pietromaxi

[pietromaxi]

i just feel like it needs to be said, and since this is my imagine blog...

basically, i know there are going to be some people that disagree with me, and that’s fine. 

but when i write a billy x reader i imagine that he would be incredibly loving and caring to whoever his s/o is because the boy has been physically and emotionally abused, left behind, left alone, he had no trust. if he has someone who he opens up to, who he believes won’t be another person to leave him like his mother left. to mistreat him like his father did, i think he’d be loving and caring because he’d do anything he could to not lose them

i’m well aware that there will be people out there that will disagree, that will think he would still act somewhat cold, and i’m not saying that he’s going to be the most fluffy ball of sunshine who trusts someone with his life because truth be told i think it would take him a long time, if ever, to trust someone with his life.

but i mean, he probably apologizes, does stuff to make up anything he did up to them, kisses them, hugs them, holds hands just to feel their presence, etc.which is why i write him that way with an s/o. 

[pietromaxi]

24/7 MOOD

[pietromaxi]

Legend has it that if you stare long enough, this picture will clear your skin and fix all of your problems

[pietromaxi]

I just asked my best friend what his thoughts on Billy’s death were and he just shrugged and went “Billy was too hot to die” and honestly the Duffers need to take that into consideration because it is a damn mood.

[pietromaxi]

Ill never get over this man's beauty

[pietromaxi]

Dacre’s hair looks so soft I wanna run my fingers through it and I wanna boop his nose

[pietromaxi]

Legend has it that if you stare long enough, this picture will clear your skin and fix all of your problems

[pietromaxi]

Is this a renaissance painting?

[pietromaxi]

Okay Home boy looking fine as fuck 😍

[pietromaxi]

me: finds out dacre montgomery is australian

me: cries because i love him and i have a literal fetish for accents and i don’t KNOW WHY PLEASE HELP

[pietromaxi]

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[pietromaxi]

I wish you

Healthy skin

4.0 GPA

Focus

Clear goals

Love

Affection

Peace

Self love

Good things from the universe

[pietromaxi]

i photoshopped joe jonas into a picture with me and it looks so real i am a psycho to say the least

[pietromaxi]

came along

request: can you do a spencer reid one? i see that you post about cm a lot and i love that show and spence. can you do one where she’s dating spencer and she gets kidnapped by foyet bc she’s also hotch’s daughter (and she also a bau agent) thanks!

ahhhh i love spencer so much. this was pretty fun to write. request anything you want for spencer/mcu!!!

this isn’t my typical mcu fic but god i love this one so much i honestly think it’s quite possibly my best work. please read!!!

——

she’d been missing for 12 hours before they’d found a lead.

george foyet himself had kidnapped 24 year old y/n hotchner and no one knew where the girl was currently residing.

the team was in shambles. hotch couldn’t focus on a single thing except saving his only baby girl. jj and prentiss practically prematurely balding because of the amount of times they’d ran their fingers through their hair. rossi was with aaron at all times to make sure he didn’t do anything he’d regret and morgan was with garcia, trying his hardest to calm her down- while tracking her phone.

and then there was doctor spencer reid. he paced back and forth so many times he actually thought he sprained his ankle at one point- he didn’t.

his girl— although no one but hotch knew that part— was missing and he had no idea where she was. the last thing she’d said to him was “i’m a big girl. i can protect myself.” all because he begged her not to go to the bar alone when he knew foyet was loose, and capable of bigger things than she knew.

and yet there she was, asking for a drink at the bar right before she slipped away to the bathrooms down the dark hallway. although she did have her gun hoisted to her thigh under her soft skirt, it wouldn’t save her down the line.

“excuse me, miss.”

and then her vision was cloudy. a cloth placed over her mouth. but she knew better than to scream— or even breathe. don’t let it into your lungs, y/n, you’re smarter than that.

but y/n was never a good listener. she cried out as he bashed her head into the wall, “oh, honey. you are even more beautiful up close.” he rubbed her cheek and smiled evilly as he drug her out the back doors to his perfectly placed car, missing the part where her shirt snagged on a bulging piece of his car door. ripping one single pearl button from her top.

the last thing she heard before she went unconscious was the man shutting the door, then looking in his rear-view mirror, he spoke: “you’re my trophy.”

she woke up sometime later. she had no idea how long it had been but judging by the bruises that ranged from a dark, cloudy purple, and the lighter, yellow ones, she could tell that it had been some time.

it was silent except for the painfully annoying sound of water droplets hitting just next to the bucket placed in the wrong spot on the floor.

drip. drip. drip.

and then a creaking sound of an opening door.

“and sleeping beauty awakes. are you hungry? i can untie you and give you the cheese sandwich i made you.”

she stared deeply at the man standing before her. none other than george foyet. infamous serial killer. she hadn’t gotten to look at him in the hallway due to the lighting—or lack thereof.

“i’m lactose intolerant.”

he smiled, and pulled the cheese from inside the bread, “then i hope you like stale bread, princess.”

he untied the moldy ropes from around her wrist and moved back before she got the chance to pounce.

her gun was missing and so was her skirt.

her favorite silk button-up top was missing too. she was just in her tank top with a ketchup stain on it from when spencer fed her a corndog and dropped it on her.

spencer. was he looking for her? surely he had to be. the team must be on their way to find her by now. they just had to be. right?

back at the bau things hadn’t quieted down in the slightest. everyone was running wild, slapping down picture upon picture of possible leads, all of which, to no avail.

they had feared for the worst, until spencer told the team exactly what she had done that night. leading the team straight to her favorite bar, “la vida” it was downtown. a real hole-in-the-wall type of place. but she claimed that it was the best.

derek and prentiss stalked down the same dark hallway that y/n had walked down just hours prior, then opening the back door to be led into a dingy alleyway.

and yet again, they thought the trail had ran cold, until the sunlight shined just right, straight through the trees in the park just across the street. golden light hit a small bead just enough for it to sparkle in the corner of derek morgan’s eyes.

he bent down, picking up the small pearl with a hole running straight through it, a few pieces of string still attached. burgundy string. the color of y/n’s favorite shirt with pearl buttons attached just right.

“prentiss look at this. this is from her shirt.”

back inside, rossi and spencer analyzed everything from the floor, all the way up to the ceiling.

“get a load of this, reid. a dent on the wall, blood speckled by it too. scuff marks directly below it on the floor.” rossi lightly touched the blood on the wall.

“signs of a struggle, albeit.” spencer squatted down to the floor to look closer at the marks, “they’re fresh. there’s a little woodchip right here.”

“blood’s fresh too.”

morgan and prentiss came in right as spencer finished his sentence.

“found a button off her shirt out in the alley. i already notified garcia and told her to look into the security cams in the alley and in the bar. she’ll get back to us soon.”

hotch was speaking with the manager, who knew nothing. idiot.

once arrived back at the bau the team was met with a frightened garcia stood waiting in the doorway for them, “you need to see this. now.”

on garcia’s computer screen was a play-by-play of y/n walking into the hallway, waiting for the bathroom door to open so she could reapply her lipgloss with precision.

a man walks down the hallway right after her, he quickly pulls a cloth out of his sweatshirt pocket and places it over her mouth as tight as he can. the team winces as they watch her struggle for breath, she’s smacking his arms and flailing until he bangs her head into the wall, hard. a splatter of blood is seen on the wall and then he turns her around. blood is dripping from her hairline and down the side of her face. her lip is busted open too.

he whispers something to her and caresses her face and spencer feels his blood run cold. hotch blinks back tears and gasps loudly.

looking into the security camera, quiet evilly at that, is george foyet.

garcia clicks on the computer mouse a few times before pulling up the alley cam. they watch as she’s thrown into the backseat of the car, hardly concious. he speeds off, but not fast enough for the team to not catch the license plate.

y/n looks around the room she’s in. she swears up and down it looks exactly like her dad’s room back at his house. but she shakes it off, his room is pretty simple anyways, any room could look like that.

it’s not until she notices the framed drawing she made when she was the ripe age of six. a picture of her and her dad and their cat, stanley. it was framed in a pink and lime green frame that she painted at the craft fair at school.

she was at her childhood home.

she hears car doors shut downstairs and then hears foyets voice. he’s talking to a woman.

she sure sounds a lot like her step-mom. the woman is— crying? and then another voice, a smaller one, a child. and then her father’s voice, but it’s muffled. but she knows it’s him.

she keeps quiet and listens until she hears little feet pitter-patter up the stairs. she hears the child open a cubord? and then closes it softly, but she still heard it.

and then it’s silent.

and then it’s not. gunshots echo in her ears.

three of them.

she moves to stand up and open the door but she can’t. her feet are duck taped together and she’s really trying to undo it—she really is. but god, her fingers are bruised and some of them might even be broken. her wrists are bloodied and blue from the tightness and harshness of that shameful rope.

but wait- more voices, they’re yelling and screaming and there’s footsteps pounding and there’s breaking glass and tumbling down the stairs? and then there’s the sound of fighting, heavy breathing and crunching bone.

and then she hears it. “hotch! hotch! stop! he’s dead! it’s over. it’s over.”

they did come for her, but how did they know she was here?

feet pounded up the stairs, “y/n! y/n where are you!”

a scream rips through her throat and god does it burn. she hasn’t drank anything since her couple of shots at the bar.

the door slams open and spencer is standing in the doorway, tears dripping out of his red eyes. “oh, baby. what did he do to you?”

he gingerly snipped the sticky gray tape from her ankles and zipped his jacket around her shaking form.

slowly, he lifted her off the bed, wrapping her bruised legs around his waist.

she held onto him as tight as she could and cried into his shoulder until she saw her father and baby brother outside sitting on the stone porch.

spencer slowly lowered her onto the ground and watched as she crumbled into the oh-so welcoming arms of her loving father.

the team slowly walked forward and wrapped their arms around the once happy — now broken— family. and they all stood their for a while, holding onto eachother for as long as they could beacuse only god knew how long it was before another tragedy would come along.

because they always came along.

[pietromaxi]

came along

request: can you do a spencer reid one? i see that you post about cm a lot and i love that show and spence. can you do one where she’s dating spencer and she gets kidnapped by foyet bc she’s also hotch’s daughter (and she also a bau agent) thanks!

ahhhh i love spencer so much. this was pretty fun to write. request anything you want for spencer/mcu!!!

this isn’t my typical mcu fic but god i love this one so much i honestly think it’s quite possibly my best work. please read!!!

——

she’d been missing for 12 hours before they’d found a lead.

george foyet himself had kidnapped 24 year old y/n hotchner and no one knew where the girl was currently residing.

the team was in shambles. hotch couldn’t focus on a single thing except saving his only baby girl. jj and prentiss practically prematurely balding because of the amount of times they’d ran their fingers through their hair. rossi was with aaron at all times to make sure he didn’t do anything he’d regret and morgan was with garcia, trying his hardest to calm her down- while tracking her phone.

and then there was doctor spencer reid. he paced back and forth so many times he actually thought he sprained his ankle at one point- he didn’t.

his girl— although no one but hotch knew that part— was missing and he had no idea where she was. the last thing she’d said to him was “i’m a big girl. i can protect myself.” all because he begged her not to go to the bar alone when he knew foyet was loose, and capable of bigger things than she knew.

and yet there she was, asking for a drink at the bar right before she slipped away to the bathrooms down the dark hallway. although she did have her gun hoisted to her thigh under her soft skirt, it wouldn’t save her down the line.

“excuse me, miss.”

and then her vision was cloudy. a cloth placed over her mouth. but she knew better than to scream— or even breathe. don’t let it into your lungs, y/n, you’re smarter than that.

but y/n was never a good listener. she cried out as he bashed her head into the wall, “oh, honey. you are even more beautiful up close.” he rubbed her cheek and smiled evilly as he drug her out the back doors to his perfectly placed car, missing the part where her shirt snagged on a bulging piece of his car door. ripping one single pearl button from her top.

the last thing she heard before she went unconscious was the man shutting the door, then looking in his rear-view mirror, he spoke: “you’re my trophy.”

she woke up sometime later. she had no idea how long it had been but judging by the bruises that ranged from a dark, cloudy purple, and the lighter, yellow ones, she could tell that it had been some time.

it was silent except for the painfully annoying sound of water droplets hitting just next to the bucket placed in the wrong spot on the floor.

drip. drip. drip.

and then a creaking sound of an opening door.

“and sleeping beauty awakes. are you hungry? i can untie you and give you the cheese sandwich i made you.”

she stared deeply at the man standing before her. none other than george foyet. infamous serial killer. she hadn’t gotten to look at him in the hallway due to the lighting—or lack thereof.

“i’m lactose intolerant.”

he smiled, and pulled the cheese from inside the bread, “then i hope you like stale bread, princess.”

he untied the moldy ropes from around her wrist and moved back before she got the chance to pounce.

her gun was missing and so was her skirt.

her favorite silk button-up top was missing too. she was just in her tank top with a ketchup stain on it from when spencer fed her a corndog and dropped it on her.

spencer. was he looking for her? surely he had to be. the team must be on their way to find her by now. they just had to be. right?

back at the bau things hadn’t quieted down in the slightest. everyone was running wild, slapping down picture upon picture of possible leads, all of which, to no avail.

they had feared for the worst, until spencer told the team exactly what she had done that night. leading the team straight to her favorite bar, “la vida” it was downtown. a real hole-in-the-wall type of place. but she claimed that it was the best.

derek and prentiss stalked down the same dark hallway that y/n had walked down just hours prior, then opening the back door to be led into a dingy alleyway.

and yet again, they thought the trail had ran cold, until the sunlight shined just right, straight through the trees in the park just across the street. golden light hit a small bead just enough for it to sparkle in the corner of derek morgan’s eyes.

he bent down, picking up the small pearl with a hole running straight through it, a few pieces of string still attached. burgundy string. the color of y/n’s favorite shirt with pearl buttons attached just right.

“prentiss look at this. this is from her shirt.”

back inside, rossi and spencer analyzed everything from the floor, all the way up to the ceiling.

“get a load of this, reid. a dent on the wall, blood speckled by it too. scuff marks directly below it on the floor.” rossi lightly touched the blood on the wall.

“signs of a struggle, albeit.” spencer squatted down to the floor to look closer at the marks, “they’re fresh. there’s a little woodchip right here.”

“blood’s fresh too.”

morgan and prentiss came in right as spencer finished his sentence.

“found a button off her shirt out in the alley. i already notified garcia and told her to look into the security cams in the alley and in the bar. she’ll get back to us soon.”

hotch was speaking with the manager, who knew nothing. idiot.

once arrived back at the bau the team was met with a frightened garcia stood waiting in the doorway for them, “you need to see this. now.”

on garcia’s computer screen was a play-by-play of y/n walking into the hallway, waiting for the bathroom door to open so she could reapply her lipgloss with precision.

a man walks down the hallway right after her, he quickly pulls a cloth out of his sweatshirt pocket and places it over her mouth as tight as he can. the team winces as they watch her struggle for breath, she’s smacking his arms and flailing until he bangs her head into the wall, hard. a splatter of blood is seen on the wall and then he turns her around. blood is dripping from her hairline and down the side of her face. her lip is busted open too.

he whispers something to her and caresses her face and spencer feels his blood run cold. hotch blinks back tears and gasps loudly.

looking into the security camera, quiet evilly at that, is george foyet.

garcia clicks on the computer mouse a few times before pulling up the alley cam. they watch as she’s thrown into the backseat of the car, hardly concious. he speeds off, but not fast enough for the team to not catch the license plate.

y/n looks around the room she’s in. she swears up and down it looks exactly like her dad’s room back at his house. but she shakes it off, his room is pretty simple anyways, any room could look like that.

it’s not until she notices the framed drawing she made when she was the ripe age of six. a picture of her and her dad and their cat, stanley. it was framed in a pink and lime green frame that she painted at the craft fair at school.

she was at her childhood home.

she hears car doors shut downstairs and then hears foyets voice. he’s talking to a woman.

she sure sounds a lot like her step-mom. the woman is— crying? and then another voice, a smaller one, a child. and then her father’s voice, but it’s muffled. but she knows it’s him.

she keeps quiet and listens until she hears little feet pitter-patter up the stairs. she hears the child open a cubord? and then closes it softly, but she still heard it.

and then it’s silent.

and then it’s not. gunshots echo in her ears.

three of them.

she moves to stand up and open the door but she can’t. her feet are duck taped together and she’s really trying to undo it—she really is. but god, her fingers are bruised and some of them might even be broken. her wrists are bloodied and blue from the tightness and harshness of that shameful rope.

but wait- more voices, they’re yelling and screaming and there’s footsteps pounding and there’s breaking glass and tumbling down the stairs? and then there’s the sound of fighting, heavy breathing and crunching bone.

and then she hears it. “hotch! hotch! stop! he’s dead! it’s over. it’s over.”

they did come for her, but how did they know she was here?

feet pounded up the stairs, “y/n! y/n where are you!”

a scream rips through her throat and god does it burn. she hasn’t drank anything since her couple of shots at the bar.

the door slams open and spencer is standing in the doorway, tears dripping out of his red eyes. “oh, baby. what did he do to you?”

he gingerly snipped the sticky gray tape from her ankles and zipped his jacket around her shaking form.

slowly, he lifted her off the bed, wrapping her bruised legs around his waist.

she held onto him as tight as she could and cried into his shoulder until she saw her father and baby brother outside sitting on the stone porch.

spencer slowly lowered her onto the ground and watched as she crumbled into the oh-so welcoming arms of her loving father.

the team slowly walked forward and wrapped their arms around the once happy — now broken— family. and they all stood their for a while, holding onto eachother for as long as they could beacuse only god knew how long it was before another tragedy would come along.

because they always came along.

[pietromaxi]

how can spencer reid be so smart yet so dumb. he knows everything about everything yet this boy doesn’t know what a “bff” is or what “twilight” is. like how do u know about ancient cults and vampires but not know who edward cullen is u idiot