#behavior-based detection | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reiding-writing · 2 months ago

Note

hi!! can you write more of the banter between enemy!reader and spencer but like now he goes beyond limits and like tells her the team would be better without her in their lives or something drastic and then she either goes missing or badly injured by the unsub??

404. /spencer reid/

if spencer is going to continue shutting down all of your ideas for leads in front of the team, then you’re going to track the unsub down yourself. you don’t need his approval anyway.

s1!spencer x enemy!reader 5.8k angst. series masterlist. main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, spencer is a real twat, details of kidnapping and grievous bodily harm, catatonic trauma response. imagine this like halfway through season one.

The moment you step into the precinct, you feel it in your chest—a tightness, a heaviness. It’s not just the fatigue of being called in at 3 a.m. or the smell of stale coffee and desperation thick in the air. It’s the kind of tension that says we’ve been chasing ghosts and getting nowhere.

You glance across the briefing room. The local PD is gathered awkwardly along one wall, arms crossed, faces pinched with defensiveness. They’re not happy to have the FBI here. You don’t blame them—getting sidelined in your own case is a bitter pill to swallow. But this unsub isn’t playing fair.

“This is the third victim in two weeks,” the lead detective mutters, flipping through crime scene photos projected onto the wall. “Each time, the unsub leaves a note. Always handwritten. Always addressed to us. Sometimes directly to me.”

Morgan leans forward, eyes narrowing. “He’s taunting you,”

The detective scoffs. “He’s gloating. This one said, ‘You didn’t catch me last time. What makes you think you’ll get it right now?’”

“Classic narcissistic behavior,” Elle murmurs. “But there’s more to it,”

Hotch’s voice is calm but pointed. “He’s not just showing off. He’s testing you. He wants to see if he can outsmart us next.”

You shift in your seat, arms crossed, gaze flicking from photo to photo. The unsub’s pattern is clean, almost surgical. No evidence left behind, no usable prints, no DNA. Victims all abducted within ten miles of each other, murdered within 48 hours, left posed—like the unsub wanted the scene to say something.

Spencer sits to your right, scribbling notes in that tiny chicken scratch of his. You pretend not to notice the way he looks over at you when you suggest a geographic clustering theory.

“I think we should be focusing on the clusters—if the unsub’s circling familiar territory, it could give us a window into their comfort zone. Maybe even a home base,”

Spencer doesn’t even look up. “Or they’re using the local geography as a red herring. Throwing us off on purpose. Which is more likely with his intelligence level,”

You grit your teeth. “Or maybe you just don’t like when someone else has a theory first.”

There’s a flicker of tension across the table. JJ coughs awkwardly. Spencer finally glances over, his eyes sharp behind his curls.

“Just trying to eliminate bias,” he says flatly. “You might want to try that sometime.”

It starts small. A glance. A jab. You throw it back, and the fire spreads.

—

You and Spencer used to be good at this—banter, playful jabs, mutual intellectual sparring. It was light. It was fun. 9 months of almost playful hatred. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being any of those things.

You know why, you both do. But you’re still too stubborn to actually address it. So now, every briefing is a minefield.

“He’s organised,” you say, tapping a finger on the evidence board. “He’s probably keeping souvenirs. There’s no way he’s not revisiting these crime scenes in some capacity,”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “That’s a reach. He’s already getting his fix from the letters. Revisiting is more common in disorganised killers with obsessive traits. But, by all means, let’s base our strategy on assumptions,”

You round on him, the heat rising in your chest. “You always do this—cut people down because they didn’t quote a research paper in their suggestion. Not everything is from a journal article, Reid. Some of us work off instinct

He doesn’t blink. “That’s a shame.”

The room stills. You can feel everyone watching you now—JJ's uncomfortable glance, Morgan’s frown, Hotch’s silent disapproval. Elle shifts like she wants to step in, but thinks better of it.

You clench your jaw. “Just because your IQ is the highest in the room doesn’t mean your word is law,”

“And just because you talk louder doesn’t make you right,”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gideon’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “We are not here to flex egos. We’re here to stop a killer.”

You force yourself to look away, biting down on every retort itching to escape. Spencer doesn’t say another word either, but you can see it in the way he tightens his grip on the pen—he’s not finished. Not even close.

—

By midday, the briefing is over and you’re elbow-deep in case files, staring at photos of victims and crime scene reports that blur together. You’re trying to hold onto the idea that this is about the work, not about him, but Spencer’s voice grates in your head like static.

“Victim number two was killed in a different manner,” you point out, “which might indicate a loss of control or a change in the unsub’s emotional state,”

Spencer scoffs from across the room. “Or it might indicate that your profiling is, yet again, based on faulty interpretation,”

You look up slowly. “You’ve got a real talent for being insufferable,”

He shrugs. “Just pointing out the facts,”

“You’re not pointing out anything. You’re just undermining me. Again.”

He walks closer now, arms crossed, eyes full of cold disdain. “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being right, you’d actually be useful,”

Your jaw clenches so tight it hurts. “And maybe if you got over the sound of your own voice, we wouldn’t waste half our cases cleaning up your messes,”

Spencer steps in even closer, and now it’s personal. “You’re reckless. Impulsive. You go off instinct like it’s a badge of honour when really, it just makes you sloppy,”

You fire back without thinking. “You’re emotionally stunted and completely incapable of functioning outside a textbook,”

The words hang in the air like a punch.

Silence spreads. The local cops glance over from their desks. One of them murmurs, “Damn,”

Then Gideon slams his hand on the table.

“Enough,”

His voice is sharp, final. “Both of you. I don’t care how long this has been brewing—this is not the place. You’re acting like children, and you’re making this entire team look like amateurs,”

You glance down, throat burning. Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s stone-faced, but you can tell from the twitch in his jaw that he’s stewing.

Gideon’s not finished. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you unless it pertains directly to the case. Are we clear?”

You nod. Spencer doesn’t move.

“Are we clear?” Gideon repeats.

“Yes, sir,” Spencer mutters.

You don’t trust yourself to speak.

As you start gathering your files, Spencer’s voice cuts through the tension one more time—this time quieter, but not quiet enough.

“You know, we probably would’ve caught him already if you weren’t dragging us down.”

The words hit like a slap. You freeze.

The room goes dead silent.

Spencer looks away like he didn’t just say it. Like it didn’t just split something open.

You don’t respond. Not with words.

You finish collecting your files, slam the folder shut, and walk out of the room without a glance back.

—

You don’t say a word as you walk out of the precinct. You don’t slam the door or stomp your feet—there’s no drama, no outward explosion. Just a quiet, ice-cold silence that coats you like armour.

Let them think whatever they want. Let him think he won.

You move with purpose, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. You’re done trying to reason with people who have no interest in listening—especially a certain genius with a superiority complex. You tried to play by the rules, work within the team, but apparently the team doesn't think you have anything worthwhile to offer.

Fine. You’ll do it on your own.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket—JJ, probably, or Hotch, maybe even Gideon trying to pull you back into line. You ignore it. Instead, you pull out your notes, flipping through the photographs you took earlier, the ones the team waved off as nothing—redundant, too similar to previous kills, “unremarkable,” Spencer had called them.

But they weren’t. Not to you.

The unsub had made a mistake. A small one, but a mistake nonetheless.

In victim three’s crime scene photo, the position of the body had been ever so slightly rotated compared to the first two—enough that most wouldn’t care, wouldn’t notice. But the shadows were wrong. There was too much light coming in through a window that didn’t face the same direction as the other houses in the neighborhood. And the blood pattern—it had streaked upward at an angle.

Someone had moved the body. After the kill.

You’d mentioned it in passing. Spencer had dismissed it as “grasping at straws.”

Well, straws were all you needed.

—

You hole up in a dingy motel room a few blocks from the latest crime scene, spreading every case file and crime scene photo across the bed like a map to something only you could see. Your eyes flicker between documents, stringing together tiny inconsistencies—the make and model of the air conditioner in victim four’s apartment, the mismatched doorknob in victim one’s home, the off-center towel rack in number five’s bathroom.

The unsub didn’t just kill these people. He replaced things. Adjusted details.

Controlled them, even after death.

You flip back through the files, heart hammering now, and scan the addresses again. You map them out on the motel’s bedside notepad, drawing circles, checking distances between the apartments and the kill sights. Mixing and matching scenes chronologically or otherwise. And then you stumble on it.

A perfect crescent, not random but intentional. All ten locations arced around a center point—a forgotten stretch of suburbia with an abandoned cul-de-sac, a place zoned for housing development ten years ago that never got off the ground.

It’s the only place the unsub hasn’t struck yet.

It’s also the only place that could tie them all together.

You glance at your phone again. The screen is blank. No new calls. No new messages. Not from the team. Not from Spencer.

And maybe that’s a good thing. You don’t need him to validate you. You don’t need anyone.

You grab your gear, shove your files into your bag, and drive.

—

The cul-de-sac is quiet.

Not in the way quiet neighborhoods usually are, but dead quiet. No birdsong. No dogs barking. Just a biting, eerie stillness that settles in your bones the moment you step out of the car.

The houses are in varying states of decay—some half-built and gutted, others with boarded windows and cracked sidewalks. You grip your flashlight tighter as you move through the overgrown path between two units.

You keep your gun low, your ears straining for sound.

The data you gathered had pointed you to the house on the far end—the only one with signs of recent activity. The windows had been cleaned. The door, repainted.

You creep up the porch, careful not to make a sound. Your breath clouds in front of you, and the air feels colder here somehow. Heavier.

You reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.

Unlocked.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

The interior is dark, but not untouched. A table in the front room is neatly set for two. Plates. Silverware. A bottle of wine. It looks more like a dinner party than a murder scene.

You sweep the room, clearing corners, keeping your steps light. Nothing jumps out at you, but your gut won’t stop twisting.

Then you notice it.

On the wall.

A photo.

Your heart stops.

It’s you.

Snapped from the side, no more than a few hours old. Shot through the window of your hotel room, small map of the city in hand. The image is taped to the wall with surgical precision. Below it, a tiny note, one you have to walk right up to to read.

Congratulations.

You barely have time to react.

There’s a sharp sting in your neck.

You reach up instinctively, but your fingers are already clumsy. You turn, try to raise your gun—but the world tilts violently.

A face emerges from the shadows. Smiling. Calm.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” he says, almost apologetically.

And then everything goes black.

—

You drift in and out of consciousness. Time becomes slippery—your mind fogged, your limbs numb. Every now and then you feel something cold against your skin, a tug at your wrists, the uncomfortable pinch of something sharp near your ankle.

When you finally come to fully, you’re tied to a chair.

Hands bound behind your back. Ankles strapped to the legs of the chair with zip ties. Your head throbs, and there’s a metallic taste in your mouth—blood, probably.

The room around you is dimly lit. It’s not the main house anymore. You’ve been moved.

It looks like a basement. Concrete floors, unfinished walls, a single exposed bulb hanging overhead.

There’s a table nearby, neatly arranged with tools—not weapons. Instruments. Brushes. Tweezers. Surgical gloves.

You inhale shakily. You’ve seen what hems done with them before.

“You’re awake,” a voice says behind you.

You flinch as he steps into view.

The man is unremarkable in every way. Tall-ish, average build. Brown hair, clean-shaven. The kind of face you’d pass on the street and forget within minutes.

“You came here thinking you’d be the hero,” he muses, walking around you like he’s inspecting art. “They all do. You think your badge makes you invincible.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to conserve what little energy you have, mentally calculating your options.

He crouches in front of you, smiling. “You found me. That makes you smart. Smarter than the rest of them, maybe.”

You meet his gaze, steel in your voice despite the pain. “They’ll come looking for me.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replies. “I’ll lead them right to you if I have to. Whether you’ll be salvageable though, is up for debate,”

He walks to the table, picking up a small silver scalpel, running a gloved finger down its edge.

“A portrait is a powerful thing. It’s like capturing a snapshot of a person’s soul. Of course no true portrait is taken without the proper preparations being put in place first.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t show fear.

You just stall.

“They’re going to kill you,” you say evenly. “The second they find out what you’ve done, you’re done.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Then I guess we better speed things along,”

—

The sun had long since set when the rest of the team finally packed up for the night. The precinct lights buzzed with the kind of fatigue only unsolved murders could generate. Tension still clung to every surface, like dust no one could wipe away.

You’d been gone for hours.

And no one noticed.

Gideon assumed you’d taken some space after the confrontation—he’d scolded you both sharply enough in front of the local cops to warrant that kind of retreat. Morgan figured you’d gone to cool off, maybe back to the motel, maybe to follow up on a lead solo out of spite. JJ worried but didn’t say anything, not wanting to stir the already tense dynamic. Elle even offered to call, but Hotch had waved it off.

“She’s probably just blowing off steam,” he said. “We’ll regroup in the morning.”

And Spencer?

Spencer hadn’t said a word. Not one. He’d returned to his paperwork, methodically scribbling notes, analysing patterns, and doing everything in his power to ignore the hollowness you’d left behind.

He told himself you were being petty. Immature. Childish, even. Storming off like a petulant child after a simple observation.

But by morning, the quiet had stretched too long.

The motel clerk confirmed you never came back last night. Your room key remained untouched. Your bed, still made. Your rental car, gone.

JJ’s face turned white. “She always checks in. Always.”

Morgan’s voice was sharper than usual. “She would’ve called if she was going somewhere. Even if she was pissed.”

Elle was already reaching for her phone, scanning through emergency numbers and local hospitals. “We need to start looking now.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, reaching for his radio. “She wouldn’t go dark this long, not in the middle of a case. Not without telling someone.”

Then Gideon walked in with a manila envelope in his hand, face grim. “We just received another message.”

Everyone stilled.

He handed it to Hotch, who opened it slowly, bracing himself. Inside was a note—typed, this time—and a single, polaroid photograph.

JJ read it aloud, voice catching:

“At least one of the FBI Agents you corralled to help was intelligent enough to track me down. Too bad they weren’t prepared for the aftermath.”

Hotch turned the photo toward the group.

You.

Bound, unconscious, head lolled to one side in what looked like a concrete room. Your face was bruised. Blood smeared your temple. Your hands were zip-tied behind you, your body slumped forward like a discarded puppet. The lighting was dim, shadows slashing across your figure like jagged teeth.

A basement. A storage room. Somewhere hidden, somewhere wrong.

JJ gasped.

Morgan swore under his breath.

Elle closed her eyes and muttered, “No…”

And Spencer—Spencer leaned forward slowly, brows knitting as he examined the image.

“We need Garcia to enhance it,” he murmured, already reaching for his phone. “Maybe we can track down the camera. Or a reflection. Or—”

“Well,” he added suddenly, voice clipped, “She obviously wasn’t that intelligent if she got caught,”

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

The entire room turned toward him.

“What did you just say?” Morgan snapped.

JJ’s mouth dropped open. “Spence—”

But it was Gideon who moved first, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous.

“Say that again,” he said, “and I will bench you for the rest of this case.”

Spencer blinked. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Gideon cut him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want action. You think you’re the smartest person in the room? Good. Prove it. Use your genius to get over yourself and find her.”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything anyone had felt since the case began.

Spencer stared down at the photo, jaw clenched.

And then, finally, he swallowed his pride and got to work.

—

He isolated the enhanced image on the screen of his tablet, pushing aside his guilt and anger like clutter on a desk.

Don’t think about what you said.

Don’t think about the way you looked when you walked out.

Don’t think about the fact that you might not be okay.

Focus. Analyse. That’s what he’s good at.

“Lighting first,” he said aloud, mostly to himself.

He zoomed in on the image, filtering the background. The bulb overhead was exposed, casting distinct shadows.

“That angle suggests a single overhead source,” he muttered. “No side lighting. Probably a basement. At least eight to ten feet deep underground.”

He paused, adjusting the contrast on the image. “There’s no natural light at all, which rules out windows. Walls are unfinished. Cinderblock. Mortar lines are tight… That’s not a pre-’80s build. It’s too clean,”

Morgan leaned in. “So what—newer construction?”

Spencer nodded. “Late 90s or early 2000s. This wasn’t improvised. It was planned. It’s structurally sound, like a finished or semi-finished basement that’s just… been stripped down,”

Elle pointed to the corner of the image. “What’s that? Right behind the chair,”

Spencer zoomed in again. “It looks like… rust. A drainage pipe, maybe. Industrial-grade. Not common in most basements unless there’s risk of flooding. That, combined with the cinderblock, suggests this could’ve been built in an area prone to high groundwater. Maybe even flood plains,”

JJ frowned. “We’re not near the coast,”

“No, but if you look at the housing map…” He switched to a digital layout of the neighbourhood. “This cul-de-sac was supposed to be part of a larger development. Half of it was never completed because the land didn’t pass inspection,”

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “He’s in one of those unfinished units,”

Gideon nodded once. “Then we start there. We canvass the entire development. We don’t stop until we find her.”

Spencer looked at the photo one last time. His throat was dry. His chest ached. He thought of what he’d said—we would’ve caught him if you weren’t dragging us down—and suddenly it sounded less like a petty jab and more like a curse.

He looked up at the team.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch nodded. “Good. You’re going to lead the search.”

—

The SUV was quiet on the way to the development site. No one played music. No one made jokes.

Spencer sat in the front seat, his fingers tapping a rapid rhythm against his knee. He was trying not to picture you in that chair. Trying not to imagine what the unsub had done in the hours since that photo was taken. But he couldn’t stop the images.

You, bloody and bound.

You, unconscious and alone.

You, thinking no one was coming.

He had no right to worry.

No right to be scared.

But he was.

The words echoed in his head.

“She obviously wasn’t that intelligent.”

He wanted to take it back. Shove it into his mouth and swallow it down until it never existed. But that’s not how words work. They cut, and they cling, and they stay.

When they arrived at the development, the team split up fast. Morgan and Elle took the north end. JJ stayed with local officers to coordinate grid sweeps. Hotch and Gideon led the way into the southern row—newer units, all empty.

Spencer broke off on his own.

He had a gut feeling. It didn’t feel smart. It didn’t feel strategic. But it felt right.

And for once, he let himself trust that instinct.

The fifth house in the row was quiet.

Too quiet.

The front door was slightly ajar. No visible signs of forced entry. No sound from inside.

The front door creaked open under Spencer’s hand. The house was stale with disuse—thick air and thin silence. He moved cautiously through the entryway, gun raised, heart a thunderous rhythm in his ears.

Every shadow stretched too long. Every corner felt wrong.

Footsteps pounded behind him seconds later—Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon falling in silently. Elle and JJ soon followed through the back, their weapons drawn, movements swift and precise.

Then—

A noise.

A soft creak.

Second floor.

Hotch motioned with two fingers, and the team surged upward.

They found him in one of the back bedrooms. The unsub.

He was standing in front of a half-boarded window, arms crossed, calm like he was waiting for them. No fear. Just smug, eerie satisfaction, the kind that made your skin crawl.

“You’re too late,” he said simply.

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “On the ground! Now!”

But the unsub didn’t comply. He moved fast—reaching for something under his coat.

Hotch fired first. A warning shot into the drywall, forcing the man to freeze mid-movement. Morgan lunged in, tackling him with a grunt. They struggled, fists swinging, feet skidding across the half-carpeted floor.

Spencer stood back, watching the scuffle like it was underwater. His fingers twitched against his sidearm, but he didn’t fire. Couldn’t. His eyes were already scanning—behind the man, past the empty bedframe, to the blood on the floor.

He wasn’t thinking about justice. He was thinking about you.

By the time Gideon and Morgan got the cuffs on the man, Spencer was already moving—down the stairs, through the hallway, toward the door at the far end of the house.

There was a lock on it. Heavy. Old.

Spencer kicked it once. Nothing.

Twice.

On the third kick, the door gave way.

The basement smelled like mold, metal, and something sharper—sweat, maybe. Or blood.

The light flickered overhead as he stepped inside.

And there you were.

Slumped in the same position as the photo, tied to a chair, your wrists bound so tightly they’d gone purple. There was blood at your temple. Bruises down your neck. A split lip. Dirt smeared your cheeks. Rips in your shirt.

But you were breathing.

Barely.

Alive.

He nearly collapsed with the force of the relief.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you. His voice cracked. “Hey. You need to be conscious right now,”

Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Spencer's voice dropped lower, to fend with a failed attempt at lightheartedness. “You’re at a higher risk of permanent brain injury if you’re unconscious, and I doubt you need that on top of all of your other issues—”

His hands trembled as he reached for the zip ties, too afraid to touch you at first.

Morgan burst in behind him. “We need medics! Now!” he shouted up the stairs.

JJ’s voice echoed from above. “They’re already pulling up!”

Spencer carefully cut the ties, his fingers brushing your wrist. Your skin was cold. Too cold.

He looked at you again, eyes searching for any sign of recognition. A flicker of life. Of you.

Nothing.

When the medics finally came, they moved with military precision, lifting you from the chair, strapping you onto a stretcher. You didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Low blood pressure. Likely concussion, threads pulse,” one of them said quickly, checking vitals.

They spoke in clipped medical shorthand as they wheeled you out. The words blurred in Spencer’s ears.

He didn’t follow.

Couldn’t.

He stood there, in that grimy basement, staring at the chair you’d been tied to. The blood smeared into the floor. The shredded zip ties left behind like bones.

He should’ve stopped you.

He should’ve known something was wrong last night.

He should’ve said something—anything—besides the venom he’d spat.

His hands curled into fists.

Upstairs, he could hear Morgan shouting at the unsub as he was dragged away.

“You think you’re clever? Huh? You think this makes you some kind of genius?”

The unsub just smiled. “She came to me.”

Spencer’s stomach turned.

—

Outside, the late morning sun was rising, casting long shadows over the front lawn as paramedics loaded you into the ambulance. JJ stood nearby, arms folded tightly, barely breathing.

Elle was silent, her eyes rimmed red.

Hotch was speaking with local police, organising statements and chain of custody. And Spencer stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, face unreadable.

He didn’t go to the ambulance.

Didn’t try to see you again.

He didn’t think he deserved to.

You were silent. Still unresponsive. Not out of stubbornness, not anger, but trauma. Something had shut off in you, and Spencer didn’t know how—or if—you’d be able to come back from that.

He hadn’t just pushed you away.

He’d left you alone long enough to almost die.

—

The hospital was a cold place. The sterile white walls seemed to hold no comfort, and the bright fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly, as if trying to shatter the fragile quiet of the room.

But the team couldn’t shake the relief.

You were alive. Not unscathed—far from it—but alive. The doctors assured them you would recover physically, though they hadn’t made any promises about the mental scars.

But there was a sense of something else in the air, something they couldn’t quite name yet.

Gideon paced outside your room, eyes shadowed by a tiredness that went deeper than just the case. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face taut with unsaid words.

Elle was in the hallway, sitting on a chair with her head in her hands, her phone still in her lap. She hadn’t spoken much since they left the house. JJ hovered near the nurses’ station, keeping herself busy with menial tasks, but her face was pale—gripped by some invisible weight.

And Hotch, though outwardly composed, carried the same heavy air of guilt.

But no one felt it as sharply as Spencer.

He was pacing in the hallway, arms stiff at his sides, a muscle in his jaw twitching with every breath. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since they’d arrived at the hospital, and though he’d checked in with the doctor, he hadn’t really listened.

Spencer’s mind was still replaying the look in your eyes when you were pulled from that basement—the emptiness, the unspoken words, the brokenness. And for the first time, he was painfully aware of the distance that had been wedged between you.

The anger, the insults, the barbed exchanges—it hadn’t been just his defence mechanism, and he hadn’t realised how much damage it had done until now.

But now you were silent, and Spencer could feel the full weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like a vice. You were the one who’d been hurt the most—physically—and still, it was his words that had broken you.

—

When he finally pushed open the door to your room, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

You were propped up in bed, the sterile white sheets bunched around your body. Your face was bruised—still swollen—but your eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing there. No emotion. No spark. Just an emptiness that he didn’t know how to fill.

Spencer hesitated, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room.

You didn’t move when he sat in the chair next to the bed. You didn’t acknowledge him at all. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, unfocused, distant.

For a moment, Spencer just watched you. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come.

It was only when he spoke, his voice sharp and broken, that the silence shattered.

“What you did was reckless and idiotic,” he said, his tone colder than he intended. “You could’ve died. You left without backup, without even thinking about the risks.” He swallowed, forcing his words to keep coming. “You could’ve—you should’ve—asked for help.”

He paused, waiting for some kind of response. Something—anything—but there was nothing. You didn’t even blink. You just stared ahead, lost in the haze of your own mind.

Spencer’s fingers clenched into fists. “You think this is some kind of game? You think you’re invincible?”

Still nothing.

He leaned in slightly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to help. But you need to stop acting like you’re the only one who matters here. This isn’t just about you.”

Nothing.

The silence stretched on, a taut wire between the two of you, the gap between him and you feeling like an abyss. Spencer couldn’t stand it. His gaze dropped to the floor, a wave of shame crashing over him.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know how to fix it.

For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid felt like he was completely and utterly lost.

—

The team began to gather in the waiting room outside your room, and no one spoke. Even the air felt thick, like the stillness before a storm.

It was Elle who finally broke the silence. “I can’t…” she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. “She… she won’t even look at us.”

Hotch, though normally composed, looked exhausted. His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes shadowed by the weight of the situation. “She’s been through hell, Elle. We can’t just… expect everything to go back to normal.”

Gideon looked up from his place near the door. “No, it’s not that simple,” he said quietly, voice low but unwavering. “But I’ve seen this before. Trauma like this… it changes you.” He paused, eyes flicking toward the door to your room. “She’s going to need time, and we’re going to need patience. But we also need to acknowledge what we did wrong,”

The room grew quieter, each member processing the truth in their own way.

Morgan, who had been pacing with his hands in his pockets, spoke up. “Spencer’s not handling this well. But none of us are.” His voice was strained, but it held a sense of certainty. “We didn’t see it. We didn’t see how bad it was getting for her.”

JJ closed her eyes briefly, guilt flooding her expression. “We should’ve known. We should’ve stepped in. The way she and Spencer were fighting—it was too much. We should’ve told them both to stop before it got to this point,”

“I’m just…” Elle’s voice wavered. “I’m just so angry at him. How could he say those things to her? He was the one who pushed her.” Her eyes were wide, a mix of disbelief and hurt. “He acted like he didn’t even care, like she didn’t matter

Hotch sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “We all failed her in some way.” His eyes flicked to Gideon. “And now Spencer’s struggling to process the fact that it’s his words that have hurt her the most,”

Gideon nodded slowly. “There’s no way to fix it right away. But what matters now is how we move forward. For her. Not for us.”

#enemy!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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reidsmanuscript · 3 months ago

Text

Exceptional

Summary: what happens when spencer hears the rumors about your teenage years? what happens when some of those rumors are true?. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: hurt/comfort and fluff at the end! wc: 5.5k! TW: burning wounds, bullying, misogyny/patriarchal behavior, violent and impulsive behavior. not proofread yet. A/N: in the middle of writting this i realized it's very based on "the archer" and "the man" by Taylor Swift Masterlist! (it's not necessary to read the first 4 chapters!)

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If we're talking about anecdotes from your teenage years, well—there’s not much to tell. Just the totally mundane story of an angry, emotionally volatile teenager with too much brainpower who somehow bulldozed her way into Harvard Law. No big deal.

JJ had great stories about high school—being the captain of her football team, those wholesome, small-town moments straight out of a coming-of-age movie. Emily had the wildest stories—traveling the world, the chaos of never staying in one place, and even the ones that made you feel something, like how badly she just wanted to fit in.

It started with the urgent case the BAU was handed—students linked to an elite Harvard secret society were disappearing, their bodies found staged in ritualistic ways. As the case unfolded, Spencer turned to you, his voice a little more cautious than usual.

“Do you know anything about some Seraphic Circle?”

You didn’t need to think. You’d heard plenty about them. Too much, really. "I’ve heard of them," you said, your tone dripping with disdain and rolling your eyes. “Rich kids with too much money and power. Half of them don’t even deserve to be there, but their families pay for their spot.”

You were reluctant towards accepting going with them to Massachusetts, too much memories and teh constant fear someone might recognize you and call you out for past decisions that maybe weren't the best. Maybe they were worse than you wanted to confess and might even scare Spencer away.

Still, he had asked you to accompany them. “Do you think they will remember you?”

“Nah… i don’t think so, they have tons of law students per year so…” maybe your words were right, but the higher thn usual pitch on your tone gave you away to spencer, that only he was able to detect, of how you weren’t saying all the true

Long story short, that's how you end up where you are right now, walking behind de BAU towards the Dean of Harvard office, with Spencer by your side.

You reach the office just as Hotch shakes the dean’s hand, introducing each member of the team. “SSA Jareau, SSA Morgan, and Dr. Reid,” he says, gesturing to each of them in turn. “We also brought—”

“Woodvale.”

The dean’s voice cuts through the room the moment his eyes land on you, recognition flickering across his face. Not even a hundred years would be enough to erase your name from his memory. He didn't like you back then.

An almost cynical, carefully polite smile curves your lips as you extend your hand. “Dean Langford.”

He grips your hand firmly, his expression unreadable. “Seems like you’ve come a long way from that time your burned one of my students”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, tension crackling like a live wire. But you don’t let it show, ignoring how he didn’t consider you a proper student. Instead, your voice remains cool, measured.

“Those accusations were debunked after no evidence was found,” you say smoothly. “Unlike the very real recordings and witness statements I had of that same student saying—” you pause, tilting your head slightly, your smile sharpening, “women became hysterical when it came to sexual crimes.’”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Emily and JJ smirking, while Langford’s expression hardens.

The dean's smile barely falters. So, he does remember you. Not surprising—back then, you were even more impulsive than you are now. And that says a lot.

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Don’t ask how, but somehow Garcia had dug up records that gave the team a list of names tied to the so-called “secret society.” Ironically, when the BAU interviewed students about it, everyone seemed to know what it was—just not anything useful.

“They sacrifice animals.” “A bunch of douchebags with too much money.” “They run everything. If you’re one of them, you’re untouchable.”

“Do any of the names look familiar?” Rossi asked, sliding the list toward you.

You scanned it, then shook your head. “Only the last names. But that’s not surprising—most of them come from old money.”

Garcia had also uncovered some interesting financial records. One name stood out: Andrew Carrington, former lawyer at his family’s prestigious Massachusetts firm. A-class dickhead.

“He’s got buildings in the city,” Garcia said, displaying files on the computer. “But his family’s the real power—deep pockets, old money. There are even a couple of campus buildings with their name on them.”

Rossi raised a brow. “Legacy admission?”

“More like a blank check.” You leaned back. “Everyone knew he bought his way in.”

“Any possibility he’s involved?” Hotch asked.

You considered it for a moment before shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Back then, this club was his pride. These murders? They only drag its prestige through the mud.”

“So… this Seraphic Circle thing,” Emily said, tilting her head. “Were you ever part of it?”

The police station buzzed around you, a low hum of voices and ringing phones, but your focus was on the files in front of you. Spencer sat beside you, skimming through pages with his usual quiet intensity. Neither of you was big on PDA—no hand-holding, no lingering touches in front of the team—but subtlety was an art you both had mastered. Your elbows brushed as you shifted in your seat, his knee resting against yours, the quiet pressure grounding.

“Not really,” you answered finally. “They claimed you had to have a big name in law, but what they really meant was that you had to be rich—and if you were a man? Even better.”

Morgan flipped through a file. “But you do know this Carrington guy.”

Before you could answer, Spencer’s fingers brushed against the side of your knee—a light touch so subtle no one else would notice. A quiet signal. He’d felt your tension the moment Morgan had mentioned Carrington.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Yeah… It was hard not to know someone like him. He’s got that whole ‘king of the school’ vibe, but honestly, he’s not capable of something like this.” You spoke nonchalantly, but your voice betrayed a hint of discomfort.

The team shifted focus to the next lead, moving on to analyze the unsub’s possible personality traits. After a few more exchanges, the decision was made to call Carrington in for questioning tomorrow—there was no use doing it this late. The discussion had settled, but Spencer’s fingers brushed against your knee again, just enough for you to catch it. He was still attuned to your every movement, a silent understanding between the two of you.

After that, Hotch made the call for everyone to get some rest. One by one, the team decided to call it a night, heading out to their respective rooms. You and Spencer lingered behind, both of you wrapping up the last of your thoughts on the case.

Spencer was the one to break the silence. He looked around the station, then at you. His eyes softened for a moment before he spoke. “Enough for tonight. Let’s get some sleep.”

You nodded, thankful for the break. As Spencer found your coat, you dropped the files onto the nearest table. You stood still as he slid the coat onto your shoulders, the fabric brushing against your skin. As he did, you both made the mistake of letting your hands touch—just a fleeting brush—but it sent a warmth through your chest.

The walk to the motel was calm, with the quiet night air wrapping around you both. Spencer felt a strange mixture of calm and anticipation swirling in his chest, emotions he didn’t usually indulge. It wasn’t something he had the vocabulary for, not in his usual clinical sense. For once, there wasn’t a need for facts or equations to understand the feeling that settled inside him.

His fingers, almost absent-mindedly, curled into yours. It was a subtle movement, but the softness of it caught him by surprise. His thumb traced small, slow circles over the back of your hand, a tender rhythm he couldn’t quite explain. For someone who usually lived in the world of patterns and logic, this was unfamiliar territory. But the simple touch, the way your fingers fit together so naturally—it felt right.

In a world where everything was either solvable or predictable, this felt like the exception. There was no analysis needed. No need to question why it felt so much like a moment he wanted to hold onto. Maybe it was the quiet between you two, or the way everything around you seemed to fade as his thumb ran over your hand. All Spencer knew was that in that moment, nothing else mattered.

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The next morning, Hotch had sent Morgan and Prentiss off to speak with students on the campus, while he and Rossi took over the interrogation. The room felt different now, quieter—like the calm before another storm.

Andrew Carrigton settled into the chair like he was sitting at a country club luncheon rather than an interrogation room. His suit was crisp, his cufflinks glinting under the fluorescent lights. If he was rattled by the fact that three of his former society’s members were dead, he didn’t show it.

Hotch sat across from him, his expression unreadable. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Mr. Carrigton,” Hotch began, “we’re investigating the murders of three students, all of whom were members of the Seraphic Circle. You were one of its founders. We need information.”

Carrigton exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Tragic. Truly. But I haven’t been involved in years. You’d be better off asking one of the new recruits.”

Hotch didn’t budge. “We’re asking you.”

Carrigton smirked, tilting his head. “What do you want me to say? That it’s a secret society? That we have rituals and secret handshakes?” He chuckled. “Come on, Agent. It’s a networking club. A prestigious one, sure, but hardly the Illuminati.”

Rossi let out a sharp breath, unimpressed. “Right. A ‘networking club’ where only the rich and powerful get in, and anyone who doesn’t measure up gets chewed up and spit out.”

Carrigton raised an eyebrow. “That’s life, isn’t it?”

Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. “The night of the first murder, there was an event. Who was in attendance?”

Carrigton hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his jaw. “Hard to say. The Circle’s grown since my time. Dozens of faces, most of which I wouldn’t recognize.”

“You’re still connected. You know the leadership.”

Another lazy shrug. “I might know a few names. But as I said, things change. The president rotates out, always some eager young thing desperate to prove themselves. They run the show until the next one takes over.” He smirked. “I imagine the current one is quite overwhelmed.”

“Who’s pulling the strings?” Hotch asked.

Carrigton chuckled. “You give us too much credit, Agent. It’s not some grand conspiracy. It’s a club. People join, people leave. Some do well, some don’t.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

Carrigton waved a dismissive hand. “They drop out. Go on with their lives. Or—” he smiled, sharp, “—they stew in their resentment, blaming others for their own failures.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s what happened here?”

Carrigton leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “I think it’s always the same story. Someone on the outside looking in, bitter that they weren’t enough. And now they want to take it out on the ones who were.”

Hotch’s voice was cold. “That’s a convenient theory. But it doesn’t answer our questions.”

Carrigton’s smirk widened. “Then maybe you’re asking the wrong ones.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Carrigton with growing irritation. He was the same smug, arrogant bastard you remembered from college, only now it was worse. His attitude hadn’t changed a bit, and neither had his ability to waste everyone’s time with his deflections.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he ran his mouth, completely ignoring the fact that three people were dead, his precious club possibly involved. He was too busy leaning back in his chair, playing at some sick power game.

You glanced at JJ, your patience already hanging by a thread. “There’s no cameras here, right?”

JJ, clearly thrown off by the sudden question, gave you a puzzled look. “No… why?”

Without answering, you turned your focus back to Carrigton and felt your hands tighten into fists. His polished smirk made your blood boil, his greasy hair gleaming under the lights. Your shoulders squared, the weight of your frustration making your movements sharper. You ignored Spencer’s curious glance, his quiet scrutiny as he watched you.

You didn’t have time for any of this.

You walked to the door and knocked once, the sound sharp in the sterile room. Before anyone could respond, you turned the handle, stepping into the interrogation room.

Carrigton’s eyes locked onto you the second you walked in. His gaze flickered briefly, a subtle but noticeable flash of discomfort before he quickly masked it with that same patronizing grin.

“Well, well,” he sneered, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he was trying to put some distance between himself and the real world. “I didn’t realize the FBI was hiring gutter rats now.”

Spencer tensed from the other side of the glass, his expression hardening as his frustration mounted. He was clearly growing angrier at Carrigton’s smug demeanor, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you were even a little fazed. You simply smirked and kept your focus on the man sitting in front of you.

Carrigton’s glare never left you as you stepped closer, your tone ice-cold. “This ‘gutter rat’ is about to charge you with obstruction of justice if you don’t start talking, Andrew.”

Carrigton's eyes narrowed, his lips curling in a sneer. “That’s blackmail.”

You didn’t flinch. “And if you keep dragging your feet, that’s another charge—contempt of court. Trust me, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” You leaned in just enough to make sure he heard you loud and clear. “You want to keep playing games, or you want to start answering questions?”

Carrigton shifted in his seat, the cockiness starting to waver, but he still clung to that arrogance like a shield, gripping it with white-knuckled desperation.

“I want my lawyer,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

You scoff, tilting your head as if you were genuinely considering his words before your lips curled into something sharp and ruthless.

"Is that your way of admitting you’re not a good enough lawyer to defend yourself?" Your voice was smooth, razor-edged silk, venom threaded through every syllable. "Start talking."

His nostrils flared, a flicker of something—hesitation, anger, maybe both. It was barely a breath, but you caught it.

"From what I know, the admission process has gone to hell," he sneered, grasping at arrogance like a lifeline. "I spoke with their president last week about it. I'm not throwing my money at that place just for them to start letting in anyone."

Rossi’s eyebrows lifted as he slid the crime scene photos across the table, each image a stark, undeniable truth. “Are these people just ‘anyone’ to you, Andrew?”

For the first time, Carrigton’s arrogance fractured. It was subtle—the flicker of his gaze, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t reach for the photos.

And then you saw it. No matter how high his shirt collar was, it couldn’t quite hide the edges of old scars peeking out—angry, uneven marks trailing up the side of his neck, disappearing beneath expensive fabric.

"We didn’t have anything to do with this," Carrigton muttered, his voice suddenly lacking its earlier bravado. His eyes flickered briefly over the crime scene photos, but his gaze quickly dropped.

"Who’s ‘we’?" Hotch’s voice was cold, demanding, cutting through the silence.

Carrigton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles turning white. He wasn’t as confident as before.

You could feel it—he was trying to hide the discomfort, but it was there. The truth always made people uncomfortable.

You pushed yourself off the wall, your movement slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving him as you circled around behind him. He tensed, just slightly at first, but it was enough.

The memory was still fresh, and you knew it. He hadn’t forgotten how you burned him—how the scalding coffee had left that mark on his neck. He was trying not to show it, but it was eating at him, that simmering, seething reminder that you’d done it and he couldn’t touch you for it.

You stopped just behind him, letting your presence loom over him like a shadow. He could feel your gaze, feel the space between you—too close for comfort, too close for someone who hated you as much as he did.

"What’s the matter, Andrew?" You leaned in, your voice low and smooth, but your words sharp as a knife. "Don’t like me standing here?"

"I told him to stop accepting anyone," Carrigton muttered, his voice tightening as he stumbled over the words. "Grayson Locke, that's his name. Legacy admission. But I had nothing to do with this. We even went through some names, cut people off."

You could feel the hesitation in his voice, the way he was trying to distance himself from the mess that was unfolding. His words were almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. The stammering wasn’t lost on you—it was almost pathetic.

"What names?" Rossi’s voice was firm, but he wasn’t pushing too hard yet. He was letting Carrigton sweat just a little longer, a strategy you were both accustomed to.

Carrigton's jaw tightened, his eyes darting nervously between Morgan and you. "It was a list," he said quickly, almost as though the words were tumbling out before he could stop them. "Just find him. Tell him I told you to give it to you." He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the door. "Outside of that, I don’t know anything else."

There it was. The slip. The admission that he was just as tangled in this as the rest of them. But it wasn’t enough. Rossi stepped out of the interrogation room, heading off to search for the list.

“See? Was that so hard?” You taunted, slumping into the chair Rossi had just vacated, your eyes never leaving Carrigton. His smug façade cracked, just enough for you to see the shift. The sense of discomfort that he could no longer hide.

His eyes flicked to you, venom dripping from his words. “You think you’ve won? All you are is a stray dog who’ll burn in hell.” He spat the words, his jaw tight, but beneath the bravado, there was fear creeping in.

You straightened in the chair, completely unbothered by his outburst. “And you’ll be right there with me. I guess you know a thing or two about burning, don’t you?” Your smirk was sharp, a silent jab at the scars on his neck, the ones you’d left there.

His expression faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make your blood run colder. Without warning, he shot to his feet, slamming his palms down on the table with a force that made it rattle. His face was inches from yours now, his breath stinking of rage and something darker—panic.

“Fuck you, you deranged bitch,” he hissed, his voice barely contained. “You’ll always be the daughter of some filthy addicts. You’ll never belong to this world. My world.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. The words hit, but they didn’t land. “Did I strike a nerve?” You leaned forward slightly, your tone dropping to a razor-sharp whisper. “Or should I say... burn a nerve?”

Carrigton’s entire body stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, veins bulging from his hands. His chest heaved with the kind of raw anger that radiated off him like a furnace. “You’re still the same psycho bitch I met years ago.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t let his venomous words land, only smirked. “Have you learned how to make women come, Carrigton? Or are you still calling them hysterical? Is that why your wife is filing for divorce?”

It wasn’t just the words, but the sharpness of your tone, the deliberate push of your venom that made it sting even more. Garcia had provided all the dirt, the skeletons hidden deep in his closet. You weren’t above having a little fun with it, using it to your advantage. Carrigton, though, was losing his composure with every word you threw at him.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hotch beat you to it, rising from his seat. "Enough. We appreciate your time, Mr. Carrington. We'll contact you if we need further information," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Andrew huffed dismissively, rising to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, casting one last venomous glance in your direction. "You think you’ve got a place in this world? Trust me, you don’t. People like you? They end up alone, scrambling to hold onto the little sanity they have left before it all slips away."

He didn’t wait for a response, Spencer’s gaze locked with yours the moment Andrew was out of the room. His eyes were filled with concern, but you chose not to address it. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, you stayed silent, the words echoing in your head. Something about them stuck, gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he spoke—like he knew something about you that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. Scrambling. It was true, wasn’t it? You were constantly on edge, barely holding it together, pretending that you didn’t feel like you were one step away from losing it. Maybe it would be easier to just give in, let go, and fulfill everyone’s expectations of you. Be the damaged, angry, broken thing they wanted you to be.

For a moment, you almost believed his words.

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If murdered students weren’t enough to set the rumor mill on fire, your presence definitely did. The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfire.

“Sooo… guess what we’ve heard?” Emily’s voice broke through the room as she and the others approached, grinning like they had just uncovered the juiciest piece of gossip on campus.

“Anything useful?” you asked without looking up from the file you were flipping through. “Or is this about the librarian hooking up with students in the archives? Because if it is—old news.”

Morgan smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, actually, we heard about some girl who once got a professor fired.”

“And,” Prentiss added, leaning in with a knowing smile, “was banned from mock trial as a freshman after making another student indirectly confess he bought the answers to his exams.”

Your fingers froze for just a split second—the briefest pause, barely perceptible to anyone but Spencer, who noticed it right away.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “People get weirdly creative when it comes to making up rumors.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “So you’re telling me,” she pressed, “that you’ve never heard of the girl who burned some rich kid’s manuscript because he plagiarized her?”

You sighed, closing the file with exaggerated nonchalance. “Sounds like a legend. And legends aren’t real.”

Emily snorted, clearly enjoying this. “Or when she threw a chair at a debate judge for interrupting her?”

Morgan gasped dramatically. “And don’t forget when she flipped a Monopoly board at a networking event after some trust fund brat said she didn’t have the ‘pedigree’ for law.”

Emily smirked. “I heard she broke his nose.”

You shrug it off. “Monopoly makes people violent. Everyone knows that.”

You knew they weren’t trying to be mean, but you’d rather die than show any hint of regret. You had made some questionable choices in the past, but those didn’t define who you were now. Right?

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Right, right. So I guess the whole thing about you making a guy cry so hard during a mock trial that he dropped out of law school is fake too?”

You were forced to pretend not being able to stop the small smirk tugged at your lips, “Okay, in my defense, that guy was pretentious and thought using big words would make him win.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “Some student mentioned you, uh, burning people when they pissed you off.” He exchanged a glance with Prentiss, both of them catching on to your lack of eye contact. “Is that what the Dean was referring to?”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight heat creep up your neck, but you managed to keep your gaze on the desk, avoiding their eyes. You didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered you. “People talk,” you muttered. “But if you believe everything they say, you’re as crazy as they are.”

You could’ve fooled anyone in that room full of profilers, because hiding behind your indifference mask was something you were well-practiced at. That was, of course, if they didn’t know you deeply. If they didn’t spend weekends with you, cooking together, exchanging quiet conversations and inside jokes. If they weren’t Spencer Reid—the only one in the room who could read beneath the surface.

He noticed the way you winced when you shifted your neck, the subtle way you massaged the sore muscles with your hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone. To anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing, but to him, it was a clear sign that something was off. You weren’t as fine as you were pretending to be.

"Anyone want anything? I’m doing a coffee run." You don’t wait for an answer, already making your way toward the break room. But the laughter behind you lingers—harmless, good-natured, but still too close to the laughter of your ex-classmates. It curls around your ribs like a memory you don’t want.

You don’t notice Spencer saying he’ll come with you, but you realize he’s there when you hear his footsteps—loud enough for you to hear him, deliberate so he doesn’t startle you.

At the coffee machine, you take a breath, ignoring him. You press the buttons and try to shake the feeling off, but when you glance at him, just for a second, all he sees in your eyes is guilt. Shame.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. "You also think I’m a menace to society? They’re lucky I turned out halfway functional. Statistically, I shouldn’t have.”

Spencer stays a few feet away—close enough, but not crowding you. The perfect arms-length distance. It was something he understood about you, something you never had to say out loud. Letting you decide if you needed space or needed closeness. Giving you control, even in something as simple as this.

"None of them think that," he says quietly. "I don’t think that."

It takes effort to look at him, but when you do, the tightness in your chest gets worse. You hate it. You hate the way it feels when you take a step closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. And you hate how naturally his hand finds the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair in a slow, soothing motion, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"I didn’t mean to—God, have you seen the scars on his neck?" Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "What kind of… monster does that?"

His hand stills against you for a second.

It breaks his heart every time you talk about yourself like this—like you’re one of the people he spends his life trying to stop.

"Technically, the probability of someone from your background reaching your level of success is less than three percent. And even among that group, only a fraction manage to sustain high-pressure careers."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah? And what’s the probability of me snapping one day and proving everyone right?"

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

He exhales, steady and patient. "The point is that I could pull up hard data showing how statistically, you shouldn’t have graduated at fifteen. Or made it through law school on a full ride. Or become one of the best prosecutors in D.C. The odds of that happening were lower than one percent. But you did it. So if we're playing by numbers, then statistically… you're exceptional."

He pauses, watching you carefully. Then, softer "And not in the way you seem to think."

Your fingers curl into the edge on themselves, nails pressing into your palms as you process his words. You hate how much they settle into your chest, how they make something raw and aching twist inside you. You exhale, forcing out a scoff, trying to grasp onto the sarcasm that usually keeps you afloat.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of miracle,"

"You might as well be the proof that God exists to me," Spencer says simply, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

Your throat tightens. You shake your head, swallowing past the lump forming there. "I hate how you do that," you murmur.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like maybe I’m not beyond saving."

His hand stills for a moment before he squeezes the nape of your neck, grounding. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing it until you believe it."

And for once, you don’t have the energy to argue.

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The case wrapped up when the team uncovered that one of the students they had interviewed had been fixated on getting into the Seraphic Circle. After his rejection, it became his breaking point, driving him to kill the members in a vengeful spree.

You would have laughed in Andrew Carrington’s face and shown him just how much that exclusive little club had spiraled into something violent and twisted, you would’ve. But, of course, that would’ve been disrespectful to the victims, so you didn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself sink into that bitterness.

But, it didn’t matter in the end. When you landed back in Washington—home, dear home—it didn’t matter. The case was closed, and, for the first time in a long while, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Your past mistakes no longer haunted you, and as you stepped into the familiar rhythm of your life, you realized that, just for this moment, you could breathe.

To be honest, you weren’t the same person you were back then. The young teen you once were would have never believed, or even considered, that she could be in a loving relationship with a man who would love her unconditionally, no matter what. She never would have believed that someone like Spencer could ever like someone like you.

"Are you hungry?" Spencer asked, his voice soft as he dropped the go-bag by the entrance of the apartment. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead "I saw this new recipe for homemade lasagna," he added, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when he was excited about something. "It has layers of ricotta, mozzarella, and this really rich, savory meat sauce that I think we could definitely pull off. I thought we could make it together—maybe add a little twist of our own, like some fresh basil?"

You smiled at his enthusiasm, noticing how his fingers brushed through his hair absentmindedly as he spoke. It was always endearing to watch him get excited over the little things. "Homemade lasagna? That sounds amazing," you replied, already picturing the cozy evening ahead.

His grin widened, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping through the recipe. "It’s supposed to take a bit of time, but it’s not complicated...just a lot of love and patience—so, you know, I think we can manage. Plus, it’ll give us time to talk...and eat a lot of cheese."

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. "I think I’m sold. Lasagna and cheese? Definitely the kind of night I need."

He gave a small nod, as if he were confirming his excitement to himself. "Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. You’re in charge of setting up the music. Deal?"

"Deal," you said, already feeling that comforting sense of peace that only came from spending time like this—together, in your little shared world, filled with small moments that meant everything.

Who would’ve thought you’d be cooking lasagna with the soft crackle of a vinyl player spinning Billy Joel and Elvis Presley in the background

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

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#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #lines of justice #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x lawyer!reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort

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jinwoosungs · 7 months ago

Text

12/03/24: 04:45pm

lovesick!sung jinwoo x fem.reader

notes: loosely based on the hallmark movie drew gooden was watching and reviewing titled timeless love.

warnings: unedited; canon divergent to fit with this oneshot's storyline; potentially ooc; dark content; obsessive behavior; read at your own caution.

alternate title: your heart belongs to me.

sunlight streams through the open windows, painting the bedroom in brilliant hues of gold. dawn had long since morphed into morning, rousing a once sleeping couple back to consciousness.

the husband was the first to awaken, stretching out his limbs as a yawn escapes from his parted lips. wiping the sleep from his eyes, he trails his stormy grey eyes toward the form settled achingly close to him.

pulling down the comforter, he reveals your sleeping figure with your head buried within his chest. letting out a grunt of approval, he gently delves his fingers into your hair, massaging at your scalp, already grinning the moment you began to awaken.

he was the first to notice the smile that was beginning to spread across your features, basking in your sleepy giggles when he continues massaging at your scalp. "h-hey, if you keep doing that, i'll end up spending the whole day in bed."

jinwoo simply lets out a rich chuckle in response, allowing the tip of his nose to nuzzle against yours, eyes filled with adoration for you, "well, maybe that's what i want to do... keep you here in bed with me for the rest of the day-"

he stops speaking, eyes now turning affectionate at the pitter patter of footsteps quickly approaching your shared bedroom. already accustomed to such sounds, you sit up in bed, already anticipating their arrival when your kids, min-jun and sera, rush into your room.

hearing his children's laughter fills his chest with joy, allowing his son and daughter to jump on his bed, eyes already regarding the way his kids cling to their mother. he rests his cheek against the palm of his hand, admiring the way you pressed kisses against both of their tiny cheeks.

"hey, you guys are making me jealous over here."

sera was the first to move away from you, grey eyes lighting up when she suddenly lunges at him, "papa!"

welcoming his little girl in his embrace, he gives her a series of kisses as well, only stopping when min-jun comes closer to him as well, "dad, i'm getting hungry, can you make breakfast?" sera's eyes light up at the thought of having breakfast soon, with her nodding her head in agreement to her brother's words.

"well, who am i to deny my children's needs?" jinwoo was grinning down at his kids, "how's this for a plan: why don't you and your little sister brush your teeth and wash your face while your mother and i prepare breakfast?"

"yay!" both of his kids immediately rush away from him, giving him a private moment with you. just as you got out of bed, jinwoo wraps his arms around your waist, managing to capture your lips in a sweet kiss while basking in your soft giggles.

"behave, i need to take a shower real quick, then i'll join you in the kitchen." letting out a groan of your name, jinwoo allows you to escape from his loose embrace, not moving from his spot in bed until you disappear into your shared bathroom and locked it.

running a hand through his hair, making them even messier while letting out a yawn. he gets out of bed, remaking it as he places the sheets and comforter in place, adding the finishing touches by fluffing up the pillows and settling them against the headboard.

making his way towards the kitchen, he makes sure to make a fresh batch of cooked rice before making the rest of his side dishes ranging from his famous omelettes with sausages and a side of kimchi. with the table all set, jinwoo calls out to his beloved family.

"min-jun, sera! breakfast is ready!"

he strains his ears, trying to detect any sounds of pounding footsteps. yet... when all he hears was dead silence, concern began coursing through his veins. rushing out of the kitchen, he calls out their names again, voice cracking when he cries out to you-

only to receive the same, deafening silence in response.

the room was felt spinning around him, making him stumble before falling to his knees. his eyes look straight into the digital clock settled in front of him, the time reading 0800 as an incessant beeping sound breaks jinwoo out of his reveries-

"BOSS!!"

sung jinwoo wakes up with a start, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his heart pounding in tune to the heart monitor his body was connected to. no tubes or wires covered his mouth as jinwoo takes in a deep breath to help with steadying his heart.

"boss, are you okay?! you've been out of it for a while now! i was so worried about you-" from beside him, jinho continues on with his concerned rambles as he looks away from him to see the familiar blue screen of the system:

[ player sung jinwoo's slumber has lasted for 21 days and 8 hours... ]

"where's min-jun and sera?" jinwoo asks in a hoarse tone, making jinho furrow his brows at him. "what? who are they?"

"tch, they're my kids." jinwoo was glaring at jinho, as if silently scolding him for his ignorance. "and my wife-" yet the moment he says your name, jinho's expression remains confused.

"boss, i hate to break it to you, but- you're not married at all. you've been single the whole time that i've known you."

"that's-" yet jinwoo's words were cut off the moment a nurse enters his room. she sees him sitting up in bed while pressing down on her communication device, "dr. choi, patient sung jinwoo has just awakened, come to unit d501, quick!"

jinho was immediately rushed out of the room, and the young hunter finds himself surrounded by a plethora of medical staff-

without a single sign of you in sight.

{ ... }

the weeks pass by in a blur, with his sister helping him back home. she keeps a steady hand behind his back, rubbing comforting circles behind his back, "oppa, are you alright?"

lifeless grey eyes meet with his sister's concerned gaze, making him force a smile as he gently ruffles her hair. "yeah, i'm alright."

he continues the trek back to his and jinah's shared apartment, thinking back on the events that had happened so far (according to jinho's recollection).

apparently, they had entered a dungeon together, and jinho had simply witnessed him taking on hundreds of enemies. jinwoo vaguely recalls how the system had ordered him to take out at least a hundred enemies within the span of an hour and how he had fought tirelessly against them with a single dagger-

only to feel something sharp pierce him at the back of his head, successfully rendering him unconscious.

that single attack was enough to knock jinwoo out for a total of three weeks-

within the span of those three weeks, he had dreamt of living a blissful and happy life with you-

but now that he was awake, he had long since lost such feelings of happiness.

"you know..." jinah's voice breaks him out of his momentary reveries, "jinho told me what happened, and he said that you... you wished to see your kids-"

"i'd rather not talk about it." jinwoo grits his teeth in response, hurriedly pulling up the hood of his jacket to help with hiding his expression from his sister. it wasn't like he wanted to remain so closed off from jinah-

it was the sheer fact that acknowledging how it was never real put an even deeper hole within his chest.

detecting the pain in his voice, jinah simply nods, walking beside her brother while softly sighing to herself. somehow, she knew that whatever jinwoo had went through truly took a toll on not only his mental health-

but his heart as well.

{ ... }

jinwoo felt guilty for remaining so closed off with his sister that he decided to cook her favorite meal later that night. while eating, he saw his sister trembling in her seat, eyes filling with tears before admitting to him, "w-when i saw you sleeping so deeply, like you were trapped in a glass coffin, i was so afraid that i would lose you- just like with mom a-and dad."

his heart twists even further upon hearing her admission, making jinwoo stand from his seat. he takes jinah's trembling form within his embrace, delving his fingers into her hair, "ssssh, i won't ever leave you... and i'm so sorry for making you wait for so long."

jinah sniffles and gives him a nod, "y-yeah, but, when you were still sleeping... jinho stopped by and helped a lot. he stayed by your side and gave me updates, s-so..." as his sister trails off, jinwoo felt a strange sense of relief at the thought of jinho helping his sister.

making sure that jinah was well fed, jinwoo makes sure to send her off to bed at a reasonable time for school. with all the dishes cleaned, jinwoo heads back to his room before taking out his phone. his gaze remains expressionless when he searches through the device while typing in a single name.

{ ... }

jinwoo and jinho were settled within ahjin guild's new building, with jinho looking over the thick notebook that held an almost frightening amount of notes pertaining to his boss's so-called dreamwife.

"this is the reason why you won't let hunter cha join our guild?" jinho looks away from the pages to meet jinwoo's gaze as he sipped on a cup of instant coffee. "yes, because i am already a married man and don't wish to have any distractions."

"does she know she's married to you?" jinho wasn't brave enough to flat out tell jinwoo how insane all of this was, since he still held him in high regard. after all, he knew that if it wasn't for jinwoo, then he wouldn't have had much success in kickstarting his own guild.

which was why he kept his own personal musings to himself, still doing his best to support the man he saw as his big brother despite it all.

"not yet." jinwoo glares down at his cup of coffee, "it's just... i know it's crazy, but you don't know what it's like to be in a coma for that long while experiencing something so vivid."

focusing his gaze on the dark liquid, jinwoo continues to reminisce about his dreams, "in my dreams, she was so real to me. her smile, her laughter, and the way she made me feel- every single thing about her has been imprinted on my soul."

finally meeting jinho's gaze, he gestures toward the filled notebook, "those pages contain every little detail that i know about her. from her favorite color to her favorite foods, to even her favorite books and movies- everything was written based on my memory of that dream."

jinho heaves out a little sigh before closing the notebooks all while sliding it back to jinwoo from across the coffee table. "you're right in saying that it is crazy, however, i'm stupid enough to follow with your whims and support you, boss."

{ ... }

jinwoo had a meeting to attend with the chairman, which was what brought him back to the hunter's association. he vaguely recalls go gunhee mentioning a new healer that would be transferring to seoul, and how he responded in a polite manner, doing his best to hide his disinterest.

when he steps out of the chairman's office, he nearly runs into someone, clicking his tongue as he wrapped his arms around the unknown person to keep them from falling to the ground.

"are you alright?" jinwoo asks, only for his eyes to go wide upon seeing a familiar head of hair.

"sorry, i got a l-little lost, is this the chairman's office?"

it was at that moment that jinwoo felt his heart cease its beat-

for he had finally found you.

{ ... }

heat was felt settled on your cheeks the moment you came face to face with sung jinwoo.

and gods above, he was far lovelier than you could have ever dreamt of. despite coming from a different country, you remained achingly aware of how a single hunter from south korea rose to the ranks, losing his former title of being the weakest in the world when he became korea's 10nth s-ranker.

in every candid shot you had seen of sung jinwoo, he appeared goofy yet incredibly cute at the same time. sure, you acknowledged his attractiveness on screen-

but nothing could prepare you when it came to finally meeting him face-to-face.

his boyish features were now amplified, with jinwoo standing well above you with his lanky frame. you take in the sight of his crooked smile and how his beauty seemed to be further accentuated by the sight of his sharp jawline.

you kept gawking at him for a few more seconds before quickly snapping out of it with a shake of your head. an introduction was felt settled on the tip of your tongue, yet jinwoo ends up further surprising you when he says your name.

"it's nice to finally meet you, my name is sung jinwoo."

you open and close your mouth in response, asking in an almost dumb manner, "h-how did you know my name?"

your question succeeds in making jinwoo stiffen in response, his outstretched hand remaining frozen. his mouth kept opening and closing, without a single word being said. "ah... well, the chairman was talking about you being our newly transferred healer earlier, that's why i knew your name."

you visibly relax upon hearing his explanation, letting out a sigh of relief, "oh, right, that makes sense!"

wishing to diffuse the awkward situation, you let out a gentle laugh and gesture toward the chairman's office, "ah, so, i guess i'll attend my meeting now-"

a gasp was felt lodged within your throat when jinwoo grips at your wrist, preventing you from moving forward, "wait."

you give him a questioning glance, earning a warm smile from jinwoo, "i'd like to welcome you here, so... would you care to join me for dinner later?"

the same warmth was felt against your cheeks, making you feel a bit shy when you give jinwoo a nod, "sure, i'd love to join you for dinner."

an overwhelming look of joy takes over jinwoo's features, with him letting you go to attend your meeting with go gunhee. "awesome, that's... great."

feeling dazed at the sight of his smile, you knew that the butterflies that kept erupting all across your abdomen prevented you from truly acknowledging the alarm bells that went off in your head, your mind slowly taken over with romantic daydreams pertaining to the famous hunter you had finally met.

and sadly, you would never know the true depths of sung jinwoo's obsession for you.

{ ... }

jinwoo had spent months preparing for this very moment-

and once he finally had you sleeping in the same bed with him-

there was no way he was going to squander it.

moonlight paints his room in subtle, glowing silver hues, painting our sleeping figure in an almost ethereal light. the powerful hunter was unable to sleep now that he had you so close to him-

exactly where he wanted you.

his whispers of your name remained constant, becoming so frequent that the syllables that made up your name felt like a prayer that fell from his parted lips.

of course it was like a prayer-

for jinwoo solely worshipped you.

you had come into his life in the most unorthodox of ways, where his first meeting with you happened during a mutual raid that happened when he first began his career as a hunter. he was barely out of high school when he attended a raid that nearly killed him.

somehow, he had gotten lost, nearly dying of starvation as he was left to rot-

life was felt quickly seeping out of him-

but that was when you came along.

you, with your gentle healing aura and kind eyes-

you, whose beautiful features were forever imprinted within his very mind the moment you healed him and offered him some food to help with regaining his strength-

you, who never once left his heart ever since that fateful day.

you became his sole source of light, using your existence as a means to push him forward when he was struggling so much with keeping his own life together (a sickly mother with a sister who relied on him in the wake of his father's disappearance).

you were the one who gave him the sole courage to face the many challenges that came with being the weakest hunter-

yet even when he was so close to death, your comforting presence never once returned to him.

by then, he was desperate to know all he could about you, and it was during this time that he realized that you had lived in a different part of the world, saving the lives of other hunters in gates that were more prevalent within your city.

but that didn't stop jinwoo's obsession from growing.

he kept what felt like thousands upon thousands of notebooks pertaining to you and your accomplishments, never once stopping his writings when it came to you all while praying for the day he would see you again.

up to the point where his fate had been altered by the events of the double dungeons-

jinwoo had never once stopped thinking of you. and when the system offered him another chance at life-

your face was all he could see the moment he accepts being the system's player.

while he performed all of the missions and tasks given to him, jinwoo had no intention of getting knocked out by the enemy, falling into a coma that left him helpless-

yet at the same time, the fact that he dreamt of you and the perfect life you had built together-

it only served to further solidify jinwoo's belief that you were made for each other-

made for him.

and it was only a matter of time that you would serendipitously appear within his life.

in fact, jinwoo had carefully orchestrated your transfer to seoul's hunter association branch. using the funds jinho had provided for him, he manages to find you, paying off your guild all while convincing your guildmaster to keep such a transaction a secret as the promise of your arrival further fuels his desires to see you again.

the waiting game for your arrival nearly killed jinwoo-

yet when chairman gunhee tells him about your transfer to seoul-

the hunter couldn't have been happier.

upon seeing you once more, he basks in your presence, knowing that you were by far the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. he ignores the need to chain you to him, wishing to take his time when it came to courting you-

because deep down, he wanted you to naturally fall for him more than anything else.

now, six months later, sung jinwoo finally has you exactly where he wanted you. unable to hide his feelings of pure devotion for you, he makes love to you after celebrating being together with you for half a year. after waiting far too long for you, there was no way he was going to ever let you leave him.

had you been awake, you would have noticed the crazed expression settled within jinwoo's gaze, his voice letting out soft coos of your name before laying beside you. he allows the back of his hand to caress at your bare skin, swearing an oath to never leave your side.

sliding his eyes shut, jinwoo carefully places your body against his naked chest, basking in your gentle hum as you buried your face deeper into his chest. hazy grey eyes look over toward his closet, knowing of the stacks upon stacks of notebooks he had dedicated to you were behind that closed door.

jinwoo supposes he could let his loyal shadow soldiers help with burning those books away-

after all, the shadow monarch had no need for them now that he has you in his arms.

end notes: lmao when the delulu is the solulu in jinwoo's eyes ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x y/n #solo leveling x reader #writings 📖

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phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

Text

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

#chrissy speaks

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akanemnon · 2 years ago

Text

TWIN RUNES MASTERPOST

Because of the limited amount of links you can put into a post, you can find the links to each page in these sub-posts:

To be continued...

FAQ under the cut!

TWIN RUNES MINI COMICS

Glasses - Frisk Dance - But nobody came - An acquired taste -Smalltalk - All You Can Eat - Page 75 EXTRA - Page 84 EXTRA - Kris the Detective - Don't Try This at Home

AFTER RUNES:

Not-To-Do-List - Beach Episode - Salute the Frick - Morning Routine - The Universe is a Hologram - Trick as a Treat - Taste the Painbow - Dungeon Doofus - Tour de Nope - Explosive Start - Conveniently shaped... - Sibling Bonding - Home for Iinfite Avoidance - Be Mine Moss - Canine Collision - FUUUUUUTUREEEEE - Nontendi - Mango - Normal Human Interaction

PRE-RUNES:

Fallen down - First steps - Press [C] - Eye opening - Whatstheirface - This Nugget is Not in Service Acid reflux - Connection issues - Normal Human Behavior - Hide and Squeaky Clean

TWIN ROOMIES:

______________________________________________________________

TWIN RUNES - FAQ

What exactly is this AU about? Twin Runes is essentially a comedic crossover AU between the universes of Deltarune and Undertale. No fancy nicnacs. Just the characters being their chaotic selves. But there might be some darkness lurking up ahead... ____________________

When is the next comic? The comic updates most Sundays at 6:30 PM Central European Time. ____________________

Why is this AU called Twin Runes? The name is more or less a play on the typical naming format of most AU's by featuring the "Runes" part. There are no literal Twin Runes. The whole name is more of a stand in for Undertale and Deltarune as parallel worlds. Hence the "Twin" part. ____________________

When does Twin Runes take place? This AU takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of Deltarune. On the Undertale side of things, it takes place post neutral route just as Frisk was about to deliver Undyne's letter to Alphys.

How many pages are there going to be? The script for this comic estimates that the comic is going to be 137 pages long (if I don't make any major changes). ____________________

What software do you use to make your art/the comic? I use Clip Studio Paint. ____________________

Is the Player a thing in this AU? The Player(s) lost control over both human children as soon as Frisk entered the world of Deltarune. Essentially, the reader takes on the role of the Player. You have no influence on the outcome of the story anymore. All you can do is watch. Both Kris and Frisk refer to the Player as "It" and "the THING". ____________________

Is there going to be a Weird Route? Due to the lack of Player, all choices made by Kris are now their own. How to engage in battle all depends on Kris, and not the Player. Because of that, there are NO DIFFERENT ROUTES. There is only one route and that one is based on Kris' choices. Because of the lack of save points, there is no "what-if" scenario. ____________________

When Chapter 3 and 4 are released, will it affect the story? Any chapters after Chapter 3 won't affect the story in the grand scheme of things. Twin Runes created a new timeline so to speak. UPDATE: We are nearing the final arc of the story. The script has been long completed and is set in stone. Even with Chapter 3 and 4's release there is no way for me to incorporate anything from Chapter 3 (read the rest of the FAQ) into the story without making a mess of things. Yes, that also includes your favorite character Pluey. UPDATE OF THE UPDATE: Since Twin Runes was created before Chapters 3 and 4, there are bound to be inconsistencies going forward!Luckily, this is an AU, and I designed it to be purposefully off in some parts because I knew I would inevitably be wrong!!!! So no. There won't be any references to Chapter 3 in the comic going forward (since the story takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and 4 [so not the canon ones]) And it won't be moved downwards the timeline. ____________________

How old are the characters in this story? Frisk appears to be around 9 years old. Kris thinks they're 14. (Both Frisk and Kris don't know their actual age.) Chara died when they were around 10-11. Susie is around 15-16 (she was held back once) Ralsei appears to be the same age as Kris. ____________________

What's up with Kris' and Frisk's hair? The red bits of their hair is more or less a representation of their souls. That in turn is also why Chara doesn't have that feature. They are soulless. It's a stylistic choice. ____________________

What's that thing on Kris' chest? It's a scar they got from tearing out their soul.

And why do they have weird lines all over their body? Both Kris and Frisk's anatomy resemble that of ball-jointed dolls. They appear just as markings across their bodies. Think of them as elaborate birthmarks. Kris and Frisk are still made of flesh and blood, but are in fact hypermobile. The reason as to why they do is still a little secret :) People here like to refer to these markings as "puppet limbs". You can get a better look at them and the scar in this artwork

Why does Kris have braces? This is why:

Are old art, comics and asks from your blog part of Twin Runes? Unless stated otherwise, all art that was made prior to the start of the comic are not canon to Twin Runes. That mainly includes the old asks. __________________

Why is Dark World Frisk green? Frisk changes their main sweater colors with Kris when they enter the Dark World.

Could other ghosts see Chara? (pre Darkner transformation) No, only Frisk and Kris were able to see Chara. ____________________

IS KRIS NOW FRISK'S COUNTERPART OR CHARA'S???? :) ____________________

Where are Jevil and Spamton? Are they in Castle Town? The Fun Gang have already fought these two in the previous chapters and added them into their inventory. Outside of that little dream sequence, neither will be making an appearance. ____________________

Is anyone from Undertale Yellow gonna make an apperance? Outside of a tiny cameo from Clover (that has no greater bearing on the story) no one from Undertale Yellow is going to make an appearance. ____________________

How would the characters from Deltarune react if they met their Undertale counterpart? The universe would implode if that happens. ____________________

But what abou- The. Universe. Would. Implode. Next question! ____________________

How did you come up with the idea of Twin Runes? Twin Runes is an offshoot of a separate script I started in 2023. The concept of this script is similar to Twin Runes, but turned on its head. The funny moments in that script made me continue what now is the start of Twin Runes. I pretty much just wanted to see if I am actually capable of drawing a comic to begin with. So... in a way Twin Runes is my first attempt at a comic ever. If I ever finish Twin Runes, then I know I can tackle turning that mammoth project of a script into a comic too. In the grand scheme of things these two projects are sister series. They have A LOT in common and even share similar plot elements. When Twin Runes is over you will automatically also know certain mysteries of The Other Script. ____________________

What is The Other Script? As of this moment I call The Other Script: "Lost in the In-Between". At its core it's an inverse of Twin Runes. I.e. Kris falling into the underground and being aided by Frisk on their quest to return home. The story is considerably more grounded than Twin Runes and so are the characters. Though they do have their silly moments from time to time. The overall mood of that script is a lot darker in nature and it's a 200+ page passion project of mine. The script OF The Other Script is not open to the public. Only a select few people have access to it for proof reading. ____________________

Is there x ship in Twin Runes? The focus of this story is not on shipping. If it's in the game it will very likely be mentioned or brought up, but that's about it. ____________________

What pronouns do the human children use in this story? THEY/THEM FOR ALL OF THEM WITHOUT ANY EXCEPTIONS. That is what they are in this story. This is not open to interpretation. Please respect that. If this is a dealbreaker for you, then unfortunately this story is not for you.

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ABOUT FAN CONTENT

Am I allowed to make fanart? ABSOLUTELY! You are very welcome to make fanart if you feel like it. Please let me know if you do by tagging me, so I can share it with everyone to see so that you get the appreciation you deserve! ____________________ Can I use the funny faces you draw for memes or for stuff like memes or for profile pictures? That's what they're here for! ____________________

Am I allowed to translate the comic and post the translation to a different site? I get asked very often by people who want to translate my comic in different languages, so it's quite hard for me to keep up with who asked for permission or not. This is why the comic is free to translate if you like. All I ask is that you are well-versed in the language you're translating it into and to please link the original work with the proper credit given. ------------------------

Am I allowed to dub your comic? See the point above. You are free to dub the comic if you like. The same simple rules apply. With ONE important rule you NEED to adhere to... -----------------------

If I create content off your comic (dubbing, translations, etc...), am I allowed to monetize it? NO. Everything about Twin Runes is NON-PROFIT. Meaning that I don't make any money off this comic either, as it is purely fan content. If I see people making money off my work, I WILL use my right to ask you to remove it.

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ABOUT ASKS

Asks will open after a new comic has been released. I will queue the questions from Monday until Friday. Once the queue is full, asks will close. Your questions will then be answered over the course of the week.

Try not to submit multiple asks. If necessary, just keep everything in one post.

Keep in mind that I receive AL LOT of asks. There is no guarantee that every question will be answered.

Questions containing spoilers will not be answered on principle. Wouldn't be as fun if the surprise was ruined, right?

Before leaving an ask (mostly for everyone who's new), please make sure to read the FAQ section above. A lot of times your question might have been answered already.

I love memes and dumb jokes as much as the next guy, but try not to spam

It probably goes without saying, but please stay civil. I want to give everyone the respect they deserve, and naturally like to be treated the same way.

Please be mindful about drawing requests. It is understandable if you're eager to see a certain character drawn in my style, but I do not like to be bombarded by requests. The more it happens, the less likely I am to do it. Be kind and ask nicely.

I don't take unsolicited comic ideas.

Don't use other people's posts that I reblogged to ask me questions! It has happened before and I do not wish to see this!

This isn't an ask blog. The comic has a script that will not deviate. Reader interaction with the characters won't be possible due to the overall "no Player" subplot.

Please do not ask me to put your characters into the story. Like I said, the script is already finished and I'm quite happy with it. Your characters are in better hands with yourself and your own stories. Please have respect for mine.

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ABOUT SUBMISSIONS

The submission box is for FANART ONLY!

It is meant for those who do not want to submit their fanart to their own blogs, in case they feel scared or intimidated to do so.

ASKS AND REQUESTS THAT ARE SUBMITTED THIS WAY WILL NOT BE ANSWERED.

Please wait until the ask box opens. You can read more on how asks work in the section above.

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REFERENCE SHEETS

The following are ref sheets of characters that don't have established Dark World forms yet (as of writing this comic). The list will be updated as soon as a new character enters the Dark World. Here you will also find references of characters that might appear as surprise cameos, or maybe even completely new faces...

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FULL ART

#twin runes #twin runes masterpost #masterpost #deltarune comic #comic #deltarune au #crossover #undertale #my art #FAQ #frequently asked questions #important #please read #deltarune

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment.

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers.

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

#yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere robot #yandere android #robot x human #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere imagine #yandere fic

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cybershock24601 · 6 months ago

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Alternate Veilguard time travel au where everyone BUT Rook ends up in the past as a result of one of their attempts to get Rook back.

The Inquisition suddenly gets the weirdest collection of freaks showing up at Skyhold including a tevene detective, a dalish monster hunter, a dalish historian, an esteemed member of the mourn watch, the demon of vyrantium who might possibly be possessed by a demon, and a 13 yr old dragon hunter + their mom. Also Harding is there and suddenly doing rock magic.

And none of these people seem to be doing all that much to help, they just keep side eying Solas.

(How do the companions that were lost on tearstone island get blasted back to the past too you ask? i don't know, i don't care, it's the power of friendship bitch)

Highlights of this au include:

Lucanis telling Caterina No for once in his life and ditching the Crows. Caterina and Illario have absolutely no idea how to handle this sudden shift in behavior from the ever obedient Lucnais

Harding suddenly being able do Rock magic and just giving Solas so much pointed shit but never outright calling him out for what he did to the Titans so Solas just has to sit there uncomfortable unable to really say anything about it because if Harding doesn't actually know what happened then he doesn't want to out himself by confirming anything

Bellara peppering Solas with a million questions about the things "he's seen in the fade" and Solas having to awkwardly try to answer her questions because he likes being the guy with the answers while also coming up with increasingly ridiculous explanations on how he knows these things so as to not give too much away

Manfred and Cole becoming friends!

Dorian having to deal with his old teenage crush still being super hot

Davrin fucking with Blackwall by asking him questions he already knows about the Wardens just to see what bullshit that guy's going to come up with

Taash and Iron Bull bonding over dragons while Shathann is freaking out in the background because Bull is ben-hassrath

Neve as Cassandra's bi awakening

Davrin adopts a mabari to fill the assan shaped hole in his life

Bellara getting starry eyed about Varric and convincing him to give her writing tips. They end up essentially co authoring a number of serials about some of Neve's more memorable jobs and Bellara even goes onto write some serials based on Davrin's monster hunting adventures and Lucanis' assassination gigs with the two of them getting a little too nitpicky about the accuracy of Bellara's fictionalizations of their professions

But mostly I just want this au because it's essentially the entire veilguard minus Rook looking at Solas like this throughout the entirety of Inquisition

#there is so much potential in this au #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #bellara lutare #neve gallus #davrin #lucanis dellamorte #lace harding #taash #emmrich volkarin #manfred dragon age #solas #varric tethras #blackwall #dorian pavus

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luludeluluramblings · 11 months ago

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Bruce Wayne’s Obsession with Smalltown!Reader (Alfred included)

A/N: So I just thought I’d throw this out there. Speak it into existence. Everything is liable to future editing, just a heads up. But, I’ll probably do this after each character falls into obsession. Help with writer’s block when it strikes or when motivation leaves.

Link to Revised Version

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Bruce is already obsessed with Reader.

That was his baby. He knew about them first and only gave them up because he couldn’t be Batman with a newborn.

Plus, Momma wasn’t one of the worst women he dated.

Yes, she was petty, keeping Reader selfishly and never sharing Reader with Bruce. But, she loved Reader, was mentally stable, and she was not some uptight socialite.

(Bruce considered proposing to her after he found out about Reader, but tossed that idea to the side once he realized that wasn’t rational.)

Bruce is mostly struggling with his jealously over a dead man.

Daddy.

Bruce wants what he had with Reader. Wants that bond so desperately.

That unconditional love and respect a child has for their parent.

Totally missing the fact that he avoids Reader because he can’t stand the thought of Batman tainting them, therefore neglecting that bond he desperately craves.

In fact, when Jason died, Reader was part of the reason he kept being Batman.

He deluded himself into thinking he was making Gotham safer for Reader. (Gotham is too dangerous. And, after Jason ‘died’, Bruce couldn’t stand the thought of Reader suffering the same fate.)

Bruce would indulge in his obsession, occasionally out of paranoia.

Once a year, specifically on Reader’s birthday, he would go full throttle detective stalker mode on Reader’s life.

Every social media post, search history, school records, medical records, etc.

For one day a year he would hunt everything digital or printed desperate to know his child and make sure they were safe.

And after, he’d delete everything from the hardware on the BatComputer.

He wouldn’t save anything out of fear that someone could discover something about Reader.

Someone could hack his computers. There could be no links that would connect Reader to him, and especially not to Batman.

Alfred would encourage this occasionally indulgence. Bruce would verbally share and show Alfred everything before erasing it.

Alfred cares deeply for Reader.

To him, Reader is the part of his family that heals the old wounds and the loss. Seeing them thrive, even at a distance, fills him with hope and relief.

Now, when Reader’s parents died Bruce’s (and Alfred’s) first thought was not that he finally had a chance to have Reader to himself.

It definitely was the second, though.

Bruce feels even more connected to Reader, because they both lost loving parents.

But, Bruce is so damn jealous of one of those dead parents.

Bruce also is trying to help Reader fit in with the Gotham elite, since it seems like Reader wants that based off of their Gotham Academy friends.

Buying couture designer clothing, a fancy car, and other little things.

Don’t worry though, he realizes that’s not how it works.

It’s not like Reader’s going to have those friends for much longer anyway.

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 7 months ago

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Fight Back

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: angst, talk of being physically abused by a parent, scarring and branding because of the abuse

Request by anon: Could you do where there reader is a part of the Bau and the unsub is kidnapping and killing girls who look like her and it turned out it is her abusive father and when the team finds him the reader and him a a full fight and she gets him back for all the abuse she had to go through

Summary: A case brings up a past you’d rather much forget but haven’t moved on from. A past so traumatic that you have no choice but to take matters into your own hands.

Square Filled: make it look like an accident for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

You enjoy traveling to different parts of the country for cases because you enjoy indulging in different cultures and trying new foods. Though, nothing beats being at home. Virginia PD has a case they requested your help on, and you love you can drive home at the end of the day instead of staying in a hotel room.

Detective Banks is already at the scene of a cliff where the body of Justine Frank was located. She was found naked by some hikers who called it in as soon as they got cell service. You and Spencer were tasked to meet with the detective who shakes your hand upon arrival.

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t have anyone touch her until I knew you were done.”

“Good choice. Thank you.” Upon first glance and ignoring the fact that she’s naked, you think she could have landed here after a bad tumble off the cliff. “Detective, why call us out here? Surely your men can handle this one, no?”

“There are four more just like her. We thought it was an accident at first, but more than three is a pattern. We’re stumped.”

Spencer leans down to inspect the body closer with gloved hands. He touches the underside of her wrist and notices fresh wounds.

“Rope burns. She was bound.”

“Was she bound when she went off the cliff?”

We seem to think so,” Detective Banks answers, “but the ME will be able to determine that better than I can.”

“You say it’s a pattern. What makes you think it is?” you ask.

“When one woman shows up, another woman is reported missing. Based on that, it’s safe to assume he already has another victim.”

You’re about to leave when you notice something on Justine’s back. You grab a glove and kneel next to her body to get a closer look. You move her hair to the side and notice a mark on her shoulder blade.

“What is it?” Spencer asks.

“There’s a mark here. I’m not sure if it’s a mark sustained in the fall or if she had it before. I think the rocks and tree branches scratched it up a bit.”

Spencer runs his finger over the mark and frowns. “It’s raised. Like a brand.”

You take out your work phone and snap a picture of the mark so that you can analyze it later. Once done, you and Spencer head back to the police station to meet up with the rest of the team. Hotch and Emily just got back from the ME’s office at the same time you and Spencer got back.

“Did you find anything?” you ask as you walk into the conference room.

“All four victims had ligature marks around their wrists most likely caused by ropes, but the ME says the wounds are much older from when they were found.”

“They were probably bound when they were being thrown over the cliffs, right?”

“Could be or they were bound while being held.”

Spencer gathers the pictures of all five women and pins them to the bulletin board along with their names, a few crime scene photos, and other important details.

“Would you look at that? They look similar,” you point out. “Our unsub has a type.”

Derek dials Penelope and patches her through the phone on the desk so everyone can hear her.

“Hey dollface, ready to work some magic for me?” Derek grins.

“Challenge me, you beautiful behavioral analyst,” she giggles.

“We’re looking for a connection with the victims. Did they know each other? Run in the same circle? Go to the same grocery store? Anything you can see.”

“Even the hidden stuff. Uno momento.”

“If they went to the same kinds of stores, we could be looking at hundreds of employees and even more customers,” you say.

“Let’s hope they didn’t go to the same store, then,” Rossi chuckles.

“A connection they had. They all came from different circles and socioeconomic backgrounds, but they all have one thing in common. They all had different work done on their house with the same contracting company,” Penelope says.

“Where are they located?” Emily asks and grabs a pen and pad.

“Sorry, babe, they don’t have an office. Everything is done through a PO box. It’s more of a mom-and-pop contracting company than a big business. There is only a handful of employees who all live in different parts of the state, and I mean I can count them all on one hand. Addresses are already sent.”

“Thanks, Mama.” Derek hangs up the phone. “Looks like we’re splitting up.”

You and Spencer. Derek and JJ. Emily and Rossi. Banks and Hotch. Four different employees, four different groups. You and Spencer pull up to the house but you don’t get out just yet.

“Are you okay?”

“Something doesn’t feel right with this case. Something is eating at you, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Everyone has a case that gets to them. I know I have a lot.”

“It’s more than just getting to me. There was something familiar about the mark on Justine’s body. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”

You and Spencer get out of the car and walk up the porch steps to the front door. You knock twice, and a middle-aged balding man answers the door.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Agent Y/N and this is Dr. Reid. We’re with the FBI. May we ask you a few questions?”

“What is this about?”

“We’re investigating a few murders, and one of the leads happens to take us to the contracting company you’re employed with.”

The man steps out and closes the door behind him. “Sorry, my wife and daughter are sleeping. They’re sick with the flu, and I don’t want to wake them. What do you need to know?”

“Where were you on the week of October 14th?”

“At home with my family. They can’t seem to shake his flu. We had our pediatrician come over to check on poor Lily.”

You take out the pictures of the victims and show them to him. “Do you know any of these women?”

“I know her.” He points to Destiny Ray, the second victim. “She called my company for a roof repair. I’m sorry, am I in trouble?”

“No, you’re not. We’re just trying to establish a timeline. Who gets the assignments?”

“My boss.”

“Who is your boss?”

“I don’t know,” he says shyly.

“You don’t know who you work for?” Spencer asks. “How did you get the job?”

“I saw an ad on Craigslist because I was desperate for work. I just got laid off from my other job and I’d have taken anything at that point. I was supposed to meet with my boss but after one text, he hired me. We did all the paperwork online, and he sent me money orders after every job. I go to the bank. They’re legit money orders. Whenever there is a job, he texts me or the other three employees.”

“May we see some of the messages from your boss?”

“Sure.”

He takes out his phone and pulls up the messages. Spencer gets Penelope on the phone and reads the phone number back to her, but no luck. It’s a burner phone. If you had to guess, his boss is the unsub. Your phone rings and you step off to the side to answer Hotch’s call.”

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“There’s been another body. You and Reid are closer.”

“We’re on it.” You hang up and turn to the man. “Thank you for your help. Please call us if you remember anything else.”

You hand the man your card before you leave with Spencer. Detective Banks is already on the scene when you get there. Like with Justine, this new victim was found at the bottom of a cliff. This cliff is much smaller than the last one, and she isn’t naked. Only her shirt is torn to pieces from falling over rocks and sharp branches.

“Her name is Kaylee Robinson. A mountain biker found her not that long ago.”

“That was quick. He didn’t even wait a day before killing another woman.”

You grab some gloves and kneel next to the body. You move the tattered shirt away from her shoulder blade to see if the mark on Justine is just a mark or if it’s on all of them. You don’t know why you do this. Something is telling you to. Because Kaylee’s clothes protected her body, the mark wasn’t ruined by nature.

You gasp in horror when you see the mark for what it truly is.

“What is it?”

“I need to see the other bodies.”

You don’t want to say anything just in case if you’re wrong about this. If you’re not, you have a much bigger problem on your hands. You and Spencer leave Detective Banks at the scene to go to the ME who still has the other four victims’ bodies.

“You’re freaking me out, Y/N. What did you see?”

“Hold on. I need to check something.” With Spencer’s help, you lift all four victims so you can examine the shoulder blades. Just as you feared, there is the same mark on each of them. “Oh, this is bad.”

“What is?”

“Every victim has a mark on their shoulder blade. It’s a brand as if it was caused by a hot poker or a branding machine. Justine’s mark was mangled from the fall, but it was there. I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

You turn away from Spencer in shame and pull down your shirt to expose your shoulder blade. Right there, on the top, is the same branding mark.

“On me.” You face Spencer but refuse to look in his eyes. “My father put it there. He’s the one who burned it into my skin, and I know he’s burned it into theirs.”

“Your father? I never knew that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I tell my boyfriend that my father used to abuse me? I was ashamed and I still am. I don’t want to be. I’ve put this behind me.”

“You know we have to tell the team, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

You’d hope to keep this side of your past a secret from everyone but who knew your father would do such a thing like this? You’re quiet the rest of the ride back to the station and when you walk into the police station.

“I think we found our unsub,” Spencer blurts out.

“I noticed a mark on Justine’s shoulder blade. I thought it was nothing, at first, until Kaylee had one. The same mark. Spencer and I went to the ME’s office because I wanted to see if the others had the same mark on their shoulder blades. They did.”

“What mark?” Emily asks.

You turn and show them the mark on your shoulder. “This mark. My father put it there after a really bad night.” You turn back around. “My father used to beat me and took his anger out on me with cigarettes. Fortunately, those marks have healed but he didn’t like that. I got really good at hiding the marks he left on my body when he decided to brand me instead. A mark I couldn’t hide. He made me wear clothes that showed off my shoulders so that everyone knew I belonged to him. The mark is his initials.”

“What happened after that?” JJ asks. “I mean, how did you get away from him?”

“He went to jail on a count of theft. A convenience store. My mother had passed shortly after I was born. I was put into foster care, but I was almost eighteen so I didn’t stay there long. I didn’t know he got out.”

“What’s his name?” Hotch asks.

“Peter Kamps.”

Derek dials Penelope, and you sit down at the table in silence. You had to have seen this coming eventually. It was foolish of you to think you had escaped him forever. Spencer walks behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder for support.

“We have a name. What can you tell me about Peter Kamps with a K.”

“Oh, I can tell you a lot about him. For starters, he has an arrest record that’s a mile long. Save for rape, this guy has done it all. B&E, murder, kidnapping, assault and battery, and even drug charges. He owns a contracting company called Big Al’s Crew that only has four employees. He has one daughter… Oh…”

“It’s okay, Pen, they know,” you say.

“I am so sorry, Y/N.”

“Garcia, do you have an address?”

“I have two. One is a house that’s been in his name even after he went to prison. I guess he had someone looking after it.” All eyes turn to you. “Another is a farming property that he uses for his contracting company and other side businesses. That one is in his name but is behind on payments.”

“If you have his addresses, you’re already too late,” you say. “I bet he’s moved on by now.”

“Let’s go.” You get up but Hotch stops you from following them. “You have to stay here.”

“What?”

“You have a history with him. We can’t afford anything to go wrong.”

You’re left alone in the police station like a child, but maybe it’s for the best. You know they won’t find anything at both places. One, you’ve been taking care of your childhood home which is why he hasn’t lost it yet. Two, you’ve been to the farmhouse plenty of times on your own. They’re not going to find anything there.

But you know where you will find something.

This time, you’re going to do something you should have done a long time ago.

Fight back.

You grab your jacket and leave the station in hopes they left one of the cars behind. Luck is on your side because they did, and you find the keys in the center console. Hotch made it a rule to leave all keys inside the car when not in use because he’s had to deal with a few too many locked cars in the past.

You lied to Spencer.

You’re not over it. You’ve been waiting for this moment the first time he laid his hands on you. You drive out of town and to a desolate neighborhood. The only people who live here are runaways and drug lords. You park in front of a two-story house and get out nervously. You might be ready to finally fight back but you’re nervous as hell. The front door is ajar when you approach it, and you kick open the door slowly and carefully. The house is dark and silent, two things that terrify you.

The flashlight on your gun is the only thing that’s lighting your way as you make your way through the house. The stairs creak when you step on them. If he’s here, he knows you’re here now. Most of the bedrooms are empty without a hiding space big enough to fit someone like your father. The last place you check is the master bedroom which has few furniture pieces in it.

“I was wondering when you would find me.”

You freeze from hearing his voice from behind you. Stay strong, Y/N. He’s not going to win this time. You turn around and face the man responsible for destroying your youth and innocence.

“I did.”

He eyes the gun in your hands. “I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”

“You sick son of a bitch. You killed all those women.”

“Call it substitution for the one I really wanted. You.”

“Yeah, well, I’m bigger now. You can’t break me down this time.”

“We’ll see,” he smirks.

You aim the gun at his head. “I could shoot you right now.”

“But you won’t.”

“You’re right. I won’t.” You lower the weapon and toss it onto the bed. “Guns were never your thing, and I want you to feel me kicking your ass.”

All the classes you took on self-defense amount up to this moment. You were picturing the instructor as your father. You were training for this exact moment. Your father rushes at you but you easily block his attempts to attack. You kick his legs and he crumbles to the ground, and you pounce on him before he can get back up. You wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze as tight as you can, but he’s always been more durable than you are.

He bucks his hips and kicks you off him, and you scramble to get away from him. He will kill you if he gets his hands on you but you’re not going to let that happen. You barely get to your feet when your father grabs you and slams you into the wall. He wraps his arm around your neck in a chokehold and puts his dirty mouth next to your ear.

“What are you going to do now, little girl?”

“This.”

You push off the wall and use your father as support to basically walk on the wall. When your feet get high above his head, you swing backwards and punch him to the ground. The door is closer than your gun so you don’t even think about turning and sprinting out of the room.

“You ungrateful little bitch! I’ll kill ya!”

Your father gets to his feet and runs after you. You barely make it to the railing by the stairs when he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you back into him. He uses all of his strength and slams your head nose-first into the splintering wooden railing. You crumble to the ground in a moan of pain. You can already taste and smell metal as your mouth and nose fills with blood. Your father pants and stands in front of the railing, looking down at you menacingly. The only thing to light this place is the dim moonlight.

“Have any last words?” he sneers.

“Yeah. I’ll see you in Hell.”

You kick him where the sun doesn't shine, and he doubles over in pain. His face is right in your line of attack, and you kick his face as hard as you can. He stumbles back in pain and trips over an uneven board. He slams into the wooden railing and it cracks under his bulky weight. He shouts in shock as he falls through the railing and down to the first floor.

You jump to your feet and look over the railing to see him impaled on a broken two by four. You move your eyes up slightly and see the front door wide open and your entire team standing there with guns in their hands.

“It was an accident?” you say, unsure of yourself.

The ambulance is called as well as the police. The front door is wide open so you’re able to see right into the house where your father fell. The paramedic is assessing your injuries while you’re staring at your father’s body. The man who tormented you, beat you, branded you, is dead. You killed him and you don’t even care if they arrest you for murder. You’d happily go to jail if it means he’s dead for good.

“You lied to me,” you pull your eyes away from your dad to look at Hotch, “and you disobeyed me.”

“Am I fired?”

“I’m tempted to do it right now.”

“I’m sorry, Hotch, but I’m not sorry I did it. If you were ever abused by someone and then learned you had the power to fight back, you’d understand why I had to do this.”

“My office when we get back.” He turns to leave but pauses. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay.”

“I’ll ride with you,” Spencer says when he approaches you.

“Spencer, I’m fine.”

“You dislocated your nose at best. You’re going to the hospital,” the paramedic says.

“Fine,” you chuckle.

“Next time, tell me when you’re going to do something like this, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod and kiss him.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst

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hattersrabbit · 13 days ago

Text

IT'S A MUTUAL THING

yandere tim drake x yandere reader | sfw

CW! gn reader, suggestive behavior, mutual stalking, both of you are freaks and I love it, Timothy "Stalker" Drake, harmless yandere reader, Tim is an ADULT (20-22), batfam is concerned, civilian reader, mutual pining, romantic leaning, established relatonship (r & t), both r & t are legal, why is part of this short so sad, slight hurt comfort???

Summary! Jason and Dick are concerned, and no one seems to have noticed the strange behavior of Tim towards you, and Steph is more or less concerned about Tim's safety. Only then do they realize it's mutual.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

The keyboard was basically being smashed into. Frantic typing and clicking on the screen of pictures. A map of someone being tracked.

A small satisfied smile on his face; Tim Drake Wayne's face. Watching his beloved move throughout her day. Hacking into cameras revealing you going through you're day.

Dressed all pretty with a smile on your face.

Tim couldn't deny this need to watch. Make sure you were safe and if anyone did anything to you he'd hurt the person who did.

Unbeknownst to Tim someone was watching. Jason looking on with a disturbed expression. His clear view of his brother's screen. A familiar person, that being you and Tim's partner.

You were sweet and kind to them all, and was very good to Tim. Always making sure he was taking care of himself and everyone appreciated it.

With your help he was doing a lot better, but the disturbance of what he saw was... He didn't know.

Currently Bruce was off world with the Justice League and Alfred was taking a vacation so,

His only choice was Dick.

So with frantic steps he ran to find his older brother. They were loud enough to catch Tim's attention. A narrowed view that looked where Jason used to be.

His smile faltered. Aware of what was gonna happen, because no one understood the love between you and him.

It was special, and not many people would ever get it.

"Huh?" Dick asked with a raised brow. "He's stalking someone? His partner?" The confusion was infused with fear. His Baby Bird; Tim was stalking his partner.

"Dick, he was basically stalking B and knew you were Robin based off your moves! Do you really think Tim would stop? I mean especially if he has a sort of attachment to them!?" Jason surely wasn't as smart as Bruce and Tim, but God damn he was still a detective of some sort. That sort of pattern isn't something to be disregarded.

Dick's disturbed expression only furthered his point. "Yeah [ ] is very special to them, but stalking them and a tracker?! That's going so far..." He mumbled to himself.

"B is off world and Alfred is away. The young ones, we don't wanna freak them out." Jason ran a hand through his hair as they walked to the living room.

"What do we do..." Dick trailed off when they saw Tim on the phone. It was on speaker and it was with you.

"Can't wait to see you." Tim giggled. It felt creepy. Normally it would have been okay but with this context it felt wrong.

The screen so subtly turned to his siblings. Tim has a shit eating grin. Like he didn't even care, and was proud of it. Jason felt sick to his stomach at that thought.

They couldn't hear your response. But it made Tim's smile even wider.

"I'll be ready then to pick you up."

Narrow eyes centered on Dick and Jason as he hung up with you. "Good Afternoon Jason. Dick." His blue eyes felt like an animals stare.

Like they were the prey.

"Hey Tim. Um..." With fast movements he grabbed the computer. The younger made no movement to grab it. To keep them from seeing what he was doing.

"What exactly are you doing stalking [ ]?" Dick pointed to the icon that was yours. "And TV cameras?!"

Tim gave a blank stare. "What if they get kidnapped? Or someone hurts them? I have their location so I'll be there lickity split." He got up and removed the computer forcefully from his oldest brother. "They can't defend themselves. How else do you expect me to keep them safe?"

Once again that smirk crossed his lips.

Jason was at a loss for words. He couldn't form any as Tim left to his room upstairs with a closed laptop.

"What just happened?" Dick asked Jason and received no answer. All that remained was echo of the darkness in Tim's voice.

You blinked seeing the text Tim sent you. How his oldest brothers caught him stalking you.

You laughed at it.

They were right to be concerned, but what they didn't know is the fact that it was a mutual thing. You less intense about it, harmless honestly, but at the same you could be creepy about your beloved Red Robin.

After all, the numerous pictures you've secretly taken of them say a lot. Or the many things you've stolen from him without his knowledge. The newest thing being an old notebook full of notes.

Among other things they were mindless things to collect. Sometimes you took things just to be silly, but at the same time you took them because they belonged to him.

Simply harmless when it came to Tim.

Perhaps an old staff with blood said differently. So maybe you were a little crazy. Tim didn't seem to mind. If he found it uncomfortable then he'd tell you.

After all, it was a mutual thing.

Harmlessly you got ready for the date you two were planning to go on. You had no doubt he planted some cameras in your own apartment. You mused about doing that too, but he was in a house of detectives, and Alfred wouldn't be too keen on that.

You'd rather avoid the spat.

Tim relished in it.

Speaking of the devil. Opening the door to find love of your life. "Hi Timmy." You giggled as he embraced you. "How'd it go with your brothers?"

"Oh, they are concerned. They think I'm gonna murder you or something." Nonchalantly he grabbed your hand as you exited your own apartment. Together hand in hand walking down the street to his car. "I heard they were talking to Steph. She'll probably sneak into your apartment since we're out."

You giggled, "Bad news for me."

"Oh?" He cornered you against the passenger door. Your hand grabbing the handle tightly. "What exactly of mine do you have?" A dark smirk on his face.

Realistically any normal person they'd think he was harassing you. Cornering you, but this was quite normal. Tim was quite the possessive one, and scaring you was a fun time for him.

You enjoyed the adrenaline and how you're heart dropped to your stomach.

You're bones shook. His eyes glazed over with a look you were familiar with, but never did you get used to. No one had ever matched, as others would say, your freak, before. Tim did, so a rather rare occurrence.

"Maybe an old notebook of yours...An old staff with dried blood." You pouted as he grabbed your chin. "I was even thinking of going a little farther and stealing a something you've worn. Or even stealing some food of yours that you hadn't finished." Leaning up you matched his expression.

"Ya know, typical creepy stalker things. So many options. Maybe I'll put cameras in your room after all, but Alfie will catch me."

"You naughty thing." He nickled your neck with his fingers. Almost threateningly. You shivered, and pinched him in solidarity.

You two erupted into laughter. "Yeah but Stephanie is gonna get the wrong idea."

"Definitely."

"Also tons of pictures when I've followed you around. Like at the mall when you were with Damian."

Tim chuckled, "Just like me. So shameless." He teased you playfully. You lightly slapped his hand away from your chin.

"If anyone's shamless it's you, Drake." You kissed his cheek, "We're gonna miss our reservation. Maybe we can watch the show?" You sent a knowing look to Tim.

He grinned widely, "You know me so well."

"It's so like you to put cameras in my room. Maybe even a tracker in my clothes which I did find in the pocket of one of my overalls."

"Maybe i wanted you to find it?" He wiggled his brows with a teasing smile. Bright teeth showing mischief.

"Of course you did." You huffed with a tired smile.

Stephanie wished she was joking. Pulling down her mask. Mouth agape when she caught eyes on a old staff that Tim used to use.

The top of it having dried blood that soon faded near the middle. Crimson that had never been cleaned. And it was leaning in the corner of your bedroom.

Alarmly, there were photo albums on your desk. Seemingly left there carelessly, as if they wanted to be caught.

Her mind echoed with Jason's words saying, "We caught him stalking them, Steph!"

Stephanie was disturbed to find photos of herself with Tim. Pictures with Tim and all of their other siblings, with Alfie, or with Bruce. Some by himself, and no one noticed the picture being taken.

Even some with them in costume.

My god you were...stalking your boyfriend too?

Stephanie caught the glint of something in the corner. A bookshelf of some old time classics, and in-between a copy of Frankenstine and Little Woman sat a tiny camera.

There was no way you put that there. Certainly obsessed with Tim, and not yourself, and considering Jason and Dick she was left with a perplexing and terrifying answer.

The both of you were stalking each other.

Already at that revelation she was contacting the two oldest, "Get over here now." Her voice was shaky as she looked over your room even more. The whole apartment, and found countless cameras.

God knows what the hell was even going on.

The question was if either of you even knew, and considering the cameras no doubt Tim was aware. He was fine with your behavior and that was terrifying.

To make it worse she found collections of notes. All from Tim considering his recognizable handwriting.

They were threatening. Creepy in a way that Stephanie couldn't believe she dated him once. This behavior...she wondered if Tim did it with her? He never left her notes like this.

"Steph?"

She jumped and found Dick and Jason staring at her. With trembling hands she handed over the notes to Dick. Jason was nearby looking over the room, and his stance was evident of his disturbance.

"What the ever loving...?" Dick was cursing in Romani as he read over every letter from Tim to you. Jason was in the corner with his mask off. Eyes wide as he surveyed the countless photos in the album.

Stephanie was still in shock. Suddenly rethinking her entire relationship with Tim. Horror reaching her eyes as she struggled to think of anytime the man was creepy and showing this aspect of himself.

Or was it just with you?

"Steph, you don't think...? Dick read her mind. His serious face led her to think even harder. Looking around the room to find that you were just as much of a freak as Tim.

Match made in hell, Jason thought as he closed the photo album.

"I can't think of anytime he did something like this. No creepy moments or even notes like this...I think..." Stephanie looked at the a picture that on the desk. A photo of you and Tim smiling and looking at each other in a way that Stephanie never had.

Something deeper and deeply held. Love between the two of you was something deeper, and not at all surface level or middle ground. Call it mania in terms of Greek love languages.

"They're both doing it to each other, and know about it." Jason completed her sentence. "I knew Tim was a little freak but not like this, or even his own partner." Taking the letters away and reading them over.

"Jesus." He cursed under his breath. "Little creep, and it seems [ ] isn't bothered by it."

Dick thought deeply, "Tim is aware that this is wrong...? But is it wrong when they're both doing it?"

"If they are?" Jason raised a brow with eyes full of scrutiny at the letters.

"I think so." Stephanie thought hard to herself. Hands to her chest when she clearly remembered her relationship with Tim when they were younger. He was seen as normal in her eyes, and was sweet.

Never was Tim so...creepy like this. Her mind blaring with the knowledge of knowing Tim found out about Bruce's identity at the age of 12. Knowing Nightwing was Robin, and that he was Dick Grayson.

Tim was capable of being this. What made it more clear is that he was keeping it on the down low.

And now you existed in his life. A person that no doubt held the same experiences, and you're behavior was similar to Tim in a way. The ability to love in you're own special way, even if it was strange and rather disturbing.

"Tim is happy? Isn't he?" Stephanie asked looking at Dick and Jason. The men having expressions she really couldn't decipher.

"He seems happy." Dick mumbled. Again looking at that picture frame. A smile on his younger brother's face, and eyes looking at you in a way he's never seen before. Bit of the same way he looks at Kori. "I think so...even if this way of expressing it...?"

"Then I don't think anything is wrong, even if this is rather disturbing. Even if Tim is hiding cameras, watching them, and doing these letters. Tracking [ ] too. Even [ ] on the other hand stealing his things and taking pictures. Keeping these notes." Stephanie smiled as her eyes moved to the camera.

No doubt in her mind of what she deciphered.

"Let's go. We'll face him when he gets home."

"We're really gonna pass over this?!" Jason retaliated. Stephanie patted his shoulder.

"What I'm getting is that is something the two of them share and unique to them. It's certainly strange to us, but to them, all this stalking and threatening its a mutual thing between them." Stephanie concluded.

"Nothing we need to intrude on just yet."

"Welp looks like you were right dearest." Tim, like the devil he was laughed brightly. Turning of his phone to show Steph and his older brothers in your bedroom and leaving.

You watched the three conversate.

Stephanie's horrified expression, and then that solemn yet understanding look.

"Is it true? You weren't able to express all of this when with her?" You pointed to Stephanie. Yes, of course you were jealous of the blonde in some capacity. She had you're beloved first, and call you bloodthirsty but the thought of anyone with him made your blood boil.

Tim huffed and sighed, "Yeah. She was normal girl for the most part. I mean I practically stalked B, so..." He whispered. Stuffing his mouth with some well-done steak.

"And it is you that I'm allowed to be my true self, [ ]." His thumb caressed your chin. Wiping away sauce from your lips. "My one and only who's accepted my strange ways."

You laughed darkly, "I hope so. I wonder if one day I won't be so harmless anymore, especially if you ever leave." Dangerously you're hand rested on the knife that was used to cut your own steak.

"Never my dear. But maybe we can explore that fantasy else where." Tim teased. His own glinting in the yellow light above you both.

"In bed I presume?" Blood from a medium done steak bled out. You're knife expertly slicing through. Glaring eyes that didn't move away from Tim as you did so.

"Perhaps. May have to sneak into the mansion for that and avoid conversations, but we always have you're bed my dear."

"I'd like that. I would also like to avoid a conversation. We both know how we love is extremely different and less strange." You're cheek puffed out as you chewed. Tim laughed lightly.

"I love that we're strange. My entire family is strange, and this isn't as bad as the Joker being, well, the Joker." He scoffed at the words of the clown. You only laughed before sipping you're drink.

"You got that. It's not everyday you see a couple mutually stalking each other."

"It's a mutual thing for us, isn't it dear?"

#dc x reader #yandere reader #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #yandere tim drake #yandere x reader #sfw #red robin x reader #gn reader #stalker tim drake #stalker reader #freaks the two of you lol

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