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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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Through the Storm, Into Your Arms ⋆.˚

genre : hurt/comfort

pairing : spencer reid / derek morgan

word count : 2809

warnings / tags : hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, argument, communication

note : critique always welcome! i also post my fics on AO3 :3 dividers by : cafekitsune

Soft, gentle rays of sun glow on Derek Morgan’s face. Spencer lies beside him, resting his chin on his hand, mesmerized by his features, admiring him just like the first morning they spent together. He chuckles at the fact Derek’s mouth is hanging open.

Derek sharply inhales, slowly opening his eyes to squint at Spencer, who is still intently staring into his partner’s eyes.

“Jeez, stalker.” His voice was harsh, but he managed to let out a chuckle. “How long have you been watching me for?”

“I have nothing better to do. Why not just look at you?” Spencer joked, putting on his awkward, straight smile.

“Of course you’d go with that. Just look at this face.” Derek smiles as he rolls over to sit up on his side of the bed, locking his fingers together to stretch above his head.

“Do you know what today is?” Spencer giddily inquired.

“Why wouldn’t I know, Spence?”

“I just wanted to remind you.” Spencer grinned, dropping his head to stare at his busy hands. Although they were dating, his little nervous fidgeting never disappeared. It was almost as if they weren’t dating, and he was still constantly crushing on him, feeling that loving flutter in his heart whenever they had a conversation.

Derek pushes himself off the bed and shuffles to Spencer’s closet to pick out some of the work clothing he brought over the night before.

“I was thinking we could do something nice for our 6-month anniversary.” Spencer blurted. He couldn’t contain his excitement for this day and had to discuss his plans thoroughly. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’m okay with whatever.” He pulls up his dark blue jeans and starts picking out a V-neck shirt from his limited selection hanging up on the right side of Spencer’s closet. “Did you have anything specific in mind? As long as you enjoy it, it will be a good day.”

“I thought I could try to cook for you.” Spencer wasn’t usually the type to cook. He saved his skill for special occasions, for special people. “I already know you like Chinese food, but I’m unfamiliar with cooking that. Is there something I’ve made before that you also like?”

“You do make amazing ravioli.”

“I can do that, but we are out of pasta sauce, so we should grab some on our way to the BAU.” Spencer finally got up to start dressing himself. He makes his way toward the closet and starts sorting through his options, checking each fabric for the perfect material.

Derek exits the bedroom and heads towards the living room to scan for any mess. Spencer kept most of his life neat and well-kept, but considering he was frequently out of the house, the center of it fluttered around with his rushes. So Derek tidied up what he could, taking coffee-stained mugs to the sink and carefully placing his unfinished reads back onto the shelves with a bookmark on his last place.

Spencer comes stumbling out of his bedroom, nearly slipping as he tries to slide into his mismatched striped socks. He picks up his messenger bag, tossing it over his head and adjusting it on his hip.

Derek slides the last book back onto the bookshelf and looks back at Spencer, idly standing at the door, waiting for his boyfriend to complete their routine.

As they make their way out of the door, Spencer dives into detail on everything he had planned for the day. He was so overwhelmed with joy that he simply couldn’t keep all the specifics a secret. They make their way towards the lobby, Derek slightly picking up pace to open the door for Spencer, allowing him to continue rambling about various plans for their weekend.

The car ride on their way to the BAU was serene. Spencer suggested they take a more scenic route, considering today wasn’t a busy work day and the most exhaustive task they would have to complete would be a stack or two of paperwork. They casually ride through downtown and observe all the bustling businesses, briefly stopping at a corner store to pick up pasta sauce for their dinner later and a few other snacks to keep around the apartment.

Finally, they arrive at the BAU. Derek navigates through the parking lot, scouting out the best parking space. Not too far and easy to spot from the entrance. Spencer pulls on the handle of the car door, pushing it out to exit with it, and meets Derek at the front of the car, where he checks the time.

“Ready to head in?” Derek looks over.

“I think so.”

Spencer extends his hand out towards Derek’s as they make their way closer to the front door, but abruptly, he watches Derek jerk his hand back into his pocket, reacting to their contact. Immediately, a pit forms in his stomach. They weren’t a frequently affectionate couple, specifically not in public. Still, Spencer wasn’t expecting a reaction like this, not from Derek. It had taken some time for their relationship to even reach that level once they had made it official.

“Why did-” Spencer attempted to question.

Derek pulled the grand glass doors open, stepping aside, allowing Spencer to step in before him.

“Go ahead.” Derek bluntly stated.

Spencer can’t manage to get his work done, not after this morning. It was off-putting, even if it was a small, easily misunderstood action. He files through various documents and reports, patiently waiting to be completed. He snags a recent report off his stack and finishes the final details.

A worn office chair noisily rolls back, causing Spencer to look up from his work, spotting Derek rising from his seat to make his way towards the coffee maker, Spencer following closely behind.

Derek stops before the coffee maker, popping his favorite pod into its designated spot and placing his hands on the counter to tap a simple rhythm while he waits. Spencer slides beside him, awkwardly swaying as he stands in the silence.

“What was that earlier?” Spencer managed to mutter quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Before we walked in. Why did you not want to hold my hand?”

Derek’s eyebrows slightly raise, his jaw tensing in the same motion. He opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by the obnoxious beeping of his coffee finishing brewing. Turning to the machine, he presses a couple of buttons, allowing his roast to fill a mug.

“Can you at least talk to me about it later?” He mumbles.

Derek nods, and Spencer heads towards his desk, bumping into Hotch on his way back.

“Is everything alright?” Hotch tilts his head. He had glanced over at their conversation earlier, sensing the tension between them.

Spencer gives him a straight, awkward smile and a thumbs up.

“We have a meeting. Could you let Derek know as well? Just a quick review.”

Like every week, the team sits contently at the round table as Hotch goes through past reports and upcoming goals. Spencer had set aside his trouble with Derek’s odd behavior, hoping to focus on the current meeting and set a better mood between them. As he jots down reminders in his planner, he glances down and notices Derek’s right leg bouncing anxiously. In an attempt to regulate whatever he may have been feeling, Spencer placed his free hand onto Derek’s fidgeting leg, causing him to flinch slightly.

He discreetly grabs Spencer’s hand, throwing it off his thigh while giving him a harsh look. Spencer catches onto what Derek did and feels his heart sink to his stomach. A defeated look draws on his face, grabbing Hotch’s attention as he wraps up the meeting. His entire body language shifted, making it hard for anyone not to notice. Spencer felt nothing but utter humiliation, a thrashing wave of shame throwing him back in his seat. He felt his eyes start to fill, and his face begins to heat up. “Reid?”

He picks up his head to face his boss, forcing himself to contain his upset.

“Uh- Yeah, sorry.” He coughs back his tears, realizing the entire team's eyes are on him, including Derek.

As the end of their work day approaches, Derek seems to rush as he gathers his belongings to head home, as does Spencer. Both of them were more than ready to leave the overbearing climate their workplace had become today.

No words are exchanged between them as they make their way towards Derek’s car. Spencer attempts to share a glance with his partner as if doing so would give him even the slightest glimpse of an explanation, a peek into his emotions. They drag themselves into the car, taking a moment to sit in the strained atmosphere.

The ride back home was more than tense. Reid shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, running through several openers to this heavy conversation, continuously fidgeting with his clothes, hair, nails, whatever put him at ease. Derek sat with his right hand on the steering wheel, his other hand propped on his door to hold his head as he rested it on his palm, strictly keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“Are you upset with me, Derek?” His words get caught in his throat before shakily making their way out as he watches Derek’s jaw clench at the sentence. A rainfall of regret washed over him.

“What?”

“You-you refused to show even the tiniest bit of affection towards me at work.” The sentence lingers in the deafening silence of the moving car. Derek presses his lips together, holding himself back until he can find the right words.

“You’re seriously bothered by that? Because you can’t be touchy in a work setting?” It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say. Still, he couldn’t find anything more appropriate, unfortunately letting the bitterness soak into his tone. He peers over at Spencer, catching his timid expression shift into a look of infuriation.

“All I did was try to hold your hand.” “And grab my thigh during a meeting?” The tension between them was growing more and more dense as they threw arguments at each other.

“You were aggressively bouncing your leg for 20 minutes. I was trying to help you!” Derek scoffs, shaking his head at the statement. He gives no response, once again leaving them in ringing silence.

“Why is this making you so upset? I’m not asking to make out with you while we’re being briefed on a case.”

“We haven’t even told the team we’re together, Spencer. I’m asking you to tone it down in public, that’s all.” Spencer huffs, picking at the crumbs on his seat.

“Are you just embarrassed to be with me?” He mumbles. “You’re always avoiding affection or trying to hide it from everyone.”

“Jesus Christ-” Derek spits. “How about we leave it at the fact that I simply hate PDA?”

“Okay, I’ll drop it!” His voice cracks.

Spencer turns his head towards the window, staring out as they slowly roll into the parking lot of his apartment complex. Derek works into a parking space and shuts the car off, quickly gathering his things, Spencer following after him. He shuffles behind Derek as they head to the lobby entrance, keeping his head low as Derek holds the door open for him.

They both head into the apartment without uttering a single word to each other. Derek steps towards the kitchen, swiftly placing the cold jar of pasta sauce on an empty kitchen counter, then heads straight to the bathroom to wash his face and clear his head. The creaky door closes behind him, and he grips his hands onto the cold ceramic sink, glaring into the mirror. He recounts the events of today, resentment bubbling up into his throat, spreading through his body. The crack in Spencer’s shaking voice replays in his head, his somber face when he had been denied holding his partner’s hand into work, and his reaction when he threw Spencer’s hand off his thigh. Everything had finally set with him. He frees his hands from the sink, steps back to hit the wall, and slowly descends onto the floor.

Spencer quickly started on dinner, retrieving ingredients from various parts of their kitchen for a simple pasta dough. He was slightly comforted by the fact they made it home before 6 PM, leaving him enough time to finish dinner and hopefully have time to spend together, despite their differences. Immediately starting with the pasta, Spencer kneads frustration into the dough. Every emotion he had held in at work began to come up, forming a lump in his throat. Once again, tears began to fill Spencer’s eyes as he picked up his pace with preparing dinner, quickly whisking a spinach ricotta mix together, rushing to start filling the ravioli. Quiet tears hit the floor as he hovered around the stove, slowly watching his handcrafted noodles boil.

Spencer’s head swings as he hears a door creak again, catching Derek slipping out of the bathroom to crash on the couch. He turns back to his noodles, gently grabbing the pot to drop them into a strainer. A warm browned butter sauce waits in a pan on the stove, sizzling as Spencer incorporates the ravioli with it. The fragrance of their dinner makes its way out of the kitchen, catching Derek’s attention as he sits slumped on the couch, browsing channels for classic sitcoms. Spencer awkwardly slides even portions onto clean places, gently placing them on his petite dinner table and getting positioned at his side of the table. Derek looks over and catches his partner’s unspoken words, sluggishly dragging himself off the couch and plopping in his seat across from Spencer’s.

“This smells great.” Derek mutters while poking around his plate, searching for a perfect first bite. Spencer returns a nod in response, bringing his eyes back to his meal as he taps on the fake wood of his dinner table.

“So, uh-” Spencer begins to speak.

“I know,” Derek says softly, practically whispering. “I’m very sorry.”

“I didn't mean to be overbearing.” Spencer's face was misty, tears coating his cheeks.

“No, you weren't.” He takes a deep breath, searching his mind for the right words. “It’s just very different. Our relationship.”

Spencer presses his cracked lips together, stretching his hand over the table to lie on Derek’s. He began to guess as to what was bothering him and patiently waited to hear him out.

“I'm not entirely ready to tell the team about us. I haven't been this committed to a relationship in years. I don't want them to profile us and assume things on their own.” Derek cringed at the thought. He refused to allow something so important to be reduced to senseless office gossip.

Spencer sighs in relief, feeling an unbearable weight lift off his chest. Although the conclusion was drastic, it brought him immense security to know that Derek wasn’t ashamed to be with him publicly. Derek lifts his hand to stroke a stray hair away from Spencer’s glazed eyes, resting his hand on the back of his head, surveying his face for a tell as his lack of a response was killing him.

“Spence?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry.” Spencer jolted, finally snapping back into his consciousness as he stared back into Derek’s gaze. “I completely understand. I don't want to make you feel unsafe.” Spencer struggled to formulate a response aside from showing understanding.

“Still, I shouldn't have acted weird towards you out of nowhere.” Derek drags his hand from the back of Spencer’s head to his cheek, softly stroking it with his thumb. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Well, I can’t deny that.” Spencer softly chuckles at the offer, and Derek gives a pleasant grin in response. He squeezes onto Spencer’s hand, rising from his seat, his partner following along. As they wander through the cozy living space, relief washes over them both. Their relationship went through a rough patch and came out in one piece, and that’s what mattered to them now.

They plop themselves onto the pillowy couch, snuggling up to one another. Spencer allows himself to shift down to Derek’s lap, resting his head on his thighs. Derek tenderly caresses the doctor's rosy cheek, dragging his touch down to his shoulders and returning his hand to repeat the comforting motion. Using his free hand, he feels around through blankets and couch crevices for the TV remote, finally grabbing hold of it, and clicking through available channels in search of a laid-back movie. Something Spencer had already seen, to avoid the fatigued man being brought out of his dozing off to pick up new information. Derek tenderly drags a delicate throw blanket over his partner’s shoulders, placing a kiss on his forehead. Within minutes, both of them doze off, snuggled up against one another on Spencer’s couch.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #hurt/comfort #dr spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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To warm the cold side of the pillow ༉‧₊˚.

pairing : derek morgan x ftm!spencer reid

genre : fluff, comfort

word count : 766

warnings / tags : fluff, comfort, trans character, trans spencer reid, ftm spencer reid, established relationship, domestic fluff, drug mention, needles/syringe mention, injection described

He plunges the needle into the top of the vial, pulling his dose into the tube, and checking for air bubbles.

The tip of the needle hovers over his pale thigh, shaking as he tries to get a firm grip on a chunk of his skin. Taking his shots hadn’t been the same since he quit Dilaudid, but he knew it wouldn't be. The familiarity with it was sickening. The way a drug that saved his life seemed to cross paths with a drug that nearly ruined it didn't sit right with him.

He freezes for a couple of moments, unable to dip the sharp end into his thigh. Not out of fear, but out of memory. Remembering the troubled past he had with needles, vials, and drugs. He knew that obviously, this was not Dilaudid, but the situation was identical, too close for comfort.

The door to the bedroom sits ajar, allowing Derek to peer into the den as he heads toward the kitchen to get a start on their usual breakfast. He spots his partner struggling with a normally simple chore, a task that easily flies by without a second thought.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah I just,” Spencer’s head jerks up, locking eyes with his half-dressed boyfriend hanging around the open entrance of their bedroom.

Spencer’s mouth hangs open as if preparing to explain, but nothing comes out. He drops his head back down to the syringe, noticing his trembling hand.

Derek’s eyebrows jump up, realizing that something was wrong. He makes his way into the room, gently taking a seat next to his uneasy partner.

“What’s going on?” Derek carefully questioned as he analyzed Spencer’s body language. It was very obvious to him what could have been happening, but he wanted to hear it from Spencer first.

“The needles, the vial, it just reminded me of,” His voice trails off. He had grown to not be afraid of even mentioning what happened in Georgia, yet at this moment, he found himself choking on his words. They both knew what he meant, letting the silence speak for itself.

Derek raises his hand to trace the protruding vertebrae down Spencer’s back, starting at the bottom and making his way to the top, landing on his shoulders to slowly rub them. He watched his partner shutter with anxiety as he continued to stare at the needle, then back at his thigh.

“Hey,” Derek spoke softly. Spencer slowly looked up to meet his gaze

“Would it help if I tried doing it for you?”

Spencer sits with a lost expression on his face, eyebrows furrowed, indicating he is lost in his thoughts rather than nothingness. Derek gives him the time to consider his suggestion.

Spencer thought that the act of someone else doing his injection would be all too much, almost recreating his trauma in his own home. But a blanket of comfort coats the idea when he realizes it’s Derek Morgan, the man he loves with every fiber of his being. If he wasn't able to do it himself right now, Derek was the next best possible option.

He softly nods as he hands the syringe over to his partner, adjusting himself so Derek can easily perform the injection.

Derek preps his thigh once more and lowers the needle until it’s hovering over Spencer’s thigh.

“Do you want to look away?”

“I guess. Please be quick.”

Following the doctor’s order, he plunges the needle and swiftly, but safely, finishes the injection, applying pressure with a piece of gauze after to stop possible bleeding. He had watched his partner do this shot a million times before, so he tried his best to replicate the steps.

Spencer winces quietly at the pressure but immediately settles back down once he realizes everything is done.

“How was that? Are you feeling okay?”

“It was good for your first time doing it.”

Derek chuckles lightly, “I can thank you for all my knowledge.”

He pushes himself off of their bed to toss the used needle into the bin, bringing himself back to the doorway.

“I’m going to get started on breakfast, wanna help me pretty boy?”

A smile quickly plasters Spencer’s face, his anxiety trailing off as he gets up to follow his boyfriend to the kitchen, giving him a keen kiss on the cheek on their way.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #moreid #moreid fic #ftm spencer reid #trans spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #derek morgan criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fluff

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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Reid: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos- Morgan: I wrote you a poem. Reid, already crying: You did?

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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the team is chasing the sickest murderers to ever live meanwhile these two on the phone sexually harassing each other

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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i wanna finish this ftm spencer moreid fic but i have no motivation…. 😐😐😐

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid #fanfiction #moreid

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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thank you for much for 54 notes on this guys!! i havent had much writing motivation but im trying to get something done eventually… 😖

What we can't say ༉‧₊˚.

pairing : spencer reid / derek morgan

genre : fluff , one shot

word count : 1.7k

summary : the team has to fly out to Spokane late into the night for a case involving 3 missing girls, but their hotel couldn't accommodate the last minute request entirely, leaving two members having to share a bed.

this is my first fic so im open to suggestions and feedback!!

The team slouch in their squeaky leather chairs, while Hotch leans on the side table, trying to keep himself up and awake. They had all been called in late into the night for a case involving 3 missing young girls and were requested to fly out to Spokane as soon as possible, hopefully to find the third victim in time.

“Alright, before we land, let's do a quick brief on what we have so far regarding the case.” Hotch yawned, slipping his thumb under his manila folder and flipping it open.

Everyone scans through their folders along with him, trying to keep up, and fighting a quick power nap they desperately need yet have no time to spare for on the jet.

Derek had started to doze off while going over his file when Emily tapped his shoulder. Derek suddenly jerks, taking his weight off his hand and shifting it onto the armrest.

“Hey man, we're about to land. Don't make us leave without you.” She teased, nudging her shoulder into his, and bringing her attention back to the ongoing discussion of everyone bouncing theories off of each other, composing a game plan for when they land.

Reid sat across from Emily and Derek, fidgeting with his fingers, running them along the window trim. He never saw Derek as the kind of guy to chase after someone like Emily, but with his chronic flirtatious personality, even the baby genius FBI profiler couldn’t figure him out. He couldn’t help but examine Derek’s behavior towards the others, taking notes of the important details that just might give him a clue on his feelings towards him.

The jet finally lands, and the team makes their way to the hotel they managed to book last minute. They reach the front desk to check into the hotel, and find out they were able to accommodate three bedrooms, only two of the rooms had two separate beds. They scoot to the side of the reception to make way for other customers and begin discussing who will be sharing the one bed-room.

“Well, how will we be doing this?” Rossi smirks and scans everyone's face to humor himself at their reactions at the fact someone will be sharing a bed tonight.

“Right off the bat, I think it’s safe to say me and JJ would love to share.” Emily chuckled, glancing at JJ and exchanging a smile with her.

Reid stays quiet. He had been used to being the last choice all throughout his childhood, which always seemed to come back up in his adult life, but he had grown used to it. So he sat there, waiting for a groan of complaint, until he heard someone mention his name.

“I can share with Reid, I don’t mind.”

He glances up and sees Derek grinning at him, arm reaching out and patting his shoulder, and letting out a small giggle.

Reid was confused as to why Derek was so willing to share the same bed as him. For an activity so intimate, he assumed Derek would clarify he was taking the floor or perhaps waiting to trade places with someone, and yet he didn’t.

Everyone heads to their rooms sluggishly dragging along small suitcases packed enough for at least two days and start to get settled, preparing for the rush of work they will be facing in the morning.

Derek swipes their room card across the reader, waits for the click, and budges the door open, allowing Reid to walk through before him.

“This is a decent room for having one bed.” Derek joked, inspecting the room from left to right, top to bottom.

Reid was too fidgety and flustered to come up with a funny quick response, especially not when he’s facing the fact that the man he is infatuated with chose to lay in the same bed as him.

Derek sighs as he noticed how Reid was behaving, he could sense unease within his friend, and he was starting to feel it too. He continues to make his way around the room, examining the quality.

Reid blankly stares out of the window, tracking how many blue cars he can spot out in the spotlight of the streetlights, checking if he can find the moon and gauge the phase of it. Was it a waning gibbous or a full moon?

He jolts as he feels a palm press onto his right shoulder, whipping his head around to end up directly staring into the eyes of Derek, inches away from his face.

“Woah there!” Derek forced a laugh, trying to keep the mood light.

“Oh! Well- I uh, I was just um-” Reid muttered. He was barely able to spit those words out, so he gave up, dropping his head to the floor, scratching the shoulder of his shirt.

“You haven’t spoken since we’ve gotten off the jet, is something wrong?” Derek interrogated, wanting to ease this everlasting anxiety he could just feel rising within Reid.

“Everything is alright. You don’t have to worry.”

“You can never seem to go more than 2 hours without talking.” Derek took a couple steps back to sit down on the bed. “Something’s gotta be up with you, man.” Derek’s tone had dropped, he spoke in a low concerned voice, causing it to become a rasp.

Reid’s head stayed low, keeping his hands busy, hoping it could distract himself enough to bring him to another scenario. Another timeline where he wouldn’t be in a ruinous state of shame and humiliation. Another timeline where he could have spoken up before Derek and gotten to sleep on the floor with Emily and JJ. Not a time when, in the midst of being called onto an urgent case hours past his usual bedtime, he was chosen to share a slightly dingy, coffee stained mattress with Derek Morgan.

“It’s just, uh, this case is quite stressful. The last minute call as well, trying to rush to this hotel shortly after I had fallen asleep. Y’know.” Reid continued to anxiously fidget with the hem on the bottom of his shirt.

“Well, yeah, I understand that, but you were acting just fine on the plane. It was only once we got to the hotel when you started acting strange.” Derek kept his gaze on Reid, spotting out all his nervous tics and fidgets.

“Everything is alright, Derek, I promise.” His head rises as he speaks, then he turns to wash up in the bathroom and switch to proper bedroom attire.

Derek raises his eyebrows and scoffs, he tried his best, if Reid wasn’t going to give it up right then and there, he had to let it go.

A couple of minutes go by, Reid sits on the cold porcelain toilet seat, counting the total numbers of tiles on the bathroom floor. His emotions were still running high, and he was yet to face the grand event of sleeping next to someone he has feelings for. He shook his face, pushed the slick walnut strands out of his face, and then stood up.

Reid slowly twists the bathroom knob, creaking the door open. Once the door is fully ajar, he spots Derek already sat comfortably on their bed, scrolling through the best channels he could find at this hour. He’s wearing a long sleeved cotton button up, colored dark blue, paired with some classic black sweatpants. Reid took gentle steps towards the left side of the bed, sliding under the thin cover, hoping Derek wouldn’t notice and try to strike up some before-bed discussion.

Derek finally settled on a channel, some old 90s family sitcom he used to watch with his sisters, and got nestled under the covers. He glanced over at Reid, knowing he wasn't asleep, just wanting to examine his behavior. Was he shaking? Was he still fidgeting? Could he get a good night's rest before their case tomorrow?

The restless agent lay motionless in bed, only letting his shoulders rise and fall as he took in subtle deep breaths. Too afraid to look back, he could feel Derek’s stare pierce the back of his neck, trailing down his spine. His mind was clouded with a steep mountain of anxieties, thoughts slurring together as his restlessness became fatigue. He was hung up on the possibility of being critiqued, in such a vulnerable state of unconsciousness, unknowing to external issues. His nightmares had come back for the first time since Las Vegas just a few weeks ago. He wondered if Derek would comfort him if he were to wake in a cold sweat, heart beating rapidly, unable to stop shaking. He practically started praying for a response anywhere equivalent to that, if the situation were to occur at all.

Reid’s eyes flutter open, his eyes immediately landing on the digital boxy bedside clock to check the time

4:29 a.m.

He knew the rest of the team was likely still asleep, so he decided to rest his eyes once again, hoping to get an extra hour or two of sleep. He makes an effort to bring his hand up to rub his eyes when he feels another weight sitting on top of it. Laying on his back, as still as he could possibly be, he shifts his head to glance down at his hand, seeing Derek Morgan’s fingers interlocked with his. His palm blanketed by Derek’s. His eyes widen, and he feels his entire body tense, his mind shifting from groggy and hazy to ruffled and delighted.

He continues to lay still, feeling his cheeks start to burn up, spreading down to his fingertips. This was not accidental, Derek meant to do this.

Suddenly, he hears Derek groan and shift around harshly, swinging his head over to face Reid, still gripping Reid’s left with his right, and spots him simply staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were going to be up this early.” Derek mumbled while lightly smirking, still being slightly out of it, not noticing he had continued to cling onto Reid throughout the night.

He surveyed Reid’s body language, he could sense there was still some tension, but he was glad it had been eased before the case.

Unclasping his hand from Reid’s, he turns over and sits on the edge of the bed, checking his phone for the time. He still left a smirk on his face, remembering how he comforted Reid in the night, even though he might not have remembered it. He was still cared for by someone who loved him.

#criminal minds fanfic

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logolepzy · 1 year ago

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Sempervirens

A string of letters written by Emily through the years

emily rose

teen | wc: 1.1k | cw: mentions of death & grief

a/n: first drabble of 2024. sorry it took so long. hope you enjoy ♡ banner credits from airidescence

It’s been ten years and I still don’t know where to put all this grief.

Uncle Tommy suggested I see a shrink, so I told him to fuck off. I promised him I’d write these stupid letters instead. Journaling, mindfulness, yoga – all that does nothing for me. This shit better work. So…here’s a list of things in my life you never got to see.

I stopped doing soccer right after you passed. I’m sorry.

I know even when you were here I had horrible grades. But I made it. I graduated high school. I got into college, worked my ass off, and somehow became the youngest person in NYC to make the Homicide Division. I hope you’re proud of me.

…But it’s brutal. Captain Thompson is just cruel. Tommy met her at a few holiday parties and I don’t know. There’s no concrete evidence yet, but I know there’s something up with her. And the rest of the NYPD. I’ll move on to something better eventually.

By the way, Tommy misses you too. A few weeks ago, we looked through the attic and found a bunch of old photo albums and VHS tapes. We spent all day looking through them. There was a picture of us sitting on your ‘Smoke Couch.’ The black leather one in our old living room. It still reeks of cigars.

My head hurts writing this. Me and Tommy still have nothing for you. No evidence, no lead. Not any fingerprints. Even the files have nothing. I’m so sorry. There has to be something. You’ve been gone ten years and all that I have left of you are old photos and some beat-up jackets.

You need justice. I need answers.

We miss you so much. I’m going to stop writing before I throw up.

Always surviving, Emily Rose 09/10/18

* * * *

I had a fluffernutter sandwich this morning and thought of you.

Don’t know why I love it so much. I probably have a dozen cavities by now. I’m sorry it’s been a while since my last letter…a lot has passed. Anyway–some life updates as promised.

I quit the NYPD. Are you surprised? I found so much shit - probably enough to fire every cop in my precinct - but HR turned on me. So I left. I spent two weeks moping, just bartending at the Drunk Tank until Tommy made me chat with an old friend of his. Mafalda. I think you knew her too. It’s so much better at the agency. There’s this guy named Luke who does all the computer stuff for us. He’s pretty sick. He lost his mom around the same time I lost you. And there’s a forensic analyst who occasionally works with us, Ruby. I know you were never much of a gossip, but they just started dating. They’re cute together. You’d like them.

Also, I got rid of that stupid leather couch you loved. It was all ripped up and probably had mold in it. And it smelled like absolute shit. Smoke and Horse Creek. Yuck. Uncle Tommy and I spent a whole day looking for a new couch. I landed on this velvet green one with a fancy fringe at the bottom. I can already hear you calling me bougie right now.

They say this in movies, but I didn’t expect life to change so fast. I have a dog now. Twilight. I found her at some deli during an investigation. (Everything’s fine now, don’t worry). She’s adorable. I woke up this morning with her head in my arms, staring at me with her big brown mopey eyes. I love her so much.

You know, it’s annoying funny how people enter your life and stay there. I don’t think I’m complaining this time. His name is Trystan Thorne and you’d love him. Uncle Tommy does, but I think it’s because he buys him fancy donuts every morning. I wish you could meet him. I barged into his penthouse one day and now we’re partners. Isn’t that weird? He’s infuriating, but it’s nice to have him around. Don’t tell him I said that. I told him some stories about you today and it was so nice to talk about you. I know I introduced you to him the last time we saw you.

Finally, some good news. We might have something for you. Big V. I told Tommy and Mafalda about her and they both think there might be a chance she did it. I hate that it’s taken so long to come up with just one possible lead. But I’d do anything to know what happened to you. I hope you know that.

I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you more. I miss you so much. Here’s to fifteen years without you.

Always surviving, Emily Rose 10/08/23

* * * *

It’s only been a few months since my last letter and so much has happened. Trystan was put on trial for a murder he didn’t commit. We had to fly half the team to Drakovia as a hail mary. Ended up playing lawyer for a few minutes. It was weird.

I messed up so many times. Trystan and I fought over something we both knew the answer to. Sebastyan…Fuck. Vasili is dead. Every time I remember that look in his eye, I want to throw up. My head hurts. It’s 3 AM and I can’t sleep.

Trystan is sleeping right beside me. He’ll never admit it, but he drools in his sleep. I love him so much. He chops garlic for me, washes my back, and always listens to me talk about you. I want to bite him sometimes. I keep imagining all the dinners and talks we could’ve had, just the three of us. You could’ve told him all of your stupid jokes - like the one about eating a clock.

Tomorrow is my twenty-ninth birthday. Tommy told me he had something planned. I bet you ten bucks it’ll be a party at the Drunk Tank. I remember growing up, you guys would spend the entire night decorating the apartment with balloons. I hope Tommy isn’t doing that this year.

You’re here everywhere I go. I was doing laundry earlier and saw one of Tommy’s button-downs that used to be yours. It still smelled like you. I make coffee just like you did - black. I have your small, bulbous nose. I took a train to Montauk and thought of you.

I hate that your life was taken from me. But I will find you at the end of mine. I love you, Dad. Come visit me sometime? Please.

Always living, Emily Rose 3/31/24

* * * * I’ve missed writing. Fun fact, this was originally going to be called ‘someday, anything.’ Glad I didn’t go with that! I wrote this all in a day after I found the most devastating YouTube comment and just had to write something. Also, if you didn’t notice the start of the 2nd letter is a little reference to this fic. Anyway - there’s definitely more writing coming from me soon...Hope you enjoyed this angst xx Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @stars-are-within-me@shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @calisomnia @kyra75 @icarusfallsforever @inlocusmads @tessa-liam

@dutifullynuttywitch @juudaimes-true-form @plathski @cnvrsecupid @im-the-galactic-starfish (let me know if anyone else would like to be added to my perma tag!)

#crimes of passion #choices #trystan x mc #choices crimes of passion #crimes of passion 2 #trystan thorne

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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new fic out now!!

༉‧₊˚. Baby, it's our love

pairing : derek morgan and spencer reid

genre : fluff / slight angst? perhaps a whump

word count : 1553

warnings / tags : fluff, angst, whump, established relationship, trans spencer reid, dysphoria, breakdown, drug mention, comfort, worried derek morgan

note : feedback and critique is always welcome!

“God this is-” Reid rants to himself as he tugs at various spots of his too-tight button-up, the fabric seemingly clinging to his torso like a corset. He had already spent 10 minutes working to get the fitting just right, concealing the bumps and the curves to the best of his ability, one good look in the mirror undoing every measure he had taken. All that could be seen now was the curves, his chest, it had all become obnoxious.

The flustered doctor begins to undo his buttons furiously, crumpling the top in his hands and tossing it to the wall. Goosebumps appeared as he stood defeated in his bathroom, with nothing left besides his binder and slacks. His breathing begins to pick up as he starts pacing the chilly tile floor, switching between randomly picking at his chest and flapping his hands anxiously. A clock was ticking down, he and Derek had always gotten ready alongside each other, matching the pace up until 8:30 AM when they would typically leave for work. The sound of jangling keys drags Spencer out of his panic, and he comes to the realization he is accomplishing nothing with this. It was time to go to work.

“Spence? You almost ready?” Derek questioned cautiously from the outside of the bathroom door. He was well aware of how peculiar his partner was of their punctuality, so he had already begun to assume something was seriously wrong. Shortly after, he hears Spencer scurry around the bathroom, clothes thrashing against the still air.

“I'm okay! Just give me a couple minutes” Spencer’s voice cracks as he pushes through teary eyes to fend off his boyfriend from entering and witnessing the embarrassment of his coming undone. The idea of being seen in a vulnerable state, a state of panic, was too much to bear. He pulls at his binder, attempting to release the pressure from his chest, finally allowing himself to breathe. Derek starts to walk away before he hears tiny sniffles coming from the bathroom, causing him to immediately return and press his ear to the door.

“Are you okay in there? What's going on?” Derek softly asks, his concerns beginning to grow rapidly. His mind automatically went to Dilaudid no matter how many attempts he made to reject the idea. The scenario of his boyfriend behind a locked door, sobbing and fighting himself was all too familiar. He shifted the doorknob ever so slightly, trying to gauge if it had actually been locked. Comfort flushed him once he managed to twist the handle. Still, his urgency persisted, causing him to fling the door open, spotting his slender, shaky partner cowering next to the tub, arms wrapped around him tightly, resembling a comforting embrace.

“I can't do it, I can't.” Spencer's voice trembles, shaking his head as he continues to grip his shoulders, covering what he can of his unsatisfactory appearance.

“Woah, woah, what's wrong?” He scans the room for a syringe or a vial, trying to multitask and keep his focus on Spencer. Treading lightly, he places a hand on his shoulder, using his thumb to stroke the shuddering skin beneath it.

“All of it! My clothes, nothing fits properly.”

“What do you mean? We double-checked last time we went clothes shopping.”

“No, no, not like that. My chest is showing so much.” Spencer shifts again, clinging to his shoulder blades at this point, shielding Derek from seeing more than necessary.

Derek quickly caught onto what was happening, sweeping Spencer’s shirt and dirty towels left on the floor, allowing him to scoot next to the distressed man. In times like these, he tended to stay quiet, allowing Spencer to fully detail how he was feeling. Conversations worked out better this way. Derek made sure to understand before he reacted.

Spencer lets out several shudders in random spurts, chest heavy with tears continuously rolling out of his puffy eyes. He relieves some burden by dropping his head on his partner’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut hoping that taking away one of his senses will bring him some serenity. They take in the silence for a few minutes, no words seeming necessary at the time.

“Your chest is fine, Spence.” Derek finally disrupts the quiet, attempting to settle the timid man based on what he knows. “Nobody at the BAU notices. All of them see you as a male.” He states with certainty.

“You can't know that.” Spencer choked up. The crying had died down, leaving him a sniffling snotty mess, only able to shakily mutter with his responses.

“I wouldn't tell you if I wasn't sure.” Derek lifts his hand to softly run his fingers through the agent’s ruffled locks, re-adjusting extremely displaced strands. He reaches up on the wall behind him, grabbing for the toilet paper roll, and tearing off a couple of squares to dab under Spencer’s nose. It hurt him to see the distress shown around the room, and the continuous sobbing from his partner. Something like this hadn't happened in a long time.

“That shirt looks normal most of the time. I don't understand why it looks that way today.” He huffed defeatedly.

“If it looks perfect for the majority of the time, your mind is probably playing tricks on you.”

“I know that. But I’m seeing it.”

“Well, I can't. I never see it. All I see is a good-looking FBI agent.” Spencer reluctantly chuckles at the compliment, Derek following after, a moment of silence falling once again.

“Maybe it's my binder.”

“You think? I can buy you a new one.”

“It's okay, I got it.”

Spencer lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder, swiftly pushing himself from the icy tile to his feet to quickly resume getting ready.

“I’m so sorry. I know I made us late, just give me 5 minutes and I’ll be ready.” He mumbled as he wiped his misty face, hurrying out of the bathroom to search for a new shirt as quickly as he could. He rushes into their bedroom, immediately scanning the closet for something better, more loose. Derek trails behind him, placing himself in the doorway as Spencer frantically decides.

“Hey, hey. We don't have a case today, how about we just stay home?” Spencer furrows his eyebrows at the suggestion, stopping him in his tracks. “You can't just have a breakdown and clock in a few minutes after.”

Spencer wants to protest the idea of staying home today, but after putting some thought into it, the idea doesn't seem all too bad. He couldn't bear going to work feeling as if his colleagues would gawk at his figure, noting all the details they hadn't noticed before, analyzing the hidden meaning behind his chest seemingly growing overnight. He didn’t hyperfocus on these aspects frequently, being that he had mostly found peace with his appearance, but when a thought happened to appear, it took over almost completely. The option of staying home started to outweigh the routine of continuing to head to work, knowing a breakdown would creep up on him once more.

Reluctantly, Spencer draws back from the closet and steps back to settle himself at the edge of their bed, starting to ease up and ground himself.

“I’m so sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean to-”

“It's okay, Spence.” Derek cuts him off before he can begin an unneeded apology. “Let’s just take care of you today.” Spencer’s face blends into a peachy blush as he drops his head to rest in his hand, massaging his temples slowly to ease his sudden headache. Derek finally steps into the bedroom to take a seat next to his partner. He grabs hold of Spencer’s free hand, tracing his finger along each vein he could see protruding from the thin skin, then flipping it over to lace his fingers with the other’s, bringing it to his face as he places a gentle kiss where he previously traced.

Derek releases his hand, pushing himself off the edge of the bed to start making his way back out of the bedroom, allowing Spencer some time for himself. “Let me clean the living room and get some tea brewing. I'll call in for the both of us as well.” He always knew all the right things to say, exactly how to bring ease to the anxious doctor. And he does just that, heading to the kitchen to place a kettle on top of the stove, letting it come to a low boil while he sets chamomile tea bags into matching mugs. He dials Hotch’s number, ready with a detailed excuse in case the scenario of Hotch denying the request pops up.

Spencer falls back into the cushion-like mattress, arms sprawled out on each end of him. A warm blanket coddles his heart, overwhelming him with Derek’s delicate love. Although he was still frustrated and battling his mind on how he truly appeared to everyone else, it was tranquilizing the way Derek took such caution and care with his situation. Derek never pushed any information out of him, and he always listened intently whenever he gained some courage to explain. Now he’s going as far as to call off an entire day of work just to pay his attention entirely to his partner. The reality brings a wide, cheesy grin to the doctor’s face.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #trans spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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༉‧₊˚. Baby, it's our love

pairing : derek morgan and spencer reid

genre : fluff / slight angst? perhaps a whump

word count : 1553

warnings / tags : fluff, angst, whump, established relationship, trans spencer reid, dysphoria, breakdown, drug mention, comfort, worried derek morgan

note : feedback and critique is always welcome!

“I can't do it, I can't.” Spencer's voice trembles, shaking his head as he continues to grip his shoulders, covering what he can of his unsatisfactory appearance.

“All of it! My clothes, nothing fits properly.”

“What do you mean? We double-checked last time we went clothes shopping.”

“No, no, not like that. My chest is showing so much.” Spencer shifts again, clinging to his shoulder blades at this point, shielding Derek from seeing more than necessary.

“You can't know that.” Spencer choked up. The crying had died down, leaving him a sniffling snotty mess, only able to shakily mutter with his responses.

“That shirt looks normal most of the time. I don't understand why it looks that way today.” He huffed defeatedly.

“If it looks perfect for the majority of the time, your mind is probably playing tricks on you.”

“I know that. But I’m seeing it.”

“Well, I can't. I never see it. All I see is a good-looking FBI agent.” Spencer reluctantly chuckles at the compliment, Derek following after, a moment of silence falling once again.

“Maybe it's my binder.”

“You think? I can buy you a new one.”

“It's okay, I got it.”

Spencer lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder, swiftly pushing himself from the icy tile to his feet to quickly resume getting ready.

Reluctantly, Spencer draws back from the closet and steps back to settle himself at the edge of their bed, starting to ease up and ground himself.

“I’m so sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean to-”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #trans spencer reid

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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The Haunting, Part 1

Malfada Ginovesi, a widely despised professor, invites a group of strangers to inspect a supposedly haunted house.

Chapter I of VI of the Haunting of Hill House/Braidwood Manor AU miniseries

Book: Crimes of Passion, Book 1

Characters: Emily Rose, Trystan Thorne, Malfada Ginovesi, Luke Watanabe, Ruby Webster, Maria Thompson

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Persistent depictions of horror, hallucinations, & mentions of death throughout the series.

Rating: Teen

A/N: I want to put a little disclaimer at the start of this that you don’t need to be familiar at all with the Haunting of Hill House OR of Braidwood Manor to be able to read this. However, I do use a lot of quotes & the same plot by Shirley Jackson, and I also sprinkle in a lot of references to both books, but any previous knowledge is not necessary! Be warned that there will be some potentially triggering topics in later chapters – however, as always, there will be content warnings at the start of each chapter. Enjoy my loves! (and...please read this this took forever to write!)

Am I walking towards something I should be running away from?

Vines protruded along the brick walls of Braidwood Manor, protecting the rotting carcass within. Windows were oblong and uneven, with raindrops plummeting onto the foggy panes. Pebbled stairs leading to the entrance were protected with moss, infested with tiny writhing bugs. Braidwood Manor, originally built with care and storge, sat abandoned atop a lonely hill. Mold and cobwebs possessed its inner walls, and every guest who dared enter the halls was met with aching remorse. No inch of love persevered in such a diseased and vile corpse.

“Journeys end in lovers meeting,” Emily Rose whispered to herself, a stone laying at the pit of her stomach. She debated heading home. Running away before everything even started, never seeing the unveiled atrocities of the manor; unable to fulfill the promise she made to herself. Emily gritted her teeth, her jaws clenching with fear and guilt. The doorknob was cold and brute and even a strong woman like her struggled to bust the door open. Her eyes widened at the withered stranger before her, her skin jumping at the sight of another being.

“Are you…Malfada Ginovesi?” The older woman scoffed, standing up from the distressed couch.

“No,” The woman croaked, “I’m Ms. Thompson. The caretaker.” A frostiness settled on Ms. Thompson’s face, her tone bitter and cruel. Emily nodded, handing her two suitcases to the dutiful caretaker. Thompson motioned Emily to follow her, her frail body heading upstairs. Their steps were met with a witchy creak, almost as if stepping on a dying creature. Emily’s chest ached, lost in an unforgotten memory, one that she longed to be buried six feet under. Surely, anything that dies will eventually be forgotten.

“You will sleep in the yellow room,” Thompson spat, the both of them standing in the center of the corridor. Colorful doors covered the antique walls and a brass mirror hung across Emily. She studied herself before entering the room, goosebumps on her shivering arms. Her skin was milky, devoid of all blood, her earthy eyes too uneven to be on her face; almost as if they were just floating in front of her.

“Miss?” Thompson asked, dropping Emily’s suitcases beside her. She shrugged the uncanniness away, grabbing her bags.

“Right. Sorry,” Emily huffed, her hand curling about the doorknob. The caretaker grasped her shoulder, stopping her. Emily turned, meeting Ms. Thompson’s serious gaze. Something sinister lurked beneath her pupils, the darkness of her eye menacing and wicked.

“One more thing,” She warned, her grip tight despite the frailness of her hands, “Don’t ever leave your room at night.”

“What?”

“I leave the manor after I set dinner. I don’t stay during the night. I leave before the sun sets.”

“Okay, but w–”

“I live over in the town, Hartfeld. Miles and miles away.”

“I understand.”

“We couldn’t even hear you, that far away, and in the dark.”

“Who’s ‘we?’”

“Nobody can hear you that far away, you understand? No one ever wants to come to Braidwood Manor in the middle of the night.”

“Will you just fucking tell me-”

“In the night,” Thompson whispered as her eyes twitched, perhaps recalling a burning memory, “In the dark.”

Emily rolled her eyes, giving up on receiving any form of clarification. She nodded plainly, shutting the door behind her. Dusty yellow walls cornered her, and another fragile mirror stood beside the door. A yellow-blanketed bed sat in front of her, with more yellow trinkets scattered about. Emily shook her head, enticed by Thompson’s foreboding words and irked by how increasingly monochrome her room was.

She sat on the yellow bedsheets, quietly gasping. Even the ceiling was a persimmon yellow. Though the print had long died out, faint pale lines ran up and down the walls. The lines were thick, almost resembling rusty iron bars. Anybody of sound mind could go mad staring at the ungodly wallpaper for a minute longer. She darted down to the wooden floor, creaky and scratched. A knock at the door interrupted her jumbled thoughts, her eyes trained on the stranger before her.

“Are you a part of the study?” A woman, possibly not too much younger than her, asked. Her face was warm and welcoming, opposite Ms. Thompson’s. Alarmed, Emily sat up from the bed.

“I am,” she stood up, crossing her arms, “Who are you?”

“Ruby Webster – who are you?”

“Emily Rose,” she replied. Bags peppered under Ruby’s eyes, properly covered by her tortoiseshell glasses. A coffee stain was evident on the hem of her sweater, the circle now damp and wrinkly. Uncrossing her arms, Emily stood face-to-face with the stranger. Ms. Thompson’s warning repeated in her mind, though she dared not tell Ruby what was said – at least not yet.

“What room do you have?” She asked, her hands on the doorframe, peering into the hallway. The corridor had only two other doors, the closest being a pleasant emerald door left ajar. A scratched-up orange door sat across from the green room, its vibrance now dulled. The final door, leading to the red room, emitted a cruel energy throughout the corridor. Emily shuddered, her nails digging into her palm. She turned back to Ruby, eyes casting thinly veiled fear.

“That one,” Ruby pointed to the green door, “Everything inside is just green!” Emily chuckled, pointing back to the monochromatic room she was designated to.

“Everything in my room is yellow. I don’t really care for it.” Ruby smiled, cheeks glowing a light pink.

“I don’t either,” Ruby answered, “...would you want to check out the grounds with me? When I got here, I noticed a huge garden by the side of the manor, but Ms. Thompson told me to come in before I could go see it.”

“I’d like that.”

* * * *

The garden was heaven on Earth, the grass topped with inklets of dewy rain. Roses and daffodils bloomed on the bright Spring day, circling about a tiny man-made pond; moss plaguing its waters. Sprigs of flowered cattails stood tall at one of its edges, its stem a husky green. The most splendid part of the garden, however, was the weeping willow. Large branches hung heavy green leaves, adorning vibrant yellow flowers. Emily hummed in delight, taken aback at how such a vile mansion could be home to such an innocent plot of beauty.

“So, what do you do?” Ruby asked, the pair lying down on their backs. Angelic clouds glistened in their eyes, the soggy grass soaking their jeans. Before laying her head down, Emily grumbled at the mass of gravestones a few feet behind her.

“I’m a…private detective,” Emily replied, “What about you?”

“I’m a medical examiner. I graduated high school when I was fourteen,” Ruby said, a weak smile forming. Emily turned towards her, debating on intertwining their fingers in a celebratory fashion. She settled on keeping her hands by her side.

“Are you kidding me?” Emily grinned, “That’s fucking impressive!”

“Thank you,” her eyes danced at the compliment, “I usually work night shifts. It’s pretty quiet and peaceful…even though I’m working with dead bodies and murder weapons.”

“Exactly how many hours do you work in a week?”

Ruby flinched briefly, scratching her chin in contemplation: “I think I did eighty or so last week. Eighty-five?”

“Eighty-five hours? How do you find the time to sleep?”

“You’re the detective! Don’t you guys run on coffee and…I don’t know, donuts?”

“Those are cops, not detectives! But…yeah, I do drink a lot of coffee.”

“Anyways,” Ruby giggled, “I have a futon in my office when it gets too late.”

“Ruby, I think you need an assistant.”

“Absolutely not! Some busybody getting in my way, making a mess, and needing emotional support? No, thank you!”

“I think you’re describing a toddler.”

“Toddlers, assistants – same thing, really. I just like working alone.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about. It’s – hey!” Emily stood up, the hair on her neck prickling. With a squinted view, a small flurry of red ran across the field. Her heart sunk, her fluttering eyelids twinged with worry. Without another word, Ruby stood beside her.

“Did you see that?” Ruby shook her head, the tiny dot of red having vanished.

“We’re in a garden. It must’ve been a rabbit, right?” Emily stood still, her fingertips at the top of her holster encasing a taser.

“...Yeah. You’re right. We should probably head back now.” Emily grazed away from the taser, her breath still. Journeys end in lovers meeting.

Grass crunched beneath every step as they headed to the veranda, still curious as to what they had seen. Emily attempted to shrug it off. After all, they were in a garden – it’d make perfect sense for a little creature to streak across the lawn. Nonetheless, the whole ordeal was quite peculiar. She had not counted a single living creature at the arrival of Braidwood Manor besides Ms. Thompson.

“The fuck?” Emily spat, a weak puddle of blood settling by her and Ruby’s shoes. The front door stood ajar, a pool of chilled air seeping through. With a taser in the detective’s hands, Emily ordered Ruby to stay outside.

Signs of a struggle surrounded her. A broken lamp was scattered across the wooden floor and a concerning amount of fresh blood trailed from the entrance to the living room. A bloodied grey button-down curled up on the couch, the sleeves torn. Brows furrowed and goosebumps raising from her forearms, Emily called out, as she quietly walked towards the living room:

“Hello? If there’s anybody here, come out with your hands up!”

No answer.

Emily furthered herself into the manor, clearing the nearest hallway. Floorboards creaked with each step, brushing away the particles of dust and cobwebs off the surface. Cracked walls with rugged paintings and mirrors passed her until a single door stood across from her. Though it was sensibly shut, a bubbling in her gut dared Emily to unlock it.

“...Ms. Thompson?”

The door opened in a blink of an eye, revealing a shirtless stranger. A crimson cut on his forearm continued to bleed out, yet the man seemingly couldn’t care less; for he was more focused on the trespasser pointing a taser at him. His thick bunches of eyebrows curled downwards, and he reached for the closest thing to him: a serving tray.

“Who are you?” The man yelled, his voice low with a soft accent. Darting to the taser as Emily was prepared to shoot, he scoffed. “Ah. I see.”

In a seamless motion, the man hurled the tray, hitting Emily’s wrist. Wincing, the taser flew out of her hands. Without the chance to sputter out another sentence, Emily spun around in the man’s grip, his arms crawling around her neck, her back arching up against his toughened torso. Gasping out tiny gasps of air, Emily struggled to fight her way out. With a final growl, she twisted out of his chokehold, shoving him hard into a wall.

“I’m a fucking detective! I’m a part of the study! What the fuck!”

“You’re a cop?”

“I didn’t say that! Who attacks a stranger with a serving tray?”

The man shrugged nonchalantly, circling Emily with interest. Sparkling eyes of grey studied the ferocious stranger, a hint of allure in his glance. He chuckled to himself, keen on not answering her question.

“You know,” he said, trailing up and down Emily’s body, “I’ve had several run-ins with law enforcement, and they didn’t look anything like you.”

“What? Annoyed? Furious?” She scoffed, arms crossed. Trystan let out a cheeky smile, a dare in his eyes.

“Hm, smart, competent, extremely well-dressed,” he pointed to Emily’s leather jacket, “and dare I say, sexy?”

“‘Sexy’?” Emily repeated, cheeks glowing red as she threw daggers at him. “Go fuck yourself. Do you seriously flirt with people you fight with?”

“Only if they threaten to tase me first.”

Emily rolled her eyes. What a masochistic asshole.

“Well, I suppose you can’t blame me for jumping to conclusions when a strange woman points a taser at me.”

“Fend off a lot of assassination attempts, whoever you are?”

“Trystan Thorne. I apologize for the misunderstanding, Officer.”

“Not officer. Private Investigator Emily Rose. I’m here for a group experiment, I didn’t exactly expect to get attacked on the first day,” Emily rolled her eyes, “How did you get that cut on your arm?”

“...I saw a fox on the way here.”

“And?”

“It bit me after I tried giving them some of my trail mix.” Emily laughed, the blood on Trystan’s arm still slowly trickling down his hand.

“Just now? Another person from the study and I saw an animal out on the grounds before I came in here.”

Without answering, a thunderous shriek from upstairs crescendoed. Ms. Thompson, furious as she was, threw her hands up at Emily and Trystan. Her wrinkled face twisted into a new form of anger unfamiliar to either of them.

“You tourists! Blithering idiots, always making a goddamn mess,” Ms. Thompson complained, mumbling insults under her breath, “You!” She pointed to Trystan, “Did you break that lamp in the living room? Go clean it up, there’s blood and glass everywhere!”

The cranky senile stormed out, stomping back upstairs. With a turn, vintage paintings greeted Trystan, silently wincing at his blistering wound.

“Wait!” Trystan stopped in his tracks, “You’re still bleeding – let me clean you up.”

Sitting down on the living room sofa, Trystan sat down as Emily let Ruby back into the manor. Wearing a non-bloodied button-down from his bag, the front door creaked as the bubbly stranger greeted him and Emily.

“Is everything okay?” Ruby asked, meeting Emily’s disheveled face.

“Fine,” Ruby blinked at Trystan curtly, “The lamp just got–”

“...I know you.”

“Oh,” Trystan said, “Did we, you know…”

“What? No, not like that! I just meant from TMZ! You’re that exiled prince, right?”

Emily turned back to Trystan, skeptical. A fucking prince? In some random experiment? That was surely one for the books.

“Wait. Emily, what are you doing hanging out with a literal prince?”

“Believe me, I didn’t know Trystan was a prince until just now. I was just about to clean up this bite he got. You know that little orange thing we saw in the garden? It was a fox, it bit him right before he got here.”

Emily opened up a medkit from the kitchen pantry, revealing a mass of health equipment within. Ruby sat on the chair across the unlikely duo, studying them as Emily dawned on gloves.

“Can I ask why you were exiled?” Emily asked, wiping a clean cloth against his wound. Trystan chuckled dryly.

“Of course. But the answer is that it’s none of your business.”

“And if I guess it?”

“Well, if you manage to get it right, I’ll tell you everything you most desire on the matter.”

Emily set the cloth beside her lap, grabbing a random tub of ointment from the kit, and slathering it on his wound. Trystan quietly gasped at the pressure, he never guessed an animal bite from a lowly creature caused such pain.

“Hm,” Emily contemplated, “A murder most foul, perhaps?”

“How riveting! Do tell,” Trystan said, casting a mocking grin.

“You must’ve killed someone in a passionate rage after discovering they were having an affair behind your back.”

“How steamy,” Ruby chipped in, throwing a teasing glance at the prince.

“Cheating lover?” He scoffed, “Is that the best you can do? I suppose it’s the occupational hazard of being a private investigator.”

The detective hunted for every minuscule feature on his face. It was clear the guess had slightly hurt him, yet for a prince with years of knowledge on dodging pesky questions, it was a walk in the park for him to quickly mask it with a veil of indifference.

Emily rolled her eyes, “At least you didn’t call me an officer this time.”

“I’m going to hazard that you used to work with the police?”

“Changing the subject awfully quick, aren’t you, Thorne?”

“Just answer the question, Rose.”

The last decade coursed through her as though she was speeding through a film. Years were steeped in aching heartbreak, and though Emily was quite familiar with her burning past; the last thing she hoped for was to create a thick cloud of pity from two strangers she’d just met. She repeated this routine since she was thirteen: never utter anything but the basics about her life to anybody. Something within her heart longed to be brought to light. To crawl out of the dusty attic and into the arms of something frightening and unknown.

“...Yeah. Homicide.” Emily gulped, sticking a bandaid on his forearm.

“You don’t strike me as the type. It’s hard to picture you in one of those blue uniforms.”

Emily exhaled sharply, a memory flashing within her. A limp hand cradling hers, the scent of hardened popcorn, the walls suffocating her. Her eyes went distant, fingers digging into her palms until the stale air within the dwelling brought her back to her senses.

“I grew up with cops. My father was one, like his father and my uncle before him.”

“What happened?”

“He was killed,” Emily cleared her throat, “They never caught who did it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Trystan said, eyes sincere with a hint of understanding. Ruby stayed quiet, yet an empathetic glance from her was more than enough for Emily.

“After that, it was like my calling to follow in his footsteps. I’d honor him and his legacy.”

“What went wrong?”

“Honestly? All of it. Widespread brutality. Abuse of suspects. Forging evidence. Corruption and bribery, all the way to the fucking top.” Anger fuelled her to continue, veins running warm, cheeks turning a crimson red. Her fingers trembled at the mention of her father, though Emily carried on.

“I tried to expose it all. I built a case, I gathered evidence, but those fuckers at Internal Affairs turned on me. They threw out everything I spent years gathering on a ‘technicality.’ And that’s when I started finding dead rats in my locker.”

“They fired you, I’m guessing?”

“No,” Emily sneered, “I quit. But not before losing everything I’d spent a decade working on, not to mention most of my friends. The only person who still has my back is my Uncle Tommy…and he’s retired.”

“There’s an old Drakovian saying: ‘The hero isn’t the one who gets the treasure. He’s the one lying dead in an unmarked grave.’”

“That’s pretty bleak,” Ruby added.

“Eastern European cynicism can be like that,” Trystan replied, “And thank you, Emily, for putting a bandaid on me.”

It was never like her to pour her heart out to two total strangers, yet something inside her ached to do so. It was an urge spilling out, almost as if these two strangers – the workaholic but lively medical examiner, and the mysterious yet oddly flirtatious prince – were to be acquaintances, potentially even friends.

“Did Malfada tell you guys anything else about this study?” Trystan and Ruby shook their heads.

“No,” Ruby said, “Everything she told me in the emails was vague.”

“Mine too,” Trystan said, crossing his arms. “Maybe she’s just…senile. Outdated!”

“Excuse me?” A dark-haired woman by the front door spat, “Senile?”

The trio stood up, and Trystan’s cheeks flushed. Carrying two raggedy bags into the living room, the ‘senile’ woman propped a hand on her hip. Without a doubt, the woman before them was Malfada Ginovesi.

“If you ever call me senile again, so help me God, I will send you back to Drakovia with my bare hands, Trystan Thorne!”

Emily and Ruby stayed silent, lowly giggling at the exiled royal’s idiocy. Plump bags belonging to Malfada sat on the floor in front of them, Emily’s curiosity growing stronger. A scrappy man followed quickly behind Malfada, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Trystan smiled apologetically at her, which the professor hesitantly accepted; the perks of being a rich charismatic moron.

Spring raindrops met the Earth, the windows of Braidwood Manor soaked in condensation. The dimly lit room glazed with warmth from the brick fireplace. Bright embers spat onto the scratched floor, fizzling out with a ‘tsk.’ Rumbles of lightning cried out miles away, hitting Emily with a distant memory, violent stones in her vision. Malfada Ginovesi and her unnamed assistant stood by the fireplace, eyes darkening with knowledge the rest of the group lacked. Pouring herself a glass of whiskey, the professor swirled her drink of amber idly.

“I think it’s time I tell you all about Braidwood Manor.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: Finally – here is part one! I’m so, so happy to finally be able to post this after a week of writing and editing haha. Part 2 will….come up eventually! But in the meantime, here’s a little piece of gothic horror :)

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @jonathanmoores @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @icarusfallsforever @kyra75 @calisomnia

let me know if else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

#crimes of passion #moominofthevalley #trystan x emily #trystan x mc #choices crimes of passion #playchoices #crimes of passion 2 #choices #choices cop #trystan thorne

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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If u interact with my posts, just know I respond like this:

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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the way my spencer x derek drabble flopped so bad oh my god

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logolepzy · 2 years ago

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Is this okay?

pairing : spencer reid x derek morgan

genre : fluff / comfort

word count : 747

tags/ warnings : fluff, comfort, protective derek morgan, spencer has trouble remembering to eat, kind of mutual pining if you squint??

“I think I'm gonna call it a night, Reid.” Derek lazily shuffles his necessities into a dingy backpack, calling out into the bullpen for the agent who was still hanging around. He was drained after the kind of day they both had to endure, primarily consisting of several exhaustive pursuits with an unsub, leaving him more than ready to head home. Derek calls out once more as he finishes packing, finally shifting his eye towards Spencer’s desk, waiting for a response.

“Mmngh.” Spencer sits slumped over his desk, head buried into his elbow. He gives a strained groan back at Derek; his head had been spinning 100 mph, too foggy to formulate a proper sentence. The distasteful combination of skipping breakfast and repeatedly sprinting after a ridiculously agile unsub finally caught up to the scrawny agent, leaving him knocked on his desk.

“Reid?” Derek’s eyebrows wrinkle with worry as he carefully steps towards the young man, slowly reaching his hand to rest on his back. He felt cold, goosebumps dressing his pale skin like braille, peeking through his button-up shirt. “Jesus Christ, Spence.”

Derek snags the doctor’s cotton cardigan off the back of his chair, draping it over him with care. His concern had snowballed, summoning him to hang around for another half hour and watch over Spencer while he warms up, hoping to have a conversation once he’s rested. He gets settled back into his chair and props his feet onto his desk, popping in both earbuds to start an audiobook.

Forty minutes pass, and Spencer starts to wake from his brief nap, the beaming light of his workspace lamp striking his eyes. He stretches his arms above his head, leaning back to take in the environment, spotting Derek slumped in his chair.

“Hey, Derek.” He groggily mumbles, causing the older man to jolt out of a light shuteye.

“What?- Oh hey!”

“What are you still doing here? What time is it? You should go home.”

“I should be telling you the same thing.” Derek grinned, pushing himself from his chair to greet the tired man. “Is everything okay? You’ve been out cold since we got back.”

“I've been drained all day. I was so rushed, I couldn't get a good breakfast in.” Spencer confesses.

“Oh no, no. That’s not gonna fly by me.” He shakes his head in disbelief at what he was told, unable to comprehend how the bony man still had a pulse. “There are like five different fast food places open still; let’s get you dinner.”

“Really, Derek, it’s okay. I’m sure I have something at my apartment, need to home.” Spencer stutters as he stands up, wildly throwing items into his messenger bag. Suddenly, he feels Derek grab hold of his busy hand.

“I can’t let you drive home like this; you can’t even speak properly. Please, just let me get you anything.” He’s pleading at this point. Derek had been aware of Spencer’s forgetfulness. It frequently troubled the both of them; for Spencer, it caused him to accidentally skip meals in a rush, leaving him exhausted by the end of the work day. And for Derek, he was perpetually concerned for the agent, putting in his best efforts to check in with him when the worry became too much.

Spencer reluctantly accepted the offer, letting out a weary sigh as he threw his bag over his shoulder, too beat to put up an argument with the stubborn man.

The duo sits comfortably in Derek’s car as they both dig into their nuggets and fries, giggling to each other as they share storytimes from outside of work. Spencer spots a smudge of sauce on Derek’s cheek as he recalls a terrible date he recently had.

“Can I get that?” Spencer asks between his laughter, pointing toward the mark on Derek’s face.

“Please tell me that hasn't been there the whole time I’ve been eating.”

Spencer crumples an extra napkin and carefully swipes the mess off Derek’s cheek, making sure not to touch any of it with his bare hands. They both playfully chuckle at the moment and finish up their meal.

“Feeling better?”

“Absolutely.”

Derek starts the car back up, getting ready to take Spencer back to his apartment, when he feels a weight on his shoulder. He looks over to see the agent resting his elbow on the center console to prop himself on his shoulder.

“Oh uh- I'm sorry, is this okay?”

Derek stifles a cheesy grin. “More than.”

#criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #derek morgan criminal minds #spencer reid x derek morgan #fluff prompt #criminal minds fluff

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