#forensic scientist reader

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 10: Waste of Lime

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: Everything you know has turned upside down, so why not try something new for yourself?

Word count: 2,928

Content/warnings: use of weaponry (knives) in a training environment, poor eating habits, monitoring of an individual without their knowledge, heavy alcohol consumption, swears, negative self-talk, character jump-scare!

Author’s Note: she’s baaaaaaack! You…might scream at me for this one. And honestly, that’s alright with me. Can’t wait to hear what you think about it. Any reblog, ask or comment to do so is appreciated more than pasta. That’s a lot.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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You stood between the dark cinder block walls, turning the small throwing knife between your fingertips, examining the sharp edge and pristine condition. You’d had it in your hands for weeks and from all that time of close examination, you could tell he took care of it in almost a militant manner, which you hated to think about how much you respected.

Pulling yourself out of your brief reverie, though, you steadied your stance and threw it at the target on the wall, the point sticking just outside the concentric circles on the small pine backboard downrange.

You groaned, brushing the hair back out of your face with both hands and turning around to the instructor behind you. She laughed and shrugged.

“Might not be a bullseye, but you’re getting there. Your technique is much better. Now that you know what you’re doing, why don’t I get you a few more of those so you don’t have to keep walking to get it? And don’t worry, we’ll make sure to mark which knives are which so you don’t lose yours.”

You blew out a breath and put your hands on your hips, nodding while you paced in the narrow, yet long private room. One of a 24-hour shooting range you’d found not too far from your work that some of the cops would visit often to keep up on their skills.

“Yeah, that’s good. Thanks, Becca.”

She smiled. “No problem.”

Steve stood behind his office chair staring at the surveillance footage that played on his laptop screen as he continued to button his black dress shirt, fingers nimbly moving as they had thousands of times to help him get dressed. He slung the silk tie around his neck, expertly knotting it without even looking, his gaze avoiding the two penetrating ones from his friends perched on either side of the mahogany work surface, watching the scene with him.

“You know, she’s getting pretty good at that. Can at least hit near the target on purpose now.”

Steve finally tore his eyes from the screen to scowl at Sam but was quickly redirected by Bucky.

“Yeah, she is. She’s also draining our buddy’s pockets. You’re gonna go broke, punk.”

Steve met Bucky’s amused face with a stern look. “Good. I deserve to after all that I did to her. All the money in the world couldn’t properly fix it, but I hope she knows I’m sorry and will come around. I can wait.”

Bucky snorted, “Yeah, but your wallet can’t.”

Steve sighed, shrugging on his suit jacket and straightening out the lapels. “Bucky, she hasn’t purposely used any of my money. As far as she knows, she’s on a free trial at the range, and she’ll get billed at the end of the month. I can deal with it all then, and even so, I can afford to take that hit financially. Plus, she hasn’t used my card or been in one of the restaurants or shops a single time. But even if she had been draining my funds, would you not do the same for Bee?”

Steve’s best friend straightened up at that, his hand brushing contemplatively over the stubble on his face.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Just….don’t beat yourself up too much on this, alright?”

Steve gave no response as he adjusted his cufflinks.

Your arms shot up in the air in a silent cheer, commemorating a DNA match for the nearly unsolvable case that you and Scott had been working. As you spun around, finally lifting your eyes from your workbench, you caught a glimpse of the precinct through the cracks of the blinds in your window. The natural light that usually bounced across the white walls was long gone, meaning the sun had set. And you’d gotten in today before the sunrise. And now that you thought about it, you hadn’t eaten, either. As if on cue, your stomach grumbled and suddenly all you could think about was your next meal.

Not having eaten all day wasn’t entirely true. There was that one candy bar you had grabbed off Scott’s desk, but that was at the beginning of his shift, and he was long gone by now.

In fact, most of the detectives were gone, leaving a skeleton night crew and the other new forensic scientist sitting at his desk, passing time with a game of Tetris. No one worth asking to join you for a celebratory meal was left, so you guessed that meant dinner alone, yet again. Which was….fine. Everything was fine right now, because it needed to be, you needed to be. But perhaps you could get some good food in your system that was a little more than fine. You deserved it. Your work maintained quality and it was almost like your personal life hadn’t affected it at all.

You’d never been to this restaurant before, despite its proximity to your apartment, but you’d heard good reviews. It was only a short walk away, too, which was nice, because there was no way you were going to be fit to drive home after the way you needed to decompress.

As you came up to the glass doors and reached for the large wooden handle, the first thing you noticed was just how sharp and modern everything looked, yet somehow homey. Familiarity floated through the space just like the glow of the soft yellow lighting from strands of bulb lights that bounced off of the dark wood detailing and painted brick walls. The place was buzzing already, filled with a happy hour crowd, picking at tapas and upscale drinks, which sounded and smelled so good to your borderline hangry mind.

The bar was only about half full, luckily, giving you plenty of room to separate yourself from others as you slid onto one of the tall stools, arms reaching across the cool marble counter to grab the menu that a redhead was handing you. She gave a small smile, telling you she’d be back in a second as she served a couple of drinks to a waitress at the other end.

She made her way back over to you, eyes sparkling as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lip.

“Can I get you started with something?”

You clicked your tongue looking over the menu, seeing so many different wines, none of which strong enough for what you were feeling right now.

“What’s good? And….celebratory?”

She shrugged, tilting her head to look at the menu with you.

“Well, we’re known for our wines…” she looked up and met your eyes, “but you look like you need something better than that.”

She pushed her way back from the bar, turning around and reaching under the counter to pull out a stool.

“Now, the chef doesn’t love that I do this. Says it ‘doesn’t match with the Spanish theme,’ but no one can really argue….”

She reached for a bottle on the top shelf, climbed back down and set a glass in front of you, pouring the clear, yellow-tinted liquid while sliding a lime onto the rim.

“When it’s just so luxurious. Double shot of tequila. This one’s on the house, but I suggest you order something to eat with it. It’s gonna hit harder than you expect.”

You nodded, grabbing the glass and pulling it towards yourself. The volatile liquid pleasantly tickled your nose hairs. Whew.

“Good idea. Thanks…” you looked for a name tag, met with a blank, black shirt. She returned to you from setting the bottle back behind the bar and fished your sentence. “Nat.”

“Nat. Thank you, Nat.”

Four drinks in and six small dish plates piled to the side of you, your words were starting to slur together. The empty pit that had been chipping at your insides was almost fully filled again, from warm food and the action of the tequila. Almost.

With a final bite waving around in your hand, you caught the bartender’s attention as she switched your short-rimmed drink glass with a tall one of water.

Your lips inched themselves over the straw and you took a big sip before popping the final bite in your mouth.

The cold water running down your throat had you blinking into a little alertness when you swallowed, Nat’s bright eyes locking in on you.

“Everything okay?”

You rolled your eyes and blew out a breath that morphed into a dry chuckle, not wanting to directly answer her inquiry.

“You ever been in love, Nat? Or…. I guess… in… like?”

She shrugged with a light laugh, her smirk tugging the corner of her lip upwards once again. “Yeah, I’ve got a guy.”

“What’s his name?” You passed the glass back and forth between your fingertips, eyes not straying too far from the fancy bar top.

“Depends. We talking best friend type of love or romantic? Because I’d give you two different names.”

You nodded, taking another sip before you looked at yourself in the mirror that sat behind the liquor shelves over her shoulder. You looked tired. “Yeah, I get that. I feel like I was almost getting somewhere with the second one, but now sometimes I feel like I have neither. Everything has changed. Both were liars. But is it wrong if I still care? That I don’t want them to just…be out of my life even though I’m actively distancing myself?”

She set the glass she was drying down on the counter and looked you in the eyes. “I’d say it would be wrong if you didn’t care. Lying sucks, but sometimes it’s necessary to protect the ones we love the most. And I’m sure they still love you. Some part of you deep, deep down knows that. Everyone’s got their reasons.”

You grumbled a little at that. “Sounds like something a liar would say….” She shrugged, then urged you to continue. “But yeah, they’ve been reaching out a little, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to crumble so easily. I can handle this by myself, ya know? But somehow, everything that I’m putting so much focus on right now is still unsteady. I’m feeling like the opposite of Midas with all of this. I’m…ssssidam.”

She laughed. “Well, Sidam. Sometimes we know what we want, even when we try to fight it by putting focus somewhere else. Sometimes it’s right in front of our face, and sometimes we have to search for it. But what I’ll say is that anything that falls in our laps is a blessing. Shouldn’t be taken lightly if it works that well. The core of a relationship is the biggest thing. How you are with that person when it’s just the two of you. Away from the rest of the world. All those other bits are secondary. They can be ironed out later.”

You heeded her words, but honestly, they were just too truthful for you right now. Sure, you’d thought of ideas similar to those, but never dared to say them out loud. Before you could gather your thoughts enough to respond, though, you heard a commotion behind you. Someone had walked through the restaurant door, garnering some attention. You heard requests for autographs and pictures. Only a few, though, before it quickly died down and the there was a presence next to you. Directly next to you. In a bar with several empty seats. Weird.

You looked up, straight ahead at the mirror that backed the shelves of liquor of the bar. Who was right at your side? Someone it seemed everyone you grew up around was trying to shove you towards for as long as you could remember, even your own parents: Lucas Bell.

He turned his head and smiled at you as you continued to glare at his reflection, remaining silent. With a sigh, you finally turned your body to face his.

His overly white smile gleamed at you as he said your name.

“Fancy meeting you here! I wasn’t sure if you got my flowers. You didn’t say anything. I’ve been hoping we could meet up.”

You unsuccessfully fought the urge to roll your eyes as you took another sip of your water.

“Listen, Lucas. That was nice and all, but I’m going through a time, okay? I really don’t have the patience for you, for this, right now.”

His lips closed, hiding his teeth, but he continued to grin, nonetheless.

“I have the patience for you, though. That’s gotta count for something. Misery loves company, right?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion at his relentlessness. Was your face not as aversive as it used to be? The tequila must’ve been messing with your rbf muscles.

“I don’t think this is what the saying meant.”

You pointed between the two of you, and he just shrugged.

Before you could open your mouth to further tell him off, though, he held up a finger as he knocked on the bar for Nat’s attention. She turned around, looking at him with a raised brow, but not saying anything.

“I’ve got an order for Bell. I called ahead.”

He turned back to you and sighed.

“Anyway, what I wanted to do was ask you to dinner. You and I have known each other so long. Don’t you think that we would look great together, too? Both of us, taking care of the city in our own ways. A power couple!”

For a second, bile began to rise up in your throat, and you weren’t sure if it was from the sight of his fake tan that was really popping to you now, the offer, his floral cologne, or the several double shots you’d consumed. But everything was so screwed up, that you didn’t think it could get any worse. Maybe your mom really was right, and this was worth a shot. So before that idea could even get vetted by any hint of higher-level functioning, the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“You know what? Sure. Yeah, whatever. When do you want, this weekend?”

He winced, yet his face still seemed like it was trying to be performatively handsome. One shouldn’t have to try that hard. “No can do. I anchor the evening news on the weekends. I’ve got availability Monday evening, though. I can pick you up after work. It’ll be nice, yeah?”

You opened your mouth to answer but before you even got a word out, Nat was returning with his to-go bag and his phone was ringing. He scrambled to answer it.

In seconds, he was already walking backwards towards the door, phone pressed up to his ear. “Duty calls. Gotta go catch this story. But I’ll see you then!”

You rolled your eyes at the whole thing before resting them on the heels of your palms. When you finally sat up again, you signaled Nat to bring another drink.

As soon as you downed the last shot of what likely should’ve been a sipping tequila, you checked your watch, and groaned, dreading the next day that you’d have to go into work. When you looked up to ask for the bill, it was like Nat apparated before you.

“So what was that about? Hot date?”

You scoffed while opening up your wallet and setting your card down on the receipt. “I don’t know about hot, but yeah. It would seem like a date.”

She looked down at where you placed the plastic and shook her head. “We can’t accept that card, got another?”

You sighed, sifting through to find another, but before you could pull it out, she piped up again, “Nope. Not that one, either. One more try. What’s that black one?”

You looked up at her through your eyelashes, questioning how keen her sight was and if that really was the only option. She urged you on, holding out her hand as you tentatively handed over Steve’s black card and watched her go back to the billing station where a waitress, a blonde who had been passing through all night, was leaning.

You watched as they exchanged words before the blond began strutting over to you. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, the occasional strand framing her face that held a similar smirk to Nat’s. She began shuffling and organizing the well of the bar before she spoke to you.

“Heard you’ve got a date. Does this mean Steve finally got the courage to make an actual move?”

At that, your eyes went wide, and so did Nat’s. You had never mentioned Steve this whole night. You made sure of it. She rushed over to you, shoving the blond out of the way with a deadly side eye. “You’ll have to excuse my sister. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

You laughed dryly, grabbing the check from her hands. “Sure she does. It all makes a lot of sense now. The atmosphere, your constant checking in on me.”

She nodded. “And we’ve been instructed to not take your money.”

“Yup. That, too,” you breathed out as you signed the check and slid it back to her. “Well, thanks for at least a few hours away from everything.”

Without lifting your head, you slipped your wallet away and slid off the stool, heading straight for the door to go back to your apartment. Nat stood there watching you with the intent to later ensure that you got home safely. She looked at the check in her hands and the black ink scrawled on it: your attempt at Steve’s signature and a 300% tip.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Meet Number Four (and Yelena)

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @stellar-solar-flare @otterlycanadian @kbear8863 @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[p-taryn-dactyl]

way down we go: the before (i)

the series: (i) (ii) (the aftermath)

a/n: hi! i really liked writing for this AU so I decided to give a little backstory! this is the story of the first meeting/date of reader and Agatha who is in her less than legal hobby phase. hope you enjoy!

word count: 2k

warning(s): reader is a little bit oblivious...or is agatha a mastermind?; cursing oh no; mentions of stalking; did i mess up the timeline i myself created? maybe shh; also guys, it feels weird to write about the police when im not their biggest fan...eh it makes a good AU so; theres a murder! but who did it 👀 ; made up forsenics; hehe i have a plan; i kinda just throw MCU names around as characters in here sorry

You were convinced the universe had a vendetta against you as you rushed through your morning routine. You had slept in forty minutes past your alarm, much to the distaste of your neighbors, who had been the ones to wake you with pounding knocks on your door.

"Why do I have so many fucking creams and serums?" You muttered angrily about the purchases your past self had bought as a celebration of getting the job. The new job that you were now dangerously close to running late to your first day. Finally your frustration came to a head and you finally just started on your makeup, pausing your blending and swiping to pull on pants and a sweater. A sweater you realized was on backwards and inside out once you were in your car and in front of your regular coffee stand. You had pulled the sweater off and was in the process of turning it right side out when you realized you had caught the eye of one of the coffee stand customers. You also realized you were only in your bra and your car windows were far from tinted. Heat rose to your face and you sheepishly pulled your sweater on over your head. If you ever had done the walk of shame, you imagined it would feel like how you did as you got out of the car. The customer who you had made eye contact with smirked at you as you made your way to join the coffee line.

"If I known I would be getting a show, I would've brought more cash."

While her voice held a joking tone, you saw no malicious intent in her blue eyes. Dear lord you had just flashed the most beautiful woman in the world. Forget your new job, you were just gonna run away to Argentina and change your name. You gave a small laugh, embarassment still coursing through you. The woman seemed to realize and bumped your shoulder with hers.

"Oh come on now, don't be shy. I liked what I saw." She whispered into your ear and made even more heat rise to your cheeks. The blatant flirting made you genuinely smile and a small burst of confidence had you responding.

"I guess the next logical step is to buy you dinner...or coffee! This coffee, I don't know why I jumped straight to dinner." You trailed off to a mumble, the burst of confidence gone. But the woman just looked at you with a fondness that you didn't know someone could have for a stranger.

"You'll offer me dinner before you learn my name?"

Your eyes widened and your hand shot out in front of you for a handshake.

"I'm sorry, that's just rude of me honestly. First I flash you and now this!" You started to pull your hand back, wondering why you even put it out but she grabbed it, shaking your hand softly. Her eyes shone with humor as she told you her name.

"Agatha Harkness, lovely to meet you dear."

You smiled but it quickly fell as you noticed the time on her watch and how long the coffee line was.

"Oh shit, I have to go. Guess I'll push through the day without a caffeine boost."

Agatha laughed, a sound you knew you wanted to hear more of in the future.

"Dinner?" You anxiously asked as you fumbled with your car keys, unlocking your car. Agatha nodded, cocking her head to the side as she smiled at you.

"I'll meet you here around 6? We can walk to The Bistro just around the corner."

While it was a question, Agatha spoke as if it was a demand. You smiled and nodded, internally hoping Agatha wouldn't take you up on your buying dinner offer. The Bistro was a delicious restaurant but was known for prices that normally took weeks saving up for. You waved at your date, climbing in your car with a giant smile on your face. Before you shut your door, Agatha called out.

"See you later, Y/N!"

It didn't occur to you that you never told her your name.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha watched as you drove away, a smirk pulling on her lips. Finally. She had been keeping tabs on you for weeks, the new forensic scientist who was the new obstacle in her way. Over the weeks, she memorized your schedule, where you frequented and when. This coffee shop was a constant, a perfect place for an impromtu meeting. But even with all the information she collected about you, she didn't expect to genuinely like you. You were adorable, both in your mannerisms and how you spoke. If she didn't already know your history, she would be more concerned about the profession you had chose.

She also didn't expect you to ask her out, an interesting development. Agatha was prepared to inch her way into your life as a friend, slowly coercing information out of you as the friendship progressed. But this, this dinner would would change everything.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The universe definitely had it out for you.

Almost the second after you situated yourself in your new lab, after meeting the team and thankfully clicking with them, a call came into the precinct.

A body had been found.

The excitement of your first officical case made the whole process become a blur. But reality became stark the second you crossed the yellow tape. Red and blue illuminated the air, flashing in your eyes as you made your way to the body. Almost immediately, you were grabbing the arm of Detective Jimmy Woo, the man who had been kind enough to let you have the last of the coffee pot.

"This isn't where they were killed. This is a body dump."

Jimmy, quick to grab his notepad, started jotting down what you said before looking up at you, a quizzical look on his face.

"How do you know?"

You slowly started circling the body, Jimmy following you as you explained, careful to not disrupt the photos Darcy, the CSP, was taking.

"The way he's positioned," Jimmy looked like he was about to ask how you knew the sex but you held up a hand as if to say you'll come back to that, "His arms are up against his chest and so are his legs, rigor mortis sets in after death, meaning since there's no outward indicators on the scene of a struggle and from what flesh is left, it looks like the wrists and ankles were tied, creating the position he's in now. If I'm allowed to make an educated guess, he was stuffed in the back of a vehicle of some sort and died while back there. He probably was dumped when whoever put him in the vehicle realized."

Jimmy just stared at you and you fidgeted in place. The excitement of being in a crime scene made you break a rule you learned while completeing an internship at the Jeffersonian. Never make assumptions about how the victim died, wait until you have evidence for a hypothesis. But Jimmy just nodded, an impressed look on his face as he taped his notepad with his pen.

"We're lucky to have you as our main analyst, Y/N. Welcome to the team."

Jimmy went to talk with the couple who had found the body while fishing. If you had to guess, you would say they would be staying away from seafood for a long time.

Along with your new forensic team, you inspected the scene, collecting and bagging everything and anything that seemed out of place. Finally, it was time to head back to the lab.

Dental records of the victims skull gave you an identification quickly.

Vis Maximoff, 32, reported missing two weeks ago by a neighbor, who had chosen to stay anonymous. You were surprised to see a pending case attatched to his name in the system, one that had been open for almost a year. Vis's wife, Wanda, was reported as deceased under unusual circumstances but all evidence detectives had to even start thinking about arresting Vis was either circumstancial or non-existent.

You passed on this information to Jimmy, who had a confirmation from the coroner, Hela, that your theory of how Vis died was correct. Fibers found on his body matched those of the floor of a 2017 Buick Verano. He died of asphyxiation, meaning either he had no air in the trunk of the car, or something had been covering up his nose and mouth, keeping him quiet and ultimately leading to his demise.

The rest of the day went by in what felt like a second. Soon, it was coming close to your date with Agatha and you had no time to change. Darcy proved to be your savior as she walked into your lab without knocking, quickly clocking the panicked look on your face.

"Girl are you okay? I mean you did have to look at a dead man for hours so I guess that could be it but I'm also going to guess this is about something else because you keep picking at your sweater."

You looked up at Darcy, forcing yourself to stop plucking at your clothes.

"Maybe you should be a detective," you joked, Darcy snorted as she leaned on the table across from you, silently prompting you to explain, "It's just, I have a date with someone I met at the coffee stand and she's gorgeous - I mean really pretty, and we're going to a super nice place and I'm pretty sure I have dead man juice on my pants."

Darcy shuddered before coming around to loop her arms through yours.

"Well thankfully, this department has plenty of clothes used for undercover assignments and stake outs. I'm sure we can find something that screams 'FUCK ME' in time for your date."

If you had pearls, you would have clutched them. Darcy just rolled her eyes at your dramatic reaction. She pulled you up, dragging you to the giant walk in closet where the undercover clothes resided.

"Ok don't give me that scandalized bullshit, do you or do you not want her to fuck you?"

You murmmured under your breath as you looked at the racks of clothing. Darcy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. You sighed, making eye contact with the brunette.

"I mean I was mostly hoping that she even likes me after this date, but yes, that would be nice."

Darcy laughed, shaking her head as she joined you in looking for an outfit.

"You're a funny one, Y/N. This woman better not break your heart because you just gained yourself a best friend and- ew no not that dress, it makes you look like a corpse." -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha tapped her foot against the concrete as she waited for you. A small part of her wondered if you had forgotten about the date that was made so quickly, and she hated how that thought made her stomach sink.

"Agatha!"

Your voice called out as you turned the corner, looking slightly out of breath as you walked over to her as quickly as possible. You came to stand next to her as Agatha's eyes raked over you, taking in the dress Darcy and you had agreed on.

"Oh I don't know if we can go into the restaurant like this." Agatha said while slightly shaking her head. Your smile fumbled as you looked down at the dress, surprised at how much you ended up loving it.

"Oh I thought it was ni- I don't- Why is there a dress code it's breaking?"

Your panicked flurry of words made Agatha come to stand close to you, cupping your face in her hands and lifting slightly so you could make direct eye contact.

"I just don't know if I'm okay with everyone staring at my date."

You rolled your eyes jokingly as Agatha pulled away, swatting at her shoulder lightly.

"You scared me! Now if anyone is going to be staring, it's going to be at you. Did you literally jump out of my fantasies?"

You only realized what you had said once you saw the growing smirk on Agatha's face.

"Fantasies huh? We only met this morning and you're already fantasizing about me?"

You felt heat rising to your face, a seemingly normal occurence around Agatha.

"Let's go to The Bistro! Probably a long line to wait in, should get to that!"

Agatha wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as she whispered in your ear.

"This is going to be fun."

a/n: hihi! God I love this AU! This and The Aftermath parts of Way Down We Go are going to be two parts each, and then there's something else i have planned that hopefully y'all enjoy too!! thank you for reading!

[neverthatsirius-jo]

november recs <3

�� bucky barnes.

cold libraries create warmer hearts by @elvenrin

↳ fic a bit on the longer side (which i love <3) writing this is reminding me that part two is already up and i haven’t read it yet. librarian!reader x history major!bucky. cute, cute fic and steve’s and natasha’s appearances are the best ofc

— james potter.

unrequited, terrifying series by @aurynsia

↳ only read the first two chapters but i really wanna continue the series since it was a really sweet secret admirer!james fic <3

sunlight by @sun-kissy

↳ love a good friend to lovers confession moment and who better to execute that than san?? perfection <33

overheard that she was nineteen by @g1rld1ary

↳ this is for the people that somehow end up crying on every birthday. comfort fic <3

our names in the paper by @g1rld1ary

↳ do yourself a favour and read this, and then go on gia’s blog and read everything she writes cause she’s just that amazing, yk. 10k words of early 2000s romcom vibes and the best dialogues ever. witty and will have you giggling and kicking your feet.

i hate you series by @dreamingofmarauders

↳ haven’t read all of it but cute enemies to lovers james x reader <3

epiphanies over hotpot by @foodiegoogie

↳ loveliest fic written by none other than my twin rese! :D (established relationship <3)

— joel miller.

clay pigeons by @siriuslylantsov

↳ lovely fic, written by a lovely person. hadn’t read any joel fics in a while and him in this one is just 🤌

— matt murdock.

staring right through me by @elixirfromthestars

↳ went through a matt phase and this fic was perfect. go give mel’s blog a look especially if you like reading bucky fics!! <3

— remus lupin.

untitled by @iamgonnagetyouback

↳ honestly this was a very sweet fic and it stole more than a couple smiles from me <33

untitled by @siriuslylantsov

↳ will leave you wanting to take care of remus after a full moon. lovely <33

— sirius black.

bags series by @777heavengirl

↳ so silly of you if you like sirius black and you haven’t read this series yet!! friends to lovers, what more can you ask for? writing is top notch too <3

haircare routine by @siriuslylantsov

↳ pretty sure this was the first fic i read from ace and it had me GIGGLING. cutest thing <3

— spencer reid.

olive theory by @siriuslylantsov

↳ cute little short blurb <3

september rain by @parfaitblogs

↳ has there ever been or is there ever gonna be a jo’s recs without lia on it? well, probably not. cute comfort fic about spencer comforting reader when there’s a storm.

making the bed by @parfaitblogs

↳ another comfort fic with lia’s gorgeous writing <3

kissing in the rain by @catssluvr

↳ cutest fic about well... what the title says. it will leave you with the unquenchable need to dance with spencer under the rain.

slow it down by @reidmania

↳ this fic was the comfort i needed back in november at the stage i was 😭. 100% recomend, the writing is beautiful.

untitled by @parfaitblogs

↳ for some reason it took me the longest while to finally read this fic. forensic scientist!reader and a great fic, but again, read all of lia’s works. or else.

north star by @parfaitblogs

↳ comforting spencer after a nightmare fic <3

state of grace by @parfaitblogs

↳ genuinely loved this one so much. friends with benefits and a bit of avoidant!reader. lia, i love your dialogues. i think i’ve said that a thousand times <3

back to fic recs list

[bonbonly]

𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: heavily inspired by hannibal - after hearing tons of praise in regards to psychiatrist!max verstappen, you decide to test your luck and see what his true colors are 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you're not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following in this fic: dubcon, drugging/aphrodisiac, knife play, cunnilingus, p in v, character death, reader is not a good person, blood/gore, slapping 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to give a special shoutout to @gokyrts because look at the abomination she's made me write, oh my god...

"mr. verstappen's skills knows no bounds, but the only ones being bound under his spell are the countless patients he must've paid to spread his work as if it were a gospel," you echoed the words that you wrote onto your laptop, the rough draft being filled with small notes on the side of the document to remind you of any criticism of the man that you might've missed the first time. your fingers drummed against the keys of your laptop, your brows furrowed as you tried to find another sentence to add. to spite him. to inform him that he had to be a greedy, money hungry hoax. your friends always told you that his appointments were so relaxing, they were very helpful but you saw through his lies. you knew that something had to be up. working as a forensic scientist for the BAU, and secretly organizing a crime blog under a pseudonym, you've racked up enough credentials to be under verstappen's radar. perhaps he was the only one that knew about the blog, and it irked you.

he mentioned once after you stopped by his office to request his presence in the lab. direct orders from your boss, you stated, making it very clear with your tone that you didn't ask for it. you'd rather die than have him near the corpse, stealing all the credit that should rightfully go to you. the depths you went to find the real perpetrator days later was overshadowed by the single fact that verstappen had walked in and saw a petal of a rose just underneath the right calf of the corpse. a careless mistake, he told your boss, but one that could be easily tweaked if you had just scheduled an appointment with him so he could discuss parts of your childhood that you locked away, buried underneath your heels so that every time you stomped around, you imagined it to be the throat of your parents. you were told to accompany the psychiatrist back to his office, and when you dropped him off he merely smiled at you, his dutch accent infiltrating your ears, "you always miss the details, which is surprising because you never seem to do it under your blog, caroli- i mean, ms. (l/n)."

your blood ran cold at his words, and you stumbled out of his office with a hardened glare. he was reading your blog, and had somehow directed it to you. how did he know? there was no possible way for him to know. you worked for the fbi, for peter's sake, you knew how to tidy up evidence, to be careful when lurking through unclear waters. how did the bastard know about this? so, when you typed up the new article criticizing his work and suggesting that he might be behind the disappearance of a few colleagues of yours, you knew he would read it. with full confidence, you wanted him to read it and storm into your office ready to snap your neck.

but he never did. in fact, he never even looked at you at all the next day. or the day after. or the week after. he smiled at your associates, then locked himself in his room, welcoming in patients and booking appointments for the ones too timid to ask him for one. during a lunch break, you walked past his hallway and pressed your ear against his door to listen in to an appointment he had with your friend. the shattering of glass, a muffled scream, the sound of a bullet, metal cracking against her skull, any sound would do for you. you just needed one piece of evidence, but you received none. your friend walked out unscathed, a happy smile on her face as she greeted you back in the lab. your eyes cast down to your hands, a feeling of momentary guilt rising in your gut. you wanted to forge your hands into the fire for writing that article and painting him in a bad light; no favorable colors, no accurate brush strokes, a half-assed attempt where the paint bled through the canvas, seeping through the lines that you carefully concocted. it didn't make sense, you were so sure of it! all the victims -charles, lewis, carlos, daniel - your good friends who were missing had one thing in common: they had booked appointments with verstappen before their disappearance. they also were in contention to get a promotion, daniel had also been a psychiatrist, eagerly waiting for his new life to become the head of the department one day. it was a risky move, but you figured that if you pushed his buttons enough, he'd slip up. he'd expose himself, he'd make a mistake and then you'd have him trapped. the entire BAU would understand that they had a criminal right under their noses this entire time.

for this entire plan to succeed, you had to do a few things. your first plan was to write more articles on your secret blog. while the BAU was scratching their heads about how their confidential cases were being exposed so easily, you were dropping bombshell after bombshell on your blog, your finger always pointing to the psychiatrist that would now look at you across the room with a deadly glint in his eyes. his lips were always in a thin line, and occasionally you caught him smirking whenever you'd miss a detail during analysis. you were predictable to him, and you needed to find a way to defeat him at his own game. there was a reason as to why he hadn't exposed you yet, perhaps the lack of evidence but you realized that there was something about you that made him keep quiet. you had power over him, the thought of it made you giggle uncontrollably at your desk one day, spinning around your chair like a little school girl. the second plan was to use his own tricks against him, which meant finally noticing the smaller details, being smarter than the rest of the team and most importantly, being incredibly fast. whether it be responding to your boss, showing up to a meeting, scavenging a crime scene to find clues or evidence, you had to be first. this entire time the team thought of him as reliable because he was the first one present at all times. you had to change that, had to show the team that the tide was turning to your favor. you noticed the way he'd bite the inside of his cheek, the light illuminating from the side would highlight his cheekbones, the dent a shadow amongst the very little light on his face.

and then finally, the third part of your plan. book the appointment with him. this one hurt your ego the most, but in order to catch him you had to stoop down to his level. making him think that you were willing to open up to him should give him the opportunity to do the same with you, and once vulnerable you could easily coax the truth out of him. you sat across from him on a velvet chair, legs crossed as your eyes traveled around the room, memorizing the layout of his office and the objects that were on display.

"lots of cars i see here," you pointed towards one large model of an RB19 on his shelf. he buried his hands in his pockets, teetering on his toes as he let out a small chuckle,

"i like things that are fast. things that fly, speed through... run," the last word sent shivers down your spine, but you swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and forced a smile at him.

"care for a drink? i got some wine if you'd like?" he walked over to the stand of champagne bottles on display. the glass sparkled under the light, its contents swishing around with each step that he took closer. it reminded you of your guts wanting to spill out and as he grabbed the bottle's neck, you gulped and felt the ghost of his hands tightening around yours. with a cough, you shook your head but he rolled his shoulders in a way of disbelief and stalked over to you with a wine glass in his hand, "please, i think you need it. it's ok, it'll help you relax."

the liquid pooled down your throat, but you kept your eyes open in fear that he might take advantage of you like this. you couldn't let your guard down, not like this. you watched as he settles down on the couch directly across from you, his legs spread out giving you an ample view of what you assumed to be his cock fighting to be restrained in his pants but with a firm snap of his fingers, your eyes flicker up to his face and then you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his face. you hadn't seen one in weeks.

"so why exactly did you book this appointment?" he asked, tilting his head. his hands clasped together, the forefingers coming up to touch his lips. you shrugged in response, before quickly shaking your head. shit, you needed to follow along with the plan you made!

"just... just been having some bad nightmares about my past," you responded. the topic of your parents was sensitive, one that you kept hidden for many years after you graduated high school. their death was their own doing, but somehow you felt that you had a part in it. had the murderer been you, it would've made no difference because the guilt remained. the bystander was far worse than the actual criminal. your mother's head rolling down the hill as your father watched with a twisted back. you winced at the memories, the glass slipping from your hands, "fuck!"

max watched your reactions carefully. his eyes were drawn to the way your fingers hovered over the glass, almost afraid that it would grab you. you paid no mind to the wine stain, but the countless apologies that spilled from your lips was music to his ears. he wanted to hear you say them, but in a very different circumstance. he read every article you wrote, he noticed your shift in behavior around him. he was a psychiatrist; if you wanted to play mind games with him, he was already ten steps ahead. while guiding you to stand near the shelf of cars, he went over to his closet to grab the broom and dustpan. he took off his coat, rolling the sleeves of his shirt before crouching down to gently grab the large pieces of glass. he dragged his finger onto the pool of wine on the floor and licked a long stripe, "such a shame. i always hate seeing my appetite go to waste."

the appointment was cut short much to your chagrin. your carelessness, you thought to yourself, you just didn't understand why you kept making small mistakes like this. you had to train your mind to be better. you sighed and gave one last glance to the RB19 model when you noticed the initials D.R. in italics on the edge of the car. before you could step closer, you felt strong arms grab onto your shoulders, guiding you out the door, "ms. (l/n), i am so sorry about what happened here. i would love to hear more about your past, but perhaps in a setting that might not scare you too much. dinner at my house, maybe? would that be an offer you're willing to take up?"

you frowned at his words, wriggling away from his touch, "you invite all your patients to your house for dinner?"

"only the ones i believe i have a strong connection with," he responded, licking his lips as he leant against the doorframe. you tapped your heels a couple times, thinking the offer over. if you declined, you'd have to come back to his stupid office. but... but if you accepted, you'd be able to catch him in his environment - and while he had the advantage of home ground - he definitely had to be hiding things there.

"you mind if i bring a friend over?" you asked, and he smiled,

"the more the merrier, but i don't think we can talk about your history then."

"it's ok. we can talk about my life later."

"6:30 at my place, i'll send the address down to you shortly."

"oh, mr. verstappen, dinner is very lovely! did you make this all by yourself?" your friend asked while taking a bite of the lasagna. her words are tuned out as you shifted through your food with a fork. the darkness of the dining room did little to ease any of your fears. you had walked in feeling confident, ready to tackle the monster down with your bare hands, but his kindness. his professionalism. his unwavering stare. they all made you feel as if you were being suffocated. you didn't have much energy in you to continue with the fake conversations. excusing yourself to use the bathroom to then explore his mansion would be too cliche, he'd be waiting for you to do it anyway. being too predictable would bore him, which would mean the chances of you being killed would be higher.

"not liking the food, ms. (l/n)?" max asked, his eyes flickering down to the food he cooked being tossed around like a bird amongst hyenas.

"no, i'm just... not very hungry, unfortunately," you responded, grabbing the wine to drink.

"a bite wouldn't hurt. just one bite, i spent hours cooking for tonight," he chuckled, and your friend kicked your leg under the table, her eyes narrowing at you to take a bite. you could already hear what she was saying in her mind. the poor man went out of his way for dinner and here you are, being a rude guest! with a very reluctant sigh, you grab hold of the fork and let your teeth sink onto the lasagna, the flavor melting into your tastebuds as you let out a slow hum of approval. it tasted nice, very nice actually. so you took another bite, and then another. her appetite's back, your friend laughed and max nodded his head, smiling at you.

but when dessert rolled in, you felt uneasy. your insides felt empty, as if craving for something that you couldn't quite place. your thighs clenched together as your gripped onto the arms of the chair. you couldn't make out whatever max was saying. he was asking you if you were alright, but his eyes asked a different question. you hadn't noticed how big his eyes were before, or the fact that his pupils were so dilated. how did you miss that detail before? was he always like this? you quickly excused yourself, running to the bathroom but each brush of your thigh under the thigh made you choke on air, your mind hazy. upon locking yourself inside, you immediately collapsed onto the ground, your head in your hands. you felt strong pair of hands around your waist, groping at your tits that spilled out of your dress - or was it be ripped off of you? your pussy bare against the cold dampness of the room, your mouth propped open with fingers as the sweet taste of an apple made its way. your jaw was sore at how your teeth delved into the fruit and stood rooted there as your arms were bound above your head. was that the woody scent of a candle, or the fireplace that was underneath you? where was that burning sensation? under you... or inside you? your legs were being spread apart, the itchy rope curling around your limbs to make sure you wouldn't move. you opened your eyes lazily to see a figure with dirty blonde hair at the end of the table, his shiny teeth visible amongst the evil grin you saw.

"my favorite meal... all to myself." he whispered, letting his tongue rake over your glistening folds. your strangled moans are swallowed by the apple in your mouth, your body aching for more as his nose nudges your clit. his teeth nip at your labia, tongue invading your womanhood as you can't do anything but scream out loud, drooling from the corners of your mouth. his tongue rolls your clit around, lapping at any juice that seeps from your cunt. he wants to ensure your taste is on his tongue forever. the sweetest dessert that one would ask for. his fingers spread your mound to get a good look at his masterpiece and he lets his saliva stalk down to your pussy before harshly rubbing your clit. when you finally look past your tits to see who this figure was: your heart stopped at the sight of max staring down at you with a predatory look.

you screamed as you woke up in your bed, cold sweat dripping down your forehead. you glanced down to your hands, your feet, your clothes that covered your body. you looked around your room, unsure as to how you were back in your bedroom. it felt real... was it real? you couldn't tell. you pulled the waistband of your panties down, check to see if you were still a wet mess. nothing. laying back down on your bed, you placed a hand on your heaving chest and ran your free hand down your face. what just happened? what was going on? you had to find out, you had to get to the bottom of this.

which meant having to go back to his house. on guard, and once again with someone. you decided to bring a colleague that you despised, but it would be better to sacrifice her than your friend.

you sat across the dining table, and despite how predictable it was, you excused yourself to the bathroom, keeping note as to how his eyes focused on your ass. never miss the details, you thought to yourself. you headed to the bathroom, opening the door to turn the lights on before shutting the door. with a few fake thuds just outside the bathroom door, you took your heels off and carefully took them with you around the staircase. with the layout of the house, the dining room wouldn't give clear access to the left side of the kitchen. which meant that the pantry could be entered carefully without him noticing. your colleague was busy entertaining him about her vacation in milan, her loud voice thunderous enough to rattle the house... and enough to mask the creaking of the pantry door as you slipped inside. it was cold, almost like entering the arctic as you pulled out a tiny flashlight to guide you through the foreign place. the meat hung forlornly from the hooks, the torse of a pig on display. you frowned at the ink patterns on the meat, and you hesitantly turned it around. you'd seen these marks before somewhere. a vacation trip with your friends that you planned one evening. someone had dragged you into the pool as a prank and when you floated to the surface, spluttering out the chlorine water, your hands found the shoulders of a man inked with tattoos on his back. it was lewis. your flashlight slipped out of your hands and clattered onto the metal railings.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling to grab the small material. you were delighted that your suspicions were correct, that this entire time you were right about verstappen. but you needed to get out. you could see the shadow of footsteps underneath the pantry door. there was a back entrance to the pantry, and you stumbled towards it. from the corner of your eye you noticed a bottle of liquid and you uncapped it with your teeth, chugging the liquid down. you really needed some wine to calm your nerves down at the moment. letting the bottle roll back onto the metal table, you ran out the door into the open woods. you'd have to go around the path to get back to your car in the front of the house. the more minutes you stood to think about a plan, the more time was being wasted. from the distance, you could hear the back entrance of his house being opened and you whined out loud, pushing your feet to continue running. you didn't want to die, not like this... no, not now, not ever!

and yet with each step that you took, you felt a strong pain inside you. that pain you felt when you had dinner for the first time at his house. you were craving for something, you didn't know. was it his tongue again? no, what? why were you thinking about that awful nightmare? you remembered the outline of his cock during your first appointment, oh it looked delectable. you could've gotten on your knees then and sucked him as payment for the appointment! as your mind was reeling with uncontrolled desire, your knees buckled and your leg caught onto a root from a tree. crashing forward with a loud groan, you struggled to get back up on your feet when you felt the underside of a boot press gently against your neck, pushing your face onto the ground.

"i told you before i liked things that run. at this point, you're just teasing me," a familiar dutch voice rang from above you. the boot nudged you over onto your back, causing you to hold back a whimper at the sensation. you were sensitive to everything, your skin on fire as he trailed his foot down your body and right below your heat. right below where your desire was burning.

"y-you killed them. i was right, you killed them all," you weakly laughed, "i was right this entire fucking time."

"round of applause for you, ms. (l/n), oh wait..." he paused, looking around the empty woods before he glanced down to you, "no one's here." he rubbed the toe-box of his boot against your clothed cunt, enjoying the way your back arched, squealing at the way your clit was being dragged along your damp panties.

"tsk tsk tsk," he circled to stand right in front of you between your legs, "you always missed the details. you could've made it, you know? you could've gotten to your car and made it back to your house, schatje. but it's your carelessness... what did you drink before you came out here?"

"w-w-wine?" you responded, tilting your head. you let out another moan as the boot dug deeper onto your mound.

"wine mixed into the aphrodisiac. which would've been my last resort if you had properly rescheduled the appointment that we never finished. details, ms. (l/n), always look at the details," he knelt down, letting his hand replace his boot. the warmth of his fingers made you whine, begging him to end your suffering. your mind was purely empty - save the thought of having him satisfy your primal needs. he bunched up your panties, tugging them up to see your pussy coat the fabric with more of your juices, "fuck... you're so wet. it must hurt doesn't it? you wish you had someone to help you, schat?"

"yes, yes, yes please... please!" you cried, bucking your hips up. max laughed, seeing the way your pussy was grinding against your panties. he ripped them off of you, throwing them over his shoulder as he picked you up into his arms, carrying you as if you were his bride.

"i think a change of environment will put you in your place." he mumbled, and while you didn't catch onto it at first, when he tossed you onto the metal table in his pantry, you felt fear course through your body. "such a nice suit i had on today, and now you made me ruin it."

he slips off his coat and vest, rolling the sleeves of his shirt that hugged his biceps. he searched around the pantry for a while before grabbing an apron, tying it around his slim waist. he gazed up at you as his chin tucked into his neck and he let out a dry laugh, "you know... if you had just stuck to your job, this wouldn't have been a problem. always wanting to be the hero, when you're the villain yourself."

he grabbed the butcher knife, tossing it in the air a couple times, "i used to keep him with a bunch of other knives, all neatly organized just like i love. had to use him so often these days that he gets his own special spot. what do you think? he's beautiful isn't he?" he holds the knife up to your hooded eyes, and when you don't respond, he uses the butt of the utensil to slap your face, beckoning you to respond.

"i-it's nice," you mumbled, and he nods his appreciatively, letting the sharp edge of the object gently kiss your skin before he cut away at your dress and bra, exposing all of you to him. he saw the lump in your throat when you swallowed, and he brought the edge of the knife to your neck, watching you crane around to avoid the sharp edge. he tossed the knife in the air once again, which caused you to shriek out loud in fear that it'll slice you but he caught it and tapped the butt of the knife on your lips.

"suck," he commanded, and still clouded by the aphrodisiac, you do what he asked and twirled your tongue around the tip before opening your mouth wider and letting it fully devour your throat. you caught your reflection in the metal, and you can't even believe how blinded you must be. the details, the details, the details. the body of daniel hanging above you, staring at you with closed eyes and parted lips should have you screaming as you rolled your eyes back, but instead you're feeling yourself growing wetter, eager to please max. the weapon hits your teeth as max trailed your saliva down the valley of your tits, over your navel and to your cunt that's been so desperate this entire time. he pursed his lips as if he was deep in thought and then brought his free hand to spread your legs wider, shoving the butt of the knife into you. the feeling of being stretched out, of finally being filled - even if only a little - had your back escape the confines of the metal table, your tits out in the air as you're sobbing in joy. max saw the way you're mewling, body contorting in pleasure and he left your cunt empty once again before slamming the butcher knife right beside your head. your breath hitched in your throat, the fear once again settling but it made your heart race in excitement. there was a small thrill present, maybe he was right earlier. you were the villain all along. you were worse than him. he took off the apron, unbuckling his belt and he snickered,

"you could've grabbed the knife and stabbed me by now, but you didn't... too desperate to get fucked, isn't that right, liefje?"

he let his cock spring free from the confines that tormented him since the day he saw you at the BAU. head held high, a haughty gleam in your eyes. the arrogance as you talked down to him, acted as if you were superior. he was waiting all along for this moment. his cock slid against your folds and when he pushed in, the tears that flowed from your eyes combined with the guttural moan made him smile. something was missing though, something that could make this so much more better for him. and as he began to thrust, he glanced up to see another corpse from a previous victim hanging to the side. a cruel idea formed in his mind and he grinned down at you,

"schatje, i don't think i could bring myself to hurt you... not when you're being such a good slut for me," he cooed, "but... but a man can't help but imagine..."

he grabbed hold of the butcher knife, slicing the corpse and letting the blood splatter onto the top half of your body. it trickled onto the table beneath you, the tiled floor now the canvas of a new twisted desire. he laughed out loud at the sight of half of your face covered in blood, and he brought the coated knife to your neck, continuing to thrust his aching cock into you as you screamed out loud in a horrid mix of fear and desire. you could feel your cunt clamp onto his cock, so close to cumming as his thrusts became more erratic.

"i knew you'd like this... you came all this way here to see if you could understand me. schat, but do you even know who you are?" he questioned, letting the edge of the knife kiss your neck. and as you came undone with a scream, your vision blurring at the intensity, you realized he was right all along. the details, you missed all the details. your parents death wasn't because of some man that had swerved the car late at night. it was you. you swung the sledgehammer at the car while they were driving down the highway, drunk out of your mind out of anguish from all the abuse you faced as a child. the man stopped to see the commotion and you sent his body flying down the hill. you'd done it, you were a murderer. you were twisted, you were... you were as bad as him. you glanced up to see max still bullying your cunt, pushing you to another orgasm before you could process the toll your body was taking in the process.

"your scent always drove me wild," he whispered, leaning down to bite your nipple, "fuck, schatje... i'll give you a deal." he lifted his head slightly to meet your gaze, "we can work together, you know? with your skill and this cunt of yours, i could keep you around. no harm to you at all, unless of course you'd like it."

"t-the blog... no, no, i can't... i'm better than you. i'm not you, i'm not fucked up like - oh fuck, don't stop!" your argument melts away with each snap of his hips,

"you have no other choice here. there's two ways this can go. you keep coming to my office, be my personal slut, trained completely to take my cock and i'll let you live... with the added benefit of working and helping me. and if you don't," the butcher knife digs a bit deeper into your neck, "i think you understand what i mean, right schatje?"

you nod your head, throwing your head back as you let out another visceral scream as your second orgasm rips through your body. he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, murmuring praises at how perfect you'd be, how you were always destined for this, no matter how much your ego told you differently.

and yet as you laid beside him on his bed that night, well-cleaned and taken care of as his new trophy, you secretly uploaded the photos of his pantry to your blog and slipped out of his house, past your dead colleague in the living room. he'd come after you, that was for sure. but he liked to hunt, and you've learned to run.

[parfaitblogs]

ive got quite a few... but we will start off simple and with something ive been DAYDREAMING about for a while

so reader is a new forensic scientist that started a lab in office for easier analysis of evidence (garcia reasonablism and best friendedness obviously) and earlier seasons reid likes to go in and hang out with her often and just be with her and they are both idiots in love and the first kiss is super rushed and akward; TEETH ROTTING FLUFF

i am too cryptic i fear but i will sell my left kidney for this fic PLEASE

spencer reid x forensic scientist!reader. fluff. 1.4k words. s1 spence!! descriptions of a case (typical cm stuff). std discussion? sorta? it's about a victim. reader doesn't have one don't worry. they're nerds your honour. 

a/n: i am SO sorry this took me so long?? writing fluff is not my strong suit (clearly). i researched bacteria for this fic. and std's. if penelope garcia looked up my search history she would ask why i'm asking about how to treat chlamydia. if the science talk is wrong, no it's not this is MY alternate reality. also i am but a wee acting major i know nothing about science? ANYWAYS thank u for the request angel it was so fun to write i hope i did it justice ♡ 

"Hey... I brought coffee."

Your head lifted from the computer screen you had been staring at for the past hour and a half, blinking your eyes to readjust to a light that wasn't blue — you were a big believer in warm toned overhead lights or nothing, and it was your first order of business upon getting a lab in the Quantico building. 

Your eyes softened upon recognising the man in your doorway, and your hands outstretched towards him to take the paper cup from him. 

It was a particularly gruelling case — a man putting victims through a meat grinder (charmingly so) meant your ability to positively ID victims based on... well, anything you'd usually ID them on, was out of the question. You were down to tampered with blood samples, and you were getting nothing. 

"Angel. Sent from heaven, I swear," you said, taking a sip of the warm, sweet (because anybody who drinks coffee black should be locked up) beverage that would help you in the long run. Spencer Reid's lips twitched into a smile — anxious, like the rest of him usually is whenever he's in your lab — and he dropped his gaze to the floor with a small shrug. 

"I thought you might need it. I know it's hard. This case," he said, and you nodded your head with an affirming nod.

"Tell me about it," you mumbled, spinning around in your chair, back to your computer, waving him over. "See this?" you pointed to the list of findings in one of the samples.

Your breathing hitched when you felt him behind you, not expecting him to be so close, his own breath audible by your ear. 

He hummed quietly as he read through the list, and you turned your head to the side to look at him. His lips were pulled into a frown as you watched him register everything — and God, was he pretty. "Yeah... Salmonella, Enteritidis, Listeria... they're all bacteria you can find in chicken. Raw chicken, to be precise. Did they send you chicken blood by mistake?" 

"That's what I thought," you said, snapping out of your Reid-induced-haze, and clicked at your computer until you pulled up another list. "But then I found these as well; Streptococcus mutans, Porphyromonas gingivalis, Fusobacterium and Lactobacillus. From the same sample. And I cross-checked it with all of them, and they're all like that. So I sent that to Garcia and asked if she could do some looking into butcher shops in the area, and she came up empty. So now I'm at a loss."

"Weird," he murmured, leaning further forward over your shoulder to stare at the screen a little more intently, and you found your breath hitching at it. Again.

"What do you see?"

"Chlamydia trachomatis."

"Oh. Yeah, all of the samples have it," you explained, and he nodded his head, before turning it to look at you. 

"Well, what do you do when you have a sexually transmitted disease?" he asked.

"Me? I don't—I don't know. I've never had a—" you cut yourself off when you saw his lips twitch into a smile, and your brain caught up with what he had just said, and your lips parted in an 'o' shape in realisation. "You'd go to your doctor."

"And if they all have it, then that means that—"

"—it's the UnSub whose got it," you cut him off, eyes lighting up as you sat up straighter. "Oh my God, I don't know how I didn't make that connection. Spencer Reid I need to reiterate that you are an angel sent from the heaven above, I could kiss you."

His eyes went wide, and his entire being froze, followed swiftly by you yourself freezing too, words you let spill past your lips registering a second too late. 

He stared at you. You stared at him. It was an awkward game of who would look away first, and it went on for hour long minutes. You needed to clear your throat but refused to, your lips opening and closing as you searched your brain for something — anything — to say to break up this tension.

"Are you serious?"

It was a meek whisper, and had you not been so hyper focussed on his lips, you probably would've missed it. You forced your gaze up to his eyes, catching the red tinge on his cheeks, mirroring your own. You decided if the one in a billion chance of a black hole swallowing the earth decided to happen now, you wouldn't complain.

"I mean, no," you force past your lips. A sentence you soon sorely regret when you watch a flicker of what you recognise to be hurt flash across his face. Maybe your brain made that expression up. Maybe it didn't. If it did, it was too late to consider that option, because you were already rambling again. "Unless you want me to be serious. In which case yes, I am totally serious. If not, then I'm not."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and an embarrassingly nervous laugh left your lips. 

"Yes. I'm serious," you finalised. Because at least if he found that embarrassing and didn't feel the same back, you could kick him out of your lab and avoid him until you manage to swap units. Or move halfway across the world. Whichever came first.

Neither needed to come first, it seemed. Because his tense body shifted, turning to face you, his own eyes seemingly locked on your lips, the same way yours were only minutes prior. 

"Is it okay if I..." he trailed off, a hesitant hand reaching up to your face, waiting for your confirming nod before his fingertips relaxed on your cheek. You weren't even kissing him yet, and you already felt that nervous-excited mix pooling in your stomach.

He was in the same boat as you, his own breathing hitching when you didn't pull away instantly from his touch. But then he simply stared at you, for maybe a minute too long, because an exasperated sigh left your lips before you could stop it.

"You know, you actually have to put your lips on mine to kiss, Spencer," you say, and though your intent wasn't to fluster him, you did. 

"Yes, I—um, I know. I've just never... what if I screw this up?" he stammered, and your lips pulled into a smile. 

"Worst thing you can do is be a bad kisser."

"That's embarrassing."

"Just a little," you agreed with a nod, watching his face fall, and you laughed at the expression. "I'm kidding. It's not that hard, and you're good at everything."

"Not this."

"You don't know that."

He fell silent, and you knew you had won the verbal argument — he was certainly still disagreeing in his mind, but he was always good at picking his battles. 

But you knew he was never going to kiss you first. Not when one hand was flexing weirdly by his waist, unsure of what to do with it, and he was so awkwardly holding one cheek with the other. 

It was the only reason why you placed two palms on his own cheeks and pulled his face towards you. He let out a shocked yelp that had you laughing for only a second, cutting the sound off short with your lips on his. 

Spencer Reid was in fact good at everything. 

He was hesitant at first, and you wondered if he was ever going to kiss you back. But he did, and then you wondered if he was lying about never kissing anybody before.

Because he was insanely good, and the way he kissed you was maddening and addictive and it seemed you were (addictive) as well, for he was chasing your lips even when you tried to pull away. So you didn't, and instead allowed him to keep kissing you with so much pace and force you thought you'd break. 

"Spence... can't... breathe," you gasped out, and he pulled back in an instant, his eyes going wide. 

He was stammering out apologies that fell on deaf ears, because you were staring at him and he was gorgeous. In every sense of the word. With hair that had fallen into his glassy eyes, cheeks as pink as his lips that were screaming to be kissed again, need for oxygen be damned. 

And actually, if the one in a billion chance of a black hole swallowing the earth decided to happen now, you would complain. Very loudly.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[magical-reid]

could i pretty please request prompt #18 with spencer reid and a forensic scientist reader? would be super duper cool if she was part of the bones (tv show) crew, as i’ve always thought them and cm should have done a crossover. thanks!! ❤️

The Science of Luck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 18: "I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you"

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid, a staunch skeptic of luck, finds himself questioning his beliefs after an encounter with a clumsy forensic scientist, who joins the BAU team on a challenging case. Despite their initial bickering and contrasting expertise, the two begin to form an unlikely partnership while investigating a serial killer, leading to a surprising and potentially life-changing connection.

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Coincidence? Of course. But luck? That was just a cognitive bias humans relied on to explain randomness.

Yet, as he stood ankle-deep in Virginia mud, his pristine pants ruined, watching as yet another forensic scientist nearly slipped and took out an entire evidence table, he found himself reconsidering.

“I thought I had the worst luck,” he muttered, barely dodging a flying clipboard, “until I met you.”

The forensic scientist in question—you—wobbled but managed to right yourself before disaster struck. You shot him a glare as you readjusted your Jeffersonian ID badge. “Not my fault this crime scene is a swamp. And it’s not luck, it’s physics. Slippery surfaces, unstable ground, and a lack of proper traction—”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse for bad luck,” Spencer countered.

You huffed but couldn’t argue. You were a forensic scientist, not a field agent, and being thrown into an active crime scene with the BAU was not in your usual job description. You were used to working in the pristine, controlled environment of the Jeffersonian Institute—not chasing serial killers through the backwoods of Virginia.

And yet, here you were.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all started with a body—or rather, bodies. Multiple skeletal remains had been discovered in various locations across the D.C.-Virginia border, the work of a particularly meticulous serial killer. The BAU had been called in due to the pattern of abductions matching an existing profile, but given the advanced state of decomposition, the FBI had reached out to the Jeffersonian for forensic assistance.

That’s how you ended up here—cold, wet, and questioning all of your life choices.

Agent Hotchner, ever the professional, barely batted an eye at the tension between you and Reid. “Dr. (L/N), thank you for assisting us. Dr. Brennan recommended you personally.”

You straightened your back. Temperance Brennan doesn’t recommend people lightly. “I specialize in isotopic analysis and forensic taphonomy. If your unsub is moving bodies across state lines, I can determine where they were before they ended up here.”

Hotch nodded approvingly. “That would be extremely useful.”

Reid, however, still looked skeptical. “That’s assuming there’s a pattern in the body disposal locations. If the killer is deliberately choosing random drop sites—”

You crossed your arms. “Then I can still tell you about the soil composition, insect activity, and post-mortem damage, which could help narrow down a timeline. It’s basic forensic science, Doctor Reid.”

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Hotch’s lips as he turned away. “Work with Dr. Reid and see what you can find.”

You and Reid stared at each other for a beat too long before sighing simultaneously.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine,” he echoed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you had the advantage. This was your turf, your lab, your meticulously organized work environment. And Spencer Reid—despite his genius—was a little out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned as he hovered near a set of isotopic samples.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You raised a brow. “I literally just watched you reaching for it.”

“It was a reflex!”

“Uh-huh.”

Despite the bickering, you had to admit—Reid was sharp. He picked up on patterns even before you finished running tests, and while his knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, he had an uncanny ability to connect seemingly random details.

Together, you started to piece together the unsub’s movements. The isotopic analysis revealed that the victims had spent time in an area with a unique mineral composition—suggesting an underground water source near limestone deposits.

Reid’s encyclopedic brain immediately pulled up a connection. “There’s an abandoned mining town about twenty miles west of the last body dump site. It was shut down in the 1980s, but the underground aquifers match your analysis.”

Your eyes widened. “If the bodies were stored there first, that could explain some of the inconsistencies in decomposition rates.”

He nodded excitedly. “Exactly. We need to check it out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The abandoned town was eerie. Old buildings, rusting equipment, and an unsettling silence. You were with Reid, Morgan, and Booth—because of course Booth had insisted on coming along.

“What are the chances the unsub is actually still here?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

“Statistically?” Reid started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

“DOWN!” Morgan shouted, pushing you behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for safety. “I am so not cut out for this!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Booth muttered, drawing his weapon.

Reid, crouched beside you, looked equally shaken but determined. “Stay close to me.”

“Not like I have many options!”

A tense firefight ensued, but the BAU and Booth’s tactical skills won out. The suspect was apprehended, and the nightmare was over.

Mostly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you were still rattled. Lab work was one thing. Nearly getting shot was another.

“You okay?” Reid’s voice was softer than usual.

You exhaled. “I will be. Just… not used to being a target.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Reid,” you warned.

He smirked. “Right. Not helping.”

There was a beat of silence before he hesitated. “For what it’s worth… I think your bad luck might just be situational.”

You gave him a look. “Says the guy who gets kidnapped at least once a year?”

His lips quirked. “Fair point.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Guess we’re both unlucky then.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I mean, we did solve the case together.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying we make a good team?”

Reid shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile. “I’m saying… maybe luck isn’t the worst thing. As long as you have the right person to balance it out.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Are you flirting with me, Dr. Reid?”

His ears turned red. “W-what? No! I mean—maybe? I just meant that—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you were unlucky. But if it meant crossing paths with Spencer Reid?

Maybe, just maybe… luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[gurugirl]

oldest to newest

First Smutty One Shot (3.5k words)

in which Harry wants to buy your albums but then he realizes he wants a little something more from you or where Harry fucks you so you'll calm down

Again & Again (5.4k words)

in which lhh!Harry is your server and he takes you home after girl’s night is over or where lhh!Harry fucks you good, but comes too fast

Gonna Make You Mine (6k words) (mafia!harry)

extra

in which Harry is your boyfriend's boss and he wants to have you for himself or where Harry fucks you in front of your boyfriend

The Work Call (1.3k words)

in which you’re desperate for Harry’s attention when he’s ignoring you on a work call

Too Hard to Keep Quiet (678 words) (boyfriend!harry)

in which you and Harry try to keep it down while having sex in your childhood bedroom down the hall from your family

The Doctor & the Psychopath (9.7k words)

extra

in which Harry is facing serious assault charges and you’re the forensic psychologist tasked with analyzing him or where Harry manipulates you into having sex but you kind of like it

Music For a Festival (896 words)

in which you meet Harry, the lead singer of a local rock band, at a music festival and you bring him back to your tent

Thank You, Next (7.3k words)

extra

in which you are at a club with your very drunk boyfriend and you and Harry spot one another from across the room or where you meet lhh!Harry at a club while you're with your boyfriend and he fucks you in the bathroom

A Public Nuisance (1.6k words) (coworker!harry)

you and Harry are office coworkers and everyone’s out tonight at the local bar celebrating, but you and Harry find yourselves in a rather compromising position

Sex Ed With Harry (7.4k words) (innocent virgin!reader)

in which you’re a sweet, innocent, Christian, virgin and you meet Harry at a college party and he can show you a few things

Dirty & Rough (1.6k words)

reader ask:harry cheats on his gf with you and maybe not necessarily a breeding kink but cream pie kink ?? like, “i’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum”. veryyyy rough and degrading like he’s just using you to get off. “cumdump” etc..maybe he’s quite a bit older than u as well. face slapping, spit kink, as dirty as possible…you get me LOL

I Guess You're All Mine (11.9k words) (friends to lovers)

based on a true story: in which Harry is the hot drummer in your boyfriend’s band and he tells you a secret that changes everything

The Long Weekend (9.8k words) (friends to enemies to lovers)

extra

in which you and Harry hate one another but then things change

The Wedding Guest (4.5k words)

in which you meet Harry at a friend's wedding and show up at his hotel room the next morning to take him up on an offer he made you the night before

Lactation kink (700 words)

reader ask: I don't know if this sounds weird, but you would write one where the reader and Harry had a baby and while she and Harry are having sex, milk starts to come out of her breasts and he starts to suck

The Scientist & the Stripper (15.2k words) (nerd!harry | virgin!harry)

extra #1 | extra #2

in which virgin/nerd!Harry moves in next door to you and you invite him over for a small get together with friends where he gets more than he bargained for at the end of the night

On Halloween Morning (8.7k words) (ghost!harry)

a horror-filled Halloween one-shot. Harry is a ghost and you don't believe in ghostsbut you find out you were dead wrong.

Psoriasis Fluff (652 words)

reader ask: Heyy, how you doinggg!! Could u write smthg abt a reader with psoriasis.. maybe she's insecure to go out in a dress or smthg and harry helps her feel better. Mines been pretty bad recently and I could use some fluffrry (no smut)

Mixed Signals (9.5k words) (best friends to lovers)

bestfriends to lovers one shot - You and Harry have been best friends since you were children and now that you're both adults you can no longer deny the feelings that have been there all along

The Threesome (3.3k words) (Fratboy!Harry)

Harry's hot but he's nice and he's into you tonight

A Delicate Thing (7.6k words) (mafia boss!harry)

extra

Harry is a crime boss and he meets the woman of his dreams on an important night.

Tell Me You Hate Me (12.1k words) (male!reader | enemies to lovers)

Based on this request - You and Harry work together as bartenders and your relationship is hot and cold which infuriates you to no end. But you can't say you don't find him attractive, regardless of his cocky attitude.

The Italy Blurb (1.6k words) (boyfriend!harry)

reader prompt: some plotless smut featuring a little bit of jealous yn riding Harry's tiger & yacht sex.

Bad Morning (3.6k words) (professor!h x professor!yn)

You run late to an important meeting with your colleagues and Professor Styles decides to punish you.

Spiderman (4.2k words) (fratboy!harry | lhh!harry)

You’re at the big Halloween frat costume party and get to flirting with someone dressed as Spiderman. The tall, masked man with a deep voice just so happens to know a private spot to reveal his true identity to you.

The Ex (3.4k words) ex!harry

Harry's your ex-lover and you see him at a wedding after many years apart. You're both married but Harry proposes something that you have a hard time saying no to.

Nympho (4.5k words) nympho!poly!harry

Y/n is a nymphomaniac who just loves people. One day she happens upon a "harem" arrangement that seems perfect for her and her insatiable appetite. Loosely based on this Tumblr request.

Harry bruises your cervix - blurb (450 words) husband!harry

A quick filthy, requested blurb. Nothing more and nothing less.

Next Door Neighbors (7.8k words) neighbor!harry

Part 2 (5k words)

You just wanted peace and quiet and Harry just wanted to jam out in his garage for his birthday. So you decide to confront your new neighbor but things don't go as you planned.

The Fleshlight Blurb (1.5k) subrry

Harry has to go on a business trip without Y/n so she gets him a special toy to use while he's away and she tells him to send her a video of him using it.

The Handyman (11k words) the check-in (3.6k)

When you inherit your aunt's estate after she passes away, you hire Harry to fix up the old house but that's not all he winds up being good for.

Breeding Kink Blurb (587 words)

Requested - just straight up smut

Sex Tutor (10k words) Part II (13k+ words)

Harry's got a reputation on campus and you're curious to know if he can help you.

Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h (4.4k words)

Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

The Trio (3k words)

Three strangers meet at a club and things get sexy. Featuring a MMF threesome.

Baby Daddy (14k words)

After you have a one-night stand with your good friend Harry and become pregnant he doesn't know for certain that the baby is his, but he has his suspicions.

Little Flower (4.5k words)

You're startled during a power outage late one night when your co-worker, Harry, is at your door, drenched from the rain. How does he even know where you live?  dark!harry | stalker!harry

Use Me Up (7k)

Harry's your boyfriend's best friend and he's very hard to resist. boyfriend's best friend!harry

Assistance Needed (3k)

Harry finds himself in an awkward position when you walk in on him in his office just as he's in the middle of something quite improper. ceo!harry x assistant!reader

The Babysitter (2k)

PART 2 (2.5K)

Based on this request: The cute babysitter Harry's wife hired has always tempted him, but now that his wife is away for the evening Harry might just give in. dad!harry x babysitter!reader

She Likes To Watch (4.8k)

Harry and his wife have an interesting lifestyle but when they invite you over for a night of fun you realize you're more into it than you thought you'd be. hothusband!harry

Truth or Dare (6.7k)

Based on this request: Harry's never been to a slumber party so Y/n decides to remedy that and give him a sleepover he'll never forget.

The Mushroomer | friendly!ghost!harry (11.5k)

Based on this request: Y/n moves into a small house in the woods and she soon realizes the house is haunted. But it really turns out to be not so bad at all to have a ghost when he's as kind as the one living with her.

Says Who? | demonrry (3.1k)

A Halloween Blurb! Y/n goes to an underground club and meets the devil and she'll never ever forget it.

DILF | older!harry (6.5k)

PART 2

Based on this request: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

Famous!reader blurb (1.1k)

Request! Harry learns you’re famous and you’ve written a song for him.

Maybe Fate (8.3k)

The first time you meet Harry is under odd circumstances. But the second time you meet him it feels like fate. Well, if you believe in that sort of thing.

Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover (2.8k)

No one would ever know that your shy, quiet boyfriend likes to dominate you in bed every night. shy dom!harry

[maiamore]

JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

⟶ THE LINES WE CROSS Pairing: Javier Peña x Forensic Scientist!Reader Rating: 18+ Status: Ongoing PART ONE | MINI SERIES MASTERLIST Series Tags: set during seasons 2 & 3 of narcos, smutty filth of course, angst, no use of y/n, pwp, p in v intercourse, f&m!receiving oral, pet names, mutual masturbation, dry humping, office sex, enemies to lovers, mentions of drugs & violence, more tags added on fic

in the heart of Colombia’s war on narcos, you, a forensic scientist transfer in from the states. you find yourself working closely with Javier Peña and quickly find that he isn’t the man who stays—letting him in will only lead to heartbreak.

LAST UPDATED: 12 JAN 2025

[passionwillow]

Friendship Bracelets

I came up with this in my head last night while I was half asleep lol. Takes place during season 1 because that’s where I am on my rewatch of NCIS.

Reader is mid-late twenties. No warnings, just fluff! Just a cute lil blurb.

You work as a forensic scientist side by side with Abby at NCIS. She’s one of your closest friends there, along with Kate and Ducky (you’re the only one who’s really interested in hearing his stories).

DiNozzo is that annoying order brother you can’t stand yet love dearly at the same time. Gibbs, on the other hand.. You really weren’t sure.

He could be a hard ass boss, and yet there were times he’d just sit and listen to you talk, head cocked with that familiar little smile on his lips, blue eyes amused. You sometimes expected him to tell you to “get to the point”, but he didn’t. Just listened.

You were as much a coffee addict as he was, and you were always pleasantly surprised when he’d bring you a cup in the morning, pressing a light peck to your cheek before getting to work.

It was shortly after you started that your love for arts and crafts came out. You and Kate loved sketching things out together, and you were always making little trinkets for Abby.

But one night, unable to sleep, you made friendship bracelets for everyone. You chose specific colors for everyone, little charms that reminded you of them, and took them in the next day.

Abby wore hers immediately, grinning ear to ear and showing it off to Ducky, the older man surprised when receiving his and delving into a story about bracelets and the history behind them. You handed out the rest of them through the day, Kate and Tony keeping it at their desk as a little decoration.

But Gibbs surprised you. You half expected him to take the bracelet without comment, setting it aside and delving into the case file in his hands. But he took it and admired the blue beads you pick out, the little wood carving you added on.

And he smiled.

He stood up and pressed that little kiss to your cheek, slipping it on his wrist and walking off without a word.

And he wore it ever since.

There wasn’t a day you saw him without it, and every time he spotted you looking at it he’d smile.

[hirayalore]

( 01. ) IN THE WAKE OF US.

when the passing of james and lily turns your world upside down, sirius is determined to face it with you, taking it upon himself to be the person that you need now that your older brother is no longer here.

amidst balancing shared grief, unexpected responsibilities, and a blooming familial dynamic with him and harry—you suddenly find yourself forging an unexplainable deeper bond with sirius that you’re not sure what to make out of, especially when other... odd emotions get involved that can’t be easily ignored.

pairing: sirius black x potter!reader

word count: 2.1k

rating: 18+

content: angst, fluff, nsfw | muggle au, modern au, brother’s best friend trope, forced proximity trope, childhood sweethearts trope (if you squint lmao), slow burn!!!! | ft. forensic scientist!sirius, artist!reader; philosophy professor!remus

warning/s: james and lily death (car crash, not detailed), grief, swearing, mature themes

[ chapter index. ]

CHAPTER ONE: YOU

The only thing grounding you at this moment is Sirius’ touch, his palms pressed on your knees as he’s crouched down in front of you. You’re sitting on the bench provided in the hospital hallways, still spiralling, still convincing yourself that maybe if you pinch your skin hard enough, you’ll jolt awake and all of this will be over.

“____,” he says your name, the sound of his voice enough to coax you to flutter your eyes open, meeting his gaze that is uncharacteristically soft.

You blink. 

It’s funny, the more you think of it. The first person you never thought you’d call in an instance like this is Sirius. Mostly because… well, he’s Sirius. He’s the more annoying version of your brother, the bad influence, the one who only had to smirk and you’d automatically know that he’s trouble.

But perhaps if there’s also something you know about Sirius, it’s that his bond with James is something else. The two of them have always been more like brothers than friends, this unexplainable connection they had so seamless and natural that being part of Sirius’ life and him to yours was eventually easy too. 

You feel his thumb gently rub against the material of your pants.

“Hm?” you weakly ask, dazed and exhausted.

“We have to contact Lily’s family,” he says. “I’m not sure if you have her sister’s number but—”

“I have it,” you say, sighing and rubbing your face with your palms. “I mean, I think I do. I used the number to contact Petunia before when I was helping out with Lily's bachelorette party, but she never responded.”

“Well, it’s still better to try.”

“Yeah, of course.” You take your phone out and go to your contacts, scrolling, but as you do, Sirius grabs the device from your fingers and moves to take the vacant spot beside you.

“I’ll handle it,” he explains, taking his own phone out and transferring the number to his.

You nod and go back to staring at the floor, no energy to argue when you can’t even think straight.

It’s a good thing that a pediatric nurse took Harry in the meantime as you gather your thoughts. She probably saw how messed up you were earlier when you were crying in Sirius’ arms, or maybe it was protocol for situations like these, when family members with children didn’t have the emotional capacity to look after them that they just volunteer to do the job for a few hours. You’re not sure. You’re just grateful that you don’t have to balance being a caring aunt and a mourning sister amidst everything at the moment.

“You want me to call Moony?” You hear Sirius speak again, your phone being handed back to you.

You swallow hard. More people being told about what happened would make it more real. Still, you nod. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He does a motion of standing up, though halts halfway, his bottom falling back on the seat as he touches your knee again.

You look at him. You see the cracks of pain in his eyes that he’s somehow doing a far better job with holding it together unlike you are. “Don’t,” you mumble and he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start saying sorry like the shit people do when they discover someone from your family died.”

A halfhearted snort escapes him. “That wasn’t what I was  going to do.”

“No?”

“No.” He shakes his head, a few strands of his dark hair falling from where it’s tucked behind his ear.

You take a slow breath. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like a guy who’s concerned about you?” He points out. “I’m just making sure you’re alright, ____,” he says, his features softening up in a manner that appears so unusual, “which I know sounds stupid because it’s obvious that you’re not. Nobody in the right mind would be.”

Your eyes begin to water again, the reminder of why you’re in this horrible state filling up your head.

At the sight, Sirius curses under his breath, wordlessly bringing a hand on the back of your head to bring you closer, holding you as you pathetically find yourself crying for the hundredth time. “Look,” he begins, speaking against your hair, “you have me, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. There’s no bloody manuals with these things, is there?”

“There should be. Something titled Grief for Dummies—or How to Survive When Every Family You Have Is Dead.”

“Stop that.” He hisses.

But it’s true, you want to say, with the exception of Harry, of course. Other than your nephew? No one is here anymore. Your mother died giving birth to you, your father died a few years shortly after, and now James is gone too. You’re having a hard time grasping how you’re supposed to live your life moving forward.

“I’m scared, Sirius,” you murmur, not knowing why you’re on the roll with the vulnerability tonight, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “I wish… I wish this was just easier. That it didn’t have to happen. Or it was me who was—”

”Hey,” he interjects, pulling away and placing a warm hand on your cheek. It smells faintly of cigarettes, and if it wasn’t for the fact that your body seeks for comfort right now, you would have shoved it away. “I mean it. Stop it. I won’t tolerate this kind of shit talk.”

“Or what?” you deadpan. “At this point, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

His lips press in a thin line. And then he brings you under his chin rubbing a thumb on your arm and letting you breathe in and out.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, but time has been moving far too slowly since James and Lily’s death. Eventually, you find yourself being led to the pediatric observation room of the hospital where Harry is, Sirius’ steady arm on your shoulders, like he’s afraid you’d collapse on the ground if he doesn’t hold you tight enough—which to be fair, you would agree with.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” he says just as you’re about to approach the doors leading to where your nephew is, “I’ll handle James and Lily’s funeral arrangements. I’ll be in charge of calling any relatives or friends that may want to know about their passing too.”

You open your mouth to speak but he shakes his head, continuing on.

“If you’re worried about the expenses, I have it handled. We can talk about the cost after everything is done if you want to split it—or not. You don’t have to pay it back, I don’t really care. I just want you to know that you don’t have to think about that right now, ___.”

You frown. It seems too much to let Sirius handle like that when technically it shouldn’t be his responsibility. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Okay, but—” you sigh, combing your fingers along your hair— “if you’re short on money or whatever—I’m not sure how much it’s supposed to cost—just tell me, okay? Maybe they have life insurance that we can—” You feel like rambling again and it’s Sirius’ hands on your shoulders that grounds you back on your feet.

“Hey,” he says and when you look up, there’s a hint of that familiar mischievousness in his eyes, “do you really think I would run short on money?”

You scoff out a halfhearted laugh, the first of the evening. “Show off.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know who you are.”

“That’s not—” He chuckles, rolling his eyes, while the ends of your mouth twitch. “Anyway, we’re clear on that, okay? I handle the funeral arrangements.”

You nod. “And what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Start finding a lawyer. For legal custody over Harry.”

Your head begins to pound at the reminder of another thing you have to stress over. “Yeah, fuck. I thought those things were automatic.”

“I can give Regulus a call. He might know someone.”

You can’t help but gape at him. “Since when did you become all chummy again with Regulus?”

“Since Walburga died.” He shrugs, mentioning the name of his mother without any hint of sadness or regret. “Turns out having both of our parents dead would make it easier to be brothers.”

Your mind flashes back to four years ago when Walburga died. You discovered it through James who broke the news like he was only informing you that your favorite cereal was out of stock at the market. And you can’t blame him for the showcase of indifference, not when to his eyes and yours, the rest of the Black family are not exactly the type of people you’d mourn about.

You knew that from the moment Sirius, at the age of 16, arrived at the doorstep of your household, announcing that he ran away from home and that he could no longer live in the same space as his horrid parents.

Still, you sent a text to Sirius when you heard about his mother’s passing, and he replied with a remark about finally being a freeman that you snorted to when you read it.

“So, you want me to call Reg?” he asks, and the nickname throws you off a bit.

You take a long inhale. “You’ve already been doing so much for the last five hours.”

“And?”

“And I think I can handle finding a lawyer on my own.”

“You think?” His piercing gray eyes analyze you like he has you memorized inside and out. “You might be forgetting, but my family has a law firm. One that Reg is co-managing right now.”

“Stop flexing how rich you are, Sirius,” you say as a joke.

He smirks. “It’s not a flex, it’s a fact.”

“Shut up.”

The smirk widens. “That settles it then. I’ll call Reg too, and I’ll forward you the number when he refers me to a competent family lawyer.”

“You don’t have to—” You stop talking when he raises a brow. “I just—it’s too much. You’ve already been doing so much,” you reiterate.

“____,” he says your name in a gentle tone, a tone that doesn’t match the ruggedness of his exterior, “let me do it. I’m not only doing this for you and Harry. I’m doing it for James.”

Your throat tightens and there’s a pressure building between your eyes.

“He wouldn’t want me to let his kid sister do this on her own,” he adds.

You huff, staring upwards and blinking to prevent any tears from spilling once again. “I’m not a kid.”

“I’m well-aware.”

With that, the conversation leads to you giving him the greenlight to talk to Regulus about finding a capable family lawyer, and Sirius gives you a tired smile before heading to the parking lot to make his calls and probably to have a smoke too, judging from how he’s already placing a stick between his teeth as he stalks off.

That leaves you to enter the pediatric observation room where Harry is bundled in, sleeping and completely unaware that it’s just you who he has now. You talk to the nurse and thank her, saying she can take a break and that you’ll call her again when you need her, and she nods and offers a warm smile.

Once the door closes, you look at Harry, caressing his head as a shaky breath escapes you.

He coos, opening his green eyes for a millisecond and then reaching out, causing you to go ahead and present an index finger to have his little hand fist around it.

At that, your heart melts and your eyes begin to get glassy once more. Suddenly you find all the motivation you need to keep going, to push back any selfish and negative thoughts you had earlier about not knowing what to live for now that James is gone.

Your mind brings you back to when your father died and James was perhaps in the same position you are at this moment, clueless at the age of 20 on how he’s supposed to take care of himself and his younger sister without the guidance of anyone but Google or Reddit. Even though he and Lily were already together, and that her presence gave him all the comfort and strength to be strong, you understand now how it must have taken all his courage to step up and never let you see even an ounce of devastation in his state.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, buddy,” you murmur.

Harry’s hand tightens.

You try to hold it in, but a sob escapes, shaky and quiet. You wipe them away with your free hand hastily, promising that as soon as you wake up tomorrow, you’re going to get your shit together and be the best person your nephew will have by his side.

Just like James was.

You’ll spend the rest of your life making sure of it.

note. see the parallel???? SJDSHDJS just dropping by to say that i’m so excited for this series but also want to apologize if updates go really slow sometimes!! unfortunately my day job also requires a lot of writing so please forgive me if i do not have the brain cells to write for this one <3

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[bigtreefest]

The Rainmaker Masterlist

A Mob! Steve Rogers x Forensic Scientist! Reader Series

Part of the Outta Nowhere AU

Main Masterlist

Series Summary: You’re just trying to do your job, solving crimes and running tests. It doesn’t help, though, that a certain ‘business man’ keeps showing up, a little too curious about your work

1. Fix Your Shoelaces

2. Cooks in the Kitchen

3. Pick Up The Pace

4. Splash Zone

5. So That’s What It Means

6. Storm Warning

7. Help the Bear

8. Never Be Sorry

9. Shortcut

10. Waste of Lime

11. Luke Warm

12. Free Time

13. Alone Together

14. How About Pizza?

15. Cold, Then Hot

16. Banana Pancakes

17. Your Man

18. I Know You Do

Drabbles & Extras

Getting Along (ask answered)

Decks vs Honeybee Character Distinctions

How the Outta Nowhere AU Chapters line up

Conflict Resolution (ask answered)

Woman In Black (Future Halloween)

[p-taryn-dactyl]

maybe for way down we go somehow agatha manipulates everyone/the evidence so it looks like she's innocent/falsely accused or reader has to hide her bc she doesn't want aggie to go back to jail idk I'm sorry lol i just love reading your work

way down we go: the aftermath (ii)

a/n: ok confess did you read my mind? but really, i’m so glad you sent this in bc i was wondering if the ideas i had were bad😭 but great minds think alike and so now here’s part 2 hehehe (also thank you anon! i’m so happy you enjoy my work!) edit: dear god i am so embarrassed by what i have written here but also i hope some of y'all like it?? oh god imma go climb in a hole christ maybe i should go back to church idk word count: 1.6k warning(s): first part of this fic is smut, or what i consider smut (ok idk why it's harder for me to write spicy shit on this blog when ive written it so many other times) the rest is back to normal production of murder, crime and debauchery; like a second or two of angst; im making so much of this shit up plz don't come for me

Once she started, it felt like she would never stop. 

You didn’t want her to. 

Your hands grasped Agatha’s neck and shoulders, trembling as she brought crashing waves of pleasure over you. With eyes screwed shut, your head leaned back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. But your wife wouldn’t allow you to rest. With the hand not pumping into you, she grasped your chin, forcing you to look at her as you pried your eyes open.

“Look at me,” her voice commanded softly as the heel of her hand pressed into your clit, drawing a surprised whimper from your lips as her pace became slow and languid, “I want to see what I do to you, what only I do to you.”

At her words, there was a question radiating in her eyes, along with a sudden hardness that took your remaining breath away. You tightened your grip on your wife, following her instructions and looking deep into her eyes. 

“There was no one else, there’s always been no one else. Only you.” 

Agatha nodded slightly, increasing her pace once more and looking proud of herself as your face twisted with pleasure. 

“Only me.”

Agatha added a finger, continuously brushing your bundle of nerves with the heel of her hand, relishing in your moans and how you wrapped your arms even tighter around her neck, bringing a hand to tangle in her hair and bring her into a crashing kiss. A battle for dominance was quickly lost as her tongue parted your lips, devouring you. You felt your mind grow hazy from pleasure, the hot coil in your abdomen threatening to snap. 

The ring of your phone interrupted everything. 

You felt it buzz in your backpocket, vibrating against the wall behind you. 

Agatha didn’t like your attention being taken away. 

She shifted, removing her fingers from you, much to your chagrin. You only had a moment to process before you were moved. In a blur, you now sat in the very chair Agatha once sat, your legs propped over her shoulders, your phone in her hand as she handed it to you. You furrowed your brow in confusion as you watched it ring, Agatha’s eyes never leaving yours. 

“Answer it, we can’t have anyone worrying for you.” There was something in Agatha’s tone that you couldn’t decipher but you couldn’t go against what she told you to do. You put your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button. Darcy’s panicked ramblings flooded out, barely giving you time to answer any of her questions. 

“Did you see the news? Y/N, this is crazy. Do you think she escaped? Oh god with our luck she was behind it all! Where are you right now? Do you need company? Girl I can be over to your place so fast-”

You were quickly distracted from your best friend as you felt Agatha’s hands tighten on your thighs, pulling your pants and underwear down with her teeth. She only took a second to take in the sight in front of her, your glistening folds, wet from the pleasure she gave you. Then she dove straight in. You could barely contain your surprised squeal, slapping your free hand over your mouth. 

She was relentless, fingers parting your folds as her mouth covered your entire core, tongue going straight to your clit. It was like she was doing everything to get you to fall apart before her and you were oh so close.

"...Y/N, are you ok?"

It was like Darcy was speaking to you underwater, your focus purely on how your wife's head moved between your legs. Swallowing back a moan as Agatha's tongue flattened and lapped harshly at your folds, you gave your friend an answer.

"Yeah...I'm, I'm just shaken. Can I call you la-later?"

You could practically feel Darcy's hesitation through the phone but the second she agreed you hit the hang up button. Throwing your phone onto the floor somewhere, your hands tangled in Agatha's hair, encouraging her. You felt her smirking before she removed a hand from your thigh to slip two fingers into you, almost immediately finding that electric spot within you. Paired with her lips and tongue staying firmly suctioned onto your clit, you felt your orgasm crash into you and over you. Your mind and body felt seperated as you caught your breath, Agatha peeling herself away from you, coming up to kiss your forehead. She nuzzled you with her nose for a moment, the soft action sending you into a light sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The weeks that followed Agatha's return were nothing less than stressful. Constantly looking over your shoulder as you walked into your home, unplugging every and any device that could connect to internet, and ordering food but having them deliver to your neighbor finally made you snap one day at the lab.

You knew how to do it, you knew how to collect evidence, how to manipulate it wasn't exactly hard.

The issue was Darcy.

While she was a great friend, constantly checking in on you, making sure you were okay with your supposed serial killer ex-wife being on the run, she was the greatest obstacle in your goal.

One night, while the two of you had dinner, you mentioned this to Agatha, angry at yourself for being untruthfull to your friend.

"Well, I could always," Agatha made a gesture with her knife jokingly, smirking to herself as she cut into the steak. It was like all the air left the room, the reminder of what your wife was hitting you like a truck. At your silence, Agatha looked up, her eyes widening at your expression. With a shaking hand, you pointed at your wife and shook your head.

"No, no, you don't-" your voice broke as everything swirled around in your mind, "You don't joke about that. Definitely not about Darcy."

Agatha opened her mouth to respond but you found yourself not wanting to hear her voice. Some petty, evil, part of you called from the dark part of your mind to call the police. Turn Agatha in once more and remove the weight from your shoulders.

You ignored that thought, instead pushing your chair away from the table before Agatha could speak and walking to the bedroom, calling over your shoulder.

"I'm going to bed, I need to think."

You got into your pajamas, going through your nightly routine with a lump in your throat, like your flight or fight was being triggered. It took a while for you to notice that Agatha had yet to come to bed, the time well into the night. Making your way into the living room, you took some steadying breaths. While your reaction was valid, maybe you should've stayed to listen to what she had to say. When you crossed the threshold into the living room, you saw that Agatha had gotten some spare blankets out of a closest, making bed on the couch. She too was awake and smiled at you hesitantly when she noticed you standing in the walkway.

"I didn't know if you would appreciate my company tonight." Her voice was soft, almost as if she was trying to be careful. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow.

"I always appreciate your company, I didn't appreciate the comment you made."

Agatha nodded, slowly getting up from the couch to come stand in front of you, holding her hands up as if she wanted to hold you.

"It's too early for jokes, I understand."

At a peculiarly pointed glare, Agatha quickly added on,

"And Darcy is off limits, of course. I would never, I mean- she's safe, totally safe."

Some part of you wanted to laugh at your flustered serial killer wife but you simply held out a hand, pulling her back to your bedroom, your plan and anxiety of tomorrow swirling in your head.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You'd never been more grateful for a robbery before. Since you specialized in murder or special victim cases, you were able to stay behind in the lab while Darcy and Jimmy went to case the gas station and talk to the poor teen who was at the register. You reviewed the two key pieces of evidence that were used to hammer the final nail in Agatha's coffin. A strand of hair and the blood profile. Anything else was circumstancial or based on a loose psychological profile.

The hair was easy enough to make doubtful as it wasn't a reliable source by itself. The follicle of the strand wasn't even attatched, meaning the only use this had was to be compared with a strand of Agatha's hair taken during the trial process.

One click and the hair was digitally gone.

The blood, however, was the tricky part. It was a 94% match to your wife, meaning it could either be her or a relative. You felt your stomach drop when you realized this could be the evidence that ruins everythings.

Until you noticed something.

In your report, in the other forensic report, and in the court transcript, it said the other blood profile was heavily mixed into the victims. You did a cross reference between Agatha's supposed blood and the victims, the result showing that one couldn't be distinguished from the other. Agatha's blood was triggered as the closest possible match of the two blood profiles, even though realistically the computer should've said the evidence was inconclusive.

An excuse formed in your head.

You, and your team, were so focused on catching the serial killer that had been terrorizing the town, you had overlooked key inconsistencies, instead focusing on the one true suspect you'd had on the case.

One click. The blood was deemed inconclusive.

One click, the case was reopened.

One click, all evidence of Agatha being guilty was erased.

One click, no one would know it was you who had manipulated the system.

One click.

Agatha was officially innocent.

a/n: was this ok? lie to me and say yes, wait no don't do that I'll get happy then remember you're lying and then ill be sad. on another note, r is officially a criminal whoo. i do have something planned for this series but can y'all tell me if you genuinely like this series? many thanks 🙏

[orangeblossomsintheair]

DON’T BE A STRANGER | CS55

summary : faceless driver + secretly royalty carlos sainz w leclerc!reader

wc : 2k

an : ring ding ding ding- its me again >:)) what an amazing week this has been on the website, thxx everyone. i mostly just wrote this so the idea could stop bludgeoning me

The faceless driver of Ferrari steps onto the paddock like a rumor, all sharp lines and shadows, the prickle of something not quite real. They call him Sainz, only Sainz, as if a single name could hold the weight of everything unknown.

His helmet never comes off.

Never.

Not on the podium, not in interviews, not in moments of victory or failure.

A flawless red shell.

And the rumors?

They twist through the paddock like smoke from an invisible fire, impossible to pin down but inescapable all the same. Louder than the engines sometimes, they cling to the corners of conversations, the edges of glances, until the air is thick with questions no one can answer.

After all, the motorsports world is small, excruciatingly tight-knit, and talent doesn’t spring from nowhere. It has roots. And roots, as everyone in the paddock knows, have a way of surfacing when you dig deep enough.

Surely, he belongs to someone.

People don’t just rise to the pinnacle of Formula 1 without a trail to follow, without whispers of their origin. There are always breadcrumbs: the karting academy, the private sponsors, the family connections that weave a web so tight it’s impossible to escape.

And yet, with Sainz, the web feels intentionally erased.

Which is why the theories have grown, wild and unruly, feeding on the silence Ferrari so fiercely maintains.

Some say he’s royalty.

“Think about it,” one engineer murmured late one evening over drinks at the hospitality tent. “It makes sense. Why else would Ferrari go to such lengths to protect him? Royals love their secrets.”

“Royals?” The mechanic across from him snorted into his beer. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids. Royals don’t hide. They thrive on attention.”

“Not if they’ve got something to lose.”

“Like what? A throne?”

The first engineer leaned back, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not? Formula 1’s full of money, right? What’s the difference between a billionaire’s kid and a prince? Nothing. Except one of them has a crown.”

The argument has traction, though. The idea that Sainz is an heir to a European throne, Spanish, most likely, has fueled countless debates, forums, and conspiracy threads.

“Think about it,” fans say online, dissecting every detail like forensic scientists. “A prince could afford the best. He’d have access to elite training, connections, and anonymity if he wanted it. He’d be untouchable.”

And yet, skeptics roll their eyes at the notion. “If he were a prince,” they argue, “you think Ferrari wouldn’t plaster that all over their marketing? A royal in the red? They’d be printing posters and selling merch faster than the car hits 200 miles an hour.”

It’s a fair point. Ferrari doesn’t just protect Sainz, they shield him, encase him in layers of secrecy that feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Why? That’s the question that eats at everyone.

They defend him like he’s the crown jewel of Maranello, and when it comes to Ferrari, you don’t defend just anyone like that. The Scuderia doesn’t go to bat for drivers like they go to bat for Sainz.

Why would Ferrari, a team known for its relentless media machine, its flair for drama, its love of spectacle, choose to keep someone like Sainz hidden?

Why fight tooth and nail to keep his helmet on, even when the FIA itself came knocking?

The fight with the FIA was the turning point.

It started with whispers, rumblings that the governing body was “concerned” about Sainz’s anonymity. Drivers, after all, are public figures. Fans deserve transparency, or so the FIA claimed. There were rumors of mandatory press appearances without helmets, of new regulations aimed squarely at pulling Sainz into the light.

Ferrari’s response was swift, brutal, and uncompromising.

“The helmet stays on,” Luca, Ferrari’s head of PR, told the press during a heated exchange after qualifying in Monaco. His tone brooked no argument. “His performance speaks for itself. His identity is irrelevant.”

When pressed further, Luca leaned into the microphone, his voice like steel. “We protect our drivers. Always. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the board in Maranello.”

Behind closed doors, it was said that Ferrari’s lawyers were already drafting lawsuits before the FIA even made their first official statement. Confidential documents circulated among team principals hinted at Ferrari’s threat to pull out of the championship entirely if Sainz’s privacy was breached.

“They’d never leave,” Toto Wolff scoffed during a press conference. “Ferrari is Formula 1.”

But the threat worked.

The FIA backed down, releasing a carefully worded statement about “respecting driver boundaries” and “valuing individual choices.” And just like that, Sainz’s helmet remained firmly in place, untouchable once more.

It was the kind of move that convinced everyone that Sainz wasn’t just another driver. Ferrari doesn’t go to war for nobodies. They don’t risk their reputation, their legacy, for just anyone.

“He must be someone important,” a junior driver muttered once, staring at Sainz’s car as it glided into the garage. “You don’t get that kind of protection unless you’re…”

“Unless you’re what?”

The driver hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

But here’s the thing: it’s never enough.

The rumors spread, and with them, the obsession. The more they try to pin him down, the more he slips through their fingers. It’s the perfect magic trick. Sainz isn’t just a driver.

He’s a myth, an idea, a story unfolding with every lap.

He is both the question and the answer.

—-

The paddock is a sensory overload: cameras flashing, fans yelling, mechanics rushing around like their lives depend on it. The heat and humidity press down on you like a second skin.

You weave through the chaos, dodging a camera crew and a gaggle of reporters, the noise too loud, the air too thick.

All you want is a quiet place to breathe.

You pull your phone out and fire off a quick text to Charles. Where are you?

The reply comes almost instantly. Driver’s room. Come here.

Relief washes over you.

Finally, somewhere away from all this madness.

You know the layout of the Ferrari paddock well enough to navigate without issue, your access pass swinging from your neck giving you clearance to move unbothered.

You round a corner and spot a door, slightly ajar, with a sign you swear reads “Leclerc.” Close enough. Without thinking, you push it open and step inside.

It’s quieter in here, the noise from outside muffled by thick walls. You let out a breath, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. But as you glance around, something feels… off.

This isn’t Charles’s room.

The walls are too clean, the floor too pristine. There’s no sign of your brother’s clutter: no jacket thrown over a chair, no half-finished water bottle on the counter. Instead, everything is painfully organized, the space clinical in its perfection. And the overwhelming Ferrari red, too much of it, everywhere, makes your stomach twist.

Before you can retreat, you hear footsteps. Sharp. Purposeful. Coming right toward you.

Your pulse spikes. You freeze, too startled to even turn around. When the figure emerges, it’s not Charles, or a mechanic, or anyone you recognize.

It’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a kind of quiet intensity that instantly sets you on edge. He’s already pulling a balaclava over his head, but not quickly enough, you catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline, his piercing dark eyes. He stops when he sees you, his body going rigid like a predator caught off guard.

His voice slices through the silence, sharp and low. “Who the fuck are you?”

You flinch, your throat dry as you scramble to explain. “I- uh- this is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps, cutting you off. His accent is Spanish, his tone icy. “How did you even get in?”

Your brain short-circuits. The balaclava, his tense posture, the way he’s blocking the door—it all screams danger.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, fumbling for your phone.

“I- uh- just stay right there!” you stammer, raising the phone like it’s a shield. “I’m recording this! You’re not gonna- uh- get away with- whatever you’re doing!”

The man’s eyes narrow. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, with terrifying speed, he lunges forward and snatches the phone out of your hand.

“Are you serious?” he growls, holding your phone up like it’s a toy. His voice drips with disdain. “You barge into my space, and now you’re trying to record me? Do you even know who I am?”

“No! Do you know who I am?” you snap back, panic making your voice louder than you intended. “You’re the creep in my brother’s driver room! I should be suing you!”

He pauses, his head tilting slightly, confusion flashing across his face. “Your brother?”

“Yes, my brother!” you shout, emboldened by your growing irritation. “Charles Leclerc? Ring a bell?”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place- amusement? Annoyance?

“Leclerc,” he repeats, almost like he’s tasting the name.

“Yes! And he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out- ”

“This isn’t his room.”

His words are slow, deliberate, and laced with sarcasm. They hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You blink, your bravado evaporating. “What?”

He gestures lazily toward the door. “The name on the sign. Read it.”

Your stomach churns as you turn to look. There, in bold letters, is a name that definitely isn’t “Leclerc.”

Sainz.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, the realization crashing down on you.

“Anything else you want to accuse me of?”

You stammer out a garbled apology, your face burning with embarrassment. “I- uh- thought- I mean- oh god, I’m so sorry- ”

“You thought,” Sainz interrupts, his voice flat, “so now I’m the creep in your brother’s room? Really?”

Your tongue feels like lead. Every molecule of bravery evaporates under the weight of his piercing stare. “I didn’t- I mean, I-”

He sighs, glancing at the phone in his hand. “Did you take any photos?”

“What?” you squeak.

“Photos.” His tone sharpens, patience wearing thin. “Did you take any?”

“No!” you exclaim, horrified by the implication. “Why would I-”

“Because if you did,” he cuts you off, leaning in slightly, “I’ll sue you.”

You take an involuntary step back. “Sue me? For what?”

“For trespassing,” he replies coolly. “For invading my privacy. For whatever the hell I decide to call it. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t even know this was your room!” you blurt out, frustration bubbling over. “I wasn’t trying to invade anything! And you’re the one wearing a balaclava like some kind of-”

“Like some kind of what?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“Like some kind of criminal!” you fire back, your voice rising in pitch.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air. His lips twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh, but his gaze stays icy.

“I wear this because I’m a driver,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child. “Not because I’m robbing a bank.”

You press your lips together, mortified and furious at the same time. “Look,” you say, holding out your hand for your phone, “this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in here, and I didn’t take any photos. Can I just have my phone back so I can leave?”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally handing it over. “If I find out you lied,” he warns, “I will sue.”

“Noted,” you mutter, clutching your phone like it’s your lifeline.

You spin on your heel, desperate to escape this nightmare, but his voice stops you just as you reach the door.

“And maybe next time,” he calls after you, “learn how to read a sign.”

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Your face is burning, your heart is racing, and the humiliation is seared into your memory forever.

[maisie183]

The silence between us

Pairing: Dexter Morgan x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve just started working at Miami Metro as a forensic scientist, and though Dexter Morgan initially seems distant and emotionless, his quiet presence begins to draw you in. As the friendship slowly develops, you find yourself falling for him, even though you’re convinced that he doesn’t share the same feelings. Little do you know, Dexter is battling an internal conflict of his own.

Warnings: Mild language, psychological tension, slow-burn romance, minor violence (typical for a Dexter setting), angst  

Word Count: 1,343 words

Miami heat had a way of sticking to your skin, making every breath feel heavy and damp. The cold blast of the A/C inside Miami Metro Homicide was always a relief, though the sterile environment felt unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

You weren't sure what you expected from your first day as a forensic scientist in the trace evidence department, but the place was already bustling when you walked in. Detectives scurried from one desk to another, phones ringing off the hook, and conversations about cases filled the air.

You were just trying to find your footing, balancing coffee in one hand, a new ID badge in the other, and navigating the maze of desks when you spotted him—Dexter Morgan. Everyone knew his name. He was the mysterious blood-spatter analyst, infamous for being exceptional at his job but with a demeanor that left people guessing. You’d heard whispers about his distant personality, the kind of guy who never really let anyone in.

He was there, sitting quietly at his desk, eyes focused on some blood-pattern analysis, the sharp angles of his face set in concentration. His posture was relaxed, but there was a coldness to him—a silence that felt unnatural. You swallowed and continued on, trying not to stare.

Over the next few weeks, you settled into your role, working on trace evidence analysis alongside Dexter, though you rarely exchanged more than a few words. It wasn’t until the third week, during an unusually gruesome case involving a triple homicide, that you finally had a conversation that wasn’t purely professional.

You were both tasked with examining the scene. Dexter was working on blood spatter while you gathered trace fibers. The quiet tension in the room seemed to thicken as you moved around the scene in silence. It was hard to ignore the way Dexter was so methodical, calculating, and completely detached from the violence.

“Does this stuff ever get to you?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice slightly muffled by the forensic mask covering your mouth. You weren’t sure why you were talking to him, but the eerie stillness of the crime scene and his distant nature compelled you to reach out.

Dexter didn’t look up from his work. “No.”

One word. Simple. Cold.

You blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Not even a little?”

He paused, turning his head slightly to glance at you, his eyes unreadable beneath the fluorescent lighting. “Should it?”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I guess not. It’s just… a lot to process sometimes.”

He nodded, but there was no flicker of emotion in his expression, nothing to suggest that he understood what you were saying on any level. You decided to let the conversation die, returning to your work, though his cold demeanor lingered in your mind long after you left the scene.

----

Despite his distant nature, you found yourself paired with Dexter more often than not. Cases brought you together, and while most of your conversations were minimal, you began to notice small things. The way his eyes would narrow when examining a particularly puzzling pattern, the occasional, almost imperceptible quirk of his lips when something amused him (though that was rare), and the fact that he seemed to enjoy your company—not that he’d ever admit it.

Lunches at the food truck parked outside Miami Metro became routine. You never ate together, per se, but it became normal to run into him, grab your food at the same time, and exchange brief conversations about the cases you were working on. His responses were always short, but he was attentive. The more you spoke, the more you started to see cracks in his cold exterior.

One afternoon, after a particularly long day in the lab, you both found yourselves in the break room. You were rummaging through the fridge, searching for your leftover sandwich, when Dexter walked in, grabbing his own lunch from the fridge. For a few minutes, the two of you ate in silence—something that had strangely become comfortable.

“Why trace evidence?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. You looked up, startled that he had initiated a conversation.

You shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s a puzzle, you know? Small things people don’t notice can tell the whole story.”

Dexter nodded, his gaze sharp. “I know what you mean.”

There was something in his voice, something dark and distant, that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You couldn’t quite place it, but you found yourself wanting to peel back the layers of whatever he was hiding.

“Why blood spatter?” you asked, returning the question.

Dexter’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Patterns are predictable.”

You smirked. “People aren’t.”

His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, there was something there—something unreadable but undeniable. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. Dexter looked away, his mask back in place.

----

Over the next few months, you and Dexter settled into an odd but comfortable rhythm. You never defined it as a friendship, after all, Dexter wasn’t exactly the friendship type. But there was a familiarity in your interactions now, a quiet understanding that neither of you acknowledged aloud.

And yet, you couldn’t help but notice the way your chest tightened whenever he was near. The way his voice, calm and detached, made your heart skip in ways it shouldn’t. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that you were just overthinking things, and that Dexter, of all people, was probably the least likely person to ever reciprocate those feelings. He didn’t even seem capable of them.

But that didn’t stop your mind from wandering late at night, thinking about him. Thinking about the way his eyes lingered on yours during those rare moments of vulnerability. Wondering if there was something—anything—behind the cold mask he wore.

You were foolish for letting yourself feel this way. Dexter was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a riddle with no answer. And yet, you found yourself getting lost in his silence.

---.

One evening, long after everyone had left the office, you were still there, finishing up some final touches on a report. You were surprised when Dexter’s presence filled the doorway.

“Still here?” he asked, his voice as neutral as ever.

“Yeah, just finishing up,” you said, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your tired eyes. “You?”

“Same.”

There was a pause, a strange heaviness in the air as Dexter walked further into the room. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to say something, but instead, he moved to the window, gazing out at the darkened skyline.

“You don’t have to stay so late, you know,” you said, trying to break the silence. “You could let the rest of us handle things once in a while.”

“I don’t mind,” Dexter replied, his voice soft.

You watched him for a moment, the familiar tightening in your chest making it hard to breathe. There was something about the way he stood there, so completely isolated from the world around him. Something about the way his eyes looked out at the city but never really saw it.

“Do you ever feel… lonely?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted asking.

Dexter turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes shifted. “No,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his gaze—something human.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Dexter turned back to the window, his mask firmly back in place.

You swallowed, the silence between you suddenly too loud. You stood from your chair, gathering your things. “I should go,” you said, your voice tight. “Goodnight, Dexter.”

He didn’t reply, and as you walked out of the office, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were falling for a man who would never be able to love you back.

----

To be continued???

-----------------

Writers Note: I just looked at the poll I did a few days back, and saw that a Dexter story was most appreciated from the voters. So here it is. For this story I again used an AI writing tool to help bring it to life, since as I said before, I am not a writer, I am a reader. I hope that is okay. The last thing I want, is to disrespect the writing community in any way. Btw, if someone has already posted a fic with the same themes/idea, tag them so I can also tag them on the pic here.

[parfaitblogs]

masterlist 𐙚

all my works are spencer reid x reader (currently)

a playlist (in case you ever want to know what song specifically a fic is about) ♡

key angst ✿ smut ❤︎ fluff ୨୧ requests 𐙚

series ♡

lia’s advent calendar

cedar

one shots ♡

astronomy ✿

(18+) pretty isn’t pretty ✿ ୨୧

𐙚 tolerate it ✿

hard times ✿୨୧

(18+) as time goes by ✿❤︎

(18+) state of grace ୨୧

(18+) persimmon ❤︎

over the moon ୨୧

making the bed ✿୨୧

roadkill ✿୨୧

(18+) baby it’s halloween ❤︎

north star ✿୨୧

𐙚 (18+) it will come back ❤︎

(18+) bad idea right? ❤︎✿

september rain ୨୧

(18+) fresh out the slammer ❤︎

daylight ୨୧

(18+) illicit affairs ✿

never grow up ✿୨୧

(18+) guess ❤︎

risk ୨୧

(18+) false god ❤︎

so high school ୨୧

𐙚 forensic scientist!reader ୨୧

you’re losing me ✿

peace ✿ ୨୧

scared of my guitar ✿

waiting room ✿

-> loml (pt. 2) ✿୨୧

blurbs ♡

(18+) oh my lover ❤︎

𐙚 sunshine!reader ✿୨୧

perfect night ୨୧

oh no! ୨୧

𐙚 girly!reader ୨୧

𐙚 shy!reader ୨୧

𐙚 (18+) clumsy!reader ୨୧

[rosenclaws]

this close to writing my own indulgent hardened but flirty detective logan x nerdy and quiet forensic scientist reader (gonna put this degree to good use fr)

“Got anything for me sweets?” Logan looks utterly delicious in his tight jeans and button up shirt. His badge shines on his waist as he leans against the door to your lab. You look down at your microscope. Trying to contain the butterflies in your stomach.

“Uh, well. There was at least two different guns involved. See these two cartridge cases?” You set the two of them into your microscope and pull up your computer screen.

“They’ve got two completely different apertures. See this one’s rectangular and this one isn’t. It’s not possible for them to have come from the same firearms.” You point it out to him. He hums as he inspects the two cases. He looks over at you and winks.

“Thanks sweetheart, always know I can count on you.” He leaves and you watch him go.

“You’re welcome.” You squeak out after he’s long gone.

With a sigh you look at the pile of work still left to do. Outside of talking about work you can’t seem to say more than two words to the man. He just makes you so flustered. You sit back down in your chair and place the evidence back into its packaging.

Ready to start on more comparisons, you glance towards the door. Hoping he visits again soon.