sharpest tool | s.reid
(chapter three, full machine)
‘I'm a forest fire, you're the kerosene. I had a life here before you, but now it's burnin'. I know I know better and you're ignorin' me, still, if you asked me to run away, i'd go easily’
summary; you know you have a bad history with relationships, so to try not to get in your own head when you stop hearing from spencer.
warnings; fem reader, mentions of bad relationships, ghosting, commitment issues, self doubt & overthinking, preettyy angsty idk guys, no comfort yet but there is some fluff, and theres penelope & reader friendship!! reader lowkey shit talks spencer but he deserves it. reader is embarrassed & upset.
taglist; @gghostwriter @lavonee @guiltyyassin @spencersinonlygf @criminalmindssworld @iknwreid @fortheloveofgubler @yokaimoon @sapphirecobalt-1 @eddiesdrummergf @livvyliv15 @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebastiansstanswhore @bloodredrubyrose @sp3ncelle @nemobee777 @jencole214 @hazzarules
2.1k words.
SERIES MASTERLIST
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since you had last seen Spencer. You understood the demands of his job, that it kept him busy and a lot of the time you were fine with that — you enjoyed your space and your own personal time. You had never had an issue with him being gone on cases before but he would always text you or call you when he got the chance.
And never had he been on a case for two weeks. Not that you knew of anyways.
It was difficult not to jump to conclusions and ruin the idea of him you had. It was difficult not to shut down. It was difficult to not think ‘how could you be so stupid’ and you were trying really really hard to not repeat past mistakes and project past relationships onto this one.
But it wasn’t even a relationship.
It wasn’t like he had talked to you at all. The first two days after he left for his case he had sent you numerous texts, telling you how sorry he was for having to leave early, he called you on the first night and stayed on the phone until you had fallen asleep. Everything was normal. There was nothing that set off any warning bells in your head.
That made you feel even worse.
You hadn’t spammed him with texts, nor calls. You hadn’t messaged him since the last text you sent was left on delivered. You wouldn’t beg for him to reply to you, you wouldn’t beg for an explanation on what you might’ve done wrong. You’d rather live with the lack of closure than further damage to your pride.
But then there was a part of you that wondered if maybe something happened to him, a big part of you worried that something happened to him — actually. You tried to ignore the lingering dwindle of anxiety in your stomach as you carried on with your day to day life. You tried so hard to ignore it.
But two weeks was a long time to ignore an aching gut feeling, one that kept you up at night and never seemed to go away.
Could you have called Spencer? Yes. You could’ve. But did you want to risk the call being ignored and every lingering doubt in your mind being proven correct and then be embarrassed about it? God no.
You were a shame spiral when you instead texted Penelope, who had given you her number when she saw you and Spencer at the grocery store, the last time you had seen him. She begged you to reach out when she got back so you two could arrange to hang out.
You weren’t even sure if they were back. Normally you would know that by Spencer coming over to your house at some ridiculous time and delving into your arms like it was the only place he had ever been able to call home, but he didn’t come over this time.
It was a simple text, ‘Hey Penelope, how are you? I haven’t heard from Spencer in a while so i just wanted to make sure he was okay’
It was good enough. You didn’t want to explain how you just wanted to make sure he was alive so you didn’t feel guilty for hating him. You didn’t exactly want to hate somebody who was dead. Yet a twisted part of you hoped that something had happened to him, because at least then he wasn’t just ignoring you.
What you weren’t expecting was your phone to light up with an incoming call from the one and only Penelope Garcia. You answered it, partly scared that she was calling because texting you to tell you that Spencer was dead seemed insensitive.
“Hello?” You answered. The place in your bed warm from the weight of your body as you shuffled slightly. It wasn’t exactly late, but it was past evening times. You heard mumbling and shuffling on the other side of the phone, before a happy voice.
“Hello my sweet angel!” Penelope greeted you, even in your doubtful mood the warm greeting from the sweet women made a smile line your lips. “I got your message — I’m a little confused. He is fine, he just left work” She answered.
Okay. Not dead.
“Oh” It passed through your lips because now you were just overwhelming confused. “Uh- How long have you guys been back?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer you would receive. You were hoping she would tell you they had only just gotten back, and that the case had been so busy that nobody had time to text anybody.
“A little over a week.” She answered. That made your chest tighten, a lot. Almost painfully. You didn’t want to cry, you didn’t want to give the situation the satisfaction of your tears. You didn’t want to give Spencer any more power over you.
“Right. Okay. Thanks.” It came out shakier than you intended it to be and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. You took pride in your ability to not care about things like this, you didn’t get emotionally involved because of this reason. Your mind was overwhelmed with an abundance of doubts and self depreciation. Embarrassment. You were so embarrassedz
“Did Spencer not tell you? He has been stroppy all week. We thought maybe he had messed up and you were mad at him.” The words came out as a playful joke, but you found it humourless. Because although you weren’t mad at him, you were now.
You wondered if you even had a right to be mad. Clearly he wasn’t dead, so he was just ignoring you. You hated how much that thought made your heart hurt an overwhelming amount. You hated how you had now let someone in enough for their absence to have an effect on you.
“He.. No. He hasn’t told me” You mumbled out, your voice representing how distant your mind was from this conversation. A million different thoughts and each one as bad as the last. You didn’t want to tell his co-worker and one of his friends that he had just up and ghosted you, you didn’t think it was fair, but you could basically hear the confusion and concern lacing her voice. “He hasn’t talked to me at all in over a week..”
“What?” Her response came out hard and fast, tone laced with clear shock and confusion. “Thats- I mean it was a rough case but.. not.. that rough — Maybe he is just overwhelmed? Have you tried calling him? He can get distracted easily.” She rambled, trying just as hard as you were to find a valid explanation for his sudden disappearance.
But you both knew Spencer. Or you thought you did. You knew enough to know about his memory. He didn’t just forget. Or maybe he did. Were you forgettable for him? Were you something so minority important that it slipped through the tight grasp of his memory. Oh that wasn’t a fun thought.
“No- uhm.. I’m not going to call him.. If he wants to talk to me he would.” You muttered. You wanted to believe that, you wanted to not care as much as you were making it out to seem you didn’t. You wanted to feel casually about it. About him.
You really regretted kissing him two months ago.
You wished you could be the type of person who believed that was no point dwelling, the type of person who would be grateful it happened rather than sad it was over — but you just weren’t. You didn’t think you were capable of getting over someone unless you hated them with every fibre of your being. Unless they hurt you to the point of no forgiveness. You couldn’t be glad it happened — not when it ended like this.
It always ended like this, you knew that from the start.
“Im so sorry. I have no idea whats going on with him!” She apologised in his behalf and it was almost funny to you. How come a girl you met once seemed to have more remorse than the guy you had (stupidly) falling in love with.
You shook your head, but she couldn’t see you. “Don’t apologise. Its fine. Its not a big deal really. We weren’t much of anything anyways.” Maybe the words came out fast enough for you to believe them, maybe they were to try and convince yourself that it was true — that it was how you felt.
It seemed it was how he felt.
“Oh sweetheart” Penelope synthesised. “How about this — We can have a massive movie night at mine sometime over the weekend and if you haven’t heard from him by then, then we can talk about how bad his eyesight is and the amount of sugar he puts in his coffee” She mumbled.
You let out a laugh, you wished that his bad eyesight and way too much sugar was the worst you could say about him right now. Your opinions on the boy seemed a lot stronger. Although it made your heart ache that it was his friend apologising and making you feel better.
“I’d like that.” You said, pulling your knees closer to your chest as your curled in on yourself in your bed. You hated how cold and empty it felt without his presence by your side. Even with the same glow of your fairy lights, the room was lit with the same warmth when it was just you.
You were mad. If you could only use one emotion to describe how you felt it would be mad. Embarrassment, disappointment, hurt — they’d all be thrown out the window. You were just so mad.
At him, for making you believe that maybe things would be different, for letting you get close to him, allowing you to trust him, open up to him. You were mad at him for giving and taking like it was some sort of game. You were mad at his lack of communication. You were mad at how he once looked at you like you held so much value only to leave as if you were worthless.
But you were more mad at yourself. You had made it a rule not to date. You had a life, a good happy life before. You busied yourself with work and going to the library to read and get a moment of peace beneath the shelves of books, you enjoyed getting your coffee’s from the small cafe on the corner in the morning, and dancing with your small group of friends at the club on the weekends, and then Spencer came along and now all those things you enjoyed so much seemed dimmer without knowing you’d see him at the end of the day.
You were frustrated because you knew better than to let someone get close to you. You knew how codependent you became on the existence of another by your side. You knew this. You knew all of this. You knew you were cursed, unloveable if you really wanted to hurt your own feelings. You knew this.
Yet you let yourself get sucked into his sweet words and empty promises, his soft touch and warm embrace. You let yourself believe that things might be different this time.
And god were you mad about that.
But most of all, you were mad about the fact that despite all of this. All of the doubt and anger swirling through your veins and leaving every harsh breath that existed your lips, you didn’t hate him. You were mad at him — so mad, but there wasn’t a single part of you that would ever say you hated Spencer Reid.
Not optionally. If it was up to you, you would go back in time and you wouldn’t have let him get close enough for the line to be between love and hate.
You worried, still. About if he was okay, what he was doing. You hated that. You hated that he had made you soft.
You hated that you let him make you soft.
You hated that you still wanted him to reach out to you, apologise and say he had just been so busy, or say he just needed time after the case. You hated that if he showed up on your door step right now you’d probably let him in without a word — whereas if this was prior to six months ago you would’ve slammed the door in his face and told him to get fucked.
Love didn’t come easy for you. But loving Spencer was the easiest thing you have ever done. Hating him was near impossible.
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Delirium | T.S
Summary: Thomas pays a last visit to the woman he always had a thing for | dark!AU and 🔞
A/N: This makes me feel like a nasty hoe, I just wanted to write smut with a Tommy who's obsessed but not violent, if that makes sense 🥴
Warning: Tommy being delusional
The kitchen felt warmer than it probably was, Tommy's presence scared her, especially in moments they were alone.
Of course, her husband's presence wouldn't make a huge difference, he was a humble civilian and Tommy could pull out a gun on him at any moment. She preferred to meet in public spaces, where she'd be able to call for help.
He sat at the table, sipping on his tea with disturbing peace, as if he was the man of the house.
“Tommy,” she gulped, leaning on the counter far from him, “my husband will be home soon, so if you don't have anything to say-”
‘I thought I gave this house to you,” he interrupted.
“Y-yes, but he lives here too,”
“Lucky, ain't he?” he nodded, the glassy look in his eyes scared her, “I gave you this place in consideration for you and the baby and he gets to decide who visits,”
“We know how lucky we are for having your sympathy,”
“Sympathy,” he scoffed.
Lowering her head, she got ready for what seemed to be another one of his episodes. After every single one, she regretted the day she stepped into his family's betting shop looking for a job. After that, she never had peace.
People said after the war Thomas chose to be alone, she saw it differently, he was always surrounded by whores and flirting with the newcomer barmaid. Every now and then, he invited her to dates. Surely he wasn't a man she'd call lonely.
By then, his behavior didn't bother her, Small Heath was full of perverts and womanizers. He was just another one of them until he started to chase her.
Even with his aunt's insistence for her to give him a chance, she paid him no mind, thinking Polly only favored her so he'd forget the barmaid who was later revealed to be a cop. Also, she heard he had an affair with his secretary and wooed his horse trainer, all while flirting with her and promising the world if she gave in.
When Thomas got married, she swore things would get better, he'd leave her alone and wouldn't be in the betting shop as often. What an awful prevision. In a matter of weeks, he forbade his employees from dating, although she liked to think it was only because of business, she thought the order was way too strict.
Then the worst phase came, widowed Thomas was clingy, forceful, controlling and manipulative. His sad blue eyes would convince her of anything - or almost anything, the bedroom's part, she left for Lizzie - it was when she realized that for him to forget about her, she had to leave him. A new job should be enough.
One day after she resigned, he knocked on her door, asking all the reasons why she wasn't part of the company anymore and promising he'd stop chasing her. What a fool she was for believing. Thomas didn't stop flirting. He only changed his methods. Every week, she'd find a small - or a huge - gift by her desk.
Years went by and she moved on, Thomas became a permanent hurdle she chose to ignore. Nowadays, they were both married and with children, though sometimes he'd still remind her that if she wanted him, he'd be there.
“...do you want to talk?” she asked, perhaps with the death of his daughter he wanted consolation.
“Do I scare you?”
“No, hm,” she lied, his question surprised her, “a bit, sometimes, but mostly no,”
“It came to me last night, perhaps I scared you, that's why you never wanted me,”
“Tommy-”
“Y’know, some nights- many nights,” he wasn't looking at her, with his distant eyes and head low, she knew it'd be better to let him finish his monolog, “you were all I thought about, no shovels, no curses, just you, my wife,”
“What?” she was shocked, but it didn't matter, he wasn't listening.
“We'd make love every night before going to sleep and I'd find out everything, what you like, what you don't,” he sighed, “and the rest wouldn't fucking matter, it'd be just you and me,”
Finally, he looked at her waiting for an answer. She, on the other hand, didn't know what to say.
“Tommy, perhaps-” she started, “you know I have much respect for you, but also for Mrs. Shelby and my husband, so perhaps it's time you let go of this infatuation for me,”
“Is this what you think it is? Infatuation?”
“I-”
“Sometimes I thought of forcing you,” he confessed, “after everything I gave you it'd be fair, wouldn't it? To take something back, but that was the problem, I never wanted to fuck you, I wanted you to want me, sounds stupid now, eh?”
“Why did you come here tonight?” after his speech, she was desperate for him to leave.
“To tell you you'll finally have what you wanted, I won't bother you anymore,” he explained, “I'm sick,”
“With what?”
“Tuberculoma,”
All she did was stare, Thomas Shelby, the man who survived poverty, war and a dangerous career choice was killing himself from inside out. The worst part of her was relieved, the best felt bad for him.
“What about your son?” she mumbled.
“He's in good hands,”
“Well, hm, I'm sorry,”
“Are you?”
Tommy finished his tea in a big gulp. His posture told her his objective wasn't done yet. Of course not, he always had an A on his sleeve.
“There's another reason why I came here tonight,” he admitted, “I'm gonna ask you something in good faith,”
“Yes?”
“Grant me a last wish, all I ever wanted,”
“What is it?” she tensed up.
“Sleep with me, as if we were husband and wife,” he pleaded, blown out eyes fixed on her.
“What?! I can't!”
“Why not?”
“Because I'm married! We both are!”
“Me? I'm not anymore,”
“We can't, Tommy,”
“Please, not one has to know,” never in her life, she thought she'd see him beg, “first and last time,”
Again, she was speechless, guilty for considering giving in to him, but wouldn't it be merciful? Before she decided, he walked to her, cupping her face between his hands.
His lips met her cheek, gently kissing her, she barely believed when he started to smell her. For him, it was the best scent he ever felt.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed him to keep going only to see how far he'd go. His palm was warm and easily covered half her face, his kisses went down her neck, different from what she was used to, her husband was sweet, Tommy was intense, drinking her in like a starving man.
He brought her closer, holding her waist with a strong grip. From that distance, she smelled the lingering cologne underneath the cigarette scent. The warmth from his skin gave her unwanted shivers.
Naively, she rested her hands on his back, it was all he needed to lift her to the counter, sitting her down and standing between her legs. As if she got out of trance, she pushed him away.
“Tommy,” she used a leg to create distance, foot well positioned on his chest, “we can't,”
She expected him to retaliate, his fast breath and dilated eyes made her feel like a prey, he was the predator about to pounce. Instead, he took her foot into his hands, slowly kissing the way up her legs. She had all the time in the world to stop him, but her body froze with his affections.
Once he reached her thigh, Tommy put his head under her skirt, she felt his rough fingers undo her stockings and obliged, lifting her hips for him to pull her panties down.
With his breath against her cunt, she held tightly to the counter, the surface was cold in her warm hands. He parted her inner lips with his tongue, making her jump slightly.
The foreign feeling brought excitement to her core, weak moans poured from her lips as Tommy sucked her clit.
Lifting her skirt, she ran a hand through his hair, he lowly hummed, burying his face further between her legs before standing up, starting a greedy kiss.
Through the desperate yearning, he was gentle, cupping her face and giving her little pecks every time she ran out of breath. She took his coat off and held onto him, from his waistcoat texture it must've been extremely expensive.
Touching his thin body, few ribs could be counted even if she'd still consider him strong. Tommy started unbuttoning her dress and she stopped him.
“Like man and wife, you said?”
Excitement built in Tommy's chest, she'd be finally his, the idea got him hard as a rock. With a last peck on his lips, she guided him upstairs, avoiding looking at her family pictures. They made her feel bad.
Through the hallway, he stopped and stared at her daughter's bedroom's door, highlighted by the lilac color contrasting with the rest of white ones, “What's her name again?”
“Agatha,”
He sighed, picturing a little girl with her eyes, who'd play near the canal with Ruby, Charlie and Duke. She'd watch them from far, the three sweetest girls he ever met, that sounded like heaven, a heaven he'd never reach.
Pulling him to the guest room, she sat him on the bed, the spare, impersonal mattress that'd be ruined by her infidelity. As she straddled his lap, Tommy spread kisses on her chest, her head fell back from pleasure, body warming up to him.
As tempting as melting into his arms was, she wanted to give him an experience, something slow and intimate, between those four walls there was no unreciprocated love or unfaithfulness, only the two of them.
She cupped his face and touched their foreheads together, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his waistcoat, “Tell me about your day,”
“I'm glad it's already over,” he drawled, hands traveling through her back.
“Did you miss me?” she held a giggle at his unnecessary tie clip, he probably urged to show the world he could afford one.
“I-” he gulped when she put the small golden clip between her lips, “did,”
Fully undressing wasn't sexy like in books she'd read before, she had to stand up and got particularly shy while Tommy watched. However, she managed to get a few chuckles while taking the boots off his feet.
“I can tell,” with him brushing on her thigh, she got rid of his clothing and pushed him down the mattress. His eyes shone at the view of her on top of him, hands gripping on her dress as a silent request to take it off.
Playfully, she threw her last piece of clothing at him, a wool stocking far from being sexy. With a small smile, he pulled her back to bed, climbing on top of her in a swift move. His hands grabbed her waist while his face was buried on her neck, between kisses and bites, she could tell he was overwhelmed.
Wrapping her legs around him, she called his name in a whisper, Tommy lifted his head getting face to face with her and for a moment, it'd be foolish to deny he looked beautiful, lips swollen, hazed eyes and blushy cheeks fitting perfectly into his features.
The gray hair growing on his shaved sides caught her attention, a sign of how long he'd been pinning for her. She had seen him go from bookmaker to member of parliament, from a man who always wore the same three fancy suits to a man who could gift a house and yet, to her, Thomas Shelby was nothing but a pretty painting, something to admire, but never to hold dear.
“What?” he noticed he was being observed.
“Nothing, can't I just look at you?”
He squinted, lightly squeezing her cheeks together. She tensed up, realizing how vulnerable she was lying naked under him.
“Tom?” she feared some sudden change of demeanor.
His previous kindness suddenly vanished, Tommy kissed her hungrily and her body betrayed her, surrendering completely, urging to become one with him.
A tiny moan was all to be heard when he slid into her, then the bed started to crackle and the impact of his thrusts mixed with their heavy breaths.
She tried to pull his head to her shoulder in an intimate embrace, he didn't let her, holding her hands above her head, “Want to look at you,”
The admission put a smile on her face, besides everything Tommy was sweet, certainly not like she imagined a gangster would be in bed.
Between sloppy kisses, he freed one of her hands that she took to his back, his skin was soft, the only bumps were the scars he got in war and business, still, it was nothing she'd consider imperfections, it all added deepness to the artwork he was.
Freeing her other hand, she hugged him closer, the sudden pull disturbed his steady pace and she giggled at the surprised huff he let out.
Tommy Shelby wasn't a man to be vulnerable often, to see him make such noises or show desperate desire was more intimate than all the years she spent with her own husband. She wanted to see more.
The question crossed her lips before she could consider any further consequences, “Do you love me, Tommy?”
He swallowed, gripping on her legs and pounding into her harder, “I do, fuck, I do, I love you,”
Squeezing her eyes shut, her back arched from a consuming orgasm. Tommy's name filled the room in loud moans as her nails sank in his back.
After few more thrusts, he poured inside her. Tommy rested his forehead on hers and they breathed heavily. With mind foggy and his gentle caresses on her head, she didn’t hear steps on the other side of the door.
Hard knocks on the door made her freeze inside, Tommy had a tiny smirk on his face while her husband called from outside, “What the fuck is going on in there?!”
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