf thing?” 

It was also something you had noticed about Isaac that was different now. He used to have cold hands near constantly, and the last time he had been in your bed, his skin had been giving off heat like a furnace. 

Scott just raised a brow at you, unsure how to answer, and before he could stutter out some dumb reply - the bell rang. 

“Uh - I-I’m gonna go.” He said. 

You nodded, and gave him a small wave as you walked off to class. 

… 

You raced out of class as soon as the bell rang and made it to the cafeteria in time to beat the lines. You got two sandwiches, two bottles of juice, and two cookies for yourself and Allison. You figured that if she was going to do you the favour of finally talking to you, then you could do her the favour of buying lunch. Then, you walked to the library and saw her standing outside the doors, and she smiled at you when she saw you. 

“Hey,” She greeted you kindly, giving a smile. 

“Hey.” You returned. And you stuck a hand out to her, holding the sandwiches in their plastic wrap. “Turkey or tuna?”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised that you had brought food, and contemplated for a moment before grabbing one. “Tuna. Thanks.” She nodded. 

“I also have cookies. And juice. But I put them in my bag.” You told her. 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Do you wanna go find a place to sit outside? You know how Ms. Thompson is about food in the library,” 

“Yeah.” You nodded, and followed her when she began to walk toward one of the doors. “Wait - why did you ask me to meet you at the library anyway? Were you not planning on eating lunch today?” 

Allison frowned and shrugged. “I guess not. I’ve just been so stressed out lately… I haven’t really been thinking about food.” 

“Well that’s not gonna happen on my watch.” You told her. “Honestly, I have the opposite problem. When I get stressed out, I snack. And I wanna feed people. You should come over to my place and I’ll cook you dinner.” 

Allison’s insides squeezed painfully. She hadn’t really had a good home-cooked meal since her mother had died. 

“Well, you’re gonna wanna make a whole buffet when you hear what I have to tell you.” Allison sighed. 

The two of you found a quiet, low trafficked area on the North side of the school, opposite from where the lacrosse field was. You sat under a tree and ate while you talked, and you grew increasingly shocked as she told you more and more things that you had never heard before. Things that you never could have imagined to be true. But the more she explained things… the more you knew she couldn’t be making any of it up. 

Her family - the Argents - were werewolf hunters, and they had been for generations. Though apparently, now they were ‘retired’. You didn’t fully get that part, not with the crossbow that she kept in her bag. Though you did trust that she wasn’t actively trying to kill Scott or Isaac.

She and her family had moved to Beacon Hills last year because her father had been looking to discover the identity of, and eventually kill ‘The Alpha’ - the monster that had murdered your mother. Her Aunt Kate had gotten killed in the process, apparently as revenge from Peter Hale because of the fire she had set years before. (That was one of the only things that wasn’t news to you, because the papers had called her an arsonist shortly after her death.) What painted the fire in a new light, though - Allison said that Kate had set the fire in an attempt to make the Hale family extinct, but it had been without the help of the rest of the Argents. Killing innocent children and even non-killer werewolves in such a fire went against the Argents’ Code. 

And wearing that Code proudly, Allison did assure you that she would always help Scott and Isaac when she could, rather than try to hurt them - because they weren’t killers. They would never hurt anyone, and neither would she. 

She explained that with Peter Hale out of the picture, Derek Hale was now an Alpha werewolf, leader of a pack consisting of Boyd, Isaac, and previously Erica. Apparently Jackson used to be able to turn into some giant mutant lizard called The Kanima, and he had killed several people without even knowing it, and that was the reason he had moved away - not because he was now going to a fancy private school in London, like Lydia had originally told you. (You had to guess that Lydia didn’t even know the real reason why he had moved away, and she had no clue that she had been supplying you with a lie at the time.) 

Even what you had heard at the time about Allison’s mother dying hadn’t been true. She had killed herself due to a rule in Argent family that if any of them receive the bite of a werewolf that causes lycanthropy, they must take their own life rather than turning into a werewolf that they are meant to hunt. In Allison’s mind, this meant that Derek Hale had killed her mother because he was the one who had bitten her. 

You had to wonder if in some way, the same thing had happened to Isaac. Had Derek sentenced him to death by tainting his life with all this danger? Was The Bite nothing but a curse? 

“So - did Derek bite Scott too? Does he just go around biting people? Is he trying to build up some werewolf army?” You asked, urgency stirring up in your voice. 

You were curious about Derek, wondering why Isaac seemed to like him. You never got the impression that he was a ‘good’ person - especially not when Scott and Stiles were urgently insistent that you stay away from him, and they even told you that he was a murderer. (He had been arrested at one point, even if he had been let go.) 

Maybe it was because Isaac had traded one abuser for another, and he didn’t know that Derek was too much like his father, too blind to see it. Or maybe you didn’t know enough about Derek to make the judgement call - but what you did know, you didn’t like. 

“No, Derek wasn’t an Alpha then.” Allison explained, taking a sip of her juice. “Only a bite from an Alpha can turn someone.” 

You felt vastly out of the loop, trying to catch up on all the lore, so you just nodded. 

“The one who bit Scott was Peter Hale.” She explained. 

“He’s dead, right?” You posed, wanting to be sure of this. 

It was something you distinctly remembered - chasing down Stiles at the hospital when you had gone to check on Lydia after the attack. The worried look on his face. Questioning him when Jackson let him get into the driver’s seat of the Porsche and opening one of the doors to let yourself in before they could stop you. 

The giant black beast had gone up in flames and Derek had slashed his throat. That must have been how Derek became an Alpha - by killing one. 

After that night, Scott had assured you that ‘it was all over’, and you had nothing more to worry about. Boy - had he been wrong. 

When Allison didn’t say anything, you hesitantly added on: 

“Right?” 

Allison’s expression churned with nervousness, and your insides soon matched it to a terrible degree. 

You were certain of what you had seen, but you also knew that most people didn’t believe in werewolves. So you were willing to bet on the impossible. 

“What? You’re telling me that he got up and walked away from that?” You snapped. 

Allison didn’t have the time or the patience to explain to you what had actually happened, and she certainly didn’t want you to blame Lydia for your mother’s killer still walking the earth. So instead, she went with something else. Something much easier for you to stomach. 

“Well… werewolves have a capacity to heal from a lot of things…” She mumbled out nervously. 

“Great.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, hating the lump that came in your throat as you remembered that horrible beast staring you down, growling viciously before Scott had stepped between the two of you. “Well, at least that means that Isaac is less likely to get hurt.” 

“Well…” Allison trailed off, clearly hesitating to tell you whatever was on her mind. 

“‘Well’ what?” You prodded, anxiety stirring harshly in your stomach once again. 

“Scott told me that Betas can get hurt more easily and they heal slower if they’re attacked by an Alpha.” She explained. 

“And Isaac is a Beta?” You concluded, thinking aloud. 

Allison nodded, her expression grim. 

“So, that would only be a problem if Derek attacked him, right?” You theorized, your throat clenching up terribly. 

A horrible thought flashed in your mind. It was Isaac’s father all over again. It was why he had been so shaken when he had appeared at your door the other night. But there hadn’t been any marks on him. (You did know how terribly deep mental scars could go, but you were thankful that nobody had put their hands on him.)  

“Well - there’s this Alpha pack-” 

“Alpha pack?” You gaped. “A whole pack of Alphas? A whole horde of those monsters?” 

Allison nodded hesitantly, looking at you with sadness clouding her eyes. 

“Is that who’s been killing people?” You wondered aloud - though you had heard that the recent murders had been by strangulation, and that didn’t seem like a very ‘werewolf’ method of killing someone. “Are Scott and Isaac in danger? Do-?” 

“It’s okay.” Allison said firmly, cutting you off. “You don’t have to worry about Scott and Isaac. They can take care of themselves.” 

You did trust that to be the truth, but- 

“I know. I just hate being so… uninformed.” You sighed. 

“Trust me, I know the feeling.” Allison nodded. “If anything else major happens, I’ll tell you. But you have to try not to worry so much, okay? You have to worry about the things you can control.” She said, doling out the same advice her father had given to her after her mother had died. “Like lunch and… hanging out with your friends for a little while.” 

You knew that this was covertly her way of thanking you, and you couldn’t help but to let out a small laugh. 

“Well - thank you for telling me all this,” You said. “It’s nice to not feel like I’m missing some giant piece of the puzzle.” 

“It is a very relieving feeling.” She nodded. “Oh, and by the way, Scott’s eyes do glow when he-” 

“Too much information!” 

Both of you burst into laughter, laughing so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. It was nice to spend time with one of your best friends again. 

… 

Luckily, the rest of the day flew by fairly fast for you. 

Even if thoughts of Alpha packs and the potential of Isaac getting hurt lingered in the back of your mind, you tried your best to follow Allison’s advice. You tried your hardest to push him to the back of your mind, trying to focus on what was in front of you. Which, stupidly, turned out to make you think of Isaac even more. 

Your last class of the day was art. And during the last bit of free time you were given, you found yourself sketching a pair of sad, bright blue eyes that looked all too familiar. 

You just couldn’t keep him off your mind, could you? 

… 

Three months of lunchtime and after school detentions. 

That’s what Isaac had been sentenced to for beating up Ethan. But it was a comparatively low punishment when he had originally believed that he was going to be suspended. The Principal had gone easy on him when his ranting yells about threatening to call Isaac’s father had been met with Isaac’s dull reminder that his father was dead, and so was his mother - Isaac didn’t have any parents to threaten to call. And because he was eighteen, he didn’t even have any legal guardians that the Principal could threaten to call either. 

It also helped that when the school nurse reported back about Ethan’s injuries, she didn’t seem to have anything to report. After wiping the blood off his face, he didn’t seem to have any major injuries. And Isaac had to play dumb about the whole thing while the nurse theorized that the blood had come from his nose that Isaac had ‘aggravated, but not broken’ while hitting him. 

He couldn’t break into an outburst about how the motherfucker had werewolf healing and Isaac hadn’t done any damage to him anyway. 

But still, due to the fact that Isaac had hit him, and Aiden’s whiny verbal report that Isaac had choked his brother, even though there were no marks on his neck - it still seemed bad. So Isaac now owed three months worth of detention for snapping on the guy. 

It was worth it, though, he quickly decided as he lugged a large cart of supplies up the stairs to begin restocking the janitor’s closet. Hopefully they got the message and stayed far away from you. They could mess with him all they wanted, but he had made it clear: you were fully off limits. If anybody went near you - werewolf or human - they should be prepared to meet a world of pain. 

You were on your way out of the school after art class had ended, your sketchbook in hand, physically and emotionally exhausted from the day. You were fully prepared to go home and watch Food Network alone while doing your homework in far too much detail in a continued attempt to avoid thinking too much about Isaac. And of course, you just happened to cross his path once again. You saw him carting a large trolley of stuff toward the janitor’s closet, and against your better judgement, you walked over to him. 

“Need some help?” 

You asked, trying your best to sound bright and helpful, not wanting to sound like you were upset with him. With his father’s ghost still weighing on him, the slightest change in your tone of voice could send him spiralling. It was an effort, because the smallest part of you was upset at him for trying his hardest to avoid you. 

All of his muscles visibly tensed, and you wondered if you had done something to upset him. You wondered if he regretted the sex, if the night that the two of you had spent together had been a mistake… 

“No.” He huffed, refusing to face you as he opened the door to the janitor’s closet and wheeled the trolley inside. “This is detention. My punishment. I’m not supposed to have help.” 

You were itching to ask him why he had detention in the first place. Of course, you knew that it likely had something to do with what had happened that earlier morning that you still hadn’t been told about. But knowing Isaac, even if you asked about it, he wouldn’t tell you either. He would clam up if you asked him about it. And you didn’t want him feeling guilty or thinking that you were trying to interrogate him for his ‘sins’, especially because he obviously thought that whatever he had done was worthy of ‘punishment’. 

So you took a different approach. 

You stepped into the closet with him, shouldering off your bag and dropping it into the corner, still holding your sketchbook in one hand as you came to stand beside him. 

“So - I’ll keep you company, then.” You posed gently. “We can just… talk.” 

“No.” Isaac bit back harshly, still not looking at you. 

“Look, you know we have a lot to talk about-” 

“Y/N, can you please just leave?” He spat the words like horrible venom, saying your name like it was poison on his lips. You couldn’t help the hurt that flowed through you at this. He peered over his shoulder at you, his jaw stiff as he added on: “I don’t want you here.” 

It felt so horribly forced. Once again, you were rocketed back to that terrible day in the locker room - seeing him covered in Erica’s poison red lipstick, believing a play you knew wasn’t real. And this time, rather than running away like Isaac wanted you to, you forced yourself to plant your feet. 

“Why?” 

You asked, your voice quivering, your stomach so tight, your hands shaking as you clutched onto the hardcover sketchbook. A book that was so full of Isaac, so full of your heart when you couldn’t get him out of your head, desperate for something to hold onto. You knew you couldn’t reach out and touch him, terrified of being rejected again, and still - you held him desperately close. 

Isaac forced himself to face you. And he took a sharp breath. 

‘I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t be the reason you get hurt.’ 

The words were plump on his tongue, but never made it to the air. 

Something horrible happened. 

The door to the closet slammed shut and both of your attention was quickly directed to it. Swallowed up in suffocating darkness and now promptly aware of just how small the much larger than average closet was, Isaac rushed toward the door, yanking frantically on the handle as if trying to pull it right off. 

“It’s locked! It’s locked!” He yelled, his voice tight with panic. “We’re stuck!” 

You tossed down your book, unsure what to do - hesitant to reach out for him, knowing that he was already spiraling into a terrible panic. You knew all the details of what his father had done to him. He had told you about the freezer one day after you had invited him over to help you paint your bedroom and a mishap with a ladder falling over had caused him to get stuck in your closet, which turned him into a screaming, panicking mess. Not long after, he had been compelling to confess everything, and a lot of things about him quickly made sense in your eyes. 

“C-can you break it?” You stuttered out, hating the way his back was shaking, the way his muscles were so tense. “Can you break the door handle?” 

You began looking around the room for things that might be able to break the door down, wondering if using the trolley as a battering ram could work. But Isaac was a step ahead of you mentally, furiously shedding off his cardigan before he then began ramming his shoulder into the door. 

“There - there’s something on the other side.” He said, his voice reduced to a small, pathetic whimper. He collapsed against the door, his forehead pressed against it in a pose of pure hopelessness. 

Before you could wonder what, or who, had locked the two of you in here, Isaac’s gentle cries distracted you from further problem solving. His distress awakened something in you, and rather than continuing to formulate some plan on how to get out, that instinct of caring that you had toward him took over. He was beginning to pant harshly as he hyperventilated, panicking, and you heard him muttering ‘no, no, no, no’ as his mind was muddled with terrible emotions. 

You had to put a stop to it. You had to calm him down before anything else could be done. 

You stepped toward him, gently laying your cheek against his quivering back, tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. You squeezed as hard as you could, delivering as much pressure as you could muster, trying to regulate his nervous system. 

“You’re not there.” You said firmly, loudly, trying to ground him. “You’re not there. You’re not alone.” 

Isaac took in a shuddering breath, and you felt the chaos in his lungs right underneath your cheek. In the back of your mind, you were sure that you made his shirt wet as you released some tears of your own, your empathy for his pain nearly swallowing you whole. 

You couldn’t help but to squeeze him harder. You needed to hold him close. You needed him to feel your love. 

“I can’t - I can’t -” He heaved, still struggling to breathe. 

“You’re okay.” You said firmly. “You’re here with me. You’re not alone, Isaac. You’re okay.” 

“Please, I-” He took a sharp gulp. “Let me - let me - I need to see your face, please.” 

Hesitantly, only compelled by the pure desperation in his voice, you let go of him, and he numbly turned away from the door, leaning against it. He was covered in a layer of sweat now, and when he faced you, his lashes were glued together with tears, some streaked down his flushed cheeks. 

Instinctively, you put a hand over his heart, hating how much it was racing under your palm. He clasped his hand on top of yours, his grip almost crushingly tight. You put your other hand on the side of his flushed, sticky cheek, drawing him in so that his forehead gently pressed against yours. 

“I’m here.” You told him firmly once again. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

There it was again - that dangerous proclamation that he wasn’t alone. The fatal idea that he wouldn’t have to be alone again. The sound of such a perfect fantasy given to him from your sweet lips, delivered to him like it was the truth. Your eyes were so warm, and you were right there. You were right in front of him like nothing had changed. Like the world wasn’t cursed by dangerous Alphas and sacrificial killers and the cruel fate that always seemed to follow him. 

He could have reached out and kissed you and he knew that you wouldn’t have pushed him away. You were looking at him with such warmth, with that perfect loving pity yet again. 

He could have kissed you, and you would not have pushed him away. You never would. 

But that was your whole problem. You didn’t know the difference between a lover and a monster. And he had to save you before you found out the hard way. 

“No.” He grunted out. 

He needed to make sure that you stayed away before it was too late. 

“Isaac?” You questioned, having no clue why he seemed so upset again just as his breathing was evening out. 

“No.” He growled. 

In an intense moment, in a fierce bid to protect you from himself, with some of that horrible panic still spiking in his system - his eyes flashed yellow and his claws sprouted against his will, and he reached up, grabbing your arm that held a hand to his imperfect heart. He only meant to push you away, but with those wicked claws, he accidentally scratched two deep gashes into your skin. It was something that he would never forgive himself for. 

“Ow!” You hissed out, more shocked than in pain. 

By instinct, you took a large step back, cradling your arm, and Isaac let out a deep growl. His own self hatred for hurting you fueled his adrenaline, and he found himself unable to shift back. You stared him down in horror as his eyes continued to glow and his teeth sprouted into sharp fangs. 

“Isaac?” You called out his name, wondering if he was in control of this, or if some greater force had taken over. 

Before you could wonder for too much longer, the door to the closet burst open, letting in a flood of light - you squinted past it, wondering who your saviour was. That saviour pulled Isaac outside by the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the floor harshly. 

“Isaac! Isaac, stop! Isaac!” 

Scott. You easily recognized his voice - and soon, Isaac’s animalistic growls dissolved into more pathetic whimpers. When you next caught a glimpse of him, his eyes were back to their usual blue colour, and his claws and fangs were nowhere to be seen. Whatever werewolf mind trick he had pulled on Isaac, it had worked. 

Cowering on the floor, Isaac noticed your sketchbook - one of you had kicked into the hallway and knocked the cover open. His eyes fixated on a picture you had drawn - a hyper-realistic wolf that had soft, baby blue eyes. You must not have known that for werewolves, blue eyes when shifted were the mark of a killer. That was likely what you thought of him as now: nothing but a horrible beast, a monster. 

He had no clue that you had drawn it because you thought it was something so soft and beautiful. Because you had been thinking about Isaac as something sweeter and more docile… like a puppy. Something loyal that would sit in your lap at the end of a long day. Which is what he had done long before he had ever received The Bite. 

Your attention was locked onto Scott as he stepped in to check on you and Isaac huddled tightly against the door, seemingly eager to get away from you once again. You knew that he was likely embarrassed and upset that he had unintentionally hurt you. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, his voice steady, but deeply concerned. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” You said, trying to hastily hide your arm behind your back. 

You didn’t know that due to his heightened werewolf senses, he could smell the blood. He reached over and gently grabbed your wrist, and pushed up your now ripped sleeve to reveal the large cuts you had on your arm. 

“It was an accident.” You quickly explained. “He-” 

“I know.” Scott said, nodding, his face tight with a serious thoughtfulness. 

Behind him, Isaac made haste in getting up off the floor, and without so much as another word to either of you, he took off running at top speed. That was definitely something he was good at - running away from people who cared about him. 

“Uh-” Scott looked from you to Isaac’s retreating form, clearly torn about who he should take care of first. 

“I’ll be fine.” You insisted. “Go after him. He doesn’t wanna see me right now. You might be able to help.” 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“Yes!” You insisted, giving him a nudge. “Go!” 

“Okay.” Scott stepped out of the closet, and took one last look at you, continuing to talk while he took hesitant steps away. “There’s a first aid kit in Coach’s office, make sure you get some bandages or something. He keeps the door unlocked in case anybody needs it.” 

You nodded and tried to wave him away. 

“I’ve got it covered.” You assured him. 

“Okay, I’ll text you later!” 

He then ran after Isaac - and you just hoped that Isaac would be more receptive toward Scott. 

You then began to gather your things, and when you found your sketchbook on the floor, open to the sketch you had made that was a distant imagining of Isaac’s werewolf form… you just hoped that he hadn’t actually had time to look at it. He was probably insulted by it, or found it to be strange. When you went to grab your bag from inside the closet, you noticed that his cardigan was still on the floor where he had torn it off in a haste. 

You knew that he wasn’t likely to come back and get it anytime soon. Selfishly, you lifted it up to your nose and inhaled. It smelled like a new body wash that you hadn’t noticed on him before. But it still distinctly smelled like him, like his natural scent. You opened your bag and stuffed it inside, telling yourself that you would give it back to him the next time you saw him - if he would let there be a ‘next time’. 

Ugh. 

… 

Scott caught up to Isaac far outside the school - he would give the guy credit, he could definitely run far and fast when he wanted to. 

“Isaac, what the hell was that?” Scott hissed, both of them slightly out of breath, and walking in stride. 

Isaac still refused to slow down much even though he was clearly starting to tire, and Scott just tried his best to keep up with him. 

“I think you know what that was.” Isaac replied sharply. “The sharp teeth, the claws, the glowing eyes - the wonderful thing that was supposed to fix my life, make me whole, heal me.” 

Maybe he was beginning to regret it. Maybe he was beginning to regret you. Which one, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Not what I meant.” Scott rolled his eyes. “You left her, and she was terrified-” 

Scott was exaggerating. You had been fine. He didn’t know that it was the wrong card to play with Isaac - it didn’t make him feel dutiful and empathetic, it just made him further wallow in his own guilt. 

“Exactly.” Isaac hissed. “She was terrified because I’m a monster. I should be exiled out to the woods, where all the other monsters belong.” 

Isaac took off running again, and Scott was too tired - perhaps more emotionally than physically - to keep up.

“Isaac!” 

Scott just hoped that Isaac would come home on his own, that he would know that Scott still loved him, and still wanted him around. Scott hoped that he wouldn’t have to go out looking for Isaac. He didn’t need another thing to worry about.

...

Continue Reading: Chapter Three - So Much (for) Pain

I am very thankful to everyone who has left comments on the first two chapters and reblogged. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

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

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

...

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

-Friedrich Nietzsche 

...

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

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

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

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

Ten more minutes. 

“I just want to talk.” 

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

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

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reid-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

“Clear!” 

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

“Clear!” 

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch had been right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply. 

You didn’t move. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her. 

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

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

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

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

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

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

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

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

It was hopeless. 

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

“Tell me you like it!” 

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

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

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

“Come on, tell me you like it!” 

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

That would be your excuse.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was losing the game. 

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

“Fuck you.” He moaned out. 

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

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

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

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

… 

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

Reid needed some air. 

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

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

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

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

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

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.” 

She looked deeply troubled. 

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

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

Reid cracked a small smile at this. 

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

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

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

She looked solemn at his words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had driven you to take up the habit. 

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

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

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

You wished they weren’t. 

You directed the conversation elsewhere. 

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

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

He had you now. He had won. 

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

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

The silence was gutting. 

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

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

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

It felt like a lie. 

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

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

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

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

He moved back to the door silently. 

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

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

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

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

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

It came free after only a few tugs. 

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she turned back to the clerk. 

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

The clerk shook his head. 

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

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

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed. 

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

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

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

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

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

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted. 

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

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

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly. 

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

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

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

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone. 

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

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!” 

“We need more camera angles! We need-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.” 

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

The murders. 

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

“Y/N.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were stuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How does that help us?” Someone asked. 

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

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

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

Reid took a breath, and then continued on. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

But this case - it was getting to you. 

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes at this. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled. 

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s helpful.” You sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was your mother. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh please, call me-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud. 

You hummed back in confusion. 

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

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper. 

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly. 

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

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

Bile splashed up in your throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

“Good morning, y’all.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too.” You easily agreed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you mind showing me, please?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her. 

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

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

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

… 

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

“There’s my beautiful girl.” 

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

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

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

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

You spoke his language - violence. 

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

You were perfect. His perfect girl. 

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a heavy silence at this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this. 

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend. 

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

And they were from your hometown. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.” 

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed. 

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

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

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

You hated it. 

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

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid. 

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

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

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

“I’m human. So what?” 

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

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

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

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

The way he had written it. 

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

“What is it?” Emily asked. 

“Nothing.” You quickly replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes. 

Lover, 

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

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

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

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

-Daniel 

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

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant. 

It was from that night. He had kept it. 

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

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

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

You didn’t answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I see?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You truly considered just coming out with it. 

But then- 

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence. 

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

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

… 

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

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention. 

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

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

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

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Ugh.” 

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

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

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

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

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked. 

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

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

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

“What?” Derek prompted her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Battered. Bruised. Broken. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud. 

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

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

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

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

It all fit together now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reid-!” 

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

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

“Y/N,” 

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

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

But you still couldn’t escape him. 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

Your hand shook as you held the knife. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer just didn’t understand. 

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

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

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

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

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

There was a gutting silence. 

“Please, just give me the knife.” 

You couldn’t give up. 

You had come too far to let Daniel win now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t look up at him. 

You knew that you couldn’t. 

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

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

You let out another sob at this. 

You had been so alone. 

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t pity. 

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

You should have killed Daniel. 

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

Ten more minutes. 

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

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

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid. 

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

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

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

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

It caused you to flare with anger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t stop. 

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

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

Pity. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotch nodded at this. 

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

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly. 

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

...

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

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

Warnings: this is set during Season 2, Episode 15 (“Revelations”); warnings for themes/plot points from the canon episode - rabid dogs, mentions of JJ being attacked by dogs, mentions of dogs eating/killing a woman (a random woman who is not named here), animal death - mentions of JJ having to shoot the dogs (killing them) in self defence, gun violence, mentions of Reid being kidnapped (no details of that are discussed in this fic), religious themes (in this fic, religious motifs are used to encourage sexual behaviour - spoken about as though God made us to have sex with each other, not to discourage it as the Christian religion does); symptoms of shock/PTSD - JJ waves a gun in the reader’s face because she’s scared; general emotional angst, mentions of JJ blaming herself for Reid being kidnapped; mentions of blood (from JJ’s injuries); the reader is completely gender neutral - there are no identifying pronouns used for the reader (other than the ‘you’ I generally use for fics) and the reader’s genitals are not described in any specific way; use of Y/N, mentions of a pre-established sexual relationship between JJ and the reader - it could be a friends with benefits situation, it could be secret lovers, it’s never quite specified; JJ is more submissive and the reader is more dominant, but there is no outright dom/sub relationship; the reader calls JJ 'Jay’, 'sweet girl’, 'sweets’, and 'good girl’; using sex to distract from one’s emotional problems; (technically) semi-public sex because they’re in the bathroom where anyone could walk in on them (but they’re not caught by anyone); kissing/heated making-out; the reader fingers JJ; neck biting/marking (JJ receiving); hair-pulling(JJ receiving); praise kink; clothed/mostly clothed sex; I believe that’s everything.

A/N: This was primarily inspired by the picture of JJ on the right. I saw it and I was like 'damn she fine’ but I knew it was from Revelations so I was like 'damn she fine but I know she’s havin a real bad time rn’ - so I did the thing I do best: smut based off emotional trauma. This is basically the scene where Emily comes to talk to her in the bathroom, but replacing Emily with a reader character and then they fuck. Also the title comes from the phrase 'from your lips to God’s ears’ because religious imagery. I had so much fun with this lmao. I hope you enjoy it!

...

You couldn’t help but to feel bad for JJ. 

You knew that everyone was concerned about Reid - rightfully so. Worried about where he was, if he was alive or not. But you were the type of person who preferred to focus on the things you could control - the things right in front of you. JJ was someone you had known for long enough that you knew how to comfort her, and you pushed the ‘what-ifs’ about Reid to the back of your mind in favor of focusing on her. 

You knew that she was intensely shaken up by the entire situation. Not only the fact that she had been nearly mauled by a couple of dogs, pieces of her skin torn up and marred. But it was the fact that the team knew for certain that those same dogs had ripped a woman apart only a few days ago. You knew that JJ hated being forced to shoot those dogs. She was someone with a tender heart. You knew that all of this was affecting her. 

On top of all that, she was likely blaming herself for Reid being put in danger, even though there was nothing she could have done to save him. 

While everyone was gathered in the main room, looking through Hankle’s things for any hint as to where he had taken Reid, you moved toward the back of the house, knowing that JJ had gone to the bathroom to ‘freshen up’. You knew her well enough to easily pick up that it was code for her needing a moment to escape from everyone else in some attempt to calm down. 

The door to the bathroom was open just a crack, so you took a peek, not wanting to startle her by knocking. 

You could see her hunched over the sink, stress knit through her muscles as she gripped the sides of the porcelain. You felt a twinge of guilt flow through you as the thought occurred to you - even in such a state of duress, she was so beautiful. Painted in agony or pleasure, she was gorgeous.

She looked almost angelic like this, and you hated to believe that torture looked good on someone like her. (Perhaps it was the fact that you had seen her ‘tortured’ before - sweaty and begging, half on the brink of madness as she pleaded to get your tongue between her thighs once again.) 

You found your eyes admiring the sliver of skin that peeked out between her white button up and the low waist of her simple black dress pants. You found yourself wanting to actually smack yourself as a form of scolding when you couldn’t help but to admire the gentle dip of her waist and the curve of her ass. 

You felt sinful for thinking such carnal thoughts, even when she was so wrought with stress, clearly so wrecked from the night’s events. 

Perhaps it was the fact that you had come so close to losing her, and now that urge to possess her bubbled closer to the surface than ever. But you pushed it down as you gently nudged open the bathroom door. 

When the creak of the hinges echoed through the room, you certainly did not expect to be greeted with a gun in your face. 

JJ had whipped around much faster than you expected, and pointed her Bureau issued glock right at you. Clearly, she expected you to be a threat. The look in her eyes was positively wild - like a frightened animal being cornered by a fierce predator. Which of course, was something that had happened to her only a few hours before. 

“JJ.” You called out her name, keeping your voice firm, trying to ground her in this reality. 

Her eyes continued darting around, glancing into the hallway behind you as though she was expecting another rabid dog to suddenly appear there. 

“JJ, it’s just me.” You told her, reaching up and gently easing the gun down. 

She was still incredibly tense, so you reached up with your other hand and massaged along the inner part of her wrist with two fingers, getting her muscles to relax enough that she let go of the gun, dropping it into your hand. You made sure the safety was turned on before you placed the gun on the closed toilet lid. Then you turned and closed the bathroom door behind you, sealing the two of you into a quiet bubble to hopefully give her time to calm down. 

JJ let out a harsh breath - a sound that was mostly a sob strangled inside of her chest. She ran her hands through her already wild hair, tears gathering in her eyes once again. She turned to face the wall and you instinctively reached out, running your hands gently across her shoulders. 

One of your hands stayed as a comforting grip on her upper arm and the other rubbed an open palm up and down her back. You hoped you could soothe her in some way. You truly hated how she quivered under your touch, how you could feel those sobs trapped inside of her lungs; the echoes of cries she refused to release because she felt that she needed to put up a strong front. 

“It’s so stupid.” JJ complained. 

Her voice was wet with the unreleased tears as she held her head in her hands, still facing away from you. Her long blonde hair easily created a curtain around her face so that couldn’t properly see her. 

“I grew up with dogs! I had dogs! I love dogs, I would never-” 

“It’s not your fault, Jay.” You pressed, using your affectionate nickname for her. “When people train animals to attack like that, there’s nothing you can do.” You leaned in, gently resting your cheek on her shoulder, assuring her that you were there before you whispered the next words. “You had to shoot them.” 

JJ let out a harsh whimper, clearly struggling even more now with holding back her sobs. You wanted to tell her that it would be okay to cry, but you knew that it would be useless. She was raised as the strong brick wall of a daughter in her family, and she was not used to showing weakness - especially not used to crying. 

“I should have stayed with Spencer.” She announced quietly. “I shouldn’t have let him go off without backup. I should have-” 

“Jay, that’s not your fault either.” You told her firmly, cutting off whatever self blaming rant she was about to go on. 

She muddled in a bitter silence, her arms shaking lightly as she rocked her head back and forth - shaking her head in the negative in response to what you had said. 

She had to believe it was her fault. If Spencer didn’t come back from this, her self blame would only be worse. 

“JJ, look at me.” You demanded gently. She didn’t move, and you reached over and put a hand on her wrist, attempting to pull her hands away from her face. “JJ, please look at me.” 

When your voice warbled out the plea, she finally wavered to your touch, and let you turn her around to face you. You caught a glimpse of the bright red stains soaked into the sleeve of her shirt, splattered up across her front, and you tried to ignore the sickly curl in your gut because of it. 

You had the urge to lift her bandaged forearm up and lay a few kisses on it, like you would have kissed a child’s scraped knee - more so for the emotional comfort than any possible health benefits. But you knew that would have been more for you than for her. 

So instead, you reached out, brushing past that tangled curtain of blonde to gently cup her face with both your hands. You handled her with an intensely delicate touch as you tilted her gaze up from the ground. 

A few tears had managed to escape, and you brushed them away with your thumbs. JJ sniffled quietly, sounding quite small and defeated as she did so. For the first time that night, she felt a slight calm wash over her as the comfort of your presence truly settled in. 

She was eternally grateful to have you there with her. She reached up and gripped onto your wrists, keeping you anchored there. She skimmed her thumbs along the top of your hands, enjoying the smooth feeling of your skin as you stared at her broken face - a tearful angel that made your heart ache for her. 

You were called by the higher purpose to worship that angel - to turn her pain into pleasure.

Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself drifting toward her, leaning in and planting your lips on hers. It certainly wasn’t the first time you had kissed JJ, but it most definitely wasn’t the most opportune. 

She easily returned the kiss, pressing her mouth into yours with a soft neediness. It was when she let out a small moan, the sound vibrating against your lips that you felt that sting of guilty panging at you once again. The fact that lustful heat and your grief for her were colliding so heavily inside of you made you feel like just as much of a monster as the man who had taken Reid and sicked dogs on her. 

You pulled away from the kiss sharply, putting only an inch of distance between the two of you, not letting go of her cheeks. She didn’t let go of the hold she had on your wrists either - you wanted to keep her assured of your presence because she did need the comfort during this hard time. 

“I’m sorry-” You gasped out an apology for kissing her so inappropriately, but JJ, ever the woman to know exactly what she wanted, didn’t let you finish. 

“Don’t apologize.” She ordered sharply. “I need you.” 

She kept her eyes closed, her brows tight with anguish as you gently laid your forehead against hers. 

You couldn’t help but to question it. 

“Now, Jay?” You asked quietly. “Right now?” 

“I need to forget.” She whispered, her words so timid that her breath barely ghosted your lips, even with you so close to her. 

Your heart ached at her tone, and when you didn’t reply or didn’t move to kiss her again, she continued. 

“Every time I close my eyes, I just see… I just see those eyes glowing in the dark. I just hear growling.” She admitted, a few more tears escaping that you rushed to thumb away. “I need to forget it. Please, help me forget.” 

“Anything for you, sweets.” You whispered, using another affectionate nickname for her. 

You leaned in for another kiss, firmer this time. 

You let your instincts take over then - all the lust you had been pushing down rushing to the surface and servicing you well. If she needed to forget, then you would certainly make her. You would make her feel so good that all she would be able to focus on would be the hot blood thrumming through her ears. The medicine that God intended. 

You pushed her up against the edge of the sink, keeping one hand on the side of her face and moving the other to her hip. You skimmed your fingers along that tempting strip of skin right above the waistband of her low-rise pants, causing her to shiver at the teasing touch touch. 

In a moment, your forceful dominance, the way you handled her easily had her moaning into your mouth again, much louder this time. You moved the hand on her cheek around to comb your fingers through her hair. You dug your knuckles in, setting a powerful grip at the base of her skull that held her exactly where you wanted her. It was a tender pain that had her gasping for you as you shoved your tongue past her lips, now on a very determined mission to fuck every last dreadful thought out of her head. 

Your fingertips continued to dance along the waistband of her pants, gently teasing her skin in a great contrast to the forceful movement of your lips. Every single movement was cleverly calculated to make her mind numb. Right down to the way you tugged at her hair and yanked on her bottom lip with your teeth as you pulled away from the kiss, leaving her panting wildly. 

Her eyes were closed much more gently this time, her eyelids fluttering lightly, and you hoped that you had already reduced those nightmarish visions to dust as she relaxed into your touch, buttery under your fingers as always. 

“Thank you,” JJ breathed out, her voice sweet as ever as you bit a path down her neck. You wanted to leave noticeable marks that would stand out among the scratches and bumps she had acquired that night. 

You truly didn’t care if anyone else on the team spotted one of those marks and knew what it was. You were paying tribute to her, leaving your own kind of thank you on her neck as you sucked the soft skin between your teeth. Your fingers finally found the button of her pants and easily popped it open blind, pulling the zipper down in a moment. Without a second of hesitation, you shoved your fingers past the barrier of her simple cotton underwear. 

With one last sharp bite, you moved your head back up from the crevice of her neck then, pressing your forehead against hers once again. You kept that tight grip on the back of her hair, a small hinge of pain that grounded her, that assured her you were there. 

Your fingers easily found her clit, and you made the bold choice to begin rubbing her without wetting your fingers first. You knew that it would be a pleasurable sting that would certainly push any other thoughts from her mind. 

“Oh, fuck, Y/N-” 

JJ gasped, arching her hips away from the edge of the sink to meet your touch, her lips falling open beautifully and her eyes still so gently fallen shut. She looked so fucking angelic like this. 

More tears kissed her lashes as you pressed harder on her clit, moving your fingers in hard, slow circles. You could assure yourself that these were tears from pleasure, not from anguish or pain. You had rewritten the stony hurt inside her muscles, rethreading the cords tight with the need for an orgasm where they were previously pulled tight with stress. 

“Please!” She begged so beautifully when she wanted to. 

It felt like its own unique reward to know that you were one of the only people that all powerful Jennifer Jareau ever begged to. 

You felt her becoming wetter around your fingers, flooding her underwear in response to your simple touches, and there was only one thing you wanted before you would make her cum. 

“Look at me.” You told her, the words quiet on your lips but so utterly full of confident power. 

JJ whimpered in response, not yet opening her eyes, and you stopped the movement of your hand altogether. She let out a very displeased sound and you began slowly pulling back, threatening to leave her hanging (which was a very empty threat in this context - not that she had to know that). It was something that immediately caused her eyes to shoot open as she reached out and grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. She canted her hips up, desperately trying to get your touch back where she needed you most. 

“Please,” She pleaded again, all hot breath and desperation - all for you. 

Staring into those blue eyes, lit with a desperate blaze of lust as she panted out humid breaths across your chin, you were only reminded of the fact that everything you did was for her. Everything in your life was a worship in her name, no act too small to dedicate to such a perfect Goddess. 

“Good girl.” 

You praised her, knowing it was exactly what she needed as you angled your fingers back between her wet folds. You gathered up that wetness, slicking up your fingers before you placed your determined touch right on her throbbing clit. This time, rather than being slow and calculated, you were quick and determined. You made speedy movements that you knew would draw her to the quick finish that would perfectly empty her mind. 

“Always so good for me, Jay.” 

“Thank you, oh! Oh, fuck!” 

She started singing your praises in her own way as your touches sped up, the sound of her wetness just barely muffled by the fabric of her pants and underwear, becoming delightfully sloppy under your fingers. With the way she was unconsciously canting her hips toward you, humping against your hand, you knew she was so close. 

You leaned in, and while looking her in the eyes the whole time, you bit down on her bottom lip and roughly pulled it out, letting the skin snap back in a rough possession of her as she panted and moaned the whole time. 

“Cum for me.” You demanded in a rough growl, finding yourself comparable to one of those rabid dogs. Though you were consuming her in a way that renewed her life, rather than trying to end it. “Cum for me, sweet girl.” 

“Fuck!” JJ cried out, an epic prayer as she spiraled into the all consuming pleasure of her orgasm. 

Though you wanted nothing more than to listen to those beautiful sounds, you had to silence her most pitiful orgasmic cries by clasping your lips over hers. You didn’t want the others hearing - you wanted to keep those sounds all to yourself. You muffled her noises with a tight suction of your mouth as you continued to work her right through the orgasm, keeping a tight grip on her hair the whole time to show her exactly who she belonged to. 

With the crucifix mounted on the bathroom wall, the knowledge of Hankle’s God staring right at you as you did all this - you couldn’t find an ounce of shame inside you. Not now. You could find no better way to honor God than to lovingly dedicate your life to the embodiment of his best work.

...

Warnings: the reader is referred to as a girl or a woman, and has a vagina and breasts, and the reader is referred to using she/her pronouns, but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used in the narration are you/yours; the reader does wear skirts; the reader is a Ravenclaw (a bit of self indulgence, hehe); this fic does use Y/N to refer to the reader, as well as L/N (in this case, meaning Last Name); the reader is referred to as Miss at some points; the reader’s hair colour, eye colour, body type, race, and other physical attributes are not described in any way; it is mentioned that the reader wears skirts; it is mentioned that Fred is taller than the reader, but this is based on the assumption that he would be taller than most people because James Phelps is over six feet tall; this is set during the Hogwarts era, but there is no mention of specific book or film plotlines, and for those who have a stick up your ass about it, for all intents and purposes, the characters are eighteen or older (there is a passing mention of them graduating soon); Fred calls reader a number of pet names, including: ‘love’, ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’,; this fic contains Dubious Consent - Fred grabs and gropes the reader without her explicit consent and permission, and she continually denies that she enjoys it, but they have an unspoken sexual attraction toward each other while all this is going on; severely under-negotiated kink; panty stealing (magic edition); flashing (reader flashes Fred); Fred having (at one time) one-sided sexual fantasies about the reader, Fred writing smut about the reader (Fred refers to the reader as ‘a good little whore’ in this written smut fantasy); there is some Dom and Sub dynamics, and Fred is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, though it is very brat tamer themed (Fred outright refers to the reader as a brat at one point); public/semi-public sex (it’s in a public and well trafficked area, but at a low traffic time while no one else is there); hair-pulling (reader recieving); spanking (reader recieving); dumbification kink - Fred calls the reader a ‘dumb whore’; ass eating (reader receiving) (I know not everyone likes it but Fred is an ass man through and through in this fic); teasing, edging, purposeful orgasm denial (reader receiving); humiliation kink (in little bits and dashes through); anal sex (reader receiving) (spit is used as lube, and there is implications of magically appearing additional lube) (no condom is used); first time anal (but the reader and Fred are definitely NOT virgins in general); punishment anal - Fred uses this as a tactic to get the reader to ‘behave’ and because he thinks she doesn’t ‘deserve’ vaginal sex yet; the anal sex is NOT described as painful, and pain is not majorly used as part of the punishment (it’s more about orgasm restriction and Fred being a teasing, purposefully selfish lover); creampie kink; exhibitionism kink (on Fred’s part, reader is terrified of getting caught) (they don’t actually have sex in front of other people, just in high risk areas); getting interrupted (briefly) - George interrupts them briefly but Fred doesn’t care; I hope I didn’t forget anything, and if I did please let me know!

A/N: I had sooo much fun writing this. The title is an homage to when I first started writing fanfiction (which was Harry Potter fanfiction) - at the time, this song and Dirty by Christina Aguilera where the most scandalous songs I could think of, and I would listen to this song all the time when reading fanfiction (as well as the whole album in general). Idk what it is, but I am just sooo convinced that Fred would be an ass man, and that inspiration alone drove me to this fic. Originally this fic was just gonna be the common room scene, but I got carried away, as I usually do. I hope you enjoy it!

...

You were not someone who took the concept of 'hatred' lightly.

Unlike Slytherins who threw around insults without care, the kind of people who were capable of holding grudges for years, you thought of yourself as someone more intelligent, someone who operated with a higher level of logic and reason. When you chose to hate someone or something, it was with a good pile of evidence backing you up. You were a Ravenclaw, and you liked to believe that you looked at the world through a wiser lens, and you gathered all the evidence on something before you brought your emotions into it.

You hated it when people mispronounced words – a show of mocking intelligence and cockiness, without enough humility to ask for help. You hated feeling belittled, especially by men and boys who thought they knew more than you. You hated people whining and complaining, especially without good reason. And you hated onions – the smell, the texture, the sight of them. That last one was just personal, but still, should be noted.

So when you said that you hated Fred Weasley, it wasn't something that you ever said lightly. You had truly found a long, long list of reasons to hate him. Even if he was so similar to his twin brother George, you found George to be far more tolerable than Fred. For some reason, Fred was the grander of the two scheming, prankster evils, downright detestable, even when he was just standing around and breathing near you.

You found yourself more and more steaming angry whenever you had to be around him for a prolonged period of time. He was cocky, he was far too grand for no reason, he was boisterous, and loud, and generally bloody annoying. And worst of all, he got away with so many little things that other students would never even dream of getting by with. All he had to do was wink and give a smile, and he could move on with his day without the slightest consequence coming his way.

He could swear in front of Professors and as long as he rushed to apologize, they would shake it off. He could turn in his homework late, and as long as it came with some funny, long, winding excuse, they never cared. They seemed proud of him for simply getting it done in the first place. He could tease and taunt other students right in front of authority figures and as long as a group was laughing along with him, nobody reprimanded him for it. It was all simply in good fun, it seemed.

It pissed you off to no end that Fred Weasley got away with so much when others got house points deducted by Professors and Prefects for simply sneezing in the wrong direction sometimes. You were sick of Fred's attitude, and you were more than sick of him acting as though he ran Hogwarts, acting like he was some sort of king that all others should kneel too.

All of this became all the more aggravating and apparent to you one day in class, an unlucky day when Ravenclaw was in the Transfiguration room with the Gryffindor students. A day when you were woefully forced to be around him.

Even before class began, Fred was in the back of the room, speaking in his usually loud, boisterous voice as he regaled his classmates with some tale of his needless stupidity.

“-so Georgie pitched it over my shoulder, and it lands-”

“-right in McLaggen's face!” George added on with a bright laugh.

“We weren't expecting the thing to burst open.” Fred commented, somehow his laughter louder, and all the more annoying than his twin brother's.

“And we certainly weren't expecting the thing to be filled with so much puss.” George finished, causing a round of rousing laughter to come from the Gryffindors they were surrounded by.

You scoffed at the disgusting end to this story while others laughed, shaking your head, making no effort to hide your disdain for their antics. You were annoyed by their overwhelming loudness, the fact that they felt the need to perform for the room like jesters that nobody had called for. You felt deeply disrupted while you were trying to focus on your journal. You weren't writing anything particularly important, just doing random doodles in the margin to try and distract yourself from Fred's irritating voice bouncing off the back of your head. But still – a classroom is a place to study, not to fool around.

“Got a problem there, Miss L/N?” Fred asked, directing his attention toward you, sharply eyeing the tension that was knit across your shoulders as you held your pen with tight fingers. “Or is it just the usual stick up your arse? Making you a bit too stiff this morning, hmm?”

There was a round of quieter, snickering laughter from the group he was sitting with, and you let out another harsh scoff, refusing to turn and look at him. You refused to engage him in this conversation, unwilling to respond to something so stupid, so low.

“Oi, Freddie, one of these days you'll have to have a look up her skirt and see if there is actually one there.” George added on with a laugh. “S'pose you might even find a whole broom up there, with how uptight she acts.”

You distinctly felt the hemline of your skirt move where it was sitting on the edge of the classroom stool, the gentlest shift as if someone had tried to pick it up and look underneath it, just barely threatened to. This was followed by more laughter. You slapped your pen down and whipped around sharply, glaring at the group of Gryffindor boys who were all ruffled with laughter now.

“Stop it!” You snapped. “Don't you have any manners? Have you nothing better to do with your time? You pathetic, mindless-”

“I like that stick up my arse! Right where I intended it to be!” Fred cut you off, performing a shrill, mocking tone of a girl's voice that sounded nothing like you. “Come on, you wouldn't know fun if it smacked you in the face like a...”

He struggled for a moment, looking for a good metaphor, and then George stepped in.

“Like a puss-filled Dittany leaf!”

They rolled into laughter once again, and you were more than thankful when Professor McGonagall strolled into the room.

“Everyone, in your seats!” She yelled out, trying to bring order to the room. “Everyone, stop your rough-housing, and get your seats! I do apologize for my tardiness, but we do need to begin.”

You were surprised when the boys actually listened to her, and relieved when the general noise of the classroom quieted down. Finally, a peaceful place to concentrate. You didn't notice Fred's eyes lingering on you as you turned around in your seat, facing the front of the classroom once again.

“Now, for our first order of business, I will be collecting the essays I requested last time on the history of Vanishing Spells-”

A large portion of the class collectively groaned, and Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, well you should all have it completed by now. No excuses.” She scolded gently. “Miss L/N, can you please collect the essays and put them on my desk while I write some notes for today's lesson on the board?”

“Yes, Professor.” You nodded and stood from your seat, taking your own essay with you, which you had ready and sitting on the corner of your desk.

You began to walk the room, collecting piles of parchment from everyone else.

And of course, it wasn't long before you came to the row of desks in the back where Fred was sitting.

You were annoyed to even be in his presence, and of course, he didn't have his homework ready to hand over to you. He was even making this process drawn out and detestable.

“Oh, hello love.” He smirked at you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You didn't say anything in return, and instead, you gave him a harsh look as you held out your hand expectantly.

“You know, not a lot of people could pull off that uptight, frigid expression as well as you do, but somehow, you really make it work.” He said, his voice soft and flirtatious, the half-baked compliment only further serving to piss you off.

“Your essay.” You demanded, pressing your open hand closer to his face, knowing that your tone was, brash, short and nagging. But of course, you did not truly have the patience to be sweet or polite with him. Ultimately, he didn't deserve it.

“Oh, right.” He nodded, putting on that comical act once again, as though he had just remembered what he had been instructed to do only moments ago.

He made a show of slowly bending down to his book bag at his feet, whistling idly as he did so, while George handed you his essay over Fred's back. Because of course, George wasn't nearly as irritating as his brother.

Fred Weasley would never call himself short-sighted. Many others would, because they often never saw the brilliance in all of the detailed planning that went into his pranks. He was definitely impulsive, but he would never call himself short-sighted.

So as his hand came out of his bag with his half-finished, half-assed essay in hand, and he was struck with the most brilliant idea that he had conceptualized in a long time, his impulses certainly got the better of him. Because of course, everything aligned to be so perfect in that moment – how could he resist?

He was still half bent over near his bag, and he found himself perfectly staring at your ass as you faced the front, your eyes locked intently on what McGonagall was writing on the board with all the intensity of a curious, mindful Ravenclaw. And he couldn't help but to chase his impulses then. You weren't paying attention and neither was McGonagall, and you weren't wearing any tights with your school skirt that day – just some sinfully tempting knee high socks, and one well-timed glance up a bit higher told him that you had chosen pink panties that day.

He really couldn't help himself.

He sat back up to his full height, and just before he placed his essay onto the desk top, he reached over with his free hand and grabbed a greedy handful of your ass. No hesitation, no shyness, harsh, demanding, his palm slipping underneath the edge of your skirt and gripping onto the bare flesh where it was sneaking out from the edge of your panties. Such a firm hand that his fingerprints could still be felt in your flesh even after he pulled away.

You let out a quiet, tight gasp, the barest escape of air through your lips – a sound that could barely be heard over the general chatter in the classroom and the sound of McGonagall's chalk smacking against the blackboard. But still, that reaction left Fred intensely satisfied, nonetheless.

By the time you whipped around to catch Fred, his hand was back in his own lap safely, innocently, as if nothing had ever happened. A harsh zip of electricity that you would deny felt anything like lust ran through you, leaving your heart pounding and your pussy echoing a small ache like a scream resounding through a lonely cave, dangerous traces of something yet to come. It left you buzzing with warmth between your thighs, and your mild annoyance toward Fred turning into a bubbling rage.

As if it were some kind of muscle-driven instinct, you reached up with the thick handful of essays that you had in hand and smacked Fred across the back of the head with the pile of parchment. It was no where close to a harmful blow, just a move to stun him in return as he had stunned you.

Fred burst out laughing, even more pleased with your reaction as you grew angrier and more visibly flustered, which made you even more angry as your pussy tingled with lust.

“Weasley!” You snapped. “How dare you-!”

“Miss L/N!” McGonagall's voice entered the mix, and you felt a sharp twist of shame jolt through your stomach, as though you had been caught doing something terrible, something deeply wrong.

You stood up straight, facing the front, hating Fred's wide, satisfied grin in your peripheral vision.

You hated that you felt guilty when in fact, Fred was the one who had groped you so boldly, in public, without even asking permission first. Especially when the context of your interaction was nothing even close to be sexual. What the hell had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking at all?

“I suppose you have a good reason for smacking Mr. Weasley upside the head?” Professor McGonagall continued. “I know it's something we've all had the desire to do at one time or another, but please, tell me it wasn't unprompted.”

Your throat went dry. You could have just told her that he had grabbed your ass. She definitely would have given him detention over it. But some nagging thing in the back of your head told you that he would find a way to escape blame. That he would somehow turn it around on you. You felt him staring at your cheek, and out of the corner of your eye, you could still see his horrible, devious smirk. Maybe he would tell McGonagall that your skirt was too short, maybe he would tell her that you had liked it...

“Miss L/N?”

Unconsciously, your free hand rushed behind you to yank down your skirt, trying to hide yourself from view, hating how it had obviously ridden up from you sitting down, and you cleared your throat.

“He – he was stalling.” You quickly accused, avoiding the truth. “He wasn't getting his essay nearly fast enough-”

“Well, unfortunately, that's not a good enough reason to inflict abuse on someone.”

“Abuse?” You gaped in return. “Professor, I didn't even hit him hard-”

“Oh, my poor head.” Fred moaned dramatically, reaching up and grasping his head.

“Stop it, Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall barked at him, causing him to sit up straight in his seat. “You're not getting out of my class to go to the Hospital Wing.”

Fred sighed and shook his head.

“As for you, I expect better from you, Miss L/N. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

“I'm sorry, Professor.” You rushed to apologize, that ugly guilty feeling biting up far too much for your liking. Especially because the whole thing had not even been your fault.

“What about me?” Fred complained. “I was the one that was abused.”

“I'm sorry.” You groaned out, not even looking at him.

He let out a bright laugh.

You let out a harsh sigh, and simply stomped away, moving to collect the rest of the essays before class began. After you handed them in, walking back to your seat, Fred caught your eye and winked at you, and you glared intensely at him.

You were so tired of him getting away with everything. Something needed to be done.

...

You quickly realized that if anything was going to be done about Fred Weasley, then he would need to be caught doing something small, pointless, and stupid. He would need to be punished for something less grand that turning a fifth floor classroom into a swamp or causing a group of third year Hufflepuffs to start balding by putting something into their morning pumpkin juice.

You realized that he would need to be caught doing something vile, short-sighed, and stupid, like grabbing your ass. Everyone would see, call him an awful pervert, and then you would win.

So you would simply have to bait him into doing it again. It was for the greater good.

...

This simple idea turned into a woefully stupid cat and mouse game.

From then on, whenever Fred was around, you tried your best to get his attention without making it seem like you were trying to get his attention. Which strangely, was much harder than you first thought it would be. You had many academic accolades under your belt, and you were far from socially inept, but of all things, this was making you feel clumsy and stupid.

You couldn't walk by him without him calling your name and drawing attention toward you, causing loud hoots and hollers from the group he was with. You couldn't wear a skirt that was shorter than usual without him making some loud, dumb comment about it, immediately drawing attention to the bait of your plan. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you. He was a dumb, loud mouth, but somehow, he was outsmarting you in this. You could never get him to move from that first stupid step – speaking loudly and laughing – into the second step, taking action, in order for him to actually get caught doing something.

He would never get caught wronging you if he never actually did anything wrong. And perhaps he had sniffed out your whole plan days ago and that was the thing he was entirely counting on. Perhaps, somehow, he had the upper hand.

But no, you weren't going to give up that easily.

You would just have to catch him off guard. You would have to catch him when he wasn't expecting it.

And unexpectedly, a fruitful bit of luck fell into your lap one afternoon. It seemed things were actually going your way. You were more than surprised when Fred Weasley and a group of his Gryffindor buddies came into the library to study. You knew some Gryffindors who frequented the library here and there, it wasn't entirely strange to see a Gryffindor caring as much about their studies as Ravenclaws did.

But Fred Weasley wasn't one of those Gryffindors.

Hearing his boisterously loud voice echoing down through the shelves, disrupting your peace as you tried to work on an essay, was just as irritating and shocking as it was pleasing. Pleasing to that tiny, nagging, hateful part of you that wanted so badly to get him in trouble. You just wanted the satisfaction of having him caught have him punished, whether that be by a teacher or having him socially ousted by his friends for once, rather than having everyone laugh along with him at his performances of stupidity.

You pushed aside the supplies for your essay and stood up from your chair, reaching underneath the modest outer grey sweater that covered up your white uniform button up blouse, grabbing at the band of your skirt. This was a longer one, with the hem comfortably touching your knees. A skirt that you had gotten more recently rather than one from years ago that you refused to give up that was maybe a bit too short on you.

You rolled the band over once, twice, tucking the fabric over itself and securing it in place, until this skirt was now much shorter, hovering around your mid thigh – not scandalously short, but enough to definitely catch his eye. You then smoothed down the material and made sure that your sweater was covering the now oddly bunching waistband before you moved down the stacks, moving toward the sound of Fred's voice. You were surprised that Madame Pince hadn't come over to scold him for being so loud yet, but of course – he was Fred Weasley, and he could get away with anything.

The fucking prick.

You tried to look natural as you walked up through the narrow passage jammed with books – of course, you didn't want it to look like you were rushing toward him. Because you weren't. You were just browsing through the books, and Fred was going to see you, be far too tempted, and then he was going to do something absolutely idiotic right in front of all of his friends. And he would get caught, and they would ridicule him. Everything would go according to plan.

You did genuinely get caught up looking at the differences between two copies of Classical Cures for Complex Maladies – one that seemed much older and one that seemed to be a newer reprint, fascinated by the much more worn version of the text, and you hadn't even realized how long you had been standing there. Not until you heard more loud, bursting laughter coming from the table that Fred and company must have been sitting at. You were startled out of your thoughts by their hyena-like qualities.

“Oh my god, you can't be serious? You would rather marry a ground toad than Snape?” One the Gryffindors at the table spoke up, someone whose voice you couldn't easily recognize, roaring with laughter after he spoke the words.

You rolled your eyes at this. Dumbly, their conversation had strayed to something so stupid and shallow. Of course they were spending their time discussing things like that.

“Of course.” Fred's distinctive voice answered. “And it would be a beautiful, long marriage. Well – for however long ground toads live for.”

“You could look it up. In a book.” You recognized the strained, annoyed voice of Angelina Johnson. “Freddie, we came here to study-”

“Yes, and I'm sure I'll get to it in a few minutes.” He quickly cut her off, brushing off her concerns. “Come on, come on, one more round.”

You had no clue how she had the patience to put up with being around someone like him all the time. You were tensely irritated, and you were standing six feet away.

“Alright,” George chimed in. “Snog, marry, hex – a dragon, Harry Potter, and... uh... Y/N L/N.”

There was another round of laughter from the table, and your whole body tensed up even more at the sound of your own name. You now found George to be a bit more detestable for bringing you into the stupid game. You hated how your stomach churned as you waited eagerly for the answers from a conversation that you weren't even supposed to be privy to.

“Well...” Fred said thoughtfully, and you could imagine him stroking his chin in that dumb, cartoonish way that he usually did when he pretended to think. “I'd say I have to marry Mr. Potter, because he's got gold, and I am not opposed to being a spoiled wife.”

“Really, Freddie?” Angelia replied, brightness and laughter lingering in her voice. “You? A spoiled housewife?”

“I think it would quite suite me.” Fred chuckled. “And ya know, we do share a lot of similar interests, so he is pretty decent to be around. And you know that Mum would be over the moon about it.”

Someone let you a snort of laughter at this comment, and you rolled your eyes.

“Ginny would kill you, though.” George replied.

“I... I did not take that into account.” Fred sighed. “I suppose I will have to elope.”

More laughter.

“And well, I would snog Y/N, because she's absolutely fit, but I think she would hex me if I did.” Fred concluded. “It's a bloody dangerous venture that I don't intend to embark on.”

Your insides stilled, filling with a mixture of disgust and... that horrible, bitter lust you had felt when Fred had grabbed your ass so harshly in front of everyone. The way he said the words, such intense passion bubbling in his voice, declaring so certainly that you were so 'fit', so gorgeous, that he found you attractive, but then immediately writing you off because he believed that you would never allow his affections, or because... he was afraid of you?

You didn't want him to snog you. And it was a stupid game.

You wanted to slam your head into the bookcase in front of you, just to shake away some of the stupid thoughts you were experiencing.

“So I'll have to snog the dragon, and hex Y/N.” Fred announced finally.

“What if you got your face burned off?” The other Gryffindor that you didn't know spoke up again.

“Can we focus, please? For once?” Angelina begged, and finally, the table went silent.

You wanted to march out there and yell at him. But you knew nothing good would come of it. You didn't even know what you would be yelling at him for. 'Hey, asshole, don't tell your friends in some stupid game that you don't want to kiss me.' Because you didn't want to kiss him. You didn't want him. You wanted to embarrass him. You wanted to have him caught. You wanted him to feel as low as he made you feel at times. He deserved it.

You were resigned to it, then. You were going to carry on with your plan, no matter what.

You grabbed several random books off the shelves, making a large stack in your arms, and after a moment of considering the logistics, you made a wide lap around the library, so you could casually pass by the table that Fred was sitting at with his friends. You would walk by him on the way back to your private study desk without making it seem like you were walking by him intentionally. You moved to walk by him, and in the most seemingly accidental, on purpose, un-graceful way that you could, you stumbled on your feet and spilled all the books across the floor beside the table that he was sitting at.

“Oh no!” You gasped, hoping that your acting wasn't grossly cheesy or too fake as you looked upon the mess you had made for a quick moment before you leaned down to start picking things up.

You got on your hands and knees, positioning yourself right in front of Fred, sloping your ass towards him, feeling your skirt riding up in the awkward position, knowing that soon, he would reach out and grab you. He would be stupid enough to take the bait. He would callously, boldly touch you like he had that day in class, and finally, everyone was there to see. As you stacked one book on top of another, you glanced over your shoulder at him and found his eyes searing into yours from his position at the table, a quill clenched tightly in hand. But he hadn't moved an inch.

Bloody bastard. He wasn't falling for it.

You whipped your head back around and grabbed another book, and then, a moment later:

“Need some help with those, darling?”

Internally, you flinched with disgust at the nickname, hating the way the false sweetness settled deep in your stomach. The distinct tone of condescending making you even more irritated with him.

“No, thank you.” You said the words confidently, but you couldn't beat him to grabbing the last of the books, stolen right out from under your touch.

When you grabbed the whole stack and stood up with the heft of it in your arms, he placed the last few on top, giving you a small, fake smile over top of the books.

“You should be more careful next time, sweetheart.” He told you, tossing out another horribly sickly sweet pet name, something dancing in his eyes that said he knew exactly what you were doing, but he wasn't going to fall for it.

“Oh, I will.” You easily agreed – it was those words of double meaning in your game. A battle of wills that you weren't prepared to give up on.

Next time, you were going to get him.

You stewed on it far too much as you put the books back and settled back into your study desk. His stupid smirk, the look in his eyes. He thought he was so damn clever. You hated every single damn inch of his stupid, awful face. You wanted to punch him, you wanted to make him cry, you wanted to see him groan in pain, you wanted to see him so weak and pathetic. You wanted him to admit that he was wrong.

For once in your life, you wanted to see Fred Weasley lose.

More than an hour later, you were still stewing with anger toward Fred. You had managed to write down a few more scribbled, distracted lines of your essay, and inevitably, it was something you would have to finish later that night in your dorm when you had finally calmed down.

You moved deep into the stacks, looking to gather all the reference books you would need for your homework that night before you finally left the library. You needed to go for a long, calming walk around the castle before locking yourself in your dorm that night to actually work on your homework. You would need to forcefully push Fred out of your mind so that you could do what Ravenclaws did best – clean, accurate academics.

But of course, Fred Weasley couldn't leave well enough alone.

You were trying to put him out of your mind, readying yourself to do so for the rest of the night, and as far as you were concerned, he was out of your mind. You had plenty of other things to worry about. Like the fact that one of the books you needed was just out of reach, and you were too tiredly stubborn to walk all the way back to the study desk where you had left your things just to get your wand in order to use a summoning spell in order to get it down with magic.

So as you reached high up, stretching to reach the book you needed, pressing hard on your aching toes, you were far too concentrated on your own problem, and you became shocked when a pale, freckled hand appeared in your line of sight, seemingly reaching for the same book, and a warm presence folded over your back, far too close for your liking. Fred's hot breath puffed over your back like an unwelcome humidity in the middle of a never-ending summer day as he reached up and snatched the book from you without a word.

You whipped around, quickly finding his neck and jaw far too close to you, crowding you, and as you moved to jump away, seeking some personal space, you were met with a harsh wall behind you. It was the tall wall of the bookshelf stopping you – your heart thumped hard inside your chest as you realized that you were caged in. Your legs turned to jelly as easily as if he had jinxed you, and you were forced to lean on the shelf for support, faint and fading like some frail maiden from a former century. It was pathetic, and you knew that you would have laughed if you had seen yourself from the outside.

He leaned in closer to you, just a bit, barely noticeable, but enough to be looming and intimidating in a way that made your heart beat harsher. He was still holding the book with one hand down by his hip, paying no mind to it as he stared you down with intense eyes, a million thoughts churning within his hazel irises.

“Fancy seeing you here, darling.” He said, greeting you as though it were some sort of casual date.

This annoyed you deeply, and caused everything in you to quickly shift from frail and swooning back to the burning anger that you usually felt around him.

“Give me that.” You snapped, reaching out for the book.

He whipped it back, chuckling under his breath, easily playing the game, clearly getting joy out of taunting you. He had the advantage in reach with his long arms and his height, holding it far away from you, and you didn't play into him, crossing your arms firmly over your chest, hating how numb your hands felt as you continued to glare at him with a stiff jaw.

“So snippy.” He scolded, clicking his tongue, shaking his head as though his opinion of you mattered at all. “And yet you were the one on your knees, showing off your perfect arse to me, on your knees in front of me, practically begging for my cock.”

A flash of heat zipped through you, and you hated it.

The filthy words so easily slipped off his tongue, and you would deny with every inch of your being that his smooth voice started a harsh burn between your legs. He was too cocky. You hated it. You hated him.

“It's the library. I was studying.” You tried to argue, hating the blip of a falter in your soft, betraying throat.

“Oh, is that what you're calling it?” He nipped back, that horrible smirk coming across his sharp teeth once again.

You wanted to smack him, and you gripped the sleeves of your sweater hard inside your crossed arms, purposefully holding your fists back. You knew that if you gave into the stupid impulse, it would only further satisfy him. He would be too damn smug, knowing that he had gotten such a rise out of you.

You were too distracted, attempting to control your own emotions, far too stuck in your own head, and you didn't notice the look in his eyes. The mischief. You barely had time to react when he started moving again. He reached out and shoved a hand under your sweater, grabbing at the thick bundle of rolled fabric still bunched at the top of your skirt. The proof that you had deliberately made your skirt shorter, trying to show off your ass in front of him.

“I didn't know you had to roll up your skirt to study.” He wheezed, his voice ripe with such heavy sarcasm that made you want to smack him once again.

You were quick to reach down and swat his hand away, causing a harsh smack of skin on skin through the quiet of the library as you looked at him with a sour expression.

“Shut up.” You hissed. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

It wasn't clever, and it wasn't a denial. You hated that you had nothing better to say. You hated that he had cornered you, caught you, and stalled your brain.

“You think you're so clever.” He laughed, a hint of bitterness sneaking into his voice, finally showing a bit of real disdain for you in return. “You were trying to bait me-”

“Oh please.” You bit back, cutting him off, pointedly rolling your eyes. You were feeling far too caught, and you hoped that he couldn't see it on your face. “Bait you? Bait you into what, exactly?”

You were no good at playing dumb. You were so used to being the smartest person in the room that it absolutely did not suit you.

Fred bit his lip, staring at you with a cocky knowing in his eyes and your stomach churned horribly once again. The flood of lust was disagreeing with you like a batch of bad pumpkin juice. It simply wasn't settling right.

“You want me to grab your arse again.” He declared confidently.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, even painting on more annoyance and anger, hoping he wouldn't notice.

“No.” You easily lied, more anger streaking through your voice.

“You liked it.” He continued on, reeking horribly of that terrible, cocky confidence that always came off him. “The first time, in McGonagall's class, you liked it-”

“No.” You said, more firmness in your voice, trying to convince yourself it was the truth.

“Admit it, you liked the feeling of my hand sneaking up your skirt and grabbing a handful of your plump, pretty arse-” He grinned, and you had to cut him off before he strung together more perfect, awful words.

“No.” You ground harshly through your teeth. “I don't want your stupid, slimy hands on me, Weasley. Not now, not ever.”

You were shocked when he didn't open his mouth to speak again.

The fact that he remained silent almost terrified you more. He was dangerous when he switched from speaking to silently thinking, planning his next move.

Instead, his lips remained pressed together as he stared at you, his eyes two bright orbs full of mischief, utterly focused on you. His cheeks were round with a smile that he was struggling to contain, a look of pure, unbridled joy that only made you want to smack him yet again. He was having far too much fun with your denials, as though he somehow knew that deep down, you were having difficulty swallowing them yourself.

You were pressing your teeth together far harder than you knew would be advisable, a harsh strain humming through your entire skull, threatening a headache soon. But it felt better than the intense external pressure of the room, threatening to swallow you up. You knew that you should just run, but you feared that he would take it as a sign of weakness – you backing down from the conflict that you had been the one to start. Then he would win, and that was the last thing you wanted. You couldn't stand to give Fred Weasley another victory.

Idiotically, you felt words swelling up inside your throat before you could stop them.

“Listen, Weasley, whatever stupid, idiotic idea you have brewing inside your head, you better get rid of it – right now.”

You hated that he had dumbed you down so much that he had you using double synonyms in the same sentence. But hell, you felt the need to drive your point home rather than resorting to slapping him like a common angry neanderthal.

Again, he simply stared at you for a moment, his face still cheery and bright, causing an agonizing wait while your blood thumped hard through your neck, and then – he let out a laugh.

“Oh, darling, I can assure you, you have no idea what's going on inside my head.” He said this so proudly, more brightness and lust dancing behind his eyes in the most taunting way possible.

You knew this could only mean one thing: whatever he was thinking, it was far filthier than anything you could have dreamt up.

Obviously, he didn't just want to touch your ass, he didn't just want to snog you. He was thinking far ahead, crossing so many lines in his stupid mind – he wanted to fuck you. Perhaps he was imagining pinning you against the stacks right there and shoving up your already shortened skirt to just take you, despite the fact that anybody could walk by and see the two of you.

Perhaps he was imagining shoving you down to your knees and forcing you to suck his cock, forcing you to swallow down any of your bitter words, quieting your protests that you didn't like him, that you didn't want it. He was thinking of finally proving that yes, you did want him, despite all your denials. Perhaps he was thinking of whipping off his Gryffindor tie and using it to tie your hands together so that he could...

He let out another chuckle, and you were immediately drawn out of your thoughts, back to reality.

He looked at you with a horribly victorious expression and you pressed your teeth together harshly once more. You couldn't bear to say it, but you both knew that he had won a small victory over you – he had successfully gotten your mind to wander to those terrible, filthy places. Even if he had started it, he had successfully dragged you down with him.

He glanced down and saw your thighs pressed together, quivering hard as the muscles clenched, something you struggled with unconsciously and hadn't even realized you were doing. You swallowed thickly, wanting desperately to shout at him that you thought he was foul, that you wanted him to leave, but you knew he would only laugh again. He found this whole thing entirely too amusing.

You were lost for words, and of course, he easily took advantage of that fact.

Fred put a hand on the shelf above your head, and while keeping his body very purposefully poised away from yours, keeping a few dangerous, heated inches between the two of you, he leaned his face incredibly close to your ear, letting his breath waft across your neck in a horribly irritating and intimate way. And then, he whispered something in a low voice that would come to haunt you for many nights when you were alone in the dark of your dormitory inside Ravenclaw Tower.

“You know, if you weren't such a brat and knew how to simply ask nicely, I might have fucked you by now.”

What?

While you were still reeling with shock, he moved to walk away, dropping the book he had been holding away from you onto the ground as he left, naturally adding one last ounce of humiliation in forcing you to pick it up after he was gone.

Once you finally left the library for the night, you took a long lap around the castle, trying to forget about what he had said before you went back to your dorm and finished up all your homework. You would deeply deny that your hand wandered beneath the sheets late that night when his words echoed through your mind once again.

You hated him so much. Fred Weasley, awful scheming bastard...

...

In the next few days, you easily found yourself driven insane by him. You still had classes with Fred, so you had to see him. It was deeply annoying and deeply against your will. And stupidly enough, even outside of class, you found yourself running into him when you never intended to. Even though you couldn't prove it, you knew that it was something he had planned. He was trying to get back at you. He was trying to bait you in return. Likely trying to bait you into another argument to try and get more upended emotional reactions out of you.

You would be on your way to a class that you didn't even share with him, and suddenly, you would find him and a large group of his friends sprawling around a corridor, blocking your path. And then he would start speaking to you casually, surprised, as though he had no idea you were supposed to be in this area of the very large castle at this time. He just happened to be right where you needed to be, right in your path, just then, just by coincidence.

You would be studying in the library and you would look up and see him looking at you – standing by one of the shelves, hovering, just staring at you. And of course, you weren't going to get up to speak to him. You weren't going to engage in his nonsense. Not after what happened last time. So after a while, he simply left. But he made sure that you had seen him and made eye contact each time before he did.

You would be sitting out on one of the many sprawling lawns outside of the castle, trying to enjoy some fresh air while you did your homework, and he would be on his way back from Quidditch practice, sweaty, covered in mud, walking along with the group of tired Gryffindors all looking the same. And even from a distance, he would lift his head and wink at you through his sweaty tufts of hair, as though he knew your eyes were focused on him from a far and not looking at the book in your lap.

Of course, you couldn't outright accuse him of stalking you, otherwise that would sound absolutely insane. You couldn't let him know that he was getting inside your head. You couldn't let him know that he was succeeding. (Even if you weren't entirely sure of what he was even trying to do.)

He was an awful prat, and if you let him know for a second that he was getting under your skin, then he would only use it as a tool to burrow his way further in. And you wanted Fred Weasley out of your life. You wanted him out of your head, and as far away from you as possible.

You were stewing over all this at dinner in The Great Hall, trying to come up with a solid way to get him to leave you alone, once and for all.

Once again, Fred was sitting with that large group of friends, laughing and talking eagerly, having some in-depth conversation about something that was, without a doubt, utterly idiotic. His twin was tossing peas into the air and Fred was sitting with a wide mouth, trying to catch them. Something that greatly amused everyone at the table, but grandly disgusted you. You were poking halfheartedly at your half-eaten roast potatoes, glaring at Fred and wondering how you were going to solve this problem.

You couldn't confront him directly, because that went horribly last time. And if you did, what would you even say?

'Hey asshole, stop being in the places that I have to be in. And stop looking at me. And you better stop thinking about me.'

He was also a student of Hogwarts, he had to be there, and that wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Hell, he didn't seem likely to pass his N.E.W.T.s in order to graduate, so he might have to be here for longer than you in life. But that wouldn't be your problem all too soon – you only had to worry about him right now. And he was bothering you deeply right now.

He was so obnoxious, and he chewed his food in such an utterly disgusting way. He was such a handsome face drowned out by such a loud, grotesque, overwhelming, stupid, cocky personality. You hated him. He annoyed you far too much. He sent your stress levels rocketing up to a place that was never healthy.

And when you least expected it, he looked up from a very involved conversation where he was flailing his hands, explaining some nonsense, and he locked eyes with you as though he had known the whole time that you had been staring at him, fixated on him as the problem he was. He winked at you with a grin, and then in a blink of a second, he went right back to the conversation, focusing back on his friends and not paying you another single bit of mind.

It had you fuming. He was messing with you. He was playing stupid, awful little mind games.

You weren't having it.

You shoved yourself up out of your seat, and the first thing on your mind was to march over to the Gryffindor table and pour an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice right over his head. But no – he would have loved that. He would have loved knowing that he had gotten to you. He would have loved his stupid, simple little wink to cause you to fly into an entire blown out public tantrum. He would have loved making you look like a crazy, overly dramatic dolt in front of everyone.

So you did the exact opposite of what he wanted – you turned around and marched right out of The Great Hall, abandoning your dinner altogether and abandoning Fred Weasley. If he was so determined to trip you up, you were going to avoid him. You weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of getting any reaction out of you.

It was going to be perfect.

Of course, it would have been perfect – if not for the fact that he was good at keeping up in these little games. He was a lot more used to playing than you were.

You only had a blink of a moment to feel satisfied with your quick thinking before you felt the presence at your back. And then, those large, hot hands were on your shoulders, flipping you around and shoving you into the nearest wall. It wasn't a harsh collision by any means, simply an abrupt one. A move startling enough to have your body going all stupidly jelly-fied once again. It was a declaration of his presence over your own, a stiff command that you stop, an annoyance that you had walked away from his attention rather than continuing to play.

You bit your lip sharply to keep yourself from smiling, loving how much you were getting to him now. The feeling only deepened when you saw the knit of frustration across his brows, having to forcefully crane your neck up across his obnoxiously tall frame to finally meet his eyes, even seeing some wonderfully tedious heat and anger stewing there. Perhaps this was the first time you had gotten a leg up over him. He would never admit it, but you both knew it. He craved a reaction out of you, and when you didn't give him one, it bothered him just as much as his mere existence bothered you.

“Leaving so soon, darling?” He huffed out, his usual smooth charm missing, slightly breathless, revealing just slightly to your trained ear that he was truly bothered. He had rushed out of his seat to follow you. He was overwhelmed. He had been shaken.

“Unlike you, Weasley, I actually have some studying to do.” You hissed in return. “Which I could get to if you stopped using the stupid tree branches that you call arms to block me.”

He had you fenced in on either side, blocking you tightly in against the stone wall of the corridor. You had your wand securely in the pocket of your Ravenclaw robe, and you both knew that if you really wanted to, you could just hex him and be on your way. But that wasn't part of the game. This was a battle of wills, a battle of wits, not a classic wizard's duel.

“Studying... studying...” He mumbled harshly under his breath, reaching up with one hand to rub his chin in a stupidly cartoonish way, pretending to think. “Is that what you call it when you touch yourself while you think about me? Is it some kind of little Ravenclaw code?”

You squeezed your fists tightly again, resisting the urge to slap him.

Once again, he had gotten you with his filthy words.

He bit his lip, not hiding the way his cheeks flexed into a smile when he saw the angered heat lighting up your eyes, knowing that he had brilliantly and easily flipped things to his advantage again. He had truly gotten you. Without you admitting it in any words, he had discovered it, hit the truth right on the head, and he loved that he could picture it so perfectly – the desperation of you biting your lip, trying to be so quiet as to not alert your dorm mates, your hand going wild under the sheets, your whole body writhing, unable to fully satisfy yourself because you were so needy for Fred's cock.

That lustful mischief streaked through his eyes again, and you hated the twist that went stiff from your gut right up through your throat. A sharp zap of electricity that caused goosebumps to form across your skin.

He leaned in close, putting all his weight on his hand that was still perched on the stone beside your head, his lips hovering so, so, so close to yours. You held your breath for a moment, thinking that he might try to kiss you, and wondering what you would do if he did.

You were surprised when he didn't close the final breath of a gap, and instead, his voice came to life against your lips in a whisper.

“You know, darling, it's almost cute... how obsessed you are with me.”

You were quick to react, all that melty lust flowing through you freezing into harsh anger within seconds.

“I am not obsessed with you!” You shouted, reaching up and smacking his chest, a harsh thud against the soft, thick wool of his school jumper, causing him to let out a bright, loud laugh and recoil away from the intense closeness. “I am absolutely not obsessed with you! You are just stupid, and foil, and obnoxious, and awful, and-”

Your words were sharply cut off with a gasp when he stepped close to you again, and in seconds, his hands were boldly up inside your skirt. The shock numbed your voice, and you could barely believe it when he moved to grip onto the waistband of your knickers like he owned them, so bold and confident. The intense heat of his body pressing against yours, your legs quivering – you had no clue why you didn't hit him again, why you didn't move to stop it.

“Oh, but you are obsessed with me, darling.”

He huffed the words tightly against your cheek, his voice dark and confident in a way that you had never heard before, any sense of brightness and joking long gone.

You hardly knew it was you before the whimper escaped your throat, terrible and uncontrollable. You swallowed sharply, trying to force the sound down after it had already reached the air, and he let out a horrible, mocking laugh in response.

“You're just a needy girl, aren't you?”

His hot, rough voice spewed the words at you, and you didn't even fully realize that between those words and the presence of his hands still so confidently under your skirt, you were quickly becoming drunk from the sensations. You hated him – how the hell was he making you feel this way?

He tugged sharply on your panties, forcing the material up between the lips of your cunt, causing a harsh gasp from you as the cotton rubbed right up against your clit. You reached down and grabbed has his hands, attempting weakly to bat away his touch. But your hands, and legs, and mind was far too foggy and numb, your spine and pussy somehow tingling with a blazen heat that you had never felt before, a rumbling fire that had started in seconds of him getting so close to you.

He only found it more amusing – you wiggling in his grasp, unconsciously humping your pussy toward him, desperately seeking out his touch where you needed it most while trying to shove him off you. It was oddly adorable in his eyes.

“See, you would let me fuck you right here, right in this corridor, right where anybody could see.” He growled out those two words, put so much heat into his voice right then, made those two simple syllables sound like the filthiest thing on earth.

“No-” You tried to argue, your voice all breath, trying to deny something that you both knew was the truth.

“No? You wouldn't let me shove my cock inside you right now?” He chuckled in return, loving the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs together at his reckless, rough, filthy words. “See, I know it. You would take it right here, right where the whole school can see how desperate you are for my cock. I bet you're so wet for me right now, aren't you, darling?”

The thing was, your pussy was so throbbing and hot, you couldn't even tell.

You were breathless, your tongue terribly dry, almost on the verge of hyperventilation, and you knew this whole thing was far too dangerous. He was making you stupid. He was knocking away every single possible weapon you had in this battle of wits, and you had to re-arm yourself. You had to get back on solid ground, now.

“Idiot-” You snapped at him, your voice sounding far weaker than you would have liked. You delivered another weak swat to his chest, causing him to let out another bright laugh. He was far too amused by your anger, and it only made you angrier, an odd combination that battled with the lust in your gut.

After some more flailing, he let you go, and you quickly squirmed out of his hold, eager to get away from him, to escape the way he made you feel. You took a few wide, stumbling steps until you were safely on the other side of the corridor, breathing in thick, cool breaths and trying to steady yourself. His laughter only got bolder and brighter, and you hated it oh so much. You whipped back around, prepared to yell at him, prepared to ask him what was so damn funny, but he cut you off with an idiotic, puzzling question first.

“Missing something, sweetheart?”

You raised a brow at him, and it took moment far too long, your brain foggy with that horrible lust, before you truly felt your body again. But then it clicked. That pinch of irritating cotton was no longer pulled taught between your pussy lips. In fact, it had disappeared altogether, leaving your arse and pussy completely bare underneath your skirt. The cool air coming off the stone only made you all the more aware of the throbbing, wet heat between your thighs, something you hated that he had evoked from you.

You continued to look puzzled and Fred smirked at you proudly when he noticed the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs together, seeking friction, or seeking coverage from the air, you weren't entirely sure.

“What-?” You gaped, hating how dumb and unsure you sounded. “What did you do?” You growled out quietly between your teeth.

Fred grinned at you, and then he pursed his lips as he began to whistle rhythmically, fully prepared to put on a show as he would have for his dumb friends. He lifted up his hands, presenting two empty palms to you. He twirled them both in a showy, comical fashion, and after a moment of agonizing showmanship, with your heart thumping heard against your chest the whole time, he dipped two long, painfully handsome fingers into the opposite sleeve, and – fucking hell... he began to pull out the simple white cotton fabric of your knickers. He pulled them taut between two hands, holding them up proudly like the flag of a land he had just conquered.

“Ta-da!” He said, giving another stupid grin.

“Give them back!” You demanded, diving toward him, knowing that it would likely be useless because he had height and strength as two advantages against you.

“Mine now!” He shouted, whiny and petulant like a child fighting to keep a toy he favoured.

Naturally, he was quick to draw them away and hold them above your head, an incredibly childish move that you couldn't think of a way around. Ruefully, a swarm of lust and embarrassment battled in your stomach as you imagined how this would look to someone else walking by – Fred holding your knickers high above your head, taunting you with them as you tried to conquer his tall frame in order to grab them back, your skirt possibly riding up in the back to show off the slightest bit of your bare ass, showing how well you had been bested by him as he laughed gleefully the whole time.

You heard footsteps against the stone, a sure sign of someone else coming along, and your breath stilled in your throat. You couldn't be caught like this.

“Fine. Keep them.” You hissed at him, and the last thing you saw was him stuffing the fabric into his pocket with joyful victory in his eyes as you whipped around and walked in the other direction, desperate to finally distance yourself.

You did receive a strange look from those stray students walking out of The Great Hall as you whipped by, and you thought you heard Fred mocking innocence with more dumb whistling as he walked back in to join his friends once again.

...

Stupidly, the more time you tried to avoid thinking about Fred, the more you ended up thinking about him. He started to consume your mind more and more, and unfortunately, as a Ravenclaw, when you fixated on a problem, you couldn't leave it alone until you solved it. You spent the next few days once again wrecked by thoughts of him, feeling his eyes on you from across the room.

You knew it was no mistake when he showed up to your next Transfiguration class together with the tiniest bit of white cotton sticking out of his pants pocket. It was something that nobody else would ever notice or consider suspicious, but your eyes locked onto it immediately, hyper-focusing on that terrible little detail.

When he felt you staring and he looked over his shoulder, he easily caught your eye, and then – he winked at you.

And of course, he noticed your bouncing knee and the fact that you were barely able to focus for the entirety of the class because of that stupid little bit of white cotton sticking out of his pocket. It was too damn satisfying for him.

You knew that you had to do something to get back at him, but you were puzzled as to what exactly that would be. Confronting him directly didn't seem to work, ignoring him didn't seem to work either. You had to do something more clever. You had to play this game on his level.

You were racking your brain about what to do, until Miriam, a Gryffindor girl in your year asked you to help her with some homework later that night, and she asked if it would be alright if you met her in the Gryffindor common room. You felt bad that a friend was asking you for a favour, and once again, you were stuck thinking about bloody Fred Weasley. But that stupid little devil was acting up in your head, thinking of a way that you were finally going to best him. So you easily agreed to it, promising yourself that you wouldn't let Fred compromise your study efforts – you would let him fall to the background, especially because that would perfectly align with your plan.

You already knew that he got so much more bothered when he was ignored.

...

When you showed up to the Gryffindor common room that night after dinner, you had changed out of your uniform and into some clothes that were nice, but not too suspiciously nice. You didn't want Fred to think that you had gone out of your way to dress up for him. You were wearing a pair of simple, clean trainers with cute, short socks that had lace around the ankles, along with a comfortable, oversized pullover jumper made out of a soft material that had some flowers embroidered all over it, and a short skirt that showed off a lot of your legs. The skirt didn't stand out too much as scandalous or showy with the generally casual nature of your outfit.

It was perfect.

The Gryffindor common room wasn't too crowded, especially because it was only a Thursday night – no excuses for staying up late, no wild parties. There was a dozen or so people lazing around, some odd lone people in quiet corners studying, and you easily found Miriam among them.

She was taking up one half of a cozy little couch with her books already spread out, and you gave her a quick hug before you sat down and began to take out your things. The two of you had agreed to work on some questions from the textbook that you had been assigned by Professor McGonagall, then work on studying some material for an upcoming Charms quiz, and then Miriam had asked you to read over a Potions essay that she had worked on the night before. It would be a full night, but nothing too overwhelming.

Fred was sitting across the room, perfectly in your eye line, cozied up on the rug, his stupidly gangly limbs sprawling across the floor. He was with his usual group of friends, playing a game of Exploding Snap between loud bits of loud, distracting conversation. As planned, you tried your best not to pay him any mind, even if you felt his eyes on you. You had work to do.

Which is exactly what you did. You discussed the homework with Miriam as you worked through it, working quietly and independently on some bits, and then discussing your answers. The two of you worked well for more than an hour or so while Fred continued to play loudly and talk with his friends across the room, and you resisted the urge to yell at him about how annoying he was being. You refused to pay him any mind. Not yet.

It was only when you were sitting quietly, reading through Miriam's Potions essay, that you felt his eyes glued to you once again. You could practically feel him begging for your attention – attention that his obnoxious loudness hadn't gotten him this time. That was when you decided to make your move. You decided to hit him with something that you knew would affect him more than yelling ever would, something more stunning than any hex you could have fired off.

With your eyes still focused on the parchment, still diligently reading through the words, you uncrossed your legs, trying to purposefully appear as though you were adjusting yourself to get more comfortable on the sofa. With Fred sitting on the rug the way he was, even with his massive height, he was perfectly in line to see up your skirt. Especially as you widened your thighs, stretching your legs for a moment before you crossed your leg over the opposite side once again, hiding yourself from view.

This gave him a perfect view of your completely naked cunt underneath your skirt.

It wasn't your fault that he had stolen your panties. Now, he was simply paying the price.

As you handed the essay back to Miriam and began discussing possible improvements with her, you saw a streak of bright red out of the corner of your eye. It wasn't the usual soft, Weasley ginger, but rather a bright, beating red that was most definitely Fred's intense, blushing face. A heat pumping through his cheeks that he couldn't deny. You didn't dare to look directly at him. You couldn't afford to give him a single crumb of the attention that he so desperately craved. Instead, you focused on discussing the work with your friend while he stewed in the consequences of his own thoughtless actions.

You told Miriam about some genuine, thoughtful edits she could make to her essay before handing it in (especially knowing that Snape was a stickler for details and good penmanship). So she was pleased as punch as she walked back upstairs with all her books in hand, ready to make those changes before going to bed. The occupancy of the common room was now trickling off as it got later, and you were staring to get a bit tired yourself. Naturally, you began to pack up your things, readying yourself to leave and head back to The Ravenclaw Tower, hoping that you wouldn't be caught and busted for being out past curfew along the way.

You felt a twist in your stomach when a heavy weight flopped down on the couch beside you, tall and careless as always. You didn't have to look up to know who it was, feeling the presence of a tight smirk and a pair of unholy, mischievous eyes burning against the side of your face.

You glanced over at the rug where Fred and his friends had been sitting, and it seemed that the group had broken off and gone to bed. Only George was left behind, cleaning up the remains of the Exploding Snap cards as he grinned to himself and shook his head, likely thinking about what an idiot Fred was for trying to approach you yet again.

“Good evening, darling.” Fred greeted you without you even looking up to acknowledge him.

“Goodnight.” You huffed out, tired and frustrated with him already. “I was just leaving.”

You grabbed your bag as you stuffed the last things in, getting up off the couch, still refusing to look at him. You were hoping to make a clean getaway, but of course, he couldn't make it so simple. He stepped cleanly in the middle of your path, somehow moving so quickly, finally forcing you to look up at him – making you once again faced with just how damn tall he was as he gave you a terrible, wicked grin.

“Really?” He mumbled out, his deep voice seeming to vibrate against your skin in the eerie quiet of the room. “Leaving so soon?”

“It's getting late.” You told him, attempting to be casual. “I have to get to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Could I trouble you for something?”

No. No, no, no, no, no, bad idea-

“What?” You asked, feeding the tiniest bait to a big shark that easily smelled blood in the water now. “What do you want, Weasley?”

“I was wondering if I could get you to look over one of my essays.” He posed, sounding oddly sincere. “I don't want to trouble you, but you are quite brilliant, and I wanted a second pair of eyes on it.”

You could sense that something was off. There was some secret tripwire ready to dump muck on you, some dung bomb ready to explode. But you couldn't quite tell what it was, so stupidly... you played right into his hands.

“Fine.” You sighed, putting your bag back down onto the floor and sitting back down on the couch. “I'm not going to re-write it for you if it's terrible, though.”

“Sweet. Thanks.” He said, turning and rushing upstairs to grab the essay in question.

George walked by, giving you a knowing look.

“Good luck.” He said before he walked off.

A quick glance around the room then caused you to realize that with George's exit, everyone else who was once in the common room had disappeared off to bed, leaving you completely alone with Fred when he returned. You tried your hardest not to let this realization churn your stomach. Surprisingly, he came back with a thick wad of parchment in hand, one that appeared to be covered in his handwriting. So seemingly, he hadn't been lying. How delightfully strange.

He flopped back onto the couch again, flailing himself about carelessly, and handed the parchment over to you with an expression that you couldn't quite read. You thought that for once in his life, Fred had approached you with genuine intentions.

You were quickly proven wrong.

As you began to read through what he had written, you soon discovered the trick behind all of this.

'-with her legs pinned against my chest, I shoved my cock forward, forcing my way into her dripping-'

You let out a harsh huff through your nostrils, not daring to look over at Fred, feeling his gaze staring at you, knowing that he was waiting for a reaction. You could see that stupid smirk out of the corner of your eye, and you wouldn't dare to give him the satisfaction. You knew he wanted you to be shocked, for you to scream, to throw some outrageous fit. But you refused to play into his hands.

Your eyes flickered to the bottom of the page, skipping ahead quite a few paragraphs, wondering if it was all the same.

'-she cried out again, with those pretty, uncontrollable moans, finally opening her mouth and giving in to the pleasure that my cock was giving her. “Please, oh please, Freddie, I need you!” She cried out, desperate for more, needing me, needing my huge, magnificent cock.'

You inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to laugh. You purposefully set a deep frown across your brows, knowing that he was watching you. You hated that this tricked you into even thinking about his cock at all, knowing he had such a self inflated ego... wondering if this writing was over-hyped, wondering if his cock truly was huge and magnificent.

You flipped the page over, and dared to glance at another line.

'-I gripped her hair tighter, pulling her closer and shoving her face down onto my cock. “Yes, take it, take it like a good little whore.”-'

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, finding the phrase to be utterly ridiculous upon first examination. But something deeper in you was utterly melted by those words. Words you had never before considered sexy, were now causing a harsh stinging between your legs.

“So?” Fred prompted from where he sat beside you, now finally attention starved enough that he had to go fishing for a reaction from you. “What do you think?”

“I think it's rubbish.” You told him, keeping your voice dead and dull as you shoved the parchment roughly toward his chest, rushing to pick up your bag once again, trying to flee the common room before he could root around for the truth.

“Really? I thought it was quite good.” His voice was still light and eager, and you let out a sigh.

Fred got up, eager to follow you, tossing the papers carelessly on the couch behind him.

You were so deeply frustrated, and that feeling weighed you down like an anchor, keeping you from running out into the corridor. For some reason, you couldn't leave until you resolved your anger toward him – until you slapped him, until you saw him crumble. Some stupid thing in you froze, spinning around to glare at him.

He gave another smirk, knowing that he had successfully captured your attention, feeling the glory of that victory bathe him like beautiful warm sunlight. You were endlessly aggravated with him, glaring at him with a tense jaw as he stood in the middle of the room and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked rudely good, standing there tall and broad, wearing a simple tee shirt, the low light of a dying fire in the hearth of the fireplace crackling against his pale skin and ginger hair, highlighting every single hard plane of his tall, muscular body.

You swallowed down every single terrible, rude thing you wanted to say, once again waited for him to be attention starved enough in order for him to speak first.

“Given, I'm not the academically inclined type like you are.” He added on, trying to carry on the halfhearted 'conversation' from earlier. “That is why I showed it to you.”

You both knew why he had shown it to you. But you weren't going to play into what he wanted so easily. If you said that he showed it to you hoping to evoke a reaction, then he would deny that it was even about you at all. Even if he had spoken about your body in detail, he had intentionally avoided the use of your name.

“You misspelled mattress.” You told him, something stupid you had caught in passing that you could hold over his head. You were bitter, and you were smarter than him.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Leaving it you, darling, to ruin a perfectly good fantasy with a spelling lesson.”

“Perfectly good fantasy-?”

You froze up, cutting yourself off, hating Fred's words and idiotically parroting them back.

You weren't even sure if it was because he called a fantasy, something unreal, something else that could be played off as a joke, or if it was because it called it 'perfectly good'. Not when you could think of more than a few ways it could be improved upon. But you would never admit that aloud.

“You're a stupid, awful pervert.” You hissed at him, posturing, making your shoulders stiff and your voice mean.

Ultimately, you were trying to protect yourself. You were trying to protect that weak little part of yourself that still feared he would laugh at you, shove you away, and call you stupid when you finally admitted your desire. You were protecting yourself when the thing you truly wanted was too dangerous to speak aloud.

He scoffed, glaring at you. “And you're a bloody tease.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” You replied, your voice dull and unconvincing, even to your own ears.

You insisted on playing dumb again, something you were never good at, and Fred shook his head harshly as he let out a stiff breath, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply in his throat with frustration in a way that you found far too attractive.

Your heart thudded hard against your chest when he took a step toward you, reminding you of his towering height, his shoulders looking broader and more intimidating when he wasn't wearing his thick, bellowing school robes. With your intelligence, you weren't used to feeling so powerless, and you found it (oddly enough) to be a bitter thrill.

“We both know what you're doing, sweetheart. Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit a pretty Ravenclaw like you.” He insisted. “You're no dumb slut, are you?”

You scoffed in shock, finding the words offensive as your pussy gave another nagging throb. You found your mouth too terribly dry to reply. You stood there with a terrible gape between your lips, your brows dipped together, as he continued.

“You came here tonight, wearing one of the shortest skirts I've ever seen, no underwear, your cunt bared to the world-”

Those filthy words also lit a fire in you, but suddenly, you found your voice once again.

“To the world?” You echoed back, aghast at this horrible exaggeration. “It's not my fault that you stole my knickers.”

Fred let out another harsh huff, his tongue dipping out to lick his lips as he shook his head once again. Again, him forcibly holding back his anger was terribly attractive.

“Oh yes, of course!” He bit back sarcastically. “The only pair of undies in the entire world! I must have forgotten about that part.”

“Consequences of your own actions.” You hissed back at him, resisting the urge to reach out and shove him, knowing that if you laid your hands on him, you might not be able to stop. “Besides, you're the perv who was looking up my skirt in the first place. It's none of your business what's underneath it. Or what's not.”

Fred smirked.

You had a terrible feeling that a joke was coming and you were missing the punchline.

“Consequences. You know, I like that word.”

He leaned in close, then, and you found yourself holding your breath. He reached out, no hesitation, and grabbed the back of your hair tightly, taking a stinging, possessive hold on you by the roots. This had you shuddering in shock, dropping your bag near your feet carelessly as you leaned into the touch, trying to close the gap between yourself and his fist so there was less yanking but also secretly loving the feeling.

“I think you could learn a thing or two about consequences, darling.”

“Fred-” You gasped out, barely able to speak past the stinging thrill that lit up your body from your scalp. A consuming feeling that went all the way down your spine to your cunt, now positively throbbing between your legs, awoken and needy.

“Hush, now.” He spoke out, so casual and calm, making you entirely unquestioning of his next move.

Somehow, your body was so pliant to his whims as he used the grip on your hair like a dog-lead, bringing you back over to the couch and wrestling you down onto it, crushing the parchment with his filthy story under your knee and easily forgetting it there. He shoved your face into one of the fluffy throw pillows, pressing down for good measure before he finally released your hair, and then, he climbed on top of you from behind.

You swallowed down a moan as he settled over your thighs, forcefully pinning you down with his weight, something that felt so utterly perfect and delicious, yet so wrong at the time time. His weight felt impossibly large anchored onto your hips, and you immediately felt the press of a bulge against your ass, through your clothing and his, something else that sent a spark through you. That bulge was as large as he had described it, and that made you pissed off and excited at the same time.

Your muscles were melting and your whole body was pulsing with the thrill, waiting to see what would come next... you were quickly falling victim to the lust that he had constantly accused you of having. There was still that tiny, nagging part of you that felt the need to fight back. Something in the back of your mind that said you couldn't let him win so easily. Something that felt the need to deny the truth right up until the last possible moment, lest you be mocked by him.

You wrenched your head up out of the pillow, needing to be heard, feeling hot lust pumping through you, yet, you were still fighting it, still trashing him and everything he made you feel with the words flowing out of your mouth.

“Get off me, you dumb perv!” You hollered at him, not nearly hard enough punch from your breathless lungs, causing him to let out a taunting laugh above you. Somehow, that sound only served to turn you on more.

“If I'm a perv, then you're a stalker, sweetheart.” He leaned down, humming the words against the back of your neck, laying a few stray kisses there in a way that send tingles through your whole body.

At the same time, his hands pushed up the back of your jumper, exposing your burning skin to the cool air of the room, making the most teasing, shiver-inducing patterns with his fingers just barely brushing across your skin. You hated that your body involuntarily responded, arching into the touches, visibly seeking more before you could control it.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He stated firmly, still swirling his rough, calloused fingers across your skin in a way that was almost exploratory, putting his hands all over you like he already owned you, as if he somehow already knew the answer.

Your tongue felt impossibly fat inside your mouth. Somehow, this was the one thing you couldn't bring yourself to say. You could muster every insult in the world against Fred Weasley, but you couldn't say that one negative word to him... you wouldn't dare tell him to stop. The crying hot need between your thighs was just too much, and you feared that you just might fall apart if he stopped touching you then.

“Tell me that you don't like this.” He continued, his voice soft but somehow so confident, like he was reading from a script, like all the answers were written on the skin of your back and he was discovering them as he lifted up your jumper more.

He used two deft, quick fingers to flick open the clasp of your bra and you couldn't contain a whimper at the sudden move, such a contrast to all his over agonizingly slow movements, daring you to believe that he might finally do something – but no. He just continued brushing his touch across your bare skin in tedious, stupidly slow movements, not even bothering to reach for your now available breasts. He was very purposefully taunting you.

“Tell me that you're not aching to be touched.”

The rumbling of his deep voice against your skin felt too good. The heat of his body against yours felt too good. The weight of him pressing down on top of you felt too good.

He was so horrible and perfect at the same time.

“Tell me that you don't want my cock, darling.”

Those words lit up fireworks inside you, and you wheezed out a hot breath before you finally found words.

“Shut up, Weasley.” You huffed, your tone oddly whiny even to your own ears, and Fred let out another annoying laugh.

He scooted further down your thighs, you swallow down sounds of protest as you silently feared that he was backing away and leaving you alone completely because you hadn't complied with what he wanted you to say.

But once again, he shocked you with his sudden movements – he reached forward, ripping up your skirt, shoving it as far as he could up around your waist, seemingly offended by the item now. This left you completely bare to the warm air of the room and feeling as though you were completely naked, still mostly covered with your ass now completely exposed to him, your pussy weeping between your thighs, your pleasure fully visible to him now, no room for doubt about your feelings.

You could feel his eyes on that space between your thighs. He didn't say anything about it, but you could feel his cocky victory polluting the room like poisonous gas coming off a poorly brewed potion. You rushed to close your legs, rushing to hide from him, and he was quick to clamp his hands down onto your skin, tearing your thighs wide open so that he could see.

“Not so fast, love.” He growled out, the growling lust in his voice such a terrible turn-on. “You think you can hide from me?”

“Shut up.” You hissed out again, still dull and breathless.

Feeling so exposed sent another thrill through you, and you knew you were getting visibly wetter and clenching around nothing.

He didn't hesitate or warn you before he delivered three harsh smacks across your ass, quickly painting the skin with a layer of stinging pain that sent more jolts between your thighs and caused you to squirm frantically below him. You couldn't control the moans you let out, shoving your face back into the pillow, hoping he wouldn't recognize your sounds of needy pleasure.

He could not know that you liked this. He would hold it over your head forever if he did.

“The arse that started it all.” He sighed, an odd edge of nostalgia to his voice, seemingly speaking to himself. He grabbed your ass cheeks in both hands and groped them with tight, firm, possessive hands, causing you to arch up into his touch. “Do you have any idea how long I've been obsessed with this perfect, round arse, darling? Watching you waltz around in your pretty skirts, watching you bend over to pick things up when you think no one is watching. And I've been watching you for a lot longer than you knew it.”

You heard the distinct sound of a zipper, and your cunt tingled harshly, zapping with need, unconsciously clenching, waiting to be filled. You squirmed underneath him, trying to part your legs wide, wanting to invite him in between, and he used his thigh to force your leg back into place, snapping your knees shut with a jolt. It was a silent signal that he was in charge, and you wouldn't move without him ordering you to. Another thing that sent a twist through your gut and had you swallowing another moan.

“You know, for a Ravenclaw, you can actually be pretty stupid.” He whispered in your ear, shoving his fingers into your hair once again to take a tight hold, extending your neck just until it ached to force your ear closer to his mouth at his own leisure. “You think I only started watching you because you rolled up your skirt around me? Because you started dropping things in front of me like some dumb whore?”

You let out a sharp breath through your nostrils, the realization hitting you like a truck. He had known the whole time.

Had you thought that he had only started watching you because you engaged him first?

Maybe.

Probably.

But you could never let him know that you were wrong.

“Shut up, Weasley.” You sighed, your sandpaper tongue making the words come out dull and lifeless.

Fred chuckled again.

“I would tell you to shut up, sweetheart, but even when you talk nonsense, I like the way you sound.”

Like most things in life, you thought for certain that you knew the way this would go. You thought Fred would be like most men – take his cock out and stick it into the nearest, willing pussy and then pump until he was satisfied. You didn't think it would take much to get you there at this point, with you being so dangerously turned on, so you didn't even fully care if he actively tried to make you cum or not.

But once again, Fred Weasley surprised you, and left you feeling dumber than ever.

He descended your body in a quick second and grabbed a hold of your ass with two hands again, digging his fingers in, surely leaving marks on top of the ones from where he had swatted at your flesh. He moaned to himself as he kneaded the flesh and stared at you, enjoying the view for a moment.

But then, in a blink, he lowered himself down and you felt something warm and wet pushing against the rim of your ass, feeling his breath against you in hot puffs in a place that you would have never expected. You let out a squeal, partially shocked, twinging with embarrassment, and partially rocked by the pleasure shooting through you.

It was a strange kind of pleasure that you had never felt before, something you had never even considered, and with all the knowledge you had, this left you flailing and wondering how the hell you had never known you could feel like this. He easily had you gasping for breath as your whole body warmed over, arching away from the strange new feeling while loving it at the same time. He forcefully held you down, harshly digging his fingers into the globes of your ass in an attempt to keep you still, working his tongue across your untouched tight hole with a determined fury.

“Oh!”

You struggled to get any words out, moans and breaths choking off in your throat, your lungs just as confused as your mind when processing this brand new feeling. You were unable to squirm away from his firm hold, forced to face the overwhelming new pleasure. He moaned against you, seemingly enjoying himself, sending vibrations through your whole body, making it all the more overwhelming.

When your brain was good and melted, when you had just barely started to comprehend the feeling, he snuck a hand between your legs, forcing his fingers between your quivering thighs at the front between your body and the couch. You wanted to cheer out gratefully, trying once again to lean into the touch, trying to gain more pleasure, enough to finally cum. But all he did was brush two fingers against your swollen clit, waiting for the wail that came out of your mouth, watching the way your body seized with pleasure – as though he was tuning some kind of instrument, testing.

“Oh, fuck!”

And then – he stopped.

He pulled away altogether, causing an embarrassingly wet sound to come from the separation of his lips and your now swollen, over-worked hole. Something that seemed even louder in the empty room where only a few cracks of embers in the fire could barely be heard over your sounds. It should have occurred to you that you were being too loud – that every whorish sound that came out of you was carrying right up the stairs and to the Gryffindor dorms, and the boys would have a field day teasing you after this. It should have occurred to you that this was so out in the open, that literally anyone could walk in and see you with your arse fully exposed, needy and practically begging for Fred's cock.

But Fred had your brain so damn melted that any logical thought slipped from your mind as quickly as it came. Any forethought of the future was not possible between your ears right now.

Fred delivered a few more smacks to your ass, causing you to moan out harshly again, the sound scraping against your throat bitterly now. The echoes of the stinging pain seemed to pang more harshly right between your cheeks, even though he wasn't touching you there anymore. You swore you felt his saliva dripping down through your ass crack, leaking down and mixing with the overwhelming wetness already dripping from your pussy, and that little embarrassing thought had more heat pumping through your cheeks.

“You do have a perfect, sweet arse.” Fred chuckled joyfully, seemingly speaking to himself again. “I always knew you would.”

He rose back up to hover perfectly over your back, a heavy presence of muscle and heat that only made everything between your thighs further cry out. Those nerve endings from your needy cunt now lighting up through to your swollen, spit-sloppy asshole, as though him touching you there for the first time had activated a sense of need there for the first time, had awoken a sense of pleasure there that you had never known before.

“I would say that I can't wait to taste your twat to see how it compares, but that's something you need to earn, darling. I can't very well go rewarding such awful behaviour with my head between your thighs, now can I?” His voice was so light and jovial, so casual when spewing such filth. Which somehow only turned you on more.

This did cause a pang somewhere deep in your stomach, lighting up something inside of you that you hadn't even fully realized was there. That academic achiever in you that loved to be praised for your intellect, the part of you that loved getting assignments back with high grades marked on them. You loved the thought that you could earn things from Fred, that he would be observing you and waiting to reward you and praise you, but at the same time, there was still that last bit of devil fighting within you, that last part of you that said you didn't need his approval.

“You – you would be so lucky.” You said, choking on a horse throat, your words sounding so utterly bitter. “You don't deserve what's between my thighs.”

“Aww, bless her.” Fred hummed, that condescending tone, seemingly talking over you rather than to you – it caused another pleasurably thrum through you that you didn't even truly realize the source of. “She still thinks this is about her.”

You heard the rustling of more clothing, and you could easily picture Fred behind you, struggling to shove his jeans further down in such an awkward position, not wanting to get off you in order to take off his pants completely. You resisted the urge to cheer, because – yes, finally, he was moving on to the main event. You were finally going to get some much needed friction on your aching, swollen cunt.

You let out another shocked gasp when you felt the thick, round head of his cock press forward – not between your thighs and toward the swollen, leaking lips of your pussy, not to the place where you needed him most. But instead, his cock pressed between your arse cheeks, which he was holding apart with one hand, making room for himself between the fatty globes. He used his cock to make strokes across your cleft through the river of spit, seemingly already lubed up with something more that you didn't even have the brain power to fully comprehend.

Your body seized, curious to rock toward the feeling and aching to get away from it, needing him more somewhere else, at war with yourself and quickly losing the ability to fight it. He dug his fingers in once again, shoving you down harder into the sofa, holding you in place with that strong hand firmly on the globe of your ass, while the other hand held onto the base of his cock as he hovered on his knees behind you.

“I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, darling.” Fred began, his tone still utterly condescending as he continued to stroke his cock along the cleft of your ass, not truly applying pressure, just teasing you.

“I saw right through you from the beginning.” He announced, knocking any final air out of your lungs. You should have known it, but hearing him say it well and truly defeated you. “And if you had wised up and simply asked me nicely, I would have fucked you properly. I would have treated you like a proper lady. I would have been so sweet with you – kissed you all over, ate your pretty cunt like a good meal, kissed you while making passionate love you.”

The remaining live part of your brain couldn't conceptualize Fred Weasley making love to anybody. He was rough, rowdy, and rude, and you couldn't imagine him doing anything but this – pinning a girl down and speaking filth to her while mocking her about her need for his cock. Maybe that's why you were so painfully attracted to him... because you knew it would always end like this. Because you knew he would give you something that no other man could.

“But since you had to pretend to be so smart and so mighty, since you had to pretend to be so smart, now it's like this.” He sighed. “You walk around, making everyone believe you're that big, bold Ravenclaw girl on her high, high horse, thinking she's so much smarter than everyone else... but now, you're gonna shut up and take my cock. You get to be treated like the dumb whore that you played for me, teasing me all along. I get exactly what I want, and you get nothing.”

He whispered the words harshly against your neck as he finally pushed forward, the unbelievable thickness of his cock breaching your tight, virgin asshole slowly but in an utterly unforgiving way, forcing you to feel every single bit of just how thick and swollen he was. The slow, smooth stretch only made your pussy sting with more sharp need.

“No!” You cried out, so utterly curious about the feeling, mostly protesting due to desperately wanting him somewhere else. “Weasley, you-!”

You were about to rant, filling your lungs for it, winding up to call him several names, but he stopped you in your tracks. He laid several more quick, heavy smacks across your ass, the sound so sharp in the room, causing more stinging pleasure through you. Then he drove his cock sharply into you another inch, his hips not yet touching your body, causing you to moan out loudly as you wondered just how much you were prepared to take, wondering how much more there was, wondering if his self inflated story had been grossly exaggerated or not.

With him behind you the whole time, you hadn't gotten a good look, and feeling his cock without seeing it only made it seem so much bigger.

“Consequences of your own actions.” He growled, pushing more into you, stretching you to the point where it began to sting.

“But – but – but – ah!”

He delivered another sharp smack, making your body mingle more with pleasure and pain.

“B-b-b-but!” He repeated in a whiny tone, mocking you. “Spoiler for you, darling-”

He huffed, finally sinking those last inches into you, causing your mouth to gape wide as you were finally filled – the feeling so brand new and shocking, your pussy still weeping with need and feeling so empty in contrast to the overwhelming fullness you felt from behind, feeling just how big he was, every single detail, every single vein. Along with the shocking red hot pleasure coming from your flesh from the spanks he had delivered, each jolt of pleasure mounting right where the two of you were joined.

Something so wrong and yet so perfect at the same time.

“I always get what I want. I always win.”

He growled the words lowly, something that would have pissed you off to no end just a few days ago now sparking even more pleasure through you.

You shook your head harshly, still in deep denial of this, your mind yet to acknowledge that he had won a victory over you. Even with his cock throbbing inside your asshole as your body ached to accommodate him, you still couldn't admit that he had won. Your pussy was making a sloppy mess between your thighs – wet, needy, and untouched, your body having no trouble keeping up with the situation at hand, catering to his whims so easily and still begging for more.

Fred was smiling against your neck as he let out a wonderful, wicked chuckle. And somehow, you were all the more turned on by his terrible, wicked attitude.

“But you love it, don't you darling?” He whispered. “You love it when I win.”

And then, he began to move.

It was only a few slow, teasing movements before he picked up a rhythm, seemingly testing you out like trying a new broom before he truly got used to it and could truly have his fun. Barely waiting for your body to adjust to him before he bent his knees, digging into the sofa cushions, and truly put his back into it, going wild. He started slamming his hips harshly into you, creating loud smacking sounds each time his hips collided harshly with your ass, creating more friction along the marks he had left there with his hands, driving home the filthy pleasure with little bits of pain.

It was a feeling you had never considered before, something you had never even dreamt of. So damn full, the overwhelming presence of his cock, but duller than being fucked in the front, like trying to scratch an itch that would never be satisfied, like feeling food stuck at the back of your throat. An echo of a truer pleasure that you knew and loved so well. Halfway there, but not perfect, constantly reminding you of the need singing from your poor, untouched cunt.

Fred was having a perfect time, though.

He let out another bright laugh as he weaved his fingers back into your hair, yanking your head up toward him once again, crowding in close to get a good look at your face as you breathed in harshly through your nostrils, desperately trying to process it all.

“Did – did you really think I wouldn't catch on to you, darling?” He said brightly, his breath hot and heavy across your cheek, causing you to flinch slightly, unintentionally tugging on the grip he had on your hair, sending more jolts of pleasure through you. You let out a loud moan in response, and you though you saw that cocky smirk in your peripheral vision. “Do you really think I'm that stupid? Or do you think that somehow you're so much smarter than everyone else?”

His words lit a fire in your belly yet again, and after swallowing thickly, you found your voice.

“You're the one that stuck in the wrong hole. You can't be that bright.” You huffed in return.

Fred grinned against your cheek.

“No, darling, I'm right where I wanna be.” He hissed, letting out a low groan of pleasure. “Cause while you're leaking all over my bullocks, I get to finish in here,” He thrust particularly hard, driving home his point, and your attempt to swallow down a moan caused a pathetic little whimper to escape, only making him smile wider. “Nice and perfect and warm. And you'll still need to cum. Thinkin' about my cock while my spunk is runnin' down your thighs. You won't be able to get me out of your head, love.”

You did despise his choice of words somewhat, the word 'spunk' making you cringe, but the imagery hit you so hard. You almost wished you had a camera -

No. No.

You wouldn't let yourself be turned on by something so filthy. Not even with the thick, round head of his cock bouncing around inside of you, hitting you in impossibly deep places. You couldn't let yourself stray so far.

“Shut up.” You cursed him, the words sounding far too much like a moan on your lips.

Fred let out another airy chuckle, his voice wavering, sounding so much like he was getting close to cumming. Something that was unfair while you were still so tight with need, your pussy thrumming and your whole body on fire, just as he had wanted.

All that need zapped to anxiety the second that you heard the distinct sound of a foot on the stairs. Your whole body froze, and you found yourself holding your breath, your lungs pulled horribly tight against your ribs as you gripped the couch cushions beneath you, unintentionally trapping Fred's cock in a tight vice as he stilled on top of you, also now suddenly aware of the presence of someone at the mouth of the room, just lingering there.

You were rocked with cruel humiliation when the person spoke.

“It's getting pretty late, isn't it, Freddie?”

It was George.

You tried to press yourself tightly into the couch, pancaking yourself impossibly, praying that if you couldn't see him, it meant that he couldn't see you. You hoped that none of your limbs or any traces of you were visible from around the large back of the couch, not from his position still lingering on the bottom of the stairs.

Fred huffed out an unsteady breath, obviously trying to remain casual, trying desperately not to give away the fact that he was currently inside you while his brother was standing just a few feet away.

“Yeah.” He replied, sounding curt and short, the most irritated you had ever heard him when talking to George, someone who usually made him happy, and you easily understood why. “Why do you care?”

Every single word vibrated through you, his voice feeling deeper as it rocked through his hard cock, so still inside you, persistently reminding you of just how empty your pussy was. You had to shove your face deeply into the throw pillow in front of you to stifle a moan, to silence the sound of your own overwhelmed, hot breaths.

“S'pose I don't, not really.” George replied, letting out a loud yawn. “I just came lookin' for my jumper. I think I left it down here. It's bloody cold tonight.”

You were too far gone to see this for what it truly was – George had intentionally planted his jumper in the common room before he left, wanting to use it as a built in excuse to come back, all too nosy to see how things would boil down between you and Fred.

But this didn't even occur to you, not even popping up as a thought when you were too consumed by dizziness and pleasure. You were far too distracted by the harsh muscles twitches in your own leg and the feeling of all Fred's body weight balancing on his cock, so heavy, so deep inside of you, focusing on trying to keep yourself silent, lest you be mocked by the entirety of Gryffindor house for the rest of the century.

“So take one of my mine.” Fred bit back, impatient and more irritated by the second.

You could have sworn you heard George laugh – a small, nasally breath. Fred's body jostled when he shook his head in annoyance, and the smallest, throaty whimper escaped you, causing him to put a hand on the back of your neck and shove you further into the pillow. He needed you silent and still – it was already torture trying to be silent himself while you were hanging off his cock.

“I thought you'd be in bed by now.” George chuckled quietly.

Again, something that passed over your head – George's coded admission that he thought Fred was going to crash and burn with you once again. He thought that you would be flying out of the Gryffindor common room fast enough to give Fred lots of time to get a long, restful night of sleep.

“So did I.” Fred grunted in return. “Can you leave now?”

George sighed.

“Goodnight, Freddie.”

Your entire system flooded with relief, though your muscles did not dare to relax yet.

“Tell Y/N I said 'hi'.”

Those words zapped through you, hitting you harsher than a jinx. Of course you couldn't have the true hope that George didn't actually know you were there. Was he just working based on assumptions or had he actually caught sight of your position? How much had he seen? It was swirling in your stomach as a terrible feeling, embarrassment and cruelty, and before you could even fully comprehend it, Fred's cock was pulling out of you again, onto to stab back into you in a sharp, unforgiving way that made you cry out.

“Glad we got rid of him.” He grunted against your neck.

“You're awful.” You whined. “You're so awful, terrible, the pair of you.”

Fred huffed, the sound choking off into a moan before laughter could form this time, his thrusts becoming sloppier and uncoordinated with each passing second.

“Perhaps.” He replied, his breath hot and messy against the back of your neck. “No better than you.”

You hated that you couldn't fully deny it. Fred Weasley had caused you to sink to his level.

But even then, any stinging annoyance or hatred that threatened up inside of you was easily drowned out by lust, all you could really feel towards him now. It was a bell easily rung by his heated grunting behind you, by the thickness of his cock pumping into your ass in demanding strokes, by the hum of your pussy between your thighs still begging to be touched. With each harsh slam of his heavy balls against your skin, making you more and more perfectly sore, with each sharp grope of his fingers against your skin, with the stinging pleasurable pain flowing through you – you were coming to know as an iron-clad fact how much you couldn't truly hate this.

You were teetering on the edge of realizing that you didn't hate him, didn't hate being around him if he was the source of this intoxicating feeling. But you weren't quite there yet. Not all the way to that epic realization that would ultimately ruin your life, more than hating him ever did.

His strokes became faster, more shallow, more abrupt, his hips slamming tightly against your ass every second as he hummed moans against your neck, clearly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for the clear evidence of your need dripping between your thighs, or perhaps enjoying his own pleasure more in spite of it, loving using you for himself while denying you what you needed most. He was enjoying being selfish, simply enjoying the feeling of your tight, warm body hugging his cock without a single care for anything else.

You would never admit it, but the feeling of being used so carelessly only added to the fire in your stomach in an utterly dangerous way.

“Gonna dirty you up.” He grunted, his thrusts growing even faster and more desperate, causing another rush of heat through you. “Pretty girl, so proper. Gonna make you so fuckin' filthy.”

He delivered on his promise with a harsh grunt, the sudden wave of wetness and heat deep inside of you feeling so strange. Only growing more and more wet as he as he slammed his hips deep into you one last time, making you feel just as filthy as he had promised. It made the fullness of his cock feel even more smothering, even heavier, and you gasped for breath, almost feeling as though you were choking on it.

When he pulled out all too abruptly, leaving you gaping around nothing but emptiness, the breath didn't return your lungs even then. The feeling of that warm cum starting to leak out of you was such a dirty shock that somehow it turned you on even more.

He sighed brightly, a sound so entirely satisfied, and you felt the tiniest bit of annoyance toward him bubble up again. You then felt his hands digging into the tender flesh of your arse cheeks once again, spreading you open. Somehow, among everything that had happened that night, feeling his eyes on your clenching, gaping hole while his cum leaked out of you was the most invasive, filthy thing yet. You reached back around to smack his arm, trying to get his gaze off you, and he only laughed.

When another needy pang rang through your cunt, you were met with the first good idea you had been blessed with in a while.

You used tired, numb fingers to grab his wrist, lifting your body as much as you could to force his hand between your pelvis and the couch, forcing his hand between your thighs now. Even just the incidental graze of his fingers along your clit from this movement had your whole body jolting, so sensitive and overwhelmed already.

“It's my turn now.” You huffed at him. “That's only fair.”

He let out another horrible, deep, mocking laugh – one that vibrated right to your core in the worst way. His fingers skimmed across your swollen, throbbing clit yet again, an entirely teasing motion that had your entire body buzzing.

“Fair, huh?” He rumbled into your ear. “Darling, I don't think you want to hear about my idea of 'fair'.”

You let out a bitter whine when he drew his hand away from where you needed it most, frustration now pumping through you. In a blink, he put his hands on both your shoulders and flipped your limp body over, finally forcing you to face him. His skin was flushed and coated in a layer of sweat, and his hair was messy, his eyes absolutely wild. He was like you had never seen him before, and you knew that you would always remember him like this.

“If you wanted me to touch that pretty cunt of yours, you should have asked nicely instead of being so damn rude.” He told you firmly. “All the puffing and all the denial will get you nowhere.”

You looked at him sourly. Obviously, you wanted to resort back to rudeness, so you held your tongue.

There was a moment, a heavy moment where neither of you spoke.

He simply stared you down, as though waiting to see if you were even capable of complying with this request.

The silence allowed you to feel your body more, feeling the aching soreness of your asshole and his cum slowly leaking out of you, feeling the harsh throbbing need of your pussy. And somehow... you caved.

“Please?”

You finally found your voice, the word sounding so unsure on your lips, almost dumbly sarcastic – it was something that easily made Fred roll his eyes, and you knew that you hadn't done it correctly.

“Please,” You repeated, trying your hardest to sound more sincere. “Please, please touch me.”

Each attempt ripened with more warmth, and you hated it when you saw Fred's stupid, awful, cocky smirk widening across his lips.

He knew that he had won.

But still, with the twinging need between your thighs, so swollen with blood and desperate to cum that it was almost painful, you were prepared to let him have this.

You would get something in return this time, even if it wasn't the downfall you had wanted to see to desperately upon him.

You nearly cheered when he gripped your hips and descended down your body once again, a harsh whimper radiating through your throat when you felt his breath fanning out against your swollen, glossy wet clit. He leaned in, making you ache with anticipation, and with perfect pursed lips... he laid a single, gentle kiss against your clit. You held your breath, waiting for more, but he made no other moves to attempt to satisfy you or pleasure you before he came back up to smirk at you with his now wet lips. He was devious, basking in his perfect victory.

You let out a ragged, horrible whine, glaring at him indignantly, lost for words.

He leaned down, leaning in tightly to whisper in your ear like he had that fated day in the library.

“If you want to cum, darling, you have to be a good girl.”

He then moved to lay a single, somehow chaste kiss on your forehead. He was refusing to even perform the dignity of kissing you on the mouth after everything else that had happened between the two of you. He then got up off the couch entirely, leaving you tired, throbbing with need, and confused as he tucked his cock back in and did up his pants.

“I – but – you – and-”

You hated stupidly stuttering, but you truly weren't even sure what to say.

“You should probably get going. It's a long walk back to Ravenclaw Tower. And I imagine you'll be walking a bit slower this time 'round.”

He gave you a filthy wink before he walked up the stairs, and you were left stunned, sitting in silence by yourself. Your whole body was terribly stiff now, but eventually, after a moment too long, you forced yourself to get up and move.

You had to perform a cleansing charm on yourself when you felt his cum dripping down your thighs. Even if you didn't run into anyone else at this hour, which, you prayed not to, just the thought of it being so visible with your short skirt was enough to have you recoiling in embarrassment and shock. You felt another twinge of embarrassment as you fumbled to redo your bra behind your back without taking off your jumper.

As you picked up your belongings, you found the crushed, slightly torn remains of Fred's stupid erotic story wedged between the couch cushions, and you shoved it into your bag – the only thing possibly more embarrassing than being caught with his cum on your legs would be if someone found and read and erotic story about you and Fred Weasley. (If that person put together the details and realized it was about you.) You needed to hide the evidence if Fred was going to be so careless with it.

You read through it in more depth as you soaked in the tub that night, obviously unable to sleep after what had happened, and as you read through many lines of your perfect body being 'all his', you realized that he had unintentionally given you the perfect weapon to fight back with.

The dumb bastard.

...

The next morning, you walked into The Great Hall, perfectly polished and made up, and you felt Fred's eyes on you in a moment, especially with the bit of soreness to your gait that would only truly be noticeable to his eye.

And rather than giving him a lick of attention, you moved toward the Slytherin table. You picked the first decent guy you could find, and sat down beside him. You made sure you were well within Fred's eyeline when you began squeezing his bicep and complimenting him on his Quidditch technique – something you knew nothing about, but you laughed brightly and nodded along as he told you some cocky story of an amazing play he had made.

This Slytherin boy had no clue that the real reason you were smiling was because you could feel Fred's eyes on the back of your head, burning up with intense jealousy.

This was going to be so much fun.  

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this is the end, there will not be an immediate continuation or a 'Part 2'.

Even though I do have an idea in mind for a potential sequel, I will not be rushing to make a follow up anytime soon, and I do not appreciate when people rush to the comments of a oneshot (especially one that is longer like this) and immediately ask for 'Part 2?'. If you liked this and you would like to see a potential sequel someday, I could be encouraged along to make one if you come into my inbox and let me know how much you liked this fic and let me know that you would stick around for a sequel.

Otherwise, I would like the comments section of this fic to stick to discussion about this fic, its characters, and things that have happened here, rather than asking for more.

If you don't want to comment, reblogs are always appreciated because sharing my work always does make my day.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope you have a great day!

Happy Reading,

Warnings: the reader is part of the BAU; very minimal mentions of typical CM themes (murder/crime scenes/etc.) - the primary focus of this fic is smut; the reader character has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns;the reader and Emily are in an ongoing dom/sub relationship - this includes the background element of safewords (that are not used) and pre-discussed kink negotiation that doesn’t happen during this fic; Emily is dominant and the reader is submissive; the reader kneels for Emily; mentions of subspace (but it’s not directly called that in the fic); the reader wears a collar (no petplay, just as a symbol of her submission to Emily); Emily’s strap-on is referred to as ‘her cock’ or 'her dick’; a very light hit to the face that could barely be considered a slap (not in the name of pain kink, in the name of dominance); hair pulling (reader receiving); strap-on blowjob (the reader sucks it); Emily is fully clothed and the reader is naked; slight cockwarming; strap-on sex - the reader rides Emily’s strap; Emily calls the reader 'babydoll’, 'doll’, 'greedy slut’, 'good girl’, 'pathetic slut’, 'stupid slut’; Mommy kink - Emily refers to herself as Mommy and the reader calls her that; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Emily’s fingers); Emily is generally condescending toward the reader in this, maybe it strays into degradation kink or humiliation kink; verbal degradation; mentions of pulling on the collar - but not quite choking? and I believe that is it.

A/N: This cover is not my favourite - I love the pictures of Emily but I’m not a fan of how dark the background is on the right. This whole fic was inspired by the picture on the left - her sitting in the most beautifully gay way, so I absolutely had to include it in the fic cover. In general, I also just go nuts whenever she wears a pantsuit on screen. It makes me feral. So this was partially inspired by that.

...

“Come on. Come to Mommy.” 

Emily had a unique talent for knowing exactly what you needed at any given time. Whether it was a cup of coffee perfectly timed with your three am yawn on an all-nighter case, or her packing a throw-blanket in her go-bag so that you could have a nap on the jet - she was so in tuned with you that she seemed to know exactly what you needed, even before you did. 

Today - after a particularly hard, long haul case - what you needed was to be mindless. The stress of the victims, the haunting glow of their eyes in the crime scene photos, it was weighing on you. You needed to be her perfect, sweet toy. And she knew that the minute that the two of you got in the door. 

She had mumbled in your ear, telling you to strip as she carried both of your bags toward the bedroom. It was a quiet, but firm order that had you shivering with anticipation seconds. Already, you felt your mind melting out of your ears as you watched the wave of her black hair disappear down the hallway. 

Feeling calmed by the acts, you did as you were told. 

You stripped completely naked, and then you knelt down on the corner of the living room rug, your hands lightly placed on your thighs, your eyes completely on the floor with your head slightly bowed. It was a submissive position that Emily loved to see you in, patiently waiting like an obedient pet for her. 

Just the thought that doing this would please her already had you melting into that soft, comfortable headspace. 

It was a simple routine that already had your stressed insides melting into calmness as you did nothing but sit there holding the position, waiting for her. You listened to the sound of her heeled shoes quietly clacking across the floor, and took great interest in the fact that she hadn’t yet taken them off. 

While you held the position, not looking up, you listened carefully as she came into the room. Then, quite expectedly, she reached down and wrapped the cool leather of your collar around your neck. Being as obedient as possible, you stayed entirely still while she did it, feeling tingles of satisfaction flow through you as the collar settled onto your neck. 

This simple act finished the process of melting your brain completely, and now, you could think of nothing but Emily - nothing but Mommy, how badly you needed her. You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel shameful at the fact that there was a sticky wetness between your legs and she hadn’t even touched you yet. She had trained you well enough that just these simple acts, just the feeling of your collar around your neck made you so desperate for her touch. 

Emily then walked over to the large armchair that she had in the corner of the room. It was something she had there for reading books or enjoying TV (during the little time off between cases that the two of you had). 

Mostly, she had the elegant leather chair for moments like this. 

“Come on. Come to Mommy.” 

It was only when she spoke the words that you had your implicit permission to finally look up at her. 

She sat in the chair with her legs spread, a mighty presence in the room with her suit still on. The only difference you noticed from how she had looked for most of the day was a distinct bulge around the zipper of her pants. The idea that perhaps she had taken off her pants, put on her cock, and redressed just to appear this put together for you… it was thrilling. 

She had been paying attention when you said you liked the way she looked in the suit. It was meant to be a perfectly innocent comment when you saw the way she was dressed for the day. A simple ‘you look nice today, Em’. But she saw right through you - the lustful spark in your eye, the way you bit your lip. She knew all of your tells too well, and she knew exactly what to do with the information. Something she had been saving until now. 

You couldn’t help but to savor the pure air of dominance coming off her with the black blazer and black dress pants draped over her, her black heeled boots still on. Her black button up blouse was still on, but she had a few more of the buttons undone than before. 

This showcased the golden key necklace that sat between her breasts. It was something that you had a matching lock necklace of, but you had taken it off and tucked it away with your clothing knowing that it was going to be exchanged for your collar because you were now in the privacy of your home. 

The necklace was something you had lovingly gifted her, showing that you truly belonged to her in every way and absolutely loved it. 

“Fucking. Crawl.” 

Emily ground out the words harshly when you didn’t move fast enough for her liking. 

You had become so distracted by her gorgeous appearance, but you rushed to meet the demand when her words hit your ears. 

The sound of her voice caused goosebumps all over your skin as you were distinctly reminded of who was in charge. Reminded of why you needed her - because you went so braindead when you became lustful. You needed her to guide you in order to get what you truly wanted. 

You crawled to her, making your way to her on your hands and knees. In a very rehearsed part of the ritual, you placed your head on her thigh, looking up the length of her torso at her. You heavily enjoyed how much she towered over you while you knelt at her feet. She gently combed her fingers through your hair while she admired how sweet and submissive you looked. 

“What do you need, babydoll?” Emily asked, continuing with that firm but quiet tone that you loved so much. Something that showed her power with an epic subtlety. 

You eased your head forward until you were nuzzling at the bulge that was threatening to burst her zipper. You felt nothing but firm silicone under your nose, which caused excitement to pulse through you. 

“You.” You told her, your voice slightly breathless already. “Just need you, Mommy.” 

You looked up at her with your best pleading doe eyes, knowing that she would give you exactly what you needed without you even having to voice it. She knew you too well. And she always knew what you needed before you even did. 

Emily skimmed her knuckles along your cheek, gently prodding her thumb between your lips. In the most natural fashion, you began sucking on the digit, enjoying the feeling as she forcefully pressed it onto your tongue. 

Once again, she easily knew what you needed. 

“Such a pretty doll for me.” She hummed, clearly enjoying the sight of you on your knees for her. 

You hummed happily around her finger at the comment, and she smirked. 

“Get my cock out for me, doll.” She ordered, her beautifully calm voice making the words sound like a song. 

She gently pulled back her thumb, causing a wet smack as it suctioned from your lips and she ran the tip of it along your bottom lip. Knowing that you were likely foggy, already mushy between the ears, she gave you a light tap on the cheek with her open palm to prompt you into following her instructions. 

You grinned at this, letting out a moan as a pleasant warmth spread through you. 

You loved it when she took control over you. 

You reached up and popped the button on her pants, and the zipper practically burst open with the force of her stiff silicone cock behind it. You helped get it out nicely, almost drooling at the sight before you - her black pants stretched over her thighs where they were spread wide to accommodate you, her bright red, veined strap-on sticked out from the fly of those pants with just a bit of her dark pubic hair visible above the strap’s harness. It was so fucking beautiful that you could have cried. 

In fact, you felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes as Emily reached down and forcefully grabbed the back of your hair, guiding your head toward her dick. 

You hadn’t even realized that your mouth was open wide with your tongue lulled out, needy and panting like a dog - not until she slid her cock so perfectly into the opening. She easily stuffed one of your needy holes and made the other throb almost painfully, making you wish there were two of her so that you could be filled from both ends at the same time. 

“Such a greedy slut.” Emily chuckled. “There ya go, suck Mommy’s cock.” 

You moaned gratefully around her cock as the thickness of it stretched your jaw open and forced your tongue flat to the bottom of your mouth. Your hands naturally fell to sit on her thighs, a lovely heat on her flesh through the material of her suit. She couldn’t help but to sit back and admire you, effortlessly guiding your head up and down on her dick. You were so pliant at this point, almost ragdoll-like, your muscles like clay that needed to be shaped by her touch. 

“You gonna warm up Mommy’s cock?” Emily posed, her sweet, soothing voice causing your cunt to clench around nothing. You felt wetness smearing against your inner thighs and you definitely weren’t surprised. 

You moaned in affirmation of this, loving the feeling of your lips becoming slightly swollen and sore as she fucked your face on her dick. 

“There ya go. Good girl.” She cooed. “Need it nice and wet so you can sit on it, babydoll.” 

You moaned even louder at this, and Emily couldn’t resist any longer. 

She pulled you up, loving the way your mouth hung slack, showing the messy trail of spit from your lips to where it glistened all over her cock. 

She didn’t waste any time then. 

She quickly got you up into her lap, having you straddle her with your knees over her thighs. 

You were impressed by the fact that her suit was somehow almost perfectly pristine - her pants were barely wrinkled and her upper half didn’t look touched at all. It was something that turned you on to no end, the visual of her in that powerful suit jacket as you sat astride her. 

(This would definitely be something you thought about every single time you saw her in a suit on the job from now on.) 

She began teasing the stiff cockhead along your dripping folds - apparently all it took was a few moments of her teasing, having your mouth filled and the switch of her dominant persona electrifying the air to flood your pussy. She then used a bruising grip on your hips to pull you down onto the hard length of her cock, perfectly impaling you with it. 

You let out a harsh whimper at the feeling of being filled up by her, and Emily smirked at you in a perfectly devilish way. She felt so whole, having you as a perfect naked prize in her lap. She didn’t know how anyone else in the world could be satisfied if they couldn’t have you. (But she also knew that if anyone else tried to touch you, she would have to break their fingers at the very least.) 

You sat there for a moment, waiting for her to fuck her hips up into you - waiting for her to fuck you senseless in that perfect way that she always did. After sitting there for a moment and simply having that hardness filling you up, your pussy leaking freely around the girth of her cock (surely smearing your wetness all over the seam of her pants where her cock was poking out through) - you pouted loudly and gently bucked into her. 

Emily’s smirk only widened, and she looked ever more like the Cheshire cat. Greedy and satisfied as she leaned back in her chair, relaxing into a comfortable stance with her elbows casually resting on the large arms of the chair. She poised the nail of her first finger up to her lips, holding it tentatively between her teeth as she continued to look at you expectantly. 

“Oh, did you want my help?” She asked, pretending to be completely oblivious of your needs. 

“Yes.” You moaned out. 

Your whole body unconsciously flinched toward her, causing you to move only slightly on her cock, a deeply unfulfilling feeling. It was a harshly nagging fullness with no pay off that begged for more. 

“Yes, please, Mommy!” You added on desperately, tears clutching at the corners of your eyes. 

“Do it yourself.” She told you, her tone entirely domineering but not lifting a single decibel higher than it had to. 

She commanded the attention of your entire body and soul with such simple movements, such a calm voice. It was something that had you clenching around her fake cock and moaning deep inside your chest. 

Emily grinned at you and continued on. 

“Come on, babydoll.” She told you sweetly. “If you need it so badly, you’ll fuck yourself on my cock like a good girl.” 

Of course, you couldn’t resist such gentle dominance. You couldn’t go against her orders. 

You reached your hands out and with a subtle nod from her, you knew it was okay to grip onto the lapels of her suit jacket for support. Then, with your knees planted on either side of her thighs in the chair, you began to fuck yourself on her cock. 

After the exhaustion of the day, your body wasn’t prepared for the effort. Your hips soon started shaking and Emily watched in utter amusement as you started whining bitterly after only fucking yourself on her cock half a dozen times. She held back a delighted giggle, not wanting to mock you quite yet. She wanted to see how far you could get. 

You couldn’t keep the pace - if you were honest with yourself, you had barely even started to reach your desired pace from a lazy crawl. The more you felt jolts of pain shooting through your muscles, pure burning tiredness, the more your sounds turned into petulant whines and the tighter you gripped onto Emily’s suit jacket (wrinkling it quite a bit now). 

When you were finally reduced down to mildly humping yourself against her, grinding your hips against hers in slow, lazy strokes, Emily let out a quiet chuckle - a mocking sound that cut right through you (causing your gut to twist with pleasure). 

“You having some trouble there, doll?” Emily asked, once again putting on a tone that was playfully ignorant toward your obvious problems. 

“I - I can’t do it.” You whined out, feeling tears of frustration bubbling up in your throat. “Mommy, help me.” 

“Oh, you can’t do it?” She cooed, clearly teasing you now. “You need Mommy’s help?” 

You nodded furiously at this. 

She leaned forward and hooked a finger into your collar, yanking on it suddenly in a way that made you moan as your torso was forced to collide with hers and the thickness of her cock jostled inside of you. 

“Mommy-!” You gasped, panting against her chin now as she held you there, trapped you in tight proximity to her. 

She didn’t let you get any more words out. 

“You’re such a pathetic slut.” She scolded you harshly. 

You moaned out loudly as she held you close, keeping that one hand with a finger tucked into your collar, holding you tight to her in a way that caused an even, grounding pressure across your neck. She used the other to dig her nails into the meat of your hip, partially fucking you up and down on her cock as she words her hips into you from below. 

With her feet planted firmly on the ground, she had the perfect angle to fuck your needy pussy. 

In a moment, she had built up a harsh, but slow pace that had you aching and moaning for more. She forced you to stare her in the eyes the whole time, keeping her burning charcoal gaze on yours as she held you there, the tightness of the leather around your neck and the stiffness of her length pushing up inside of you reminding you exactly where you belonged. 

“You can’t even fuck yourself on Mommy’s cock, huh?” 

She teased, her voice becomingly slightly breathless from her efforts. It was just another thing that made you wetter - hearing her sex-worn voice, still somehow composed. 

“You need me to do everything for you, don’t you, babydoll? Need me to make all your decisions for you. Need me to do all the thinking so that your dumb little brain doesn’t even have to try.” 

Her words had your pussy fluttering around her cock, trying to milk an orgasm out of the plastic because your body needed her so badly. But that was one of the best parts - because she couldn’t feel her cock, she could fuck you for hours without the curse of overstimulation that you felt. Just another reason that she could be so composed while you fell apart. 

“Yes!” You moaned out. “Yes, Mommy!” 

“Stupid slut.” She spat the words against your lips, causing you to moan out in an utterly whorish way as she fucked into you harder. “But you love it, don’t you? You love being Mommy’s dumb slut. You love Mommy filling up your needy holes, don’t you?” 

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

...

Warnings: mainly smut/pwp;generally under-negotiated kink; mentions of the social constructs around virginity and the social pressures that men feel based around sex; this is Spencer’s first time having sex and the reader is a lot more experienced; this is not an explicit or pre-planed dom/sub relationship, but there is dom/sub undertones to their interactions; Spencer is more submissive (and bratty/defiant - before becoming compliant) and the reader is more dominant/leading; the reader calls Spencer ‘baby’ and 'brat’; she reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; penetrative sex/penis in vagina sex; mentions of fingering (does not take place during the fic); “just the tip”; unprotected sex - the reader and Spencer agreed to use a condom beforehand but Spencer pushes in without one (the reader secretly loves it, but doesn’t want to tell Spencer because she doesn’t want to feed into his entitled brat attitude and this could be considered dubious consent because he broke her consent regarding using contraception); spanking - the reader spanks Spencer (very mild pain kink); something that could be considered 'premature ejaculation’ (but imo it’s never premature, it’s right on time); creampie kink - they both enjoy Spencer cumming inside of her; mentions of Spencer crying (from overwhelming sensations, not sadness or humiliation); overstimulation (toward Spencer); Spencer fucking into his own cum; I believe that is everything.

A/N: Originally, I had this idea when I was thinking about Lessons For A Genius, but I realized that it didn’t quite fit the tone of that fic, so I decided to write it separately. I hope all you Subby Spencer lovers enjoy it! (Also can you tell that 'just the tip’ is my new fav trope? lmao)

...

“You ready, baby?” You cooed, gently running your hands through Spencer’s hair.

You tried to keep that same soothing, sweet voice that you had been using with him all night, trying your best to keep his nerves at bay. You knew that this was an uneasy time for him - between the social pressure of being a man who had never had sex with a woman before and wanting to ‘impress’ you and his general shyness around other people. You just wanted him to be comfortable and at ease so that he could enjoy himself. Which, of course, was generally the point of having sex. 

When Spencer had asked you to take his virginity, you felt incredibly honored. He was handsome, and despite him being ‘socially awkward’, he was charming. He had his own unique way of flirting, and he did have his choice of beautiful women that he could have fucked instead of you. There had been plenty of gorgeous women from his past, so you were surprised that he was even still a virgin in the first place. 

But when he had been explaining it to you, he had mentioned that the ‘social awkwardness’ had played a big role. The nerves. He had expected that one night, he would simply kiss a woman that he was on a date with, and things would just naturally ‘go from there’. But it never happened like that. He never had that movie romance moment where it fell into place. So instead, he had asked you. 

He told you that he found you intensely attractive, and - the part he hadn’t told you - he had been fantasizing about this for a while. He found everything about you utterly perfect. From the way your clothes hugged your curves to the way you looked dangerous suspects in the eyes and screamed at them without flinching. 

(And stowed away as a deep, dark secret, he had imagined himself in that position many times - handcuffed to an interrogation table, screamed at by you until he was begging for mercy.) (But again, that wasn’t information he was going to just volunteer to give up willingly.) 

So when Spencer laid it all out for you, fidgeting nervously and explaining that he finally wanted to know what sex felt like - you couldn’t deny him. He was too sweet, and too pretty, of course you couldn’t deny him. 

Even though it was something the two of you planned, and you would have simply invited him over to your place for the night, he insisted upon a date night out - taking you to a lavish restaurant first. He said that he wanted to act like a gentleman before taking you to bed. And it was a lovely evening, so there were no complaints on your part. 

You had taken him back to your place, and you had done your best to make him comfortable through the kissing, the groping, and showing him how to ‘satisfy’ you (again, upon his gentlemanly insistence). You were plenty turned on just by being with him, but you quickly found out that he was a swift learner with more than just books and very good with his fingers. 

Now, it was time for the ‘main event’ - at least, the part that would make him feel less much like a virgin, marking that big milestone for him. 

To give him control and make him feel more comfortable, you were on your back with your head on the pillows and he was sitting on his knees between your spread thighs. He had his body pressed pretty much flush against your naked one, savoring the feeling of your warmth. He was almost completely naked himself - save for his very Reid white briefs, barely containing his seemingly very long, hard cock. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it yet - just the outline of it through his underwear, and even tented, it seemed very impressive. 

You really wondered how no one else had snatched him up as a partner yet. 

He was hiding his face in your neck out of shyness. His nervous streak was oddly sweet, but it was something you had been trying to coax out of him all night. Even if you found it entirely adorable and endearing. 

“‘m ready.” He hummed into the skin of your neck. 

This sent pleasant vibrations through you, making you moan lightly as well. You rubbed your hands across the broad of his back, continuing to soothe him, trying to get his stiff muscles to relax. 

“Okay, baby.” You told him. “I’m gonna take these off now, is that okay?” You posed, reaching down to the waistband of his underwear. 

He nodded into your neck, but you weren’t entirely satisfied with that. 

“Please use your words.” You told him. 

It was only after the sentence left your mouth that you realized how ‘scolding’ it sounded. How condescending. 

Oddly enough, it was that tone of voice that made Spencer’s cock jolt, and made him so buttery and compliant in seconds. 

“You - you can take them off.” He muttered quietly. 

“Good.” You praised him, your voice short and firm. 

You felt yourself very specifically holding back from saying ‘good boy’ in response. 

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and got them down over his ass. The material did get slightly hooked up in the length of his cock, and you tried to take a peek between your two bodies to get a good look at his now exposed dick. But you couldn’t see around him with the way he had his face tucked into your neck. Spencer untangled himself and clumsily got the underwear down over his knees and eventually kicked them off. 

He moaned when he jostled slightly and felt his cock nudge up against the wet heat of your pussy. You let out a hot breath at the feeling, tightly locking your hips in order to keep yourself from bucking forward and rubbing yourself across his cock. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with new sensations. And you didn’t need to tempt yourself with the idea of pushing him over onto his back, shoving his cock inside of you and riding him raw like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. 

This was supposed to be about making his first time good - not about chasing your own selfish desires. 

Feeling curiosity flood him, Spencer finally pulled away from his safe haven tucked beside your head to prop himself up and get a better look. He put a hand on each side of your shoulders, looking down the length of your body to stare at the impressive heat nuzzling up against his cock between your thighs. 

He had become well acquainted with your pussy when he had fingered you, and he already knew what a gorgeous, warm, wet thing it was. But seeing your throbbing wetness right up against his cock, getting to see that natural gloss so carelessly slicking him up - it made him truly realize the wicked reality that he was going to slide his cock into that wet heat. 

He was going to fuck you. 

It was a thought that made his head spin, quite literally made him dizzy with pleasure. He felt temptation so ripe in his veins as he got up on his knees a bit more and the bright pink head of his cock naturally found your entrance, naturally kissing right up against it. He let out a moan as that heat fanned out over his cock, begging to swallow him up. He wanted to be swallowed up by you, wanted to be consumed whole. He bit his lip, knowing it would be wrong to do it without- 

“Hold on, baby, we need a condom.” You told him, trying your best to keep a firm, steady voice as you were overwhelmed with sharp jolts of pleasure.

Feeling the thickness of his cock against you - feeling him right there - it was almost too much for you. You were so tempted to roll your hips up and simply take him inside of you. You were so tempted to have him fuck you raw. 

But it was not what the two of you had agreed upon beforehand. You had to be the logical one - you had to enforce the rules. 

While you reached off to the side, to the box of condoms you had waiting on the nightstand, Spencer continued to stare at your glistening cunt with pure concentration knit over his features. 

He was biting his lip with a near bruising hard quality, his brows knit so tight that he likely could have held a quarter between them. All of it was just so tempting. Feeling the heat coming off you; so different from his hand, so different from humping into his bed desperately at night, so lively, so perfect. The feeling of your perfect wetness coating the tip of his cock. 

Something in his mind was screaming at him:

Just the tip. Just the tip. 

He could press the tip of his cock into you without a condom, just for a moment, and it would be fine. He would know what your pussy felt like on his cock without a condom. And then he would pull it out again and put the condom on and everything would be fine. 

Technically, he wasn’t breaking any rules. 

He heard the foil wrapper crinkling as you tore it apart with your teeth and his need grew even more urgent under his skin. 

Before he even fully made the decision, his hips were surging forward, and he was pushing his cock into you. He let out a throaty whimper as he felt more of that perfect heat and wetness enveloping his cock. He couldn’t have stopped at the tip if he wanted to - he likely couldn’t have stopped the movement of his hips even if someone had a gun to his head. 

He kept pushing more and more of his length inside of you with a heaving, broken groan as he fully sheathed his cock inside of you for the first time. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he felt your raw, wet cunt around him - no barriers, no asides. Just the perfect, unadulterated you. 

“Oh god.” Spencer moaned, bowing his head to rest in your neck again as he began to pant furiously. He was trying to keep himself from fucking into you like an animal mindlessly, just chasing his release. He was trying to simply enjoy the hot, wet, tight vice as it pulsed around his hard cock. 

“Spencer!” You scolded him harshly once again. “What the fuck?!” 

Your pussy throbbed with the fullness, only now truly feeling how big he was, and fuck - he was big. He was stretching your pussy out so good, making you clench around him desperately, unconsciously trying to memorize every single ridge and vein that you could feel. Because of course, without a condom, you could feel every single detail of him, including the underside of his cockhead bumping up against one of those incredible spots inside of you that was almost never touched by any other man. 

As much as you love it, this was bad. You had agreed to use a condom. 

You dropped the condom beside your head out of shock. This had been the last thing you had ever expected him to do. Spencer: someone who had been so timid all night. Someone who had asked permission to touch your breasts just a few hours ago. That very same someone had just pushed into you without a condom, without even asking permission. 

He had somehow morphed into a greedy brat in the span of a few minutes. And as much as that turned you on, you couldn’t encourage that kind of behavior in him, because it would turn him into an entitled monster. Every single instinct inside of you told you that you had to punish him for this, rather than spoiling him. 

He had to learn how to behave. 

“Spencer, you-!” You continued to use that sharp scolding voice, and unconsciously, it only turned him on more. 

His hips flexed forward, trying to push impossibly deeper into you, and you bit your lip, forcibly holding in a moan. 

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered into your neck, his voice entirely pathetic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh-” 

He felt your cunt clench around him, you becoming so turned on by his whimpers of ‘I’m sorry’. You couldn’t help but to love his pathetic sweet compliance. But then, feeling that wet heat tighten around him even more, he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

He pulled his hips back and fucked forward once, and then - that animal thing inside of him took over. And he began fucking you at an even pace, chasing his orgasm inside of you as though you were nothing more than a hot, wet hole for him to fuck. 

“Spencer!” You scolded in a sharp gasp, trying your hardest not to show a pleasurably reaction toward his bratty entitlement and ruthless possession of your body - something he had not yet earned. Not by far. 

“Oh, I’m not sorry!” He moaned louder, lifting his head from your shoulder to give you an utterly filthy grin.

He couldn’t bring himself to be sorry anymore. Not when it felt this good. 

It was one of the most wicked things he had ever done in your presence, and it made you very tempted to reach up and slap him across the face - wanting to slap that grin right off him. You just barely held yourself back from doing so. 

He felt like he had won. At this point, he didn’t even care if it was at your expense. Right now, he was being so truly selfish. 

He was entirely unapologetic in his movements, pounding away at your pussy like it was his own personal toy. He fucked like an entitled boy, like someone with absolutely no regard for his partner’s pleasure - and oddly enough, that only turned you on more. 

It was a dizzying feeling that was only increased by how natural he seemed to be, especially for a first-timer. He was easily keeping up the hard pace, driven only by his pure, selfish need and chasing the heat of your pussy around him, never wanting it to end. 

He hammered his hips into you evenly, becoming sloppy at points, clearly only chasing his own pleasure in a way that drove all of your instincts insane. He absolutely wasn’t performing - he wasn’t fucking you with purpose. He wasn’t trying to make you cum. He was using your body for his own selfish pleasure. He just wanted to get his dick wet like the selfish boy he was. 

There was only one thought on your mind. 

“Filthy brat!” You spat out. 

Spencer couldn’t care less if that was good or bad, even though you hurled it out beside his ear like a cruel insult. He didn’t care if it was an insult - he was still getting to fuck your perfect pussy, he was still feeling you clenching around him as you huffed in his ear. 

All he knew for certain was that you were dripping wetness around him, leaking down over his balls. You were a clenching heat that made him feel like his cock was finally home and he never wanted to leave it. He let out a victorious giggle in between moans as he continued to fuck you. Although you felt an orgasm building in your belly, you felt the overwhelming need to put him in his place. 

You weren’t going to let him get away with this behavior, even if he did have a magnificent cock.

“Dammit, Spencer!” You cursed, bitter annoyance still ripe on your lips. 

Before you could even think too much about it, you reached around his body and sharply spanked the broad of his bare ass cheek. You were desperate to find something that would get him back under your control. It wasn’t even your most powerful swat, seeing as you couldn’t get much heft from the angle of being below him. 

But the hit left a mild sting on your fingers, and caused a nice smack of skin on skin in the room. 

In a second, the sting of the hit across his ass had his hips stuttering in inconsistent waves as he flooded your insides with hot cum. 

You felt a slight wave of disappointment as your orgasm dulled inside your belly, his cock stuttering to a stop and unable to keep up the pace that was driving you there. But then you were boiling with heat once again as you felt his cum leaking out of you around the base of his cock where the two of you were joined - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling. And you loved soaking in the filthy knowledge that he had cum so quickly simply from being spanked. 

He was definitely a brat who liked to be punished. Someone who needed to be put in his place by you. 

You should have been angry with him for foregoing the condom, and cumming inside of you so abruptly. But you couldn’t find much anger there as he bit your shoulder and moaned hoarsely as his orgasm pumped through him. It only lit a bitter fire in your belly, telling you that you were going to keep him, because this turned you on too damn much. 

Spencer moved to pull away as the clenching of your pussy around him became too much. But you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

You moved both your hands to his ass cheeks, digging your nails into the flesh there. You clung onto him hard and made a rough movement, shoving him forward until his cock fucked all the way back into you. You moaned under your breath at this and he let out a tattered gasp at the pure overstimulation. 

“You’re not done yet.” You told him, entirely demanding. “You wanted it so damn bad, brat. So go on. Keep going.” 

Spencer moaned at this. He almost wanted to argue - he was tired, that had been so much for him. 

But as he became dizzy with the feeling of hot pin pricks all over his almost numb, still somehow rock hard cock, he could find no flaws in your logic. He only wanted to say yes. He wanted to live inside your pussy forever. He realized that he never wanted to pull out if you weren’t going to make him. 

He tucked his forehead back into the crook of your neck and began fucking into you roughly once again, battering his hips between the sharp prick of your nails in his ass and the hot pool of his own cum that he had left inside of you. 

“Thank you!” He moaned out. “Thank you, thank you, oh thank you!” 

“You better fucking thank me.”

...

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic; reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; this could be read with or without considering the major canon events; dom/sub dynamics - Dom!Elle, Dom!Reader, Sub!Spencer (he is definitely more of a brat in this and I had so much fun writing it); implications of an ongoing poly relationship between the three of them; punishment and reward (Spencer is punished for being mouthy/talking back); size difference kink/reverse size kink (the reader loves how skinny and easy to toss around Spencer is); Spencer is spanked, Spencer is gagged with his own tie (the tie is also used like a leash on him); general rough play; Spencer calls the reader ‘Miss’; undertones of humiliation kink, mentions of subspace, mentions of pain kink, Spencer is called a whore, a slut a stupid brat;degradation kink (towards Spencer); mentions of paddling; mentions of jealousy; bondage - Spencer has his hands tied behind his back; Spencer wears a cockring; orgasm restriction (toward Spencer); Spencer is forced to watch while Elle fucks the reader with a strap-on (the reader is a bottom between Elle and the reader, but she still is 100% a dom in this); as mentioned - strap-on sex (Elle fucks the reader with a strap-on); crying kink (Spencer is pretty when he cries); mentions of pegging (from Elle toward Spencer); hair pulling (reader receiving); Elle is called 'Mistress’; the reader and Elle could both be considered mean in this. I hope that’s everything and I haven’t missed anything important.

A/N: the inspiration behind this is actually so funny. I was working on the second part of Lessons For A Genius and I literally thought to myself 'Spencer is too nice in this. he’s too well behaved’ - and then I started thinking about a fic where Spencer is a bratty sub and gets punished, and then in that scenario, Elle suddenly appeared in my head (I guess because Elle has such dom energy and she’s always bossing Spencer around in the show, this is just too real, they have so much chemistry) - and next thing I know I was opening another tab to write this because I couldn’t help myself. So I hope you guys enjoy it!! I would love to write more fics where Spencer is a bratty sub in the future. I just love writing sub!Spencer in general. (some people have asked me to write dom!Spencer and I am warming up to it very, very slowly.) anyway, please enjoy!

...

You were in the room for less than thirty seconds when Spencer’s pants were down. 

Usually, something like this occurred out of pure lust or need. Spencer was a very needy boy. It was rare that you felt this much annoyance building up inside of you. It was rare that you tore off his clothes out of anger. 

But he had mouthed off to you in front of the local cops, whining that you ‘weren’t his mother’ when you asked him how many cups of coffee he’d had that day and advised him to drink some water. It had been a sassy comeback that had several of the men in the room laughing, and at the time, Spencer had been grinning into that ill-advised seventh cup of coffee, thinking that you couldn’t see him. 

It was something that got a warm rage simmering inside of you. 

Generally, he had been the biggest kind of brat all day. He had been mouthing off, even going so far as to talk back to Hotch when given orders. And you weren’t taking too kindly to it. 

He had to know who was in charge. He had to know that you wouldn’t stand for him being a mouthy brat. 

The door to the hotel room had barely closed behind you before you had his belt undone, the heft of the leather causing the fabric of his slacks to drop to his ankles. This left him entirely exposed from the waist down, feeling a rush of vulnerability, knowing he was in trouble. His stomach clenched in anticipation. You weren’t entirely surprised to find that he wasn’t wearing underwear. He had been acting out all day because he was feeling needy, apparently. 

Before he could speak, only uttering out a few half hearted protests, you shoved him hard. He was so skinny, so easy to push around, it was almost laughable. You pushed him until you had him exactly where you wanted him - bent over the dresser in the middle of the room. It was a chest of drawers with an attached vanity mirror, forcing him to bend over it and brace his hands on the surface so he could look at himself in the mirror. 

So he could stare himself down and face all of his beautiful shame as you tore him apart. 

“Look, Miss, please-” He stuttered out. 

Clearly he was still trying to come back from this, still trying to grovel, trying to apologize. 

But it was too late for that. You had decided that during the car ride back. 

“Shut up.” You told him gruffly. 

You reached around his body to his front and grabbed his tie, slipping it slightly loose before you brought it partway up his head. He was confused by this, until you slipped the loop into his mouth, effectively gagging him. You then spun it so the length of the tie was at the back of his head. You tightened it harshly then, causing him to moan as the fabric scuffed sorely against the sides of his mouth. 

But that wasn’t all. 

You yanked back on the length of the tie as though it were a leash, pulling his tall body into a tense arch, forcing him to be exactly where you wanted him to be. He moaned deeply as a wave of pleasurable pain shot through his body, his back cracking slightly as you forced him into such an uncomfortable position. Your other hand was on his lower back, keeping his hips pinned against the edge of the dresser as you forced his neck back as far as it would go. 

His muscles quivered and tears easily came to his eyes. His cock throbbed harshly with all of it. He always needed to be put in his place. He needed his head to be emptied as the control was taken away from him - as he was owned wholly, his body and mind no longer his own. 

When you were sure that he would stay like this, the subspace setting in and making him slightly more compliant, you moved the hand on his lower back. This forced him to hold the position on his own, his legs becoming shaky - but he didn’t move to make himself more comfortable, which did cause you to grin. 

Then, you hauled your hand back, delivering a harsh spank across his bare ass cheek. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You bit out harshly. “I know I did not train you to be such a fucking brat.” 

You delivered another spank, his soft skin already turning red from your hits. Your palm was stinging slightly, but you didn’t care. It gave you a certain thrill, and it was worth teaching him a lesson if his ass was sore tomorrow and he remembered this. Usually not being able to sit right did help him remember to behave. 

All Spencer could do was moan in response, being very effectively gagged by his own tie. His cock was angry and hard, trapped between his pelvis and the edge of the dresser as you punished him. 

“You’re just a needy little whore, aren’t you?” 

You barked, pulling his neck back even harder. This caused him to whine out in pain, such a beautiful sound that had you dizzy with pleasure as your ego swelled. You pulled him closer to you and placed your lips close to his ear, hissing the next words near his cheek with malice. 

“What’s wrong? The needy slut doesn’t get enough attention?” 

“Come on, Y/N, take it easy on him,” Elle chuckled from the corner, taking a sip of her drink. 

She had ridden with Morgan, so she had made it to the room an easy five minutes before you and Reid had. And thus far, she had been heavily enjoying the show that the two of you were putting on. But she did think you were being a bit too rough considering that Reid was a bit lippy on a good day. 

“Oh, I need to take it easy?” You chuckled sarcastically, looking over your shoulder at her. 

You tossed your hold on the tie, letting Spencer’s body relax forward slightly while you assessed Elle. He let out a whimper of relief, but didn’t make any further noise to draw attention to himself - not wanting the two of you to gang up on him and make his punishment even worse. (The two of you were devious minds, and when you worked together, it was a beautiful kind of destruction.) 

Sitting there, Elle was smug as ever, staring you and Spencer down with a clear heat in her eyes. 

“Last time you paddled him, he couldn’t walk for a week.” You added on, bringing up the memory to try and prove your point. 

“He was flirting with that waitress, he deserved it.” Elle said, speaking as though it was the obvious thing in the world. 

Generally speaking, you weren’t even sure if Spencer knew how to flirt. You thought that for the most part he just didn’t know when other people were flirting with him and didn’t know when to deflect it to stop it from pissing you and Elle off. But you had enjoyed it too much to argue with Elle about it - his bright red ass and awkward gait for the week following that paddling had just been too good. 

You used the tie-leash and a tight hold on one of his hips to spin Spencer around, tossing him onto one of the double beds in the room. He landed roughly on his stomach with a light bounce. He let out a jagged moan as his exposed cock scraped against the cheap hotel bedspread. But - true to form, trying to prove that he was a good boy, he did nothing more than lay there, staying perfectly still where you had put him. 

Elle grinned at him before she looked back to you. 

“So, what do you think we should do with him?” You asked, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder to flip him over onto his back, presenting him to her like a filthy prize. 

Spencer whimpered quietly and blinked up at you and Elle with big, wet eyes, clearly thinking that the puppy dog look could get him some sympathy. But there was no chance of mercy. He had already made his bed, and he was going to get fucked in it.

“I have a few ideas.” Elle chuckled. 

… 

That was how Spencer ended up in his current position. 

He was sitting in the chair that Elle had previously been sitting in, stripped completely naked. A light sheen of sweat had formed over his skin, causing his hair to stick to his forehead in that beautifully desperate way. His hands were tied behind his back with his own belt, and a cockring was secured around the base of his needy, throbbing cock. 

There was no possible way for him to get relief. Even if he became so desperate as to hump the furniture, all that he would get was a fruitless, horrible dry orgasm. The cockring so tight around him definitely assured that. And with his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t take it off. Especially not with the way the two of you were keeping a watchful eye on him. 

You and Elle certainly weren’t going to let him get away with anything. 

He certainly wasn’t going to get out of your line of sight. That was the whole point. 

The bulk of his punishment was to watch. 

To watch you and Elle and not be allowed to touch his needy, throbbing cock. To have a feast of sights before him, but be stuck, not allowed to cum. Not even allowed to feel the slightest bit of relief against his pathetic dick until you or Elle decided that he’d had enough. 

“Please.” Spencer begged hopelessly. 

His hips arched up into the air slightly, humping into nothing, fruitlessly seeking contact. His cock dribbled out precum, almost as if the pretty pink cockhead was weeping out in protest, trying to show his deep, unsatisfied need. 

“Please!” He bawled. “I’ll be a good boy! I promise!” 

His voice was so beautifully wrecked. It sent a wave of pleasurable tingles right through you. 

“Did you hear that?” Elle chuckled behind you. “He promises.” She cooed these words mockingly. 

Both of you knew that it wasn’t a promise he could keep for too long. 

Elle huffed out a devilish laugh as she raked the sharpness of her nails across your back. She sounded just as amused as you were watching Spencer’s pathetic attempts to get back on both your good sides. 

“I fucking doubt it.” You grunted back breathlessly. 

“If he wasn’t so pathetic, I might take pity on him.” Elle said, her voice taking on that mean edge that she knew Spencer loved. 

He moaned at the words, his hips flexing up once again. Unlike when he played poker, during sex, he always gave away all his cards, always showed what pleased him most and what his weakest spots were. It was one of the reasons you loved taking him apart so much. One of the reasons you loved owning him. 

“If you were a ‘good boy’, you’d shut up and watch me fuck your precious Miss without complaining,” Elle said, continuing to mock him, fucking her hips harder into you to drive home her point. 

She had you in the middle of the bed, perfectly on display for Spencer - on your hands and knees, completely stripped naked. The two of you were a perfect visual tease for him - with Elle in her bright red lacy bra, a commanding presence behind you with her thick seven inch strap-on buried in your wet, wanting pussy. You were absolutely enjoying yourself as she fucked in and out of you with an intense roughness. 

Most of the time, the two of you teamed up as a wicked force against Spencer - and combined, you were a deadly sinful team. But when the two of you took the time to enjoy pleasuring each other, it was a rough, chaotic slice of heaven. Like lighting clashing against itself in the best way. 

When you did let her fuck you, you weren’t whiny or submissive to her wills. You took it well, never begged for it. And she understood you and what you needed - the feeling of a thick cock splitting you open, that rough touch that Spencer never gave you because he was so subservient to your will. You loved the fact that she didn’t treat you like a glass doll. 

“Please!” Spencer tried again, going directly against Elle’s order to sit there and shut up. 

You weren’t sure if it was him playing up again or if he actually thought he could talk his way out of this somehow. 

“Please, let me touch you! Let me help you cum! Let me service you, Miss! I’ll be so good!” Spencer begged, his words dissolving into sobs as the desperation heightening within him. 

“What? You think you’re allowed to touch this pussy? You think you should be allowed?” Elle growled, fucking into you so hard that it caused a wet smacking to resonate through the room - something that made Spencer want you even more. 

You laughed in response to Spencer’s whiny antics, and the incredible fake cock plunging into you from behind - a sound that dissolved into a loud moan when Elle reached around and rubbed your clit, clearly wanting even more from you. 

Elle hammered her hips against you like she hated you, fucked into your pussy with a brutal passion. She was partially trying to show Spencer what he was missing out on, a deadly ache growing in his gut when he thought about the emptiness he felt without her perfect fake cock. Because he did spend a fair amount of time fucked out and drooling on her strap when she wanted to fuck him with it - from either end. 

And she was partially trying to get you to be messier, wetter, louder, putting on more of a show for him. The more beautiful and pornographic you were, the more effective his punishment was (not that it was hard for you to become a walking sex dream, as gorgeous as you naturally were). 

Elle loved to fuck you like this - she loved having your tight pussy hugging the silicone of her cock. You were a challenge. You didn’t simply beg for her cock, your body didn’t just mold and bend to her wills because she touched you with strong hands. You always fucked your hips back into her twice as hard, and you laughed and snarled back if she called you a dirty bitch. 

It was part of the reason that the two of you so perfectly destroyed someone as needy and submissive as Spencer. Spencer, the type of person who got whiny and started acting up if he didn’t get enough attention from either of you in the run of a day. 

“I’ll be good!” Spencer whined. “Please! Please, just touch me! I promise I won’t do it again!” 

His eyes had become as wet as his cock, the tip glistening with precum as tears dripped from the corners of his eyes, his entire being reeking of desperation and uncontained lust. 

“Do you even know what you did this time, you stupid brat?” Elle prodded, her voice dark and lacking any sweetness as she spat the words across the room at him. 

Spencer let out a wounded sound that was barely recognizable - perhaps he was trying to compose himself to speak, perhaps he was truly clueless. 

He could be so mouthy sometimes, but most of the time, he didn’t even recognize his sass as a problem. 

“What makes you think you’re worthy to touch her? What makes you think that you get to touch her after being such a dumb brat all day?” Elle teased him. 

She emphasized her words by yanking back on your hair, delivering a pleasurable amount of pain that made you moan out as she continued to harshly thrust her hips into your wet cunt. 

“What makes you think that a brat like you gets to touch these perfect tits?” Elle mocked him, leaning over you to grope roughly at your swaying breasts. Of course, just to show him what he couldn’t have and heavily enjoying your body in the process. 

You chuckled at this, enjoying the way Spencer’s features twisted up in displeasure. Clearly he was whiny, wanting so badly to touch you - but he hadn’t earned it. Not tonight. 

He let out a few more tears before he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled quietly. “I’m a bad boy. I’ve been bad.” 

“Why?” You heaved out, breathless from Elle’s efforts. “Why are you bad?” 

“Good boys don’t talk back.” Spencer finally admitted, his voice weak with defeat. 

“Look, the genius finally figured it out.” Elle commented, beautiful condescension dripping through her voice. 

“Good!” You huffed, fucking your hips harshly back into Elle’s cock while you locked eyes with Spencer’s wet, glassy ones. “Now keep your whiny fuckin’ mouth shut while Mistress fucks me, and maybe - fuck - and maybe I won’t keep that cockring on you all day tomorrow.” 

Spencer whined harshly at this, but didn’t protest. Elle grinned, planting a kiss on the back of your neck before she dug her nails into your hips and fucked you faster.

...

Warnings: smut; this is set during Season 4, Episode 9 (52 Pickup) and there is a lot of references to the episode in this, but I think you could read this without having seen the episode; mentions of typically sexist practices - in the form of ‘pickup artistry’: the reader character replaces Jordan Todd on the team; there is an age gap between Emily and the reader - Emily is older and the reader character is younger; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mention of the reader wearing a dress and makeup; the reader has sexual fantasies about Emily - which include: pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, semi public sex, being called 'naughty girl’; most of the sex acts are in fantasies (this fic is mostly tension and build up and sexually adjacent situations rather than actual sex); masturbation (the reader masturbates); mentions of masturbation being unsatisfying or not feeling 'as good’ as having sex with the desired partner; caught masturbating - Emily walks in on the reader; Emily refers to herself as 'Mama’ (once); rough kissing, Emily gropes the reader through clothing, very light choking (from Emily toward the reader) (Emily puts her hand on the reader’s neck and applies pressure for a few seconds to get her attention), Emily calls the reader 'needy little thing’ (in this case the word 'little’ is meant to be condescending and not a description of size); undertones of degradation kink; I believe that is everything.

A/N: This was based on a request, and the original request mentioned fake dating (and I would love to do that trope with Emily), but I couldn’t stop thinking about how stunning and gorgeous Emily looks in this episode, and I thought it would be interesting to use it. Also the idea of a man basing his pickup techniques on women needing male validation when - hey, what kind of women wouldn’t want or need male validation? A woman who is obsessed with the other gorgeous woman at the table. It was such a fun scenario to write about. I definitely wanna write more Emily fics in the future.

...

At first, you really weren’t looking forward to it. 

Though it seemed fun in concept - having an excuse to dress up and go out to a club while on the job - Emily assured you that it was going to be miserable. 

The way Emily talked about the man - Viper. She almost made him sound worse than some of the confirmed killers you had dealt with during your short time at the BAU. She said that he was the scum of the earth, a waste of oxygen, that made her feel dirty just by giving her a weird look. She joked that she was ‘dragging you along’ because she didn’t want to suffer alone (that, and she needed backup, in case the guy truly was dangerous). 

From the way she talked about it, you thought the night was going to be miserable. 

You certainly didn’t expect it to be one of the best nights of your life. 

Viper frequented bars and nightclubs. So of course, nightclub appropriate attire was required. You rushed to a store and grabbed the first tight dress you could find (a red one with spaghetti straps that would pair well with a pair of modest black heels you already had in your bag for the job). You didn’t expect to come back and see Emily getting changed into a clingy black dress that fit her like sin, her makeup subtle but smokey. 

You had been actively suppressing your attraction to her, a gorgeous older woman, since you had joined the BAU a month ago. You told yourself that you could keep your lustful feelings under control because you would only be there temporarily, to replace their usual media liaison - who was on maternity leave. But seeing her dressed up like this, it certainly didn’t help with that suppression. 

Things only got worse when you got to the club and Viper descended upon the two of you. (You quietly whispered to Emily that his name should have been Vulture and the soft laughter she let out had your insides fluttering.) 

Turns out, Emily had been paying extra attention to the ‘push and pull’ technique that Reid had talked about. And even though you knew that it was just in the name of messing with the cocky man - you fell hook, line, and sinker for Emily’s combatants of this technique. 

See, rather than letting him push and pull the two of you - compliment one of you and leave the other one reeling for validation, Emily complimented you herself. She never let Viper leave room for you to need that validation. Not that you would ever need it from someone like him. But she certainly threw him off with this tactic. 

She supported you, focused far more of her attention on you than she did on him. The two of you never fell to the traditional ‘women in constant competition’ market that his techniques were built on. If she put far more of her focus on you and actively ignored him (or even not-so-subtly insulted him), then what could he do? 

Women not vying for his attention? It was a curveball for the ages. 

Clearly, he had no backup plan. He was struggling to keep up. 

If he called your dress cheap, Emily said how well the fabric complimented your amazing body. If he said your mascara was clumpy and poorly done, Emily said your eyes were naturally beautiful and shined bright without makeup anyway. 

The more annoyed it seemed to make him, the more she fawned over you. 

And it left you staring at her all night. Captivated by her beauty, her silky voice. You barely even knew that he was there as she laughed at him, engaged in his silly games, taunted him. 

By the time you left the club, you were almost high on the affection Emily had given you. 

The rest seemed to go by in a blur. The real killer was caught at a different club, and the team retired back to their hotel to get some rest before returning home. As you and Emily walked back to your shared room, you were still laughing and joking about the pathetic man who somehow made his living off of scamming men more pathetic than him. 

“And did - did you see the look on his face when I said ‘you probably go home alone, don’t you?’ - Like he - he couldn’t believe that I wasn’t falling for his BS,” Emily said, stuttering through her words as hardy laughter disrupted her speech. 

“It’s like he’s never met a confident woman in his life.” You replied, a delicate chuckle in your voice. 

It was a subtle compliment toward Emily, admiring her confidence in how well she had dealt with the scummy, overly cocky man. 

“No, not quite.” Emily sighed, using the keycard to open the hotel room door. 

Your insides fluttered even more when she held the door open for you. You couldn’t help but enjoy the domestic feeling behind it as you brushed past her body in order to get inside. 

Of course, she wasn’t even paying attention to the dreamy, starstruck look on your face as she continued speaking. 

“He’s never approached a confident woman before.” She quickly corrected, letting the door fall shut and click locked behind her. “He’s never approached a woman he thought he couldn’t con.” 

“And for some reason he dared you to ‘meet him on his turf’?” You questioned, repeating the words she had told you, when ranting about the previous interaction she had with the awful man. “You, of all people?” 

You had to wonder what about Emily Prentiss would come off as even slightly insecure or - what about her said that she would fall for his stupid tricks. In your opinion, it was like trying to outrun a cheetah using a tricycle. 

“Yeah, I guess he was counting on me being drunk and blinded by all his guyliner.” Emily joked, tossing her bag down onto one of the twin beds. 

You collapsed down onto the other bed with intense laughter. The joke itself was funny, but her delivery, her confidence, and her smile caused a spark through you that forced you to laugh off the tension before you jumped her bones. You had to be professional. You had to keep reminding yourself of that. 

“I call the bathroom first.” She announced. “I really need a shower after being drowned in Drakkar Noir all night.” 

You had to ignore the dryness in your throat and the heat between your thighs at the thought of her in the shower. Previously, it was something your mind could have easily glossed over, but after she spent the night fawning over you and capturing your attention completely, it was like you were a horny teenager again. Now all you could think about was her completely naked, droplets of hot water rolling across her skin, surrounded by steam. 

You had to pull yourself together. You had to be professional, for fuck’s sake. 

“But of course.” You told her, giving a smile and a nod. You motioned toward the bathroom, as if presenting it to her in a gentlemanly fashion. “I’ll probably just shower in the morning.” 

Emily nodded in acknowledgement of this, and there was no further conversation. 

This left your mind reeling, your body entirely tense and hyper aware of her every movement as she got ready. You had to busy yourself with grabbing your pajamas out of your own bag - an oversized X-Files tee shirt and a pair of comfortable cotton shorts - while she grabbed her toiletries bag and went into the bathroom. 

The water turned on and you tried your hardest not to think about her undressing and stepping under the stream as you changed into your pjs. You tried your hardest not to think about her tight, fit body relaxing under the steam. You tried your hardest not to think about soft bubbles rolling across her soft, pale skin. 

Clearly, you were failing. Failing not to think about her. Failing miserably when it came to suppressing your attraction for her. 

By the time you climbed into bed, there was a hard, hot pain between your thighs. 

You wanted so badly to simply roll over and go to sleep. You wanted to ignore it. But a very large part of you worried that if you didn’t ‘take care’ of that nagging arousal, then you wouldn’t be able to sleep. And if you didn’t sleep and you rolled into the next day with this attraction to Emily still at the forefront of your mind - then you wouldn’t be able to act normal around her for the travel day home tomorrow. You might say or do something stupid. 

You had to do something. 

The longer you laid there in bed, unconsciously squeezing your thighs together, feeling your pussy throbbing between them - thinking about Emily’s head being trapped between your legs - the more it bothered you. 

You had some time while she was in the shower, right? You could be quick. Of course you could. And if you heard the water turn off, you would simply stop. 

Before any true logic could catch up between your ears, a hand was sneaking below the waistband of your shorts. That hand easily went inside your underwear and found a natural place on your throbbing clit. You dipped down into your wetness (leaking out of you abundantly from how much you had been thinking about Emily) and slicked up the hot button before you began rubbing it in hard circles. You were determined to cum quickly and be done with it. 

You closed your eyes and tiled your head back against the pillow, your mind drifting back to her once again. You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect she looked in that ruby lipstick. All night, you had felt jealous of the glass when she brought her drink up to her lips. 

You imagined her approaching you at a bar. 

You would be out by yourself, and she would see you from across the room. So entirely confident, she would see you and in a moment, know that she could have you. 

She would come up behind you, whisper sweetly in your ear, telling you how perfect you looked. She would smirk at your initial shyness when you giggled at the compliment. She would tell you that she couldn’t wait to get you home - that she wanted you and she wanted you now. 

So she would pull you into a bathroom, pinning you against a counter. And then she would shove her hand under your dress, only to find that you weren’t wearing any panties, just for her. She would scold you, call you a naughty girl. Her voice so sweet and condescending, only making you wetter. And then she would shove her fingers into your slick cunt and shove her other hand over your mouth, trying in vain to keep your whorish moans from being heard as you begged for her. 

“Emily, please,” You couldn’t stop the faint, needy moan that escaped you as you got lost in the fantasy. 

Of course, so lost in it, that you didn’t hear the shower turning off. 

Your pussy ached, leaking freely into your underwear, and your clit throbbed, emanating a needy pain out through your pelvis. You worked your fingers in more frantic circles, doubling down. Your hips canted up off the bed, knocking the covers off you slightly as dull pleasure radiated out across your hips. 

(Dull compared to what Emily would have given you, you were sure.) 

Even if it was unsatisfactory, you were close. 

“Emily-!” You cried out desperately, right on the edge of orgasm. 

“Hey, do you have some makeup remover I can borrow? I forgot-” 

Shock cascaded through your system and you instantly stilled your movements. This caused your orgasm to become a low hum in your pelvis once again as your eyes shot open in disbelief. 

Your gaze locked onto Emily where she stood in the bathroom doorway. Your insides were still with shock - embarrassment or any other emotion hadn’t even caught up yet. 

Steam ploomed around her and she was forced to hold up the hotel towel with one hand as it couldn’t fully wrap around her body, leaving a sliver of her skin exposed from her armpit to her knee - the curve of her breast, her waist, and her hip on full display. With her hair soaked and her bangs slicked back from her face, and true to what she had said, her makeup still on but slightly smudged from the shower - she looked utterly delicious. 

She was like a pornographic dream, live in front of you. 

You let out a quiet whimper at the sight. 

It was only then that your brain began to unfreeze from the shock, and you realized how truly incriminating you looked. The covers pooled around your thighs, your hand quite visibly inside your shorts, your face contorted with pleasure as your eyes scanned over her half naked body. You rushed to rip your hand out of your underwear - and you realized the sight wasn’t much better as your fingers glistened in the light. 

Emily’s eyes moved from your glistening fingers to your stiff, nervous body, your thighs still parted (as it would be too uncomfortable to clamp them down on your wet underwear and aching cunt). She smirked at you. She looked at you with the same devious, cocky expression that Viper had started out the night with - before she had taken him down notch by notch. 

The look alone caused any apology to be stuck in your throat. You waited for her to speak before you made any moves. 

“What were you thinking about?” She asked, her voice breathy, soft, yet entirely commanding. 

In that moment, caught in the smoldering gate of her eyes, you could find nothing but honesty pounding inside of your chest. 

“You.” You whined quietly. 

Emily chuckled gently. 

Your stomach twisted with embarrassment for the split second that you thought she might be laughing at you. But then you realized that it was, in fact, a sound of satisfaction. 

That realization hit you when she dropped the towel completely. She stood in front of you proudly, showing off all of her naked, wet glory. Her dark nipples pebbling in the air, the damp sheen of water making her skin glow like a dewy goddess. Quite obviously, she wanted you to look.

Your eyes traced a few thick droplets of water as they escaped her hair and ran down her body. You became absolutely mesmerized by the way gravity pulled the water over her collarbones, the teardrop curve of her breasts, the plushness of her stomach, across her pelvis, down her thighs. You imagined yourself tracing over those exact lines with your tongue. 

“Come to me.” 

Her silken voice snapped you out of your trance. Your eyes shot back up to her face once again, and in the sluggish moment that it took the words to get to your brain, she added something onto the command that absolutely knocked the wind out of you. 

“Come on. Come to Mama.” 

Her calling herself that name, so self assured, so certain - the phrase almost had you down on all fours, crawling to her like a dog. 

But instead, you scrambled to get upright and practically ran across the room to her on shaking legs. Entirely eager, you stood in front of her and leaned in to press your mouth against hers. Naturally, you expected that the interaction would start with a kiss. 

But she quickly reached up and stopped you with a hand on the side of your neck. You let out a harsh whimper of disappointment - one that quickly turned into a moan when she pressed her thumb into your windpipe with just enough pressure to make your brain go fuzzy. 

She was showing you who was in charge. 

“Not so fast,” She told you, her breath cascading against your lips now. 

Although she was completely naked and you were clothed, it was very apparent that she was the one in complete control. 

“Tell me how badly you want it.” She ordered, her voice low and almost gentle - a soft domineering that caused the hairs on your arms to stand up straight. 

“I want it so badly,” You easily replied, your voice intensely needy. “I need it. I need you, Em.” 

Emily reached up with her other hand and - with no warning - harshly gripped your pussy through your underwear and shorts. This caused sharp shocks of arousal to flow through you, making you moan out weakly. It was a dizzying euphoria that had you bucking into her hand. You almost came from that single touch alone. 

“Needy little thing.” She purred. “I am gonna have so much fun with you.” 

This was her last verbal sentiment before she pulled you forward by that hand on your neck and silenced any further moans with a bruising kiss.

...