#Deep Canvassing

[to--love--and--be--loved]

the research supporting deep canvassing (good overview here) backs up many of these points

Changing people's minds on major things is actually a very long and difficult process for both parties. I didn't actually believe that pedestrian-centric city design would be better for people that drive cars until I spent almost a year living without a car and watched hours of youtube videos explaining the issue to me. Turns out that traffic actually does go down and driving does become more pleasant if you make it harder to drive a car and easier to walk. I just straight-up refused to believe that for years. Because people just talked about it like it was obvious. But it wasn't. Because I had spent my whole life in a car-centric city going around in a car and also I was an English major in college who did not study urban planning. You can't expect me to change my entire mindset around transportation all at once. I did reach a eureka moment like two weeks ago but that was after like three years of getting exposed to these ideas periodically and living without a car for 11 months.

And yeah this post is about my big dumb animal brain accepting the science behind narrow roads and the evils of certain types of zoning laws, but it's also about stuff in general. If you don't know why someone isn't changing their mind on something, it's probably because the information they're getting hasn't reached a critical mass in their monkey brain yet. Whenever you hear stories about people changing their minds on things or leaving a certain ideology the story never goes "A person on the internet did a slam dunk on me and then I changed my mind."

It's usually a long process that happens over the course of months or years. Seeds planted here and there that coalesce eventually into a new thought or ideology over the course of years or snap together or send someone down a new path after a certain event. Same with me about pedestrian-centric cities. For me the tipping point was finding this video, which isn't necessarily super special or the best and the guy who runs the channel, in my opinion, isn't the most qualified or the most sympathetic towards every city in every situation, but it was the feather that tipped the scales in my brain to "Oh, wait. Maybe everything I thought I knew about how cities work is wrong actually." But that video alone didn't change my mind. With the amount of stuff and people that have gradually and gently been giving me information over the past couple years, something else was bound to eventually change my mind.

People on Tumblr yelling about abolishing the car, if anything, slowed down me changing my mind. Every time I saw a person saying that driving cars is stupid and that cars are bad I took a step back into my old way of thinking in defense. Because I grew up only ever using a car to get around. Rhetoric like that felt like a direct attack on my family, who I know to be loving people who care about other human beings and who drive cars literally everywhere.

And you might say, posts and videos like that aren't actually an attack on people that drive or have to drive. Okay then. Why are they phrased like that? Because that makes you feel good? Because you're angry? Alright, your anger at how it's currently impossible to get around if you don't own a car and how people who don't actually want to drive are being forced to drive is reasonable. And now I understand why it exists. I'm kind of angry too now that I get how this stuff works. However, is calling the people you're trying to convince stupid to their face and immediately bombarding them with your most radical ideas that might be completely detached from their reality and how they understand the world really the most productive way to channel your anger?

What about a guy with a knee problem that lives in rural Appalachia? Do you think he is gonna be convinced by your angry rants about bike lanes? No. He lives on a mountain that he can't climb or bike up because he's disabled and has only ever known getting around in a car. What about a person who overheats easily living in a suburb in the middle of the desert? Do you think she is inspired by your green lush pictures of trolleys running through parks in The Netherlands? No. If she leaves her house for too long without ice water she could literally die and you're going on about getting rid of, in her mind, the only thing that lets her go to the grocery store and not faint.

And again, this post is about my inability to comprehend walkable cities, but it's also about everything else you might ever want to convince someone of. The way you talk about things with your in-group that knows exactly what you're talking about should not be the same way you talk about that thing with people that you're genuinely trying to convince of something.

[ddejavvu]

hiii! i was wondering if i could request a hotch x bau! reader where they’re dating and they vouch to keep their work life and love life separate but they’re both terrible at hiding how protective they are over eachother

"I'll stay here." Reid decides, already knee-deep in maps and colored pens, as if anyone thought he'd jump up and volunteer to interview the victim's family.

"Right." Aaron nods, "JJ and Prentiss are already on their way to the last crime scene."

"That leaves us to canvass the unsub's safe zone." Rossi glances between you, Aaron, and Morgan, "Y/N, come with me-"

"No." Aaron interjects, stoicism returning just as quickly as it had been abandoned.

"O-kay," Morgan glances at Hotch with a furrowed brow, misinterpreting Hotch's protests, "Y/N, come with me. They can talk about old white man stuff in the car, or whatever they're gonna do."

"No." Aaron repeats, just as unhelpful as the first time he'd said it.

You're squirming on your feet, now. He's not being subtle, even if he is being confusing. Derek and Rossi may not know why Aaron wants to keep you with him, but now they know that he does, and you're sure it won't take them long to discern why he doesn't want you gallivanting across a potential crime scene with anyone other than him.

"Right... So you take Y/N, then." Rossi says what Hotch won't, "That's okay, Morgan and I can talk about whatever's up your butt today while we're driving."

If it were anyone but Rossi, they'd have ended up with desk duty for eight weeks. But both men manage to escape sharing a snicker at Hotch's expense, and you follow dutifully after your boss as he leads you out to one of the SUVs in the parking lot.

You're waiting for the closing of his door to begin scolding him for his reckless, but he decides to make the situation ten times worse by beating you to the car and holding your door open for you. You're sure Rossi and Morgan are watching from their own SUV, and you're glad the windows are up so that you don't have to hear their jeering.

"Hotch," You speak through tightly clenched teeth, but you get in without protest, and you huff as you slam the seatbelt into its latch, which Aaron waits for before he closes your door.

"You're not subtle." You speak the second that his door shuts, "Aaron, did you forget all of our coworkers are profilers? They're going to figure us out if you don't stop giving us away like that!"

"I don't care if they figure us out." Aaron admits, hands on the wheel though his attention stays on you as he pointedly stays parked, "I don't feel comfortable letting you enter a potentially dangerous situation with anyone but me."

"Morgan wouldn't let anything happen to me," You bargain, "And neither would Rossi. Hell, you think a criminal's gonna try fighting Derek to get to me? No one's crazy enough to go up against those muscles."

"But they would be looking to take down the unsub first, and thinking of you second. I'm thinking of you first."

A thick silence hangs in the air after his words; perhaps he's realizing what he's just said- it's weight, its implications.

You put it into words, "That's not professional, Hotch. That's- that's not how a profiler is supposed to act."

"Well then I guess I'm not a very good profiler anymore." He concedes, sighing as he turns to face the road and begins driving, now minutes behind Rossi and Morgan, "Just stay with me, and let me protect you."

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

cw: menstruation (not graphic), afab anatomy

Part 4: “Girl Problems”

You shift in the office chair, stomach lurching uncomfortably. It’s been bothering you today - groaning and moaning nonstop. So far you blamed it on the suspicious chicken salad you got from the discount grocery store. You took every stomach soother you could, all the way down to chugging tea on the hottest day of spring so far.

With a rather pathetic groan you stand to meander your way to the bathroom. Surely sitting on the pot will help - at least as a placebo. Just as you do, though, a very distinct wet feeling makes itself known. You freeze, briefly, as if it will go away if you stand still enough.

“Ah, fuck!” You gasp, grabbing your purse and jogging down the hall to the single bath stall and popping the lock shut.

As soon as you sit, you let out a small sigh of relief. At least you caught it before you turned your underwear into a total crime scene. You’d rather not have to explain to John why you need to go home and change. You dig through your bag to your usual pocket of various supplies. From lotion to a sewing kit. It never hurts to be prepared.

Except, as you rifle around, you’re not finding your usual stash. There should be at least three in here… when did-?

The very loud, distinct memory of a girl at a bar stopping you while canvassing for some sanitary products hits you like a train.

“Whatever you’ve got I’ll take.” She practically begged. So, you handed them all over because got forbid someone get stranded during the most hellish week of the month. Like you are now.

You make a deep, frustrated noise in your throat and bury your face in your hands. You’ve been meaning to put a basket of backup wipes, pads, and tampons in the little bathroom cabinet - not just for you but for customers, too. It just kept getting pushed off when you got busy with other things.

Shit. What are you gonna do? If you put your pants back on you’ll just bleed through them in ten minutes. Cursed with a heavy flow (or blessed with a strong connection to the moon, as your former hippie roommate insisted.) Less time than that, probably, based on the vicious cramp that travels from your lower back to pelvis. You won’t be able to get to the corner store with out leaving a war crime in your path.

John’s the only person in the studio right now. He doesn’t have a client for another hour or so but you’d rather die than tell your hot boss you’re bleeding everywhere. For a few, quiet moments, you violently bounce your knee and go through every possibility. Maybe you’ll suddenly turn into the flash and you can get home before anyone even notices. You don’t really have much of a choice, do you?

With another groan you pull your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering over his contact for just a few beats too long while you work up the courage.

>> ok so this is terrible

>> im so sorry

>> but im having girl problems and am stuck in the bathroom

>> im so sorry this is so unprofessional

Girl problems? What are you? In fucking middle school? Before you can send yet another in a long string of planned apologies, John answers.

J >> How can I help?

>> i dont have any products on me

>> meant to stock the bathroom

>> sorry

J >> Stop apologizing

J >> What kind do you use? I’ll go to the corner store up the street

You breathe out a sigh of relief, still nervously gnawing at your lip as you send him what you need with an example picture (just in case) and profusely insist you’ll pay him back. John refuses. You’ll just have to sneak the cash in his tips or something.

It isn’t long before you hear the front doorbell ring, heavy footsteps, then a gentle tap on the bathroom door. “Y’alright, love?”

You perk up. “John, I’m so sorry-“

“Didn’t ask if you were sorry. Asked if you were alright.”

You snort. “Yeah…”

“I’m goin��� to unlock the door to slide these in. No lookin’ I swear.” John says. As if you were worried about that. You trust John. More than maybe any other man you’ve known (not that the bar is very high.) It’s nice of him to say, though. The door barely cracks open, just enough for him to toss the box to you across the floor and shut it immediately. You barely even see his arm. “That all you need?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You murmur, bending awkwardly and snatching up the box. “I’m really sorry. I know it’s not really… appropriate.”

“Love, it’s normal. It happens. Just get y’self situated.” John taps the door once before you hear his footsteps drift down the hall toward the front.

You feel a bit skittish the rest of the day. You know it’s stupid. John’s a grown man and it’s a natural thing that happens and it’s fine. He said it’s fine. If it wasn’t fine you probably wouldn’t still look up to him the way that you do - the way that you have since you came here. The way everyone else seems to. Even so, you step around him a little wider than usual on your way out - keeping your head hung low and both hands tightly gripping your purse.

You chew your lip, shifting in place as he locks the front door. “Look, John, I-“

“If you apologize again I’m gonna fire you.” John mutters, pulling on the door to make sure it’s properly secured. There’s humor in it, though, the corners of his lips quirked up slightly.

You scoff, still not quite able to meet his eye.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” When you don’t move fast enough, apparently, he tilts your head up with a light touch. His eyes are so warm despite their icy blue shade. Sparkly in the setting sun. “Any man worth his breath wouldn’t give a shite. I’m sorry if that hasn’t been your experience, but really, it’s fine. I’ll help you out a thousand times over if y’need.”

“Okay…” You murmur, suddenly very distracted by the feeling of his fingers touching your chin, light as is it. You pull away and clear your throat, hoping he doesn’t notice the growing heat in your cheeks. “Well, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”

John nods, still smiling. “Sleep well, dove.”

When you come in the next day, you expect to get teased. A snide comment or a sideways look. You would have at any other job you’d worked - especially one with all men. All giggling and poking at you like a bear they know can’t bite back. No one says a thing outside of their usual greetings when you make your way to the front desk, though. Johnny pinches your hip like normal, Simon greets you with his new pun of the day, Kyle gives you a distracted wave over the hum of his practice gun. John doesn’t bat an eye when he says hello and checks in about the plan for the day.

You open the bottom drawer that you usually tuck your purse into, pausing before you set it inside. At the bottom, neatly tied together with a piece of twine, sits a king size chocolate bar and a pack of Midol.

If John notices the way you become extra smiley after that discovery, he doesn’t comment.

A/N: This was very self-indulgent but I’m having a bad time over here and need to be saved.

[pedroscowgirl]

Breaking the silence

Aaron hotchner x fem bau!reader

part one is here

Warnings: smut minors DNI

p in v (wrap it up), creampie, oral!f receiving, riding him, a bit angsty? (conflicted between spence and hotch), power dynamics (he's your boss)

lmk if i forgot something (i prob did)

masterlist

summary: After much contemplation, you’ve finally made a decision about who you truly want to be with. Although traces of guilt still linger in your mind regarding your choice, Aaron has a unique ability to ease those feelings. wc: 7.4k

A/n: I'm so down bad for this man yall... also I didn't proofread this yet

The briefing room felt colder than usual, the soft murmur of voices blending into the background. The case details flashed on the screen, a series of abductions that led us to a small town in the Midwest. Normally, you’d be fully focused on the profile, mentally piecing together the unsub’s next move, but today, your mind was elsewhere.

Hotch was standing at the head of the table, his posture as controlled and rigid as ever. His deep voice filled the room as he outlined our next steps, but your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. The way his jaw tensed when he was deep in thought, how his eyes would flicker toward me for just a second before shifting back to the case… It was impossible to ignore what had happened between us.

That night in the office—when the line between boss and agent blurred—kept replaying in your mind. The feel of his hands on you, the raw intensity in his touch, the way his control finally cracked. And now? Now it was like we were strangers again.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Hotch’s voice cut through the haze in your head.

You blinked, realizing the rest of the team was already standing up, ready to move. “Yes, sir,” you mumbled, quickly gathering your files and standing.

As we filed out of the room, you could feel Hotch’s gaze linger on you, even if only for a split second. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, but neither of you had dared to acknowledge what had happened. Not at work. Not anywhere.

The case had you working late into the night. Morgan and Rossi were canvassing witnesses, while Reid was piecing together the behavioral patterns of the unsub. You were stationed with Hotch, going over surveillance footage from the surrounding areas, but being alone with him felt like a trap.

You hadn’t talked since that night. There hadn’t been time, or maybe you’d both been avoiding it. But the tension was there, unrelenting.

“We’re missing something,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you stared at the grainy footage on the screen.

Hotch remained silent beside you, but you could feel the weight of his presence. His stoic demeanor had always been a source of strength for the team, but now, it felt suffocating.

“You should get some rest,” he finally said, his voice low, though it carried that same authoritative edge.

you shook your head. “I’m fine.”

His gaze flickered to you, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You’ve been distracted,” he said softly, his tone not accusing, but concerned.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t wrong. You had been distracted, but not by the case. “I’m good, Hotch,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt.

But then, his hand was on yours, a brief, barely-there touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. You glanced up at him, and for the first time since that night, his composed mask cracked just slightly.

“I didn’t mean for things to… get complicated,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tension that mirrored your own.

you took a breath, steadying yourself. “Neither did I.”

For a long moment, we just stood there, the soft hum of the surveillance equipment the only sound in the room. His fingers curled slightly, brushing against your hand again, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, but the words lacked conviction. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

you felt your heart race, the memory of his lips on yours, the feel of his body pressed against you, rushing back with overwhelming clarity. “Neither can I,” you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into his professional shell. But instead, he took a step closer, closing the small distance between you. His hand slid from yours, moving to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I can’t afford to be distracted,” he murmured, his voice tight with restraint. “Not here. Not now.”

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch despite the warning. “I know.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t stop the pull between you two. There was something about Hotch, something about the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and yet still found moments like this, moments where he could let someone in. And now that you’d seen that side of him, you weren’t sure you could let it go.

Before you could think better of it, you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand. “We’ll figure this out,” you said softly, echoing the words he’d said to you that night.

For a second, his eyes softened, and you could see the vulnerability there, the part of him that so few people ever got to see. But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened again, the walls slamming back into place.

“We have to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He dropped his hand from your face, stepping back and putting the distance between you again. The moment was gone, the heat dissipating as quickly as it had ignited. But you knew, just as he did, that nothing between us would ever be the same.

The team gathered for a debriefing the next day, the tension from the case still hanging in the air. But beneath that, there was something else, a tension that existed only between Hotch and you. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the task at hand, but you could feel him watching you, just as you watched him.

Spencer noticed your silence, giving me a concerned look, but you brushed him off, unwilling to explain the mess you found yourself in. After all, how could you? How could you explain that you were torn between two worlds, the professional and the personal, and that the man at the center of it all was someone you weren’t supposed to feel this way about?

But as the day wore on, and the weight of the case dragged you deeper into its complexities, you realized something: no matter how hard I tried to bury your feelings, they weren’t going anywhere.

And neither, it seemed, was Aaron Hotchner.

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

The flight back from the case felt longer than usual. The team was asleep, no surprise, given the weight of the case we had just wrapped. Except for Spencer. Normally, you would have struck up a conversation with him by now, engaging him in one of his countless facts or theories. But today, the silence between you was heavy.

He sat next to you on the jet, his fingers fidgeting with a deck of cards, absentmindedly shuffling them. You could feel him glancing at you, his hazel eyes filled with questions. You hadn’t talked about your feelings. Not properly. And now, with the growing complexity between Hotch and you, you felt even more tangled up inside.

"You’ve been quiet," Spencer said softly, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

you shifted in your seat, trying to force a smile. "Just tired," you replied, though it was a poor excuse. The truth was that you didn’t know how to explain the emotional storm raging inside of you.

Spencer wasn’t fooled. He’s a profiler after all. "Is it because of Hotch?"

His question caught you off guard. you blinked, turning to look at him, your heart skipping a beat. How much did he know? How much had he noticed?

"What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

Spencer’s gaze was steady, though there was a softness to it. "I saw how he looked at you. During the debriefing, before we left for the case… There’s something between you two, isn’t there?"

The air between you thickened with the weight of his words. I couldn’t deny it. Not anymore. You had spent days trying to push it aside, trying to compartmentalize the emotions you felt for Hotch, but Spencer was right. There was something between Hotch and you. Something you hadn’t fully understood until that moment.

But how could you explain that to Spencer—the man who had been nothing but kind, gentle, and patient with you? The man whose kiss had felt like safety, like home, even as your mind was spinning with confusion about Hotch.

"Spence, I…" you hesitated, searching for the right words. His eyes were so sincere, so trusting, and you hated the thought of hurting him. "It’s complicated."

He gave you a small, sad smile, his fingers still fidgeting with the cards. "I figured. I mean, it’s Hotch. He’s… well, he’s him."

you let out a breath, grateful for Spencer’s understanding but also pained by it. He was making it so easy for you to talk to him, and that only made things harder.

"Our kiss…" you began, your voice quieter now. "It meant something to me. You mean something to me."

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening. "You mean something to me too."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. "But I don’t know what to do about Hotch. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t expect to feel… anything for him. But now, I can’t stop thinking about him either."

The truth spilled out before you could stop it. The tangled mess of emotions that had been building up inside you was now laid bare between you. And the look on Spencer’s face—God, it broke your heart. He didn’t deserve this. He deserved someone who wasn’t so conflicted, someone who wasn’t caught between two people.

"I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the cards in his hands. "I know."

For a moment, the silence between you was unbearable. You could feel the weight of your indecision pressing down on both of you, suffocating the easy connection you had once shared. And you hated it. You hated that you had brought this confusion into our relationship. But most of all, you hated that I didn’t have an answer.

Finally, Spencer spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. "Do you love him?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. It wasn’t accusatory—it was simply Spencer trying to understand. But the weight of it made your heart clench.

Did you love Hotch?

you didn’t know. What you felt for him was intense, powerful, something you hadn’t been able to shake since that night in his office. But love? Was it love, or was it something else—something darker, more complicated?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I care about him. A lot."

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there with his cards, his mind clearly processing everything you had just told him. When he finally looked back at you, there was a sadness in his eyes, but also a quiet acceptance.

"I’ve always known you and Hotch had… something," he said softly. "I just didn’t want to admit it."

The guilt twisted inside you like a knife. "I never meant for it to happen, Spence."

"I know." He smiled gently, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s okay. I just… I want you to be happy. Even if that’s with him."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. How could he be so selfless, so willing to put your happiness above his own? you didn’t deserve that kind of kindness. Not when you were the one causing this mess.

"Spencer, I—"

Before you could finish, he reached out, pulling a strand of hair behind your face. "I care about you," he said softly. "And I’m not going anywhere. But you need to figure this out. For yourself. For both of us." He gave you a kiss on your cheek and you nodded, your heart heavy with the weight of his words. He was right, of course. you needed to sort through your feelings, to understand what it was that you truly wanted.

---------

The restaurant buzzed with the warm sounds of laughter and clinking glasses. You sat at the edge of the booth, tucked between JJ and Reid, who were deep in conversation about something scientific you couldn’t quite follow. Normally, you would have been engrossed, eager to hear Spencer’s detailed explanation of whatever fact he was spouting tonight, but your attention was elsewhere.

Across the table, Hotch was nursing a glass of scotch, his dark eyes occasionally flicking in your direction. Each time they did, your heart skipped a beat, your stomach tightening with the unspoken tension that had been simmering between the two of you since that night in the office.

You tried to stay focused on the conversation around you, tried to pretend like the heat you felt was just the warmth from the restaurant and not the lingering burn from Hotch’s gaze, but it was impossible. The way he watched you, with that quiet intensity, made it hard to breathe. It felt like he was silently pulling you toward him, and no matter how much you tried to stay anchored to the moment, you couldn’t escape it.

"Are you okay?" Spencer’s voice pulled you back into the present, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at you.

You blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I’m fine Spence, don’t worry."

Spencer nodded, his gaze soft and understanding. He knew you too well, better than you sometimes liked to admit. But tonight, there was no space for that softness. Not with the way Hotch kept looking at you like he was undressing you with his eyes, peeling back layers of professionalism you’d tried so hard to maintain.

You took a sip of your drink, the cool liquid doing little to calm the heat rising in your chest. You needed to step away—needed a moment to collect yourself before you did something reckless. Without saying much, you slid out from the booth, excusing yourself from the table and heading toward the patio outside.

The cool air hit your skin like a welcome reprieve. You took a deep breath, leaning against the railing and looking out at the dark street below, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The evening had been so casual, so light, but underneath it all, there was this tension, this pull that kept drawing you back to one person.

"Couldn’t handle all the noise in there either?"

Hotch’s voice broke through the quiet, sending a jolt through your body. You hadn’t realized he’d followed you outside, but now, standing just a few feet away, he seemed impossibly close.

You turned to face him, your pulse quickening at the sight of him in the dim light. The way his broad shoulders filled out his jacket, the sharp angles of his jaw catching the glow from the streetlamp, it was all too much. "Needed some air," you managed to say, your voice softer than you’d intended.

Hotch stepped closer, his presence commanding, as always. "It’s been a long week," he said, his voice low and steady. "You did good work."

His compliment should have made you feel proud, but instead, it only added to the tension. The way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you, it wasn’t just about the case. There was more behind his words.

"Thanks," you replied, your breath catching slightly as he moved even closer, his body now just inches from yours.

The night air suddenly felt too warm, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was, how easily you could reach out and touch him. You shouldn’t. You knew that. But the temptation was overwhelming.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he looked back up, there was a heat in his eyes that made your knees weak. "We shouldn’t be out here alone," he murmured, though there was no real conviction in his voice.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the pull between you both growing stronger, the line between what was right and what you wanted blurring more with each passing second. "Maybe we shouldn’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The space between you felt charged, electric. Your body hummed with anticipation, every inch of you hyperaware of how close he was, how much you wanted to close the gap. His hand brushed against yours, and the simple contact sent a shockwave through you, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Hotch…" you started, but the words caught in your throat as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you gently toward him. The touch was subtle, controlled, but it was enough to break whatever restraint you’d been holding onto.

You found yourself pressed against the railing, Hotch standing over you, his gaze dark and intense. His hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake as he moved closer, his body almost flush against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

"We can’t keep doing this," he whispered, but the way his breath ghosted over your skin told you he didn’t really mean it.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his face inched closer to yours. You could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your lips. "Then why are you here?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with tension, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, might retreat back behind the walls of professionalism he always kept up. But instead, he leaned in, his lips just barely grazing yours.

"Because I can’t stay away from you," he admitted, his voice raw and low.

The confession sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think better of it, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, like you were both testing the waters, but the moment his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, everything else faded away. The world around you disappeared, and all that was left was the feel of his mouth on yours, the heat of his body pressing against you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as the kiss deepened, all the tension that had been building between you finally breaking. His lips moved with a fierce intensity, like he had been holding back for far too long, and now there was no stopping it.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a confidence that made your heart race even faster. Every touch, every press of his fingers against your skin, set you on fire, the overwhelming need for him consuming you.

You gasped softly as his mouth moved to your neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. Your head fell back, giving him better access as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer.

"Hotch…" you breathed, barely able to form the words as he continued to kiss you, his hands sliding under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers across your skin.

"We shouldn’t do this here" he muttered again against your skin, but the way his body pressed against yours, the way his breath came faster, told you neither of you were stopping.

The sound of laughter broke through the fog in your mind, pulling you back to reality for a moment. You suddenly remembered where you were. the team just inside the restaurant, Spencer probably wondering where you had gone.

You pulled back slightly, your breath shaky as you looked up at Hotch. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that made your pulse quicken all over again, but there was a flicker of hesitation there too.

"Spencer’s going to wonder…" you trailed off, not finishing the thought, the guilt creeping in.

Hotch’s jaw tensed, his hands still resting on your hips. "I know," he said quietly, but his gaze remained fixed on yours, filled with a conflict that mirrored your own.

You wanted him. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. But as you stood there, Hotch’s hands still on your body, the heat between you still burning, you realized that no matter what choice you made, things would never be the same again.

The cool night air still clung to your skin as you stepped back into the restaurant, your pulse racing from the kiss you had just shared with Hotch. Every inch of you still felt electrified, your body buzzing from the intensity of the moment. You were trying to play it cool, act as if nothing had happened, but it was hard when your heart was pounding in your chest, and the heat of Hotch’s touch still lingered on your skin.

You glanced sideways at Hotch as he walked next to you, his face composed but his jaw tight. Neither of you spoke a word as you rejoined the team, but the silence between you was filled with unspoken tension. It was as if everyone in the room could sense that something had shifted.

Morgan was the first to notice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a playful grin. "Well, well, look who finally decided to come back," he teased, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. "What were you two doing out there? Planning world domination?"

You forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. "Just needed some air," you replied, sliding into your seat next to Spencer, who was watching you with quiet curiosity.

Hotch didn’t respond. He simply took his place back at the head of the table, picking up his glass of scotch as if nothing had happened. But you could feel his presence, strong, commanding, and impossibly close, even though there was now a table between you.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual response. "Air, huh? Looked a little more intense than that." His teasing tone carried an edge of curiosity that made your stomach twist.

You shot him a quick glare, trying to will the heat creeping up your neck to disappear. "Just some air, Morgan. You’re reading too much into it."

Before Morgan could press further, Garcia piped up, her bright voice cutting through the tension. "Come on, Derek, leave them alone. Not everyone needs to be in on your gossip." She shot you a wink, though there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes too.

Spencer smiled at you, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if searching for the truth beneath your words. His kindness, his understanding, made your heart ache. But the guilt that twisted inside you wasn’t enough to erase the pull you felt toward Aaron. The two men couldn’t have been more different, and yet, you found yourself caught between them, unable to make sense of your own feelings.

Morgan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, leaned forward, his playful smirk returning. "Well, whatever you were doing out there, just know we all have bets going about who’s sneaking off with who tonight."

JJ shot him a look of exasperation. "Derek."

"What? I’m just saying. We all see how you two keep sneaking off," he said with a grin, his eyes darting between you and Hotch.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. "It’s nothing like that, Morgan."

But your words felt hollow, especially when Hotch’s gaze flickered briefly in your direction. The weight of what had happened outside was too fresh, too raw, and you could feel the shift in energy between you both, even if no one else knew the truth.

Morgan was still watching you with a knowing smirk, clearly not convinced by your attempts to brush him off. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "Come on, something’s up. You’ve been acting weird all night."

You glanced at him, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would get him off your back. But before you could respond, Hotch’s deep voice cut through the noise.

"Morgan, leave it."

The command was calm, but firm. It wasn’t a request. Morgan straightened up in his seat, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I’ll drop it." He shot you a quick glance, his curiosity still simmering just beneath the surface, but he let it go—for now.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for Hotch’s intervention but also hyper-aware of how close you had come to unraveling under Morgan’s scrutiny.

Spencer’s hand brushed against yours under the table, a small, innocent touch that made your heart clench. You turned to him, his soft gaze meeting yours. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was steady, grounding you in a way that made you feel both comforted and guilty at the same time.

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

You were barely out of your clothes and into your pajamas when the knock echoed through the quiet of your hotel room. For a moment, you considered ignoring it. You were too exhausted to deal with any more emotional turmoil, but something—someone—pulled you toward the door.

When you opened it, Hotch stood there, his expression neutral as always, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight. His jaw was tight, his eyes searching yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hotch?" you asked, confused by his sudden appearance. "What’s going on?"

He hesitated for a moment, his hand gripping the doorframe as if steadying himself. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken beneath the surface.

You stepped aside, letting him in. The door clicked shut behind him, the soft hum of the hotel room suddenly feeling deafening. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, but you had no idea what had brought him here tonight.

He stood in the middle of the room, his hands at his sides, his posture rigid. "I saw what happened on the plane," he said finally, his voice calm, but you could hear the weight in his words. "With Spencer."

Your breath caught in your throat. Spencer had kissed your cheek after your conversation, a simple gesture of affection, but it had felt like so much more in the moment. You hadn’t realized Hotch had seen it.

"Hotch, I—"

He cut you off, his voice still infuriatingly neutral. "I think you should be with Spencer."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. His tone was so matter-of-fact, so calm, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t unaffected by this. For a man who always kept his emotions tightly locked away, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen before.

You stared at him, your heart racing. "What?" you whispered, stepping closer to him. "Hotch, no…"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering away from yours for the briefest moment before returning to your face. "He cares about you. I saw the way he looks at you, and I saw how you two talked on the plane. He kissed you." His voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something raw. "Spencer can give you what you need. What I can't."

His words twisted inside of you, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. How could he think that? After everything that had happened between you, after all the tension and moments you had shared, how could he believe you’d choose someone else?

"Hotch, you don’t understand," you said, your voice trembling slightly. You took another step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm, desperate to make him see what he was missing. "I want you. That’s what I told Spencer."

The silence between you felt thick, charged with emotions you could no longer ignore. His eyes softened just slightly, the stoic façade he always wore cracking at the edges.

"I told him," you continued, your voice gaining strength. "I told him that I care about him, but it’s you. It’s always been you."

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he should believe you. But then, his hands slid up to your waist, and the tension between you snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.

Without another word, you leaned in, capturing his lips with yours in a kiss that was filled with all the frustration, the longing, the desire you had been holding back for so long. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, like you hadn’t kissed him in ages, like you were trying to prove everything you couldn’t put into words.

Hotch responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you closer, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hands roamed over your body, exploring with a need that mirrored your own, his touch igniting a fire inside you that you hadn’t been able to extinguish since the first time you kissed.

His body pressed against yours, pinning you gently against the door as his mouth devoured yours, the tension that had been simmering between you finally finding release. You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slid under your shirt, his touch hot against your skin.

"Hotch," you gasped, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, but he didn’t give you time to recover. His lips were on your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, making your pulse race.

"I shouldn’t want this," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and filled with restraint. "But I do. God, I do."

His confession sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, your body pressing against his in a way that left no space between you. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, your voice breathless as your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your waist and over your hips, pulling you even closer. His fingers dug into your skin, his touch possessive, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You kissed him again, hard and hungry, your lips moving against his with a desperation that mirrored his. The tension between you had finally reached its breaking point, and now, there was no turning back. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, your back—exploring every inch of you with a need that made your head spin.

Your shirt was pushed up, his hands sliding under the fabric to touch your bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You gasped softly as his fingers brushed against the curve of your waist, your entire body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control.

"Hotch…" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he answered in that deep, sexy voice that made your whole body heat up.

"I need you so badly."

His eyes darkened at your words, and without hesitation, he scooped you up effortlessly and laid you down on the bed. The way he moved—so strong, so sure—made your heart race even faster. He hovered over you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your body, before his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head.

You felt exposed under his gaze, but it only added to the excitement coursing through you. His lips found the soft skin of your neck, kissing, nipping, and trailing lower with each breath. When his mouth reached the swell of your breasts, he paused, looking up at you with a smirk that sent a wave of heat through your core.

“God, your tits are so hot,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, and it took you by surprise. You were so used to his professional, composed demeanor that this raw, vulgar side of him was both shocking and incredibly arousing.

The dirty words made your body respond instantly, a fresh wave of wetness pooling between your thighs.

His mouth latched onto your nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before pulling it between his lips. A gasp escaped your throat, and your hand flew to his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands as he groaned against your skin. The vibration of his voice against your breast sent shivers down your spine.

He alternated between your breasts, his hands kneading your flesh while his mouth worked you over, sucking and kissing every inch of you until your entire body was humming with desire. His hands were warm and firm, and every touch sent sparks of pleasure through you, heightening the need that had been building between you all night.

When he finally moved lower, kissing down your stomach with a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses, your heart pounded in anticipation. He paused when he reached the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you with that devilish smirk again.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft, but filled with desire.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, unable to hide the desperation in your voice.

He hooked his fingers into your shorts, pulling them down slowly, torturously, and when he revealed your white lace underwear, his eyes lit up with amusement.

“You knew I was coming here tonight?” he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill through you.

You smiled up at him, biting your lip as you watched him. “Maybe,” you whispered, the teasing tone in your voice barely masking the fact that your body was already aching for him.

He groaned softly, his hands brushing over your hips before he slowly dragged your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, dark and intense as they took in every inch of your naked body. The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice so low it sent shivers down your spine.

And then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his lips soft against your skin. Your breath hitched, anticipation building as he moved closer to your center, teasing you, making you wait. His hands slid up your legs, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, and when his mouth finally met your core, you gasped, your hips jerking toward him instinctively.

Hotch groaned against you, his tongue working slowly, deliberately, as if he was savoring every moment. The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and the way his tongue circled your clit had your entire body trembling.

“Oh God, Hotch,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair again as your back arched off the bed. The pleasure was intense, almost too much, but you couldn’t get enough. Every stroke of his tongue sent you higher, building the tension inside you until you thought you might explode.

He gripped your thighs, pulling you closer as he buried his face deeper between your legs, his tongue working you over with expert precision. You were already so close, your body teetering on the edge of release, and when he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you were done for.

The pressure inside you built to a breaking point, and with a cry of his name, you came hard, your entire body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Hotch didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through your release, prolonging the pleasure until you were completely spent.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you collapsed back against the bed, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Hotch slowly pulled away, his mouth and fingers leaving your body as he kissed his way back up your stomach, over your breasts, and finally to your lips.

You kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The fire between you hadn’t dimmed, it had only just begun.

“I need you,” you whispered against his lips, your voice still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

Hotch groaned softly, his hands sliding up your body as he positioned himself over you. “You have me,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

And with a fluid motion, Hotch gripped your waist and pulled you on top of him, flipping your positions in one swift move. You straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his hips as you looked down at him. The sight of him lying beneath you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes dark and full of lust, made your pulse quicken. He seemed so in control and yet, completely undone by the sight of you.

You reached for his tie, slowly loosening the knot. Your fingers trembled as you slid it free, tossing it aside before your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. You took your time, savoring the moment as you unbuttoned each one, revealing more of his chest with every flick of your fingers. When his shirt was fully undone, you pushed it open, running your hands over the firm muscles of his chest, your palms lingering over the warmth of his skin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as you leaned down, pressing your lips to his skin, kissing and sucking at the exposed flesh. You trailed your mouth from his collarbone down to his chest, leaving small, dark marks in your wake. His breath hitched, and you felt his hands slide up your thighs, gripping them tightly as he groaned.

"Fuck, naughty girl," he muttered, his voice dripping with desire. His grip tightened in your hair, tugging your head back just slightly so he could look into your eyes. "You wanna mark me up, huh?"

The man who was always so stern, so composed, had completely unraveled beneath you, and you reveled in the control you had over him.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. "Maybe I do," you teased, your breath hot against his skin.

His eyes darkened even more, filled with a raw hunger that sent your heart racing. Without another word, he pulled you down, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His tongue found yours, demanding and unrelenting, and you moaned softly into his mouth as your body melted into his.

His hands slid from your hair to your waist, gripping you firmly as he kissed you deeper. You could feel the hardness of him beneath you, and the anticipation of what was to come made your entire body throb with need.

"Ride me," he commanded, his voice low and full of desire. The authority in his tone sent a thrill through you, making your stomach flip with excitement.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, your fingers working to unbutton and unzip his pants. You tugged them down just enough to free him, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw him, thick, hard, and more than ready for you. The sheer size of him made your body clench with anticipation.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You positioned yourself above him. And as you lowered yourself onto him, the stretch was immediate and intense. He was so big, filling you up completely, and you gasped as the sensation took over, your nails digging into his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

He groaned softly, his hands gripping your hips as he watched you intently. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with restraint. "You feel so good."

You paused for a moment, needing to adjust to the fullness of him. The pressure of having him so deep inside you made your head spin, and you bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. The pleasure was overwhelming, but you needed a second before you could move.

But Hotch wasn’t in the mood to wait.

His hands gripped your hips more tightly, and with a low growl, he began to move you, guiding your body up and down his length. The sudden movement made you cry out in pleasure, your hands bracing against his chest as your body rocked with his.

"Aaron…" you whimpered, your voice barely more than a gasp as the sensation of him inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The stretch, the fullness, the way he hit every perfect spot inside you, it was too much and not enough all at once.

He groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he set the pace, thrusting up into you as he moved you on top of him. "God, you’re so tight," he growled, his voice rough and filled with a raw intensity that made your entire body tremble. "Look at you, taking me so well…"

You couldn’t respond, your mind was too clouded with pleasure, your body completely lost in the sensation of him filling you over and over again. Every time he thrust into you, it sent a bolt of electricity through your core, making your thighs quiver and your breath come in ragged gasps.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you, threatening to consume you whole. "Hotch," you gasped, your head falling back as your body rocked against his. The tension inside you was coiling tighter and tighter, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

His hands slid up your waist, guiding you with steady, relentless movements as he watched you with hooded eyes. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You gonna come for me?"

The words sent you spiraling. The intensity of his gaze, the heat of his hands on your body, the sheer pleasure of having him so deep inside you, it was too much. Your body tensed, your thighs trembling as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you.

"Aaron!" you cried out, your body convulsing as you came hard, the pleasure so intense that it left you shaking. Your hips bucked against his, your nails digging into his chest as your vision blurred, and all you could feel was him.

He groaned, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he thrust up into you harder, faster, chasing his own release. His muscles tensed beneath you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he reached his peak. "Fuck…" he growled, his hands digging into your hips as he came, his release filling you completely.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you too caught up in the aftermath of your pleasure to speak. Your body was still trembling, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you collapsed onto his chest, your head resting against him as you tried to steady yourself.

Hotch’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as his chest rose and fell beneath you. His hands slid up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes, his breath still heavy in your ear. "You’re incredible," he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender.

You smiled against his skin, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "So are you," you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest as you caught your breath.

Hotch’s hand came up to cup your face, tilting your chin so you could look into his eyes. There was a softness there, a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "You mean so much to me," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "More than you know."

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling over you. "I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

taglist (lmk if u wanna be added): @looking1016 @pear-1206 @doe-eyed-diva @ssa-aaronhotchner @sweetpinkchampagne @totallyjovialblaze

[cherrriesinthespring]

wrong place, wrong time

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

warnings//: fem!reader, mentions of reid's addiction, kidnapping, injury, guns, ropes, a pocket knife, hospital, implied drugging of user(?), few uses of y/n i try to keep it minimum

<this isn't proofread so if there's anything im missing please let me know>

summary (this is longer than my usual works): reader is taken by unsub bradley wells, the team comes together to get her back.

A/N: set in season ten, but emily is still at the BAU!!

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

you were restless. well, as restless as you could be considering you were chained to... something you can't yet identify. wherever you currently are is dark, a big contrast to the BAU lights, you were only there a few hours ago right? you couldn't decide what to try figuring out first - how you got here, or what led to this. your voice fell on deaf ears, and you heard nothing but the echo of your own pleads. the sound of your sobs bouncing off the walls made you realise you were crying, finally registering the saline pouring from your own eyes. the chill of concrete beneath you helped ground you to this current moment, you didn't want to be here but you'd have to get used to these surroundings.

with a throbbing head, you attempt to pull on the tight rope binding you to a pole, seemingly wooden. with every tug it felt as though every fiber of the rope had been permanently imprinted into your wrists. it wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm, the air litters your skin with prominent goosebumps. a small red light blinking from the corner caught your attention, you were being watched. it was creepy enough being here, everything seemed more eerie now you knew someone was peering at you - especially from somewhere that was probably much nicer.

a whisper cut through the empty darkness, a deep hollow sound. "you're awake" a dim, hanging lightbulb is flicked on, your eyes adjust to new light.

now this voice has a face. your most recent unsub, and now he has you. footsteps grow closer, his jaw is soft, eyes harsh but you can't make out a colour. his hair seems to be curly but badly maintained, eyebrows thick and a slight stubble. the cogs in your mind begin to turn-

the sound of gravel under your boots, emily's voice in your earpiece "Y/N and reid, take the back. let us know if you see anything" you both obliged.

the team had split, to cover more ground. this house wasn't a mansion, but it was big, no one wanted to leave a square ungaurded. you decided to be brave, calling to your boyfriend of a few months "i'll take the left, you go right." of course spencer hesitated, but you had been canvassing multiple properties for atleast a week. more bodies and no location, the third geoprofile led you here.

brad- bradley? he looked like a 'bradley', he also looked like a total dick. his grubby hand meets your chin, tilting your head up, the crown of your skull meets the wood behind you. "don't worry... you're safe with me, princess" his voice was anything but soothing, piercing almost. the nickname made you cringe, he had no right. as he turned away you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you watch him leave through a door. nothing special about it, just wooden. he sure has trust in these ropes.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

the briefing room seems emptier than usual without your attributions. spencers hands clench around his paper cup, so hard that it'd spill if he wasn't careful.

"she was supposed to meet me around the front" his voice shook, guilt ridden "i checked the time, my watch. i didn't hear anything, i should've known-" his breath catches, the lump in his throat slowly expanding.

jj notices the tears slowly forming at his waterline, she decides to take over. "none of this is your fault spence, you couldn't have known" a few nods around the room but no one says a word. spencer is left speechless, the whole team there... well, minus you. he won't stop blaming himself.

that's when his cup collapses in his hand. coffee leaks through his fingers and drips over the table onto the briefing room floor. it wasn't hot, but warm enough it brought him back to the present. spencer blinks down at his cup, and the mess on the table, as if it'd appeared out of nowhere.

"shit..." he'd muttered it quietly enough that no one else heard, but he shocked himself with the curse. the paper is now crumpled entirely in his fist, coffee spreading across the table and almost soaking into the case file. he shoves it across the desk and stands, leaving the room with his destroyed cup - if you could even call it one anymore. everyone watches him leave, spencer walked as if he had been posessed by a robot. a single wrong step and he'd fall apart, he'd barely blink. he doesn't want to miss any moment if it meant getting you back.

he'd mentioned something about getting a refill, but it wasn't just that. he needed to compose himself. every muscle in his body is tense with the hope of seeing you again. spencer made it to the break room in record time, white fluorescent lights hang overhead. they hum like the flies you only notice at night, when they're buzzing in your ear as you toss and turn in bed. he moves towards the coffee machine as if it's muscle memory, discarding the almost disintegrated paper in the bin. he needs a break, yet he refuses to take one until you're in his arms. coffee slowly fills the cup under the machines nozzle, he begins to zone out, anything but pleasant memories coming back to him.

a dark barn, syringes, glass vials. tobias in his head ordering him to repent.

he grips the counter hard, his jaw clenches. you were still out there, with a man they were failing to catch, and he can't do anything. he feels pathetic.

the pain, the withdrawals. he sees you, your smile. he imagines it fading, what would you think of him after he let you be taken away? he tries to picture anything else, and luckily the machine hisses with the last drops of coffee. he couldn't have been standing there for that long, but it felt long enough that something more could've happened to you in those seconds. every precious second he stood there thinking about his own trauma. god spencer, get it together.

he'd died in that barn, saw the warmth and light of what could've been there for him. he doesn't want to risk that happening to you. he can't stand around getting emotional over his own problems, they're over and done with.

his hands fumble when he reaches for the plastic lids, the same way he would tremble when he'd miss the sweet feeling of dilaudid rushing through his veins. the lids are flimsy, unstable like him.

spencer isn't weak, everyone knows that but him. he'd been through enough and survived it. that grave tobias made him dig? he could've ended up in it. sometimes spencer wishes the team had found him after he'd already been put in it, dirt packed tight.

you told him you would be fine on your own, you're strong and he believes that wholeheartedly. he should've known this would happen though, he promised himself he wouldn't let anyone he loves die - again. he doesn't know if he can face his team right now, hes ashamed, so angry with himself. he grabs his cup and takes a breath, forcing himself back into the briefing room.

the team were gathered around, putting the pieces together. spencers coffee spill was gone, as if it never happened, no one mentioned it when he returned. he slides back into his chair, taking in what his coworkers have determined. they're structuring a new profile.

"hes an opportunist, he acts as soon as there's a chance, no specifics involved." rossi's voice cuts through the tension. bradleys previous victims had no pattern except that they're all women. mostly a smaller and shorter type, looks don't matter as long as they seem to be defenseless. sadly, he was right about a lot of them, bodies were scattered around riverbanks, semi-public areas. areas that are quiet enough to not be seen dropping off bodies, but the bodies found sooner or later.

"hes disorganized, Y/N was almost a 'wrong place, wrong time' situation. there doesn't seem to be a specific desire to take a federal agent." derek leans over the table, looking up at aaron by the whiteboard as he speaks. spencers eyes fall to his lap 'wrong place, wrong time' - i sent her to the wrong place at the wrong time.

garcia chimes in from her seat "i found CCTV footage from the town closest to the house you were at when Y/N was taken... you'd think a suspect on the run wouldn't go through a town, right? i just-"

"pen, please get to the point." spencer cuts her off, he's impatient and its obvious, but he doesn't mean to be horrible.

"he was seen at a gas station, and i if i zoom-" a beep and her screen is connected to the TV hooked to the wall. the image is grainy, but she's already ran it through image enhancing enough times. everyone squints in unison to get a glimpse of the figure in the passenger seat. its you, your side profile. bradleys shadow dances along the side of the van as he fills it. this was enough for now, but garcia continued.

"and that's not all- i have satellite imaging of the area, theres a small building just two miles off.. i think its worth checking that" she gently pushes her multicoloured glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. emily turns, to spencer. his lip caught between his teeth, so hard hes about to draw blood.

he couldn't believe it, this feels so close to getting you back and it's only been a few hours. you were gone by 10PM, and now they have a new lead at four in the morning. spencers stomach turns, is this resentment? why did it take so long to find him, but barely over five hours for you? he puts the feeling down to the stress of this situation. as the team, besides garcia, begin to stand and get ready to leave, he rushes for his jacket. hes first to leave the briefing, first to storm outside, slamming the passenger door of an SUV when he's finally in. in his head he's willing whoever's going to be driving to hurry up. morgan finally slides into the driver's side, starting the engine immediately, its wheels turn, rolling on concrete as the others follow behind in other assigned vehicles.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

at this point you didn't know how long you'd been there, bradley had left the light on but there were no windows in this room. it was wood, brown all around you, but it could've been staged that way. time bled into itself, it couldn't have been long, but you'd also been unconscious so you doubted your own sense. you felt numb, your legs, hands. you'd been sat and bound for as long as you can remember. you hadn't heard anything from bradley, no sound, except for maybe the slight wind that howled around outside. if only you knew where you were.

but then the handle jiggled, your body snaps to sit upright, back popping with the sudden movement. your mouth and throat felt dry, your stomach grumbled. heavy footsteps follow the sound of the door, before you know it, bradley is infront of you again. he seems urgent, like something's wrong.

"what?" your voice is weak, you swallow. he didn't respond, moving behind you, the rope shifted and it seemed he was untying you. to your disappointment, he's able to pull you up from the pole with your hands still bound, they were two separate knots. your head spins as you're forced to your feet. your knees buckle and you fall onto them, hissing at the slight pain of the wood under you, they'll probably end up bruised. his sweaty fingers grasp your hair, pulling you back up to him. bradley pauses. the rumbling of engines in the distance is what had brought this on. this panic. you hadn't noticed it at first, that must be why he's trying to get you out of here. he seemed so calm before, his facade is breaking.

"you did this-" his words made no sense, how could you have done anything? you had no contact with the BAU, no way of telling them you were here. bradleys jumbled words just made it even clearer, he's petrified. he soon wills himself to move, its too late.

a door is kicked down, not the one that leads to where you are, you're assuming it was the entrance to this place.

"bradley wells, FBI!" the weak door is pushed open, derek appears first in the doorway, aaron behind him. relief flushes through your body, before your ropes are pulled on, hard. your skin burns. with no warning you're stumbling into bradley, back to his chest, you feel cold steel at your throat. fuck.

"put the knife down." aarons voice is sharp, eyeing the pocket knife that's a slither away from cutting into your skin. bradleys heart beats against your back, erratic, despite this show hes playing, you feel his nerves. derek steps further into the room, aaron next, in the doorway you meet emilys eyes. shes relieved to see you in one piece. your chest heaves, watching their expressions change as they take in bradleys grip on you. its nauseating. they can all see the lack of colour in your face, your eyes red-rimmed.

aaron continues to negotiate, "you don't want to do this. you're not leaving, we have this place surrounded. this is the end."

"no, it ends with this one-" he jostles you in his grip, lightly catching your neck with the blade "-dead. your agent here, is supposed to be dead. you interrupted it, i can't leave until blood is spilt" he words it almost like an attempt at poetry, it ends up sounding stupid.

emily fires her gun, it's non-lethal. when bradley had moved you, his shoulder became clear, clear to shoot. you hadn't expected it, your eyes were locked on derek, you hadn't seen emily lifting her gun. the second bradley is down, and his grip on you is gone, derek rushes forward.

his voice repeats on your tongue, pleading him to get you out of here. he works on undoing the last knot of rope, as soon as your arms are free your wrap them around him tight. aaron had gone over to bradley, checking on his condition as a few paramedics rush inside.

you don't remember the exact motion of events from there, but you were now sitting on the cabin steps. dereks fbi jacket is draped over your shoulders, your arms trembling. spencer runs up the trail, he sees you and pauses. his feet carry him toward you, its almost an instinct to be close to you. he reaches the cabin entrance and falls to his knees, just by your feet.

"you're- are you hurt?" his breathing becomes slightly more uneven. soft hands cup your cheeks, unlike the previous dirty one that'd gripped your chin.

"i'm okay, im fine." you nod, trying your best to reassure him, when really you were the one who needed it. spencer pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you'd disappear again.

"oh, my baby..angel girl, i thought i lost you forever" his lips meet your head, lingering there. he didn't care about anything else but keeping you right at his side, he wanted bradley dead. spencers hands rub against your arms, trying to use friction through the jacket to warm you.

"come on, lets get you checked out" pulling you up from the step, he leads you to the ambulance where emily and rossi are standing. jj is there too, leaning on the open door. their eyes meet you and spencer as you walk over. his hand stays on your back, guiding you into the vehicle. two female paramedics greet you from the inside with warm smiles, you try to force one back and fail, they don't mention it. you lay down on the bed, letting them strap you in, you'd seen victims in this state. you never imagined you'd be in this position.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

the lights are too bright, the walls a painfully blank white colour, your eyes strain. you had a tiny cut from the pocket knife he'd wielded to you, the hospital had bandaged it a lot more than needed. it wasn't that deep, they were being dramatic, but atleast they were taking care of you here. you'd prefer here than that cabin. jj said it looked worse than it was, emily promised she's seen worse. penelope came with balloons, flowers, gifts and a small cake. the whole team had been in and out all morning.

spencer is the only one who didn't leave your side, his long legs awkwardly folded beneath him in the hospital chair. he'd even moved the chair closer to your bed, dark circles under his eyes, hair messy and unkept. there are creases in his cardigan, he's clearly exhausted.

"you should sleep." your voice is small, you don't want to see him fight to stay awake. you can only imagine how many hours of sleep he missed while you were gone.

"im fine." hes clearly not, his voice says it all.

"spencer.." he sighs when you say his name so gently, he knows he'll have to give in. you watch him get lost in his own thoughts, his eyes showing hes clearly somewhere else.

"you're thinking too much again." he looks back up at you, tears brimming his eyes.

"i could've lost you, and I'm not going to say i understand exactly what happened- but I've been there. but it was a barn, with hankel. i thought no one was ever going to come for me, i didn't want you to think we weren't working to get you back" he didn't want to imagine how you could've felt, the isolation. despite how much he hated it, he couldn't stop thinking. his stupid brain wouldn't shut up.

"there wasn't a second where i doubted you were coming" you place a hand over his, thumb gliding over the back of his palm. a soft knock at the door interrupts the moment, but he doesn't take his eyes off of you. rossi comes in holding a bag, the smell of something that actually has seasoning filling the room. you'd been getting used to plain chicken and instant mashed potatoes, an occasional cup of orange juice on the side.

"the nurse said you're allowed something new, kid." rossi gently places the bag on your overbed table, two empty jello cups on the edge.

"you've got a line of visitors down the hall, derek was trying to bribe the receptionist for an extra chair" rossi's voice is full of amusement, you smile. they all came, to see you.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

the wheelchair squeaks faintly against linoleum halls, it smells of bleach. the wind outside isn't too strong, brushing against your face but it wasn't uncomfortable. your arms bring spencers cardigan tighter around you.

"i could've walked, you know" you'd told him this multiple times, he wouldn't let you.

hes walking beside your wheelchair, one of your assigned nurses pushing it through the parking lotj. aaron had driven up spencers car to the hospital, it helped you feel more comfortable like they hoped. spencer opens the passenger door for you, gently guiding you inside. he begins the drive to his apartment, it's quiet, no questions. he occasionally glances over when he thinks you're not looking, just to make sure you're okay. when you reach his apartment, you hesitate at the door. but, you take another look at him as he begins undoing the laces to his converse, you step inside and begin to slip off your own shoes. you both slowly settle in after a few minutes of sitting on the couch together.

spencer turns to you at the sound of your whisper, "please don't leave me alone tonight." of course he refused to let that happen. even if it meant damging his back eternally, sleeping on the floor by the bedside.

"i wouldn't let that happen, angel girl." his hand is soft as he brings yours up to his lips, he gently kisses the supple skin.

"can i ask you something?" you're met with silence, but a visual response in a gentle nod, a curl falling slightly further down his face.

"after tobias.." you begin, unsure of continuing, this is a sensitive topic. he'd opened up about it before, but it seems more relevant now. spencer senses your hesitation, gently squeezing your hand in his. it urges you to continue.

"how long did it take for things to feel normal again? I know my experience might not be as bad, but i... i just want to know when i'll feel genuinely safe again, especially on cases. it's difficult already with knowing the dangers, now i've been in that situation - i dont know if things will feel how they used to." he's patient as you piece your thoughts together. he didn't answer immediately, letting the question linger.

"don't start comparing it, angel. just because you 'weren't there for long', doesn't mean it wont effect you.. and i'll be here for when things make sense, and when they don't.' his eyes are full of sincerity, no sense of empty promise behind his brown irises.

you sit there, in the low lamplight of his apartment, together. the city rush muted by thick curtains and pulled blinds. no howling wind, no creaking wood. no beeping heart monitors and definitely no more bland hospital food. just you and spencer, two people who had seen too much, yet were stil standing.. or rather sitting, in the comfort of one another.

[himegureisu]

calls

Summary: At the beginning of your relationship, both of you promised to call the other whenever you had time to spare.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Did you catch them?”

Your voice was a balm for his weary soul. His team was away for a case though it has been three long grueling days it seemed longer. They’d been on a roll for their unsubs profile and were on their way back to the airport after a successful and fairly uneventful arrest.

“Yeah, we did,” he sighed, sinking into the plush seat of the jet, and observed the team on the ground, “Are you home?”

“No, not yet, will you make it home for dinner?” you asked, from your office packing the files you’d bring home, “Are you hurt? Do I need to get bandages?”

“No, you don’t need to. Just bruised,” his exhaustion evident by the tone of his voice, “Make it a late dinner?”

“Okay, that’ll give me time to finish work. Do you want anything in particular?” you closed up your office, as silence prevailed on the other line, “Hotch?”

“I miss you,” he whispered.

“I know. I miss you too,” your heart ached with longing, as you glanced at the gradient colors of sundown, “But look on the bright side you’re on your way home. Just a couple more hours until then.”

“I’m counting the minutes,”

“Okay, fly safe. I love you,”

“I love you too,”

At the tail end of the call, the BAU boarded the plane and a couple of curious looks went his way but he ignored them. None dared to ask a question.

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Can I take you out for lunch?”

His sudden invitation was a pleasant surprise given that they rarely could get out of the office, so every time an opportunity came up, he takes it and leaves. That’s why he hoped you were free and could answer before another person knocked on his door.

“Yes, of course, you can take me out for lunch,” you laughed, placed the documents aside for later, and signaled your assistant, “What time can I expect you?”

“In fifteen,” in a rush, he walked out and silently hoped no one would intercept him on the way. On his phone, he doesn’t notice the team stares from the bullpen as he enters the elevator. “I’m on my way,”

“Okay, I can hear your breathing, don't rush and drive safe,” you answered, knowing smiles blooming on both your lips, as he arrived at the parking, “I love you,”

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon,”

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

“Did I wake you?”

His deep tenor echoed from the speakers and immediately your anger, from your disrupted slumber, was abated. On the soft mattress of your bed, you rolled over and clutched his pillow closer as you put the phone on speaker.

“Yes, you did but it’s okay,” you murmured, the scent of his shirt on you comforting but not enough, “If it were anyone else, I’d hung up by now,”

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he breathed out,

From across the country, Hotch looked around to see his team canvassing information from witnesses. He knew he needed to be there but he also needed this breather.

“I also love hearing from you,” you admitted, staring at a photo of you two on the nightstand. His smile wide and dimples out for everybody to see as you held a giant stuffed bear in victory, “Even if it’s gory details of the cases and unsubs you arrest,”

“Were you dreaming of me?”

“Was on my way there,” you answered, the smiles forming on both your lips. “This is so much better but you need me to talk so what do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything,” he pressed on something for you to be transferred to his earpiece, and went back to his team, “Just talk, please?”

“Okay, so today I was called for an alleged case of corporate espionage…”

------------------——— 🔎--------------------------

There was something wrong.

At the beginning of your relationship, you and Hotch made an agreement about constant communication whenever you could. That’s why you often called, and he’d answer but you’d gone radio silent.

His calls were being directed to your voicemail and as far as he knew, you weren’t on for jury duty until a few more weeks and there were no special events other than settling a case in court for the day.

This is Y/N L/N. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone but please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

“I’m worried, baby,” he whispered, as he ran his hand through his hair, from the corner of his eye he could see JJ stand up and walk to his office, “I love you, please call me back soon,”

His phone buzzed on the table as JJ entered and announced a new case but the text he received from you has him up and shaved off ten years of his life.

Code Silver. Supreme Court VA is on lockdown. Check the news. I’m fine, I promise but stop calling or you’ll give us away. I love you. I’ll contact you when it’s clear.

Oh no, this was where he drew the line between work and personal life. He couldn’t solve any murder knowing that you were on lockdown at the courthouse just an hour away.

“You can fend for yourselves without me,” he answered, rushing out of the office, “I’m sorry, JJ, I need to go it’s an emergency,”

“Hotch?” JJ called, as he rushed out of the office, “Hotch!”

calls pt.2 >

[little-jana]

"Under The Radar"

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: light teasing, use of Y/N

Words: 1.1k

Summary: The team teasingly notices their change in dynamics while working on a new case.

The next few days passed in a blur of cases and paperwork, but something between Spencer and I had undeniably shifted. The kiss—unexpected, quiet, but somehow significant—lingered in the space between us. It wasn’t mentioned aloud, but we both knew it had happened. And every time our eyes met, I could feel the unspoken understanding.

Today, however, we were back in the thick of things. The case was urgent—another missing person—and the team was gathered in the bullpen, piecing together the clues. Spencer had his usual spot at his desk, but there was something different in the air. Maybe it was the slight, nervous glint in his eyes when he’d caught my gaze earlier, or the subtle way he kept glancing over at me. Whatever it was, it felt like something was just under the surface, waiting to bubble up.

“Alright, team,” Hotch began, gathering everyone’s attention. “We’ve got a new lead on the missing girl. JJ, you and Reid, follow up with the local PD. The rest of us will continue canvassing the area.”

“Got it,” JJ said, nodding, though her eyes shifted between Spencer and me for a brief moment. She didn’t miss much, and I could tell she was already suspicious about the sudden shift in our dynamic.

Spencer grabbed his jacket and gave me a brief smile before turning to follow JJ. “Let’s go, partner,” he said, his voice a little too casual, as though he were trying to act unaffected by what had happened between us. But I could see the small tremor in his hand as he reached for the door.

“Don’t look so nervous, Reid,” I teased softly, following him into the hallway. “It’s just a case, remember?”

“I’m not nervous,” he said quickly, but his voice wavered just slightly. He adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit that made me smile. “I’m fine. Just... focused.”

The drive to the local PD was quiet, save for the occasional comment from JJ about the case. Spencer, as usual, was deep in thought, his eyes flicking from his notebook to the street signs outside the window. I couldn’t help but notice how the faintest hint of a smile played at his lips, as though he was trying to hide the warmth that had settled in his chest after our kiss. I wondered if he realized just how much that small gesture had changed things. For both of us.

As we pulled up to the station, Spencer broke the silence again, this time with a question that made me blink.

“So… um, do you think the team’s noticed?” he asked, his voice low, almost embarrassed.

“Noticed what?” I asked innocently, though I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was referring to.

“You know…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Us. That we... well, kissed.”

I tried not to laugh, but the image of Spencer—intelligent, analytical Spencer—looking so nervous over something as simple as a kiss made my heart swell. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything. At least not yet.”

“Good,” he said, exhaling as if he’d just avoided a bullet. “Because I’m not... I mean, we don’t have to—”

“Spencer,” I cut in gently, placing a hand on his arm to stop his rambling. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself. We’re fine. And if anyone notices, well... that’s not the end of the world, right?”

Spencer met my gaze, his nervousness melting into something a little more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

As we entered the building, we were met by the local officers, who were quick to show us the latest developments. It didn’t take long before we were deep into the investigation, our usual rhythm kicking in as we worked together, analyzing the evidence and making quick observations. Spencer seemed to settle into his familiar zone, and for a while, I almost forgot about the tension that had been hovering between us.

That was, until we returned to the bullpen and the team was waiting for us.

“Well, look who’s back!” Derek Morgan said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe of the bullpen as we entered. “Reid, you and [Y/N] look like you just walked off a date. Everything go alright?”

I saw Spencer freeze for a fraction of a second, his eyes wide behind his glasses. I quickly shot Derek a playful glare. “You’re imagining things, Morgan,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “We were just working.”

“Oh, sure, just working,” Morgan teased, stepping closer. “Reid’s face is practically glowing. If you two didn’t kiss, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Derek,” Spencer said, his voice a little too high-pitched for his usual tone, “that’s... not... I mean, we didn’t...”

“Relax, Spence,” JJ chimed in, crossing her arms and smiling knowingly. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Reid looked around nervously, clearly trying to stay composed, but I could see the color rising in his cheeks. It was clear the team had already picked up on something, but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as I expected.

“Okay, okay,” Hotch interjected, shaking his head with a small smile. “Enough teasing. We have a job to do. But,” he added, his voice slightly amused, “next time you two decide to... ‘just work’ in private, keep it under wraps. We don’t need any distractions.”

Spencer, looking mortified but also relieved that the teasing was over, gave a small nod, and I could feel his embarrassment through the air. But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. As I passed him on my way to the next case file, I leaned in and whispered, “Maybe you should embrace the germs, Reid. You never know... it might be worth it.”

He looked at me, his expression a mixture of shock and amusement, before he blurted out, “I’ll take my chances.”

And for the first time since that kiss, I saw Spencer Reid — perfectly imperfect Spencer Reid — smile in a way that made my heart flutter.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Trust is Love

Pairing: Gale x Lyra

Word Count: 827

Author's Note: This is a snippet from my Gale x Lyra long-fic that is in progress right now! I hope you enjoy this spicy little moment. 🤭

Warnings: NSFW. Gale is a munch and Lyra is horny about it

Tentatively, you lowered yourself onto the plush blankets, letting their warmth welcome you. The tickle of the fur against your nipples was a new but welcome sensation, and you stretched your arms out above your head to act as a pillow for your cheek. A sobering tingle ran down your spine when your pelvic area met the cylindrical pillow Gale had placed beneath you, popping your rear up in the air behind you.

He requested this, you kept reminding yourself. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable. It was both thrilling and terrifying. Electricity zapped through you as you settled into the position, feeling your lover's stare on you from the end of the bed. God, how could his stare alone feel like his hands were already all over you? You panted softly into the crook of your arm, the anticipation mimicking the dizziness of being far too close to a dangerous precipice.

"Are you comfortable, my love?" His voice was rougher than usual, deep in a way that resonated through your bones. You felt yourself moisten between your legs.

"Y-Yes," you replied quietly, letting your muscles stretch and elongate as he took you in. You felt nervous, but strangely daring, too. You chanced a small wiggle of your hips; easily could be perceived as an attempt at further comfort.

But the soft groan that came from behind you meant he knew better, and he liked it. "Impossible," he muttered. "To be even closer to perfection like this than you are in the day to day; what manner of seductress has bewitched me?" He was so quiet. It was as though he wasn't even speaking to you. Perhaps he wasn't. But you heard it all the same, and you felt your walls spasm ever so slightly around his beautiful words.

"Gale," you whispered on an exhale, the muscles in your body pulling taut as you waited for him to touch you. Say something. Do anything.

The first contact of his fingertips against the backside of your thigh made you jump; unexpected, warm- no. Searing. His other hand joined it on the opposite leg, and he flattened his palms against your sensitive skin. You gasped audibly, the sound morphing into a whine as he slowly canvassed your skin, mapping your topography as dutifully as only a professor could.

When he reached the backs of your knees, he slowly inched them apart, and you groaned, the wetness between your folds now exposed to the cooler air of the room. "Gale," you keened, knotting your fingers into the blanket above your head.

"Mmm, yes, little love?"

God, he was such a tease. His hot breath puffed against your swollen slit and you squirmed, the sensation nearly too much. "P-Please," you begged softly, not even fully certain what you were begging for. Your mind was cloudy, your vision hazy. Your entire body was hot and pulsing and you just needed-

"Please, what, my love,"

You could practically hear the smirk on those ridiculously handsome lips, and you mewled helplessly as he squeezed the backs of your thighs, his thumbs skirting dangerously close to where you needed him so desperately. "Touch me!" You yelped, your voice nearly unrecognizable to you. You were so pliant beneath him, so unlike you had always been. He unraveled you, and you loved it.

"Touch you where?" He asked, mimicking innocence. His fingers traveled. "Here?" You felt them move down your legs, and you shook your head desperately. "Hmm," he pondered, then allowed them to skate up to the round of your back end. "How about here?" You shook your head vehemently, jolting every time he blew hot air against your wet heat. "Possibly here?" He tracked his hands down the sides of your legs and you huffed in annoyance.

"Gale."

He chuckled tenderly and pressed a kiss to the back of each leg, his beard tickling the sensitive skin there. "I apologize, my love. I do have a tendency to get carried away. Allow me to make it up to you." His voice lowered again. "Tongue or fingers?"

The question alone made you clench again. You knew what you wanted, but it almost felt like too much to ask. "I-"

"My love," Gale murmured, letting his hands encompass as much of your thighs as they allowed. "I want nothing more than to bring you the pleasure you deserve. Please," he sounded ragged, desperate.

"I..." You took a breath. 'Gale is safe. Gale loves me. Gale does not expect of me what I cannot give.' You chanted it in your mind like a mantra. "I want your tongue."

He moaned and pressed his nose into your leg. "Good girl."

You yelped as your walls tightened. You hadn't expected that phrase from him. "And w-where in the hell did you learn that, Mr. Dekarios?" you stuttered as he kissed a path towards your slit. He smiled against your skin.

"I do love reading your writing, my love."

~

fin

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Tagging, Darlings: @knightofmight01 @worfs-glorious-hair @serenaoffaerun @nerissa-dekarios @senualothbrok @fanon-and-canon @faerybella219 @micropoe10 @rafayels-bioluminescent-cumdump @tociminna

[ancha-aus]

Gifted Drabble - Time Travelers AU - Magical Discharge

Hello everyone! I am working on a scheme instead of one of my own many projects. and then i got the idea for another scheme!! This is for the amazing and very nice @mikimakiboo who has an great au Time Travelers AU [Here]

and this? this is something about what Mikimaki and I spoke about in one of our MANY chat/reblog chains. So here it is :D

Fair warning. I speak very little french, like a few words. I speak no latin at all and no norse. So I am counting on the translators to NOT LIE TO ME.... enjoy :) (edit: god how do you DEAL with the differnet languages? I started to cheat so quickly lmao)

*-----------------------------*

It took a while but Nightmare is at this point reasonably sure that the others have finally gotten comfortable in his and his brother's home. He had been nervous about them feeling negatively towards him at his obvious wealth but they had just seemed in awe over any jealousy or envy.

Which is a large relieve.

Even if it had been problematic to get them to agree to change into something more comfortable, much less get them to take a bath. However Nightmare believes it was more a matter of them not understanding it was fine for them to indulge.

He would however prefer it if his brother would stop shooting him these knowign looks. it is honestly unbecoming of him.

At the moment they are showing his... are they friends? Nightmare hopes so. The only other friend he ever had was Dream and Nightmare had not made it easy for the group to like him. But he liekd to believe they had gotten passed that matter.

Dust had eventually gone over to him. Looking a bit nervous as he had stammered out his question about wanting to see more of the place. Nightmare had been shocked but maybe he shouldn't ahve been. Until now Dust had been the one most open to these... time jumps. He had looked at each different place with curiosity and a need to explore.

The chance to expore a nobles home? Nightmare can see the appeal for him. He had agreed easily enough and had invited everyone else along as well, after some small communication issues.

Dream did not have to come along but alas here he is.

They are now walking through their gallery. Nightmare had seen Dsut reach for that magical rectangle before staring at it disappointed. Right, the magic had run out in his little tool. Instead he grabbed this small book and took careful notes or what he saw. Going as far as to stare at something for a longer time before trying to mimic it. Ngihtmare had managed to take a look over his shoulder and while Dust is by no means an expert painter or artist he has some rather impressive skills. At least in mimicing and drawing something with a subject.

If no other time jump were to happen Nightmare would gladly get him the schooling he so clearly craves.

They walk around the hall filled with paintings and Nightmare glances towards Killer and Nightmare knows the other already swiped some of his silverware. But he is more curious to see if he will try to steal anything out of these halls. He can see Killer eye some of the paintings and specifically the canvasses. Thoguht Nightmare doubts he will be able to stick it in his little bag.

Nightmare glances and is happy to see that Cross is managing to relax a little. the kngiht had been very stressed and focussed since they all met. But now in Ngihtmare's own home with protection it seems that the other is finally starting to be able to relax a little.

Nightmare doesn't dare to glance towards Horror. The other looks... cleans up rather well... especially with some nicer clothing... even if it doens't fit the other too well and they had to remain rather lose to fit the other.

It is fine.

And when you think about the devil...

"Nightmare?" the voice is deep as always and his name in that tune always makes him shiver "yðr?"

Nightmare dares to look back and tries not to focus on the other too much but then he sees the old painting.

It is an old one. Back before... the corruption... Back when Nightmare and Dream had still looked like twins. They had been younger and much smaller.

Dream looks over and gets a bittersweet smile on his face.

Nightmare forces himself to appear calm as he speaks. He isn't sure what the other is asking. Maybe just who that is but he may as well get this over with "Correct, C'est moi."

Horror looks confused as he glances towards Dust. Dust looks confused between Nightmare nad the painting before realising that Horror is looking at him questioning. Dust takes out his book and starts looking through it quickly. Nightmare turns to Killer and repeats the same to him in a language he understands. Waiting for them to ask the obvious questions or make the obvious conclusion.

It had been nice. To not be seen as the demon he had been infected by.

Dust manages to find what he is looking for and painfully speaks the following words, clearly not a master but managing with just his wits and little guide "þeim ir ..." he frowns before clearly settling "hann." then he frowns at the painting as he looks back at Nightmare "ce qui s'est passé...?" and he waits.

Nightmare frowns as he considers how to explain this. Dream watches him before speaking for him "Mon frère... est tombé malade..." he sighs before giving a small smile "les années ont passé... c'est devenu pire."

Nightmare steps in, in a figure of speech of course, "Ce n'est plus un problème."

Dust frowns as he repeats some of the words back to himself. Cross looks shocked and looks a lot more unsure.

Killer and Horror just share confused looks but luckily Dream is willing to explain it again in latin to Killer. That Nightmare got sick and that it got worse for a long time before Nightmare got a bit better. Killer jsut looks confused but doesn't truly mention anything. Maybe to him it doenst matter? Nightmare isn't sure from which time Killer is and what people taught him about this curse.

Horror just seems confused and looks lost to Dust but Dust seems fully distracted. Staring down and repeating certain words to himself. Both in French and in his own language.

"Illness? What does he mean? Like... a drain? No that doens't make sense... Soulbreak? no that is fatale especially in this time..." he taps his chin as he stares at the painting "Wait..." He turns quickly between Ngihtamre and the painting "A magic shift but that is..." He shoots upright "Overcharge!! that is overcharge!!!"

He almost shouts it and Nightmare knows this is it. He managed to complete the puzzle and now knows he is cursed. A bad omen for the very future of all who interact with him.

Horror frowns and speaks louder "Dust. Hverr verð at?"

Dust frowns and holds up a hand, his usual wait a moment sign as he starts to quickly search his book. Writing down some words in his little book before struggling through the sentence as he shows Horror the meaning "Fjölkyngi... þykkja mikill... meiða, sótt!" and he waits. Horror reads it for a moment and seems to make his own conclusion as he nods.

"Regin raun." and he nods again.

Dust repeats the words before quickly searching his little book. Horror ends up having to point the right words out.

Dust frowns "What? No? It isn't some god test?! It is..." he looks around and looks disheartend and whatever he is seeing as he hugs the book close "No you guys don't get it..." he glares as he looks down frustrated.

Dream and him share a look as Ngihtmare speaks slowly "Tout va bien. Je vais bien."

Dust shakes his words as he struggles "Non, ce n'est pas bien. mais je" he thinks for a moment "non peux pas expliquer." He looks so frustrated "Je ne connais pas... les paroles." he glares at the book in his hand and seems to take out his tool again. The very magical item he had been using in the beginning to communicate.

Killer leans closer and asks slowly "Ergo... Ego sum iens ut peteret manifesta... maledictus es ut parvulus aut filius dei?"

Nightmare needs a moment before turning confused towards Killer. A child of god? Is he seriously asking that? Why would he even think that?

Killer meanwhile jsut stares at him curiously. Looking completely serious as he waits for his answer.

Dream interrupts "Non est maledictus frater meus!" his brother always had been willing to deny his faith. No matter against who it was.

Killer for his part just nods "Deo proles, quam."

Dust throws his hands up in the air before covering his face. Looking all sorts of done with the situation. Everyone stares at him for a moment before he looks forwards with a focused look. a glare on his face "Fine. Fine! if that is how it is going to be?! Fine! I will MAKE you all understand what the hell is going on and how fucking dangerous it is!" he grabs his bag and marches towards the exit. Some of Ngihtmare's guards go to step in his way but the absolutely furious looks makes them pause "Yeah. that is what i fucking thought. don't fucking try me right now. we are inside a house and no law is in place to stop me!" and he marches out.

Dream looks curiously after him before shooting Nightmare a look. He motions towards the leaving form as if to ask if that is normal. Ngihtmare hsakes his skull. No. That isn't normal.

The next few days were... trying at best. Cross seemed to be nervous and a bit more unsure, most likely his culture was similar to his own and Nightmare feels hurt by it. He wonders if this is how they felt when Nightmare ignored them. Even so this isn't even hafl as bad. As Cross still smiles and talks to him. Just less relaxed and easy than before. a mention about cross being happy this happened in his time makes nightmare realise that there could ahve been a big issue.

Killer just keeps asking him questions about what it is like to be a god. Or the child of one. He also asks him which god is his parent which Nightmare has no answer to. It is a curse. a sign that he is a demon. But the idea of trying to make Killer see that hurts.

Horror has largely remained the same. It is a shame that Nightmare does not share a language with him. Nightmare wonders what the other thinks about all of it and which conclusion he made.

Dust has been... busy. He is writing quickly in his book and seems to be cross references different books, some of which Nightmare recognises from his own library. Dust is always muttering words to himself. Sometimes in Nightmare's own language but more often than not in french. He only stopped doing this once to ask Nightmare for more parchment and ink. Something that he could write on and something he could draw on and with. Nightmare gave him charcoal and some ink bottles and paper as he wished. After that the smaller skeleton has been hard at work it seems. Almost obsessively.

It isn't until later that day that Nightmare gets a glimps into what the other had been working on.

They are in the lounge. Nightmare is reading something as Cross stands guard. Killer is staring at the different trinkets in the room as Horror relaxes on a couch. Nightmare's twin is nearby too, Dream is reading some mail they had been given.

Then Dust walks in. His arms are covered wiht Ink and he has dark marks under his sockets. He is still wearing the same outfit as he was a few days prior. He glances around and speaks confidently "Viens." he looks at Cross, Nightmare and Dream. Then he looks at Killer "Veni." and lastly at Horror "Koma." and he turns around and starts walking. Nightmare can guess they all got the same order and all of them follow the other.

They end up going to one of the many spare rooms in the mansion. They walk in and-

There is a large dark board. Dust has papers laying on the desk and what seems to be chalk, where he got that Ngihtmare is not too sure.

Dust just glares at them as he points towards the chairs. The order is clear even without words before he marches over towards the door and kicks it closed.

Dust walks towards the board and starts to write down a few words. He can understand the word for Soul that is writen in a line. Both in French and in Latin. Dust points towards the wrod and waits as he looks at everyone "Understand? Intelligere? Entendre? Comprendre? Vita?" He looks at everyone one by one.

Cross nods and Horror nods as well. Killer looks uncertain as he shrugs. Nightmare nods himself and Dream nods too. They understand he means soul.

Dust frowns as Killer before nodding. "Right. of course. it is too much to ask everyone can read. I am lucky as it is...." he walks back over towards the desk and moves some of the books around. Nightmare takes a glance and sees some antonomy books... both in french and latin. He has notes with words writen on it and underlined. Some lines combining a few of the words, both familiar and unfamiliar to Nightmare.

Dust turns to Killer and points towards the written words "Est anima." He waits as he stares at Killer "Intelligere? Anima?"

Killer blinks before nodding as he points towards his red circle in front of his sternum "Anima." he points towards the blackboard "His verbis omnibus intelliguntur anima?"

Dust needs a moment clearly before nodding "Sic." He turns back towards the board and points towards the first word. 'Soul'. Dust speaks it out loud a few times and Nightmare nods slowly.

Dust nods and then starts to draw on the board. It are two little figures. One is a human. and the other is a simple monster. Dust points towards both the figures and waits for a moment. He sees no confusion before drawing more.

He makes a heart symbol by the human before drawing an upside down heart, a soul symbol, next to the small monster.

He then writes even more words down. Nightmare waits and spots the word meaning Magic. Dust takes the time to make sure Killer understands too.

Dust nods as he lays down the chalk and points towards the little heart and soul symbol and says "Soul."

Wait... is he implying that... humans have souls? Nightmare glances around and sees that everyone looks confused as well. Dust taps on the board to get everyones attention "Soul." He points towards the one by the human "Soul closed. Anima clausus, âme clos, Sál lúka."

He speaks slowly as he writes down under it 'Closed' and an arrow to 'No Magic.' He points at the word 'closed' and repeats the different translations for shut and closed off. He points to the word 'No' which they all kinda know by now means No. and then the 'Magic' which means magic.

So... The heart symbol... means a locked soul? Which means no magic? He asks this off Dust and Dust lights up. He is smiling brightly and agrees easily. Killer shoots him a confused look as Nightmare repeats it in latin for his understanding as Dsut painfully repeats the explanation to Horror.

So... a locked soul means no magic? Still, Dust points towards the normal soul symbol and writes a new word, which he later explains means Open. And that this means there is magic.

Dust turns back to them. He points to himself "A monster." and he repeats the word again in all the different langauges. It means monster? nightmare knows of course that their species is called monsters but there is a second meaning to it. Dust points towards the open soul. "les monstres ont une âme ouverte." before he turns to Horror to repeat it in another language as Nightmare hears Dream quickly translate for Killer.

Dust points to the human figure "Les humains ont des âmes fermées... en général." He shakes his skull at the confused look and just points to the drawing "les humains ont des âmes fermées." Okay. For now they just assume all monsters have magic and all humans don't have magic. and they have different souls because of it?

Dust points towards the open soul and circles the word for magic "les âmes font de la magie." Dream gasps as he covers his mouth. Nightmare agrees. What does he mean? since when? Magic is a gift! Given by god! If the god deems you a bad omen you get punished like... Nightmare was.

Dust ignores the confusion as he once again translates for Horror. Horror is left shocked as well as Dust glances around. He sighs as he speaks to Killer next. Killer tilts his skull and looks intrigued over confused.

Nightmare shakes his skull as he holds a hand "Non. Dieu nous donne de la magie." He needs Dust to know this.

Dust crosses his arms and shakes his skull "Je ne crois pas en Dieu."

Nightmare just stares. What does he mean he doesn't believe in god? What does he mean-

"Et si je ne crois pas ou n'adore pas Dieu, pourquoi me donner de la magie ?"

To... prove that they exist? but... why would god work so hard to make just any mortal believe in them?

Dust gives a much shorter version to Horror, Nightmare assumes that it is shorter at least as he uses many less words. Then he looks at Dream and Nightmare as he waits before Dream whispers a translation to Killer. Still in shock as what Dust just claimed.

It makes no sense?

Killer raises a hand and Dsut blinks confused before nodding. Killer speaks excited "Si deos dixeris non magica dare tibi. quomodo eam habes?"

Dust stares at him and Killer has to repeat a words back to him and Dust rushes to the two books and looks through them quickly. Nightmare realises it are two of his books. it is the same story but one in french and one in latin-

Is he using a fictional tale to figure out how to translate from one languge he barely knows to another?

Dust tilts his skull and seems to struggle for words before giving up. He walks towards the board and draws two figures, one male, one female. He makes a little heart sign and draws a much smaller figure.

He points at the bigger figure "Open soul." he points to the little figure "Open soul."

Dream sputters out a question to ask if he means they get it from their parents. Dust nods his agreement.

He is telling them... That magic is not a gift of god. But something that is passed from a parent to their child? And that monsters always have the ability because of their open soul and humans can probably get this through their parents?

Dust waits a moment before looking smug. The next thing he does is erase most of what he draw, just leaving the different words for soul and magic. He next draws a soul shape with little wiggles. He points towards it and speaks about an open soul again. He points towards the little wiggles and waves around it and says magic.

The soul... makes the magic... an open soul makes magic...

Dust next lays down his chalk and holds a hand out. He concentrates and his eye ligths flash before blue aura appears around his hand. His kettle floats over and he lets it float harmlessly around him. Using only one finger to navigate it... He... he doesn't even need to look at it... There is perfect control over his magic.

Nightmare has seen powerful sorcerers with less control than Dust. Nightmare had assumed that Dust had been powerful but he beleived him to use tools and items to cast magic. Much less just this-

If... if Dust is this powerful... and he doesn't even... he said he doesn't believe in god... why would god gift a non believer with magic this powerful? especially as after getting it he still doesn't believe?

Dream however looks very intrigued as he raises his hand. Dust looks amsued but nods to Dream next. Dream decides to ask Dsut why he is telling them this.

Dust looks downright excited as he points to Nightmare "Overcharged!"

What even is that word?

Dust doens't look discouraged as he grabs the kettle. He fills it with some water he pulls from behind the desk and uses magic to heat it up. He points the the kettle "Soul" together with the other words for soul, nightmare would feel annoyed if it wasn't for a good reason. Just because Nightmare is starting to pick up the meaning of the differnet words doens't mean the others are.

Dust raises the water still left in the container before referring to it as magic. He points towards the kettle as it starts to steam "Release."

They all frown as he puts the kettle down and walks towards the board. He points towards the soul and draws more wriggle lines around it before explaining in his best french "normalement. l'âme ouverte libère la magie." He motions towards the kettle and waits for a moment.

So... the soul releasing magic is like a kettle releasing steam?

Dsut focusses on explaning to Horror as Nightmare takes it upon himself to give Killer his translation. Cross just looks intrigued at the different tools and drawings.

Next. Dust draws another soul but... this is different. instead of drawing the wriggles showing magic around the soul he draws them in the soul. Next he draws another soul but it looks... wrong... like it is bulging. Then another, assumingly, soul with even more wriggles and the soul doenst even look like a soul anymore.

Lastly. He pauses for a moment before the draws somethign that has exploded apart wtih the magic wriggles now free and-

...

Nightmare feels hismelf pauses as Dream seems to realise it as well as he covers his mouth in shock. Killer, Cross and Horror seem to have all made the same mistake.

Dust points towards the two middle drawings, the ones with the soul filled up wiht magic and says that same word "Overcharge." then. As if it isn't enough "surcharge, onerem, mjök, molt." He waits for a moment.

He points towards the last drawing before picking up the kettle, the makeshift soul for this lesson, and it truly is a lesson. Dust pushes the top closed and makes sure it remains closed. Next he starts to heat it up again, using magic to keep it away from them. Nightmare can see the kettle start to shake before a burst and steam blows out of the side.

It cracks...

If the pressure gets too high... if the magic in the soul gets too high and it can't get out... the soul cracks...

He rubs his own sternum. Remembering how much his soul had hurt... all those years ago. How he felt full and heavy. How everything felt like too much. Like there had been pressure... Like something needed to leave him...

Then the hurt got to an extreme and he started choking on tar like fluid which covered him...

Dust pulls the kettle open and points towards the exploded image he drew before. Waiting.

Dream points towards it "mais c'est bien ça? c'est bien maintenant"

and Dust looks so sad when he shakes his head. He makes a new drawing. One where the soul is still in one piece but with an obvious crack, where some of the wriggles can escape through.

But then he draws the next drawing, the same soul with the same crack, but wriggles still building up in the soul.

The cycle starts again.

dust puts more water in the kettle and starts to heat it up again. Most magic and some steam escapes but he doesn't stop as before. He keeps heating it. and heating it. and heating it.

The kettle explodes.

Dust turns to stare at Nightmare. Nightmare can't find it in himself to look away...

Dust... Dust had panicked... not because he believed Nightmare to be cursed... not because he believed him to be a bad omen... Dust knows about this happening... He knows about what caused it... He knows the ending...

Dream however is up and has both hands on Dust's shoulders. Dsut blinks confused and Cross bristles and glares at Nightmare's twin. Nightmare just feels numb to it.

Dream however demands answers "c'est une maladie?!"

Dust nods "Oui."

Dream shakes slightly "si un médecin l'examinait?"

Dust nods again "même constat."

Dream stares at him "comment pouvons-nous arrêter cela ?"

Dust raises a brow and looks unimpressed "réduire la charge. utiliser la magie." He says it like they are an idiot for not understanding.

Cross asks how Dust knows this and Dust needs a moment longer to understand the different french as Killer looks impatiently for a translation as Horror looks worried and confused himself.

Dust rolls his eyes as he points at himself "Overcharged."

A moment of silence as there is no need for a translation after hearing that word so often in this context.

Dsut... Dust suffers the same faith... but beause he had a doctor check him he knows how to help himself. Meanwhile Nightmare just had the priests tell him he was a demon or cursed and Nim was more than happy to accept that.

Dream has actual tears in his eyes as he hugs Dust close. Muttering thank yous and swearing up and down they will repay him for this. Asking him if Dust can write it all down.

Dust clearly is a bit confused but eventually just waves towards all the notes on the desk. Dream rushes there as he starts carefully collecting things. Talking about how he is going to clal for a doctor to confirm this but that Ngihtamre should use his magic to make sure it doesn't get much worse.

Nightmare watches numbly as Dsut proceeds to try and explain to Killer and Horror the best he can.

Nightmare knows he should help, he is actually fluent in latin and should help with explaining this... but his mind is stuck on the posibility that he isn't cursed. That he didn't anger god by just existing. That he wasn't a failure and ruined something amazing. THat he wasn't dragging Dream into hell with him by existing.

By the end the others seem to understnad and look worried for him. They all try to convince him to use magic as Nightmare considers letting his tendrils out... Those usually take magic to use but they always seemed to bother others. But they are his friends and it seems like they really want to help him. especially after what dust explained.

Nightmare manages to convince them he will but in private. which they accept even if they look very unhappy about it. Horror pats his shoulder and mutters some words "munu heill" and he goes to Dust's side who, honestly? Looks beyond exhausted.

Right... He had been... figuring out how to warn them for days now.

Dust yawns and mutters something, too soft and too much slurred together for Nightmare to make sense off. But he walks over to one of the more comfortable chairs. He sits in it and closes his eyes as he starts to fall asleep.

Cross is nearby and shakes him gentle. trying to convince him to sleep in an actual bed and Ngihtmare goes over to help Cross convince the tiny stubborn skeleton.

Nightmare will have to meet up wiht doctors and verify the information he was just given.

But for now, in the first time for many years.

He truly feels okay to just be and enjoy the presence of those close to him.

He was truly blessed to get to meet these strange skeletons.

[ellswritings]

Undercover Heat

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: Regular Criminal Minds violence, mentions of blood, death, and gore, suggestive content at the end (no smut), a bit of foul language, enemies to lovers, Hotch is kind of a meanie.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Sitting in the Los Angeles police station for the third day in a row has the entire team from the B.A.U stretched thin and exhausted. They’ve been dealing with a serial killer who targets couples with large age gaps in upscale, luxury clubs. He’s taken out three couples in the past three weeks. Tension was thick in the air, the exhaustion from long hours spent hunting a brutal unsub weighing on each of them.

Y/N runs a hand over her face in irritation as she leans on Morgan’s shoulder. They’ve been driving themselves crazy trying to figure out who this killer is. They’ve gone to multiple different clubs asking if anyone has seen a man between ages 35-50 who tends to sit at the bar people watching rather than engaging in the night’s festivities. But the regulars and employees said they hadn’t seen anything. Their unsub has been strangling his victims in the luxury clubs before dumping their bodies exactly two miles away in very particular positions. They’ve all been found in public spaces. But so far, they were missing something.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, flipping through the latest crime scene photos as Rossi and Morgan finished pinning the map with the last locations of the attacks. Y/N sat across from Reid, skimming through her notes as she analyzed the patterns. With an IQ of 179, a doctorate in criminology and psychology, two master’s degrees in chemistry and law, and a B.A. in history and human resources, her mind rarely rested. She could also fluently converse in four languages—French, Russian, German, and Spanish—which had come in handy countless times in the field. Despite her vast knowledge and sharp instincts, this case had left her unsettled. Something was off, and they hadn’t cracked it yet.

Rossi broke the silence. “We’ve been over this already. The unsub is hitting clubs that cater to the upper class, targeting couples with large age gaps. But there’s still a piece we’re missing. Why these clubs? Why these victims?”

Morgan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “This guy knows how to pick his victims, that’s for sure. But he’s not choosing randomly—there’s gotta be something more connecting these places.”

Y/N frowned, glancing between the case files and the map. “It’s not just about wealth. These clubs aren’t the most high-profile ones in the city, and they’re spread out across the area.”

Reid tapped his pen against the table. “It’s true. They’re not clustered in one neighborhood, and they don’t have a shared ownership group or any overt connections that we’ve found.”

Emily Prentiss nodded from her spot at the edge of the table, deep in thought. “What about the victims? They’re all couples with significant age differences. That’s part of his ritual, but it doesn’t explain why he’s picking these clubs.”

Y/N was staring at the list of clubs they’d canvassed earlier: Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. She narrowed her eyes, something beginning to click in her mind. “Hold on…”

“What is it?” Hotch asked, noticing her shift in focus.

Y/N sat up straighter, her voice thoughtful. “The clubs… they’re in alphabetical order. Look—Ascend, Bourbon Room, Cielo. He’s not just picking random spots. He’s following a sequence.”

Reid’s eyes lit up in realization. “You’re right. It’s subtle, but it makes sense. This kind of obsessive order suggests a particular form of OCD—a need to control every element of his actions. It’s not about the clubs themselves; it’s about the order they fall into.”

Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, impressed. “Damn. This guy’s not just a killer—he’s a full-on control freak.”

Hotch nodded, his expression serious. “If he’s following an alphabetical pattern, we can anticipate his next move. What’s the next club in line?”

Y/N flipped through the files, pulling out the next likely target. “‘DeVane.’ It’s upscale, fits the profile of where he’s been targeting couples. If he’s keeping to this pattern, that’s where he’ll strike next.”

JJ stepped forward, pointing at the map. “Alright. So we’ve got the next location. Now we just need to draw him out.”

Rossi’s eyes light up with an idea as he looked between Y/N and Hotch, “Well, we know the unsub’s got a thing for couples with big age gaps. Looks like we need a decoy.”

Before anyone could react, Morgan’s gaze landed squarely on Y/N, mischief dancing behind his eyes, “And we’ve got the perfect couple right here.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Emily, catching onto Morgan and Rossi’s plan, chuckled. “He’s right, you know. You and Hotch fit the profile. It’d be perfect.”

Y/N stared, incredulous, before glancing toward Hotch. The man was stone-faced, as usual, but she could feel the tension rise between them. “You want me to pretend to be in a relationship with him?”

Morgan shrugged, his smile widening. “Well, you’re 23, Hotch is… not 23. The age gap fits perfectly.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, frustration building. “You’re seriously suggesting that Hotch and I—two people who can barely tolerate each other—pretend to be a couple?”

Hotch didn’t even look up from his files. “We’re professionals. We can set aside our differences for this.”

Y/N let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Set aside our differences? Hotch, we can’t even get through a team meeting without arguing over strategy. How do you expect us to pull off a believable relationship?”

Prentiss leaned in, smirking. “You two do argue like an old married couple already.”

Y/N threw her a sharp look. “That’s not funny.”

JJ chimed in, trying to defuse the tension. “Look, I know this is uncomfortable, but we need to catch this guy before he kills again. You two are the best option we have.”

Y/N shook her head, frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just about being uncomfortable. We have to convince the unsub that we’re a legitimate couple—he’s going to notice every detail. And we’re not exactly… compatible.”

Hotch finally spoke up, his tone calm but firm. “We don’t have to like each other to do our jobs, L/N. We just have to be convincing enough to lure the unsub in.”

Y/N stared at him, arms crossed tightly. “Convincing? You and I can barely stand to be in the same room. How do you expect us to sell a romantic relationship?”

Morgan chuckled from the side. “Come on, L/N, you’re one of the smartest people I know. With that IQ and all those degrees, you can figure this out.”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I have a doctorate in criminology and psychology, a master’s in law and chemistry, and a B.A. in history and human resources. None of those degrees cover ‘pretending to like your boss who you can’t stand.’”

Rossi stepped in, his tone more diplomatic. “Look, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think you could handle it. This guy’s escalating, and we need to act fast. You and Hotch are the best team for this.”

Y/N sighed, clearly frustrated but recognizing the urgency. She looked over at Hotch, who met her gaze with that same impassive expression. “Fine,” she muttered. “But for the record, I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Hotch gave a curt nod. “Noted.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the skimpy red dress that Emily had insisted she wear for this undercover mission. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating every curve. The slit on the side revealed a generous portion of her thigh, leaving just enough room to conceal her gun but not much else to the imagination. The sweetheart neckline plunged dangerously low, exposing far more cleavage than she was used to. She felt exposed, vulnerable—but Emily had been insistent.

“Trust me,” Emily had said with a wicked grin. “You’ll knock them dead.”

Y/N took a deep breath and adjusted the neckline again, trying to reconcile the professional part of her brain with the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She wasn’t usually the type to use her looks to her advantage, but tonight was different. Tonight, the mission came first.

She stepped out into the hallway where the rest of the team was waiting. The moment she appeared, Morgan’s eyes widened, and he let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, Y/N, you trying to kill the unsub or us?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s not that bad.”

Morgan grinned, his gaze trailing over her in a playful, non-threatening way that only a close friend could get away with. “If this guy doesn’t fall for the bait, Lord knows I will,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth making Y/N slap his chest.

Emily stepped up beside Morgan, her eyes lighting up with approval. “See? I told you that dress would be perfect. You look like a total bombshell.”

Y/N glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “Yeah, well, I feel like I’m about to flash someone.”

Emily shrugged, unfazed. “That’s kind of the point.”

Morgan shot her a wink. “You’re gonna break hearts tonight, sweetheart. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward Hotch, who had been silent since she entered the room. His gaze was locked on her, but he wasn’t saying anything. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her stomach tighten.

He quickly glanced away when she caught him staring, clearing his throat. “We need to focus on the mission.”

“Right.” Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her chest. She wasn’t here to impress anyone—least of all Aaron Hotchner. He was too serious, too controlled. While Y/N on the other hand tends to handle the job by hiding behind a wall of humor and sarcasm, something Hotch hates. They’d never gotten along. This was strictly business.

Still, as they walked out to the car, she couldn’t help but feel Hotch’s presence looming next to her. He hadn’t said a word about the dress, but the way his eyes had lingered on her—particularly on her cleavage—hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was like he was trying not to look, but failing miserably.

By the time they arrived at the club, Y/N’s nerves had settled somewhat. The loud thrum of music pulsed through the walls as they approached the entrance, and she straightened her spine, trying to adopt the confident persona they needed for the night.

“Okay,” she murmured as they stepped through the door. “We need to sell this. So maybe try not looking like a statue,” she grumbles lowly.

Hotch, staying ever stoic, gave a curt nod. “I know.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. Hotch’s body language screamed discomfort. His shoulders were rigid, his movements stiff, and he had the expression of someone being dragged to an event they wanted no part of.

She leaned in closer to him, keeping her voice low. “Hotch, you’re going to blow this if you don’t relax. We’re supposed to be a couple.”

“I’m relaxed,” Hotch said, though the tension in his jaw told a different story.

Y/N huffed in frustration. “You look like you’re about to interrogate someone, not go dancing with your girlfriend.”

Hotch shot her a look. “I’m here to catch the unsub, not dance.”

“You’re here to catch the unsub by pretending to be my boyfriend,” Y/N whispered fiercely. “Right now, you’re not doing a very good job of that.”

Hotch’s expression remained impassive, but Y/N could sense the faintest hint of annoyance in his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

“Start by putting your arm around me,” she said through gritted teeth. “Couples don’t walk into clubs two feet apart.”

Hotch hesitated, then slipped his arm around her waist. It was awkward at first, his hand hovering as if he wasn’t sure where to put it. But Y/N pressed into him slightly, encouraging him to pull her closer. After a moment, his grip tightened, and they moved deeper into the crowded club.

They found their way to the dance floor, where couples swayed and ground against each other in the dim, pulsating lights. Y/N turned to Hotch, her eyes scanning the room for any sign of their target. They had to blend in.

“Follow my lead,” she said softly.

Hotch nodded, though the tightness in his posture remained.

Y/N began to move to the music, her body swaying in time with the beat. Hotch tried to follow her movements, but he was stiff, almost robotic. She bit back a sigh and leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“We’ve got eyes on us,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against the skin just below. “Black hoodie, sitting alone at the bar. You need to make this believable. Stop acting like I have some incurable disease.”

Hotch’s hands found her hips, his grip firm but hesitant. Y/N could feel the tension radiating off him, but she kept moving, her body fluid and sensual as she ground against him. Their bodies remain close, she spins around pressing her ass against crotch, and for a moment, she felt his breath hitch.

“You’re too stiff,” she murmured, leaning her head back, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Relax.”

Hotch’s hands tightened on her hips as he tried to match her rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to ease, and he pulled her closer, his breath now becoming warm against her neck.

“That’s better,” Y/N whispered, her voice low and teasing.

Hotch’s hands moved more confidently now, gripping her hips with a possessive strength that sent a shiver down her spine. Y/N’s heart raced as she tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips against the skin of his neck. She trails kisses up and down his skin, nibbling at the soft spot that connects his shoulder to his neck. She turns back around, running her hands through his raven black hair, tugging on the strands which ends up pulling a small groan from Hotch’s lips. The music and atmosphere of the club seems to have pulled them in much deeper than they thought. It’s getting harder to breathe the closer they stay.

“We’ve got his attention,” she murmured, her lips ghosting along the curve of his jaw. She fights off every urge to leave a mark. “He hasn’t looked away for the past five minutes.”

Without warning, Y/N moves her attention from his neck and kisses him, her lips pressing against his in a way that was both soft and urgent. Hotch froze for a split second, but then his hands gripped her waist, pulling her even closer as he deepened the kiss. He’ll probably scold her for the unprofessional action later, but they need to keep this guys attention if this is going to work.

It was electric, the tension between them igniting in a way neither of them had anticipated. Hotch’s hand moves upward, gripping the back of her head. If her eyes were open, they’d be rolling into the back of her head with the way he’s dominating her. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she kissed him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. For a moment, it didn’t feel like an act.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their eyes locked. Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something Y/N couldn’t quite place.

“He’s hooked,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless. “We need to get him somewhere more secluded. Before he hurts someone else.”

Hotch nodded, his grip on her waist still tight as they made their way toward the exit. Once outside, the cool night air hit them, and Y/N quickly scanned the area, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. She can’t see if the unsub followed them. The only light illuminating the area around them being the moon.

“We need to keep making this look real,” Y/N murmured as they moved toward a shadowed alley. “Just in case he’s still watching.”

Without warning, Hotch spun her around and pinned her against the wall, his body pressing into hers. One of his hands is still tight on her hip, the other one shooting up to her neck, squeezing it slightly to hold her in place. Y/N’s breath catches in her throat as Hotch’s eyes visibly darken.

“Is this believable enough for you?” Hotch whispers, his voice low and rough in her ear.

Y/N swallowed hard, enjoying the tiny amount of pressure on her throat. “Yeah… that’ll do.”

They stood like that for a few moments, their bodies pressed together in the darkness. Hotch plants open mouthed kisses from her cheek all the way down to her neck and across her chest, the neckline allowing him much needed access. Y/N sucks in a shaky breath, still waiting for any sign of the unsub. She could feel the tension between them, the heat radiating off Hotch’s body as he held her against the wall.

Suddenly, movement caught her eye. The unsub stepped out of the shadows, his gaze locked on them. Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately. She shoved Hotch to the side, spinning around to face the unsub as he lunged at her.

In one swift motion, Y/N ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back. The unsub let out a grunt of pain as she swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Hotch was by her side in an instant, helping to restrain the unsub as they waited for backup to arrive.

When it was all over, Y/N stood there, breathing heavily, her heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She glanced over at Hotch, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.

Y/N nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hotch’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he looked away, his expression unreadable once again. “Good work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, despite the tension still thrumming between them. “Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

As they waited for the team to arrive, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The mission might have been over, but the tension between her and Hotch was far from resolved.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Y/N barely made it through the door of her hotel room before she kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief. Her feet ached from the hours spent in the club, and all she wanted was to peel off the red dress that clung to her like a second skin, take a long shower, and crash for the night. The team had successfully apprehended the unsub, and they’d earned a few hours of sleep before their early flight back to Quantico.

As she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress, a commanding knock on her door stopped her mid-motion. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was late, far past the time she expected anyone on the team to come knocking. Confusion settled in her chest as she moved toward the door, wondering if someone had an emergency or a last-minute update about the case.

When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her sent her heart racing.

Hotch stood there, but not like the composed, stoic team leader she was used to seeing. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his usually slicked-back hair had a slightly tousled look, as if he’d been running his hands through it. But it wasn’t just his disheveled appearance that threw her off—it was the way his dark eyes flickered with something raw, something he was barely holding back.

He looked… frazzled, but not in a scared or anxious way. No, this was different. It was the kind of frazzled that spoke of barely-contained desire, the kind that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes swept over her, lingering on the red dress she was still wearing. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening for a split second before he quickly looked back up at her face. But not quickly enough.

“Hotch?” she asked, her voice uncertain, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s late—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Hotch stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back. He shut the door behind him with a firm push, the click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His entire presence was overwhelming, the space between them growing smaller with each passing second.

“Why are you still in that dress?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his gaze once again dipping to the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t a question borne out of curiosity; it was an accusation, a demand.

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off by the intensity in his eyes, the tension radiating off him in waves. “I—I just got back. I didn’t have time to—”

But before she could explain further, Hotch took another step forward, backing her up against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of her head, caging her in. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the scent of his cologne filling her senses.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a low growl, “what the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N’s heart was racing now, her breath hitching as she stared up at him. His face was inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin. “What are you talking about?”

“The kiss,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “The way you touched me. What were you trying to do?”

Y/N’s lips parted in shock, her mind spinning. This wasn’t an interrogation—not really. This was something else, something charged with an energy she couldn’t ignore.

“I was trying to sell the cover,” she replied, her voice faltering slightly, though she stood her ground. “We had to be convincing.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “Convincing? You were doing a hell of a lot more than that.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as his words hung between them, thick with implication. The way he was looking at her, the way his body pressed so close to hers, sent heat pooling in her stomach. She could feel the tension crackling between them, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her heart pounding in her chest.

Hotch’s gaze bore into hers, his voice dangerously soft. “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, trying to regain control of the situation, of herself. But the way Hotch was staring at her, the way his body was crowding her against the wall, made it nearly impossible to think straight.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” Hotch’s voice was thick with disbelief, and he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering near her ear. “You kissed your superior, L/N. You pushed yourself against me like a dirty whore. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling where his breath brushed against her ear. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. The heat between them was suffocating, and her body reacted in ways she couldn’t control.

“You kissed me back,” she shot back, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, even as her voice wavered.

Hotch’s hand slid down the wall, his fingers brushing against her arm, sending a shockwave of electricity through her. His lips were so close to her neck now, she could feel the warmth of them, but he didn’t touch her—at least, not yet.

“You want to talk about what I did?” His voice was a husky whisper. “Or do you want to talk about why you did it in the first place?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing. “What are you trying to get at, Hotch?”

“I’m trying to figure out what was going through your mind,” he said, his eyes dark with intensity. “You could’ve made it believable without kissing me like that. But you didn’t.”

Y/N’s skin flushed, and she fought to stay composed. “I did what I had to do to keep the cover intact. That’s it.”

Hotch’s lips twisted into a smirk that sent a ripple of heat through her. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Her pulse was in her throat now, and she couldn’t ignore the way her body responded to his nearness, the way her mind spun every time his breath ghosted over her skin.

“You’re trying to act like you don’t care,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, predatory. “But you can’t stand it, can you? You’re as affected by this as I am.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, and she pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You may be able to lie to yourself,” Hotch said softly, his hand brushing over her side, sending a shockwave of heat through her. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing uneven as the tension between them became unbearable. Every inch of her body was attuned to his, and the more they fought, the stronger the pull between them became.

“Maybe it’s you who can’t handle it,” Y/N shot back, her voice shaky, but defiant. “Maybe you’re the only one who’s affected.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened even further, and without warning, his lips crashed against hers, all of the tension, all of the pent-up frustration between them exploding in that moment.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, her body melting into his as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. A certain wetness pools between her legs as his thigh spreads her legs apart. She grounds herself against him as the kiss builds. It’s fierce, heated, and Y/N can’t stop herself, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor.

It was overwhelming—the way his body pressed into hers, the way his lips moved against hers, demanding more. She could feel the heat between them building, igniting something deep within her that she couldn’t suppress.

For a moment, everything else faded away. The mission, the team, the rules—they all disappeared, leaving only the fire that burned between them.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to regain control.

“This is a bad idea,” Y/N whispered, her voice breathless.

Hotch’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers brushing against her neck. “I know.”

But neither of them made a move to stop.

[boopiemadz]

𝙇𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙝

Spencer Reid X !SwiftieReader (masterlist here)

In which after a breakup leaves you broken and shattered, Spencer steps in comforting you as your plane goes down... or so you thought, before he turned it right around.

"It only hurts this much right now"

Was what I was thinkin' the whole time.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out.

I'll be gettin' over you my whole life.

You didn’t remember how you got to Quantico that morning.

You remembered waking up, if you could call it that, eyes swollen, head pounding, chest tight from crying yourself into exhausted half-sleep. You remembered dressing mechanically, in clothes that smelled like the floor of your closet, pulling your hair back with shaking hands.

It only hurts this much right now, but those words were a lie. Because it didn’t just hurt now. It had been hurting for days. For weeks. Maybe forever.

You sat at your desk, staring blankly at the preliminary file Garcia had sent over, fingers curled loosely around a pen you hadn’t realized you were holding. You tried to focus, missing woman, rural Nevada, possible abduction, but your brain refused to latch onto the details. The words blurred together on the page, your eyes skimming over phrases last seen, possible forced entry, family distraught...

Across the room, you heard Morgan and Prentiss talking softly, you heard Hotch’s low voice somewhere in the corridor, you heard the door to the coffee room swing open and shut.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice was soft, hesitant, the way he always spoke when he was worried he was intruding. You didn’t look up. You couldn’t. You knew if you met those gentle brown eyes, you’d shatter right there at your desk.

But Spencer had never needed eye contact to read people. He knew the language of the hands, the slump of shoulders, the way someone’s breathing changed when they were fighting to hold themselves together. And right now, you were broadcasting loud and clear: barely holding it together.

He hovered beside your desk, awkward but determined, holding a cup of tea. “Thought you might want this,” he murmured, placing it gently on the corner of your desk. You nodded faintly. “Thanks.”

He lingered a beat longer, eyes flicking over your face, taking in your hollowed eyes, the way your hands trembled just slightly. “I’m here if you need anything,” he said softly.

---

The case hit you hard.

A 16-year-old girl gone from her home in a Nevada desert town, no sign of forced entry, no ransom note, just vanished. Her parents were frantic. On the jet, JJ ran point with the media profile while Morgan and Prentiss discussed possible suspects. You sat silently near the window, chin in your hand, eyes unfocused. Your mind should have been here. On the details. On the patterns. On the unsub.

But all you could think about was him.

Not the unsub. Not the missing girl. Not even your team.

Him. The man who had ended everything with one cold, clean sentence: “I can’t do this anymore.” You thought you’d prepared yourself. You thought you’d seen the signs. But the truth was, you hadn’t. And now here you were, trying to piece together someone else’s life while your own lay cracked and bleeding inside your chest.

You pressed your fingers to your eyes, willing the tears away. You had no right to fall apart now. There was a girl out there. Alone. Terrified. Focus.

But grief is a ghost. It slips between your ribs when you least expect it, wraps cold fingers around your lungs. Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out. You repeated the words like a lifeline, like they’d somehow carry you over this sharp, bottomless ache.

Later that night, after the team split off to canvass the area, you found yourself sitting on the precinct steps, staring up at the desert sky. You hugged your arms around yourself, feeling the brittle night air sting your skin.

You didn’t hear Spencer approach until he sat down beside you, long legs folding awkwardly as he settled onto the steps. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached you, he said, “You know, heartbreak activates the same areas of the brain as physical pain. The anterior cingulate cortex, specifically.” You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. “Spencer…”

“I know, I know. it’s not exactly comforting.” He gave a sheepish smile. “But… I guess I just mean… it’s normal. That it hurts this much.”

Spencer was quiet, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was so gentle you almost didn’t catch it. “I’ve read that people who experience loss or heartbreak sometimes describe it as a kind of phantom pain, like losing a limb. The brain keeps sending signals to something that’s no longer there.”

You exhaled slowly, your breath hitching on the edges. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That sounds about right.”

Spencer turned slightly, studying you. His eyes were soft, wide, endlessly kind. “You’re not alone, you know,” he said quietly. “Even if it feels like it. Me, the team... we're all here for you.”

---

You know how much I hate

that everybody just expects me to bounce back,

Just like that...

The girl was alive.

You kept repeating that to yourself on the jet home, a mantra, something to hold onto. You had saved her. You’d pulled her out of that nightmare, out of the RV on the edge of the Nevada desert, where the contractor who’d installed her family’s new smart locks had been holding her.

The team was quiet, tension and exhaustion heavy in the cabin. Hotch sat stone-faced with his files; Rossi sipped quietly at his bourbon. Prentiss leaned back with her eyes closed, earbuds in. Morgan had his head tipped back, one hand over his face, decompressing.

Next to you, Spencer thumbed through the case notes, brow furrowed. His knee bounced under the table, jittery even now. Every so often, he glanced over at you, the kind of glance only he could give, that soft, flickering concern he never quite voiced out loud.

You tried to smile at him. Tried to let him know you were okay. But you weren’t.

Because the moment the case wrapped, the moment the girl was safe, the unsub was cuffed, the police had their press conference, the rest of your life came crashing back in. And you remembered that he was gone. The person you thought would stand by you through everything. The person who walked away and left you crumbling.

---

When you got home, the sun was already gone, you dropped your go-bag on the floor, toed off your shoes, and slumped onto the couch. For a long time, you just sat there, jacket still on, staring at the blank TV screen, your reflection warped in the black glass.

Your phone buzzed.

One text. Then another. Then three.

Aubrey — Come out tonight!! Caity — We’re grabbing drinks, you’ve been MIA forever Leana — Seriously, you NEED this. Time to move on, girl.

You sighed. You didn’t want to go. Your chest still felt cracked open, like the pain was stitched into your bones. But wasn’t this what you were supposed to do?

Bounce back. Get over it. Be fun again.

You met them at a bar across town, your old college friends, the ones who didn’t work twelve-hour crime scenes or track psychopaths across state lines. The ones who thought “bad days” meant annoying bosses or failed dates or social media drama.

They hugged you, pulled you into the booth, ordered shots before you could even sit down. The music was loud, the lights were low, the laughter bubbled around you, but you felt like you were watching it all through a pane of glass.

“Okay,” Aubrey said, leaning in with a mischievous grin, “real talk, when are you getting back out there?”

“Yeah,” Leane chimed in, “it was, what, like… six months? You’ve gotta stop moping, babe.”

“Seriously,” Caity added, “you’re gorgeous. You need a rebound. I know a guy...”

You flinched. Smiled weakly. Sipped your drink even though your throat was tight.

They didn’t get it. They didn’t understand that you couldn’t just flip a switch, couldn’t decide to stop hurting. They didn’t know what it felt like to carry grief in your pocket like a stone, heavy and constant, even when the world expected you to laugh.

You made it an hour. Maybe less.

You slipped out to the sidewalk under the pretense of a phone call, your breath catching in your chest as soon as the cold air hit your face. You leaned against the brick wall, blinking hard, heart hammering in your throat.

You thought you were doing everything right. You thought if you worked enough, smiled enough, forced yourself to try, the pain would ease. But it didn’t. And the worst part was knowing you couldn’t tell anyone, not these friends, not the people who wanted you to be “normal” again.

Without thinking, you pulled out your phone. Scrolled to Spencer’s name. Your fingers hovered. Then you typed:

— Are you awake?

You almost didn’t send it. Almost locked your screen and shoved the phone back into your pocket. But then the reply came, fast and simple:

Spencer — Yeah. Are you okay?

Your throat closed up. For a second, you just stared at the screen, breath shaking. Then, with fingers trembling, you typed back:

— Can we talk?

---

It only feels this raw right now,

Lost in the labyrinth of my mind.

Break up, break free, break through, break down.

You would break your back to make me break a smile.

The city lights blurred past the car window, smeared into long ribbons of gold and white, like a painting you couldn’t quite focus on. You sat rigid in the passenger seat, fingers curled tightly into your coat, your breath fogging the glass.

You hadn’t planned to call Spencer. But the loneliness clawing inside you had become unbearable. You needed someone who understood, someone who wouldn’t just tell you to get over it. When your trembling fingers dialed his number after shooting him a text, your chest heaved with a panic you couldn’t hide.

“Hey,” Spencer answered, his voice calm but edged with concern. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, voice breaking on the words. “I don’t think I am.” Without hesitation, he said, “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You tried to protest, you knew how much he hated driving, especially at night, but he cut you off gently. “I don’t mind. Just tell me where you are.”

So you did.

When Spencer’s car pulled up outside the bar, you were waiting on the curb, hands shoved deep in your pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. You stumbled inside, grateful he was there. He opened the passenger door for you with a quiet kindness, his worry plain in his furrowed brow and the way his eyes searched your face.

“Thanks,” you whispered, sliding into the seat and pressing your forehead to the cool glass.

He started the engine carefully, hands steady on the wheel. You knew this was a big deal for him, driving was something he avoided whenever possible, and it made you ache a little, the thought that he was doing this just for you.

You wanted to tell him how much you appreciated it. You wanted to tell him you were sorry for dragging him into this mess. But the words caught in your throat.

Instead, you just exhaled slowly and let the silence settle between you as the city slipped by.

After a few minutes, you finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “I tried to keep it together tonight. My friends kept saying I should move on, that I needed to have fun. But it was like… the whole time, I was still stuck in the same place. Like nothing had changed.”

Spencer glanced over, eyes soft and full of understanding. “They don’t know what it’s like for you,” he said gently.

You gave a bitter laugh. “No, they don’t. They expect me to be fine by now, like it’s that easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply. “Healing isn’t linear. You don’t just flip a switch.” You swallowed back the tears that had been threatening all night. “It feels like I’m trapped in my own mind sometimes, like I’m lost in a maze with no way out.”

Spencer’s voice softened further, as if he was sharing a secret. “When I was a kid, I got stuck on a riddle that I couldn’t solve for days. I kept trying the same wrong answers, over and over, until finally it just clicked. Maybe healing is like that, you keep trying, even when it feels hopeless, and one day something just clicks.”

When he pulled up outside your apartment, you didn’t want to get out. You wanted to stay there, wrapped in that moment of quiet understanding.

But the night was late, and the alcohol was catching up with you.

“Would you… want to come in for a bit?” you asked, voice tentative. “Maybe watch a movie or something?”

Spencer hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Inside, you kicked off your shoes and sank onto the couch, curling your legs beneath you. Spencer sat in the armchair across the room, clutching a blanket around his knees like it was armor.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked after a while. You shook your head. “Not yet.”

Instead, you settled for silence, broken only by the faint hum of the TV as Spencer browsed through movies.

He picked something light, a silly comedy that made you groan at first, but slowly, the sound of laughter started to bubble up inside you. It was quiet at first, barely a whisper, but it grew, and for a few moments, you forgot the ache.

Spencer watched you carefully, eyes gentle. He wasn’t good with feelings, not like some of the others on the team, but this? This was important.

When a particularly ridiculous joke landed, you laughed, really laughed, and it surprised you how good it felt. Spencer smiled, the tightness in his chest easing just a little.

After the movie ended, you were quiet again, but the tension inside you felt less suffocating. Spencer reached over and handed you a glass of water. “I’m here. No pressure. Just… whenever you want, I'll be here.”

You looked up at him, heart aching in a new way, not from loss, but from the kindness that felt almost too much to accept. For the first time since the breakup, you let your walls drop just a little.

Hours later, you found yourself leaning into him, head resting on his shoulder as you both stared at the flickering TV.

It wasn’t a cure. Not by a long shot. But it was a start.

And maybe, with Spencer beside you, you could learn to breathe through the pain, one small moment at a time.

---

Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love

Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again

Oh, I'm fallin' in love

I thought the plane was goin' down

How'd you turn it right around?

The next morning, sunlight leaked through your bedroom window, warm and soft against your face. You groaned, burrowing deeper under the covers.

Your head throbbed faintly, not a full hangover, just the echo of one, but that wasn’t why you felt shaky. No. It was the memory of last night.

Of calling Spencer after the bar. Of him showing up, quiet and steady, and driving you home even though you knew how much he hated driving. Of you inviting him in, slumping on the couch, putting on a random movie just for the background noise because you didn’t want him to leave yet. Of him staying.

And not just staying, but staying in that way Spencer always did: present, fully there, not pushing or pulling, just existing beside you, making you feel less alone.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms to your forehead.

Uh-oh, im falling in love.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Honestly, you’d thought you were still too raw, too hollowed-out to fall for anyone. You were still licking your wounds from the breakup, still grieving the future you’d imagined, still wrapping yourself in long nights and busy days to avoid the ache in your chest.

And yet...

There was Spencer. Soft-spoken, brilliant, nervous, thoughtful Spencer. Sliding coffee across your desk without a word. Showing up late at night to drive you home when you needed him. Sitting with you in silence, letting you fall asleep on his shoulder while the credits rolled.

You tried to tell yourself it was just friendship. You tried to tell yourself you were imagining things.

But by Monday morning, when you saw him across the bullpen and your heart skipped a beat, you knew.

Oh no, im falling in love again.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of cases and long hours, but the undercurrent between you only grew stronger. You found yourself noticing him everywhere. The way he tapped his fingers nervously against his mug during team briefings. The way his brow furrowed when he was reading through a file. The way his whole face lit up when you asked him a question and he got to ramble about some obscure detail or statistic.

And more than that, you noticed the way he was noticing you. The way his gaze softened when you were tired. The way he lingered near your desk, even when he didn’t really need anything. The way he texted you late at night just to check in, or sent you funny little facts he knew would make you laugh.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were imagining it.

Late one night, after a particularly grueling case, the team sat scattered around the jet, exhausted. You were curled up in your seat, head against the window, eyes heavy. You felt Spencer sit down quietly beside you, not saying anything, just offering silent company.

You peeked over at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. He smiled back, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

Oh, I’m falling in love.

A few days later, you were at your apartment when you got a text from Spencer.

Spencer — Are you free tonight?

You stared at the message, heart pounding.

You — Yeah. What’s up?

Spencer —Thought we could watch another movie?

You exhaled, smiling.

You — I’ll bring snacks.

That night, you sat side by side on his couch, legs tucked under you, a blanket thrown across your laps. The movie played quietly, but you barely paid attention.

You were too aware of him. Of how close he was. Of the way his knee bumped yours. Of the way his fingers fidgeted nervously with the edge of the blanket.

Halfway through, you glanced over, and caught him looking at you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Over the next two weeks, things only deepened.

You started getting lunch together at work, sneaking moments of quiet between briefings and reports. You started calling him late at night, not because you needed anything, but because you wanted to hear his voice. You started laughing more, smiling more, feeling lighter in a way you hadn’t in months.

It terrified you.

After a long day at the office, you found yourself standing outside his apartment door, heart racing. He opened it with that familiar, shy smile, stepping aside to let you in.

You settled onto the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. He sat beside you, hands nervously twisting in his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt heavy with something unspoken.

Finally, you broke the silence.

“Spence,” you murmured softly. “Can I ask you something?” He looked up, eyes wide and curious. “Of course.” You took a shaky breath. “Why… why have you been doing all this? Helping me? Being here?”

His brow furrowed slightly, as if the question surprised him. “Because I care about you,” he said simply. “I always have.”

Your chest tightened, tears stinging your eyes.

Oh.

Over the following days, you both danced carefully around the edges of your feelings.

Every glance felt charged. Every touch felt electric. Every laugh, every smile, every shared moment pulled you closer together.

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to say it out loud.

But every time you opened your mouth, the words caught in your throat.

What if he didn’t feel the same? What if you ruined everything?

So you stayed quiet. You waited. You hoped.

It was a Wednesday night when everything finally shifted.

You’d stayed late at the office, wrapping up paperwork. Spencer was there too, of course, he always was.

When you finally packed up, he walked you to your car, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. The parking lot was quiet, the night air cool against your skin.

You turned to face him, heart hammering in your chest. “Thank you, Spence,” you whispered. “For everything.”

He smiled softly. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “I just… I want you to be happy.” Your chest ached. Tears pricked your eyes.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out, fingers curling around his hand. He froze, eyes wide. And then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers closed around yours.

The next few days were a blur of stolen glances and quiet smiles.

You were both tiptoeing around something you couldn’t name, something fragile and bright and terrifying. You weren’t sure how long you could keep pretending. You weren’t sure how long you could keep holding it all inside.

That Friday night, Spencer invited you over again, no movie this time, just dinner, just the two of you. You sat across from him at his tiny kitchen table, laughing softly over takeout containers, feeling lighter than you had in months.

At one point, you looked up, and caught him staring at you, eyes warm and tender.

Your breath caught. Your heart skipped.

“Spence,” you whispered, voice shaking slightly. He swallowed hard, fingers twitching nervously on the table.“Yeah?”

You took a deep breath. “I think… I think I’m falling for you.”

His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.

And then, slowly, so slowly, he smiled. The kiss was soft, hesitant, trembling. He leaned across the table, eyes searching yours, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

When his lips met yours, it felt like the air shifted, like the ground steadied beneath your feet, like something inside you clicked into place.

You melted into him, hands sliding up to cup his face. When you finally pulled back, breathless, you saw the wonder in his eyes, the disbelief, the quiet, aching joy. How’d you turn it right around?

Over the next few weeks, everything changed, and everything stayed the same. You still worked side by side, still shared coffee and case files and late-night phone calls. But now there were soft glances across the room, fingers brushing under the table, secret smiles in quiet moments. Now there was a hand on your back when you were tired, a kiss pressed to your temple when no one was looking, a warmth in your chest that never quite faded.

You were still healing. You were still learning. But for the first time in a long time, you felt hope blooming in your chest.

And when you looked at Spencer, when you saw the way he looked at you, you knew you weren’t falling alone.

A/N-

Do I like this formating? Idk. Also sorry that theres so much of just reader yapping about her ex 😓 Im still bugged by this collection js a tad cus I want to write about my OC so bad but have resorted to these sing based oneshots. Anyways pls comment and reblog it means so much to me 💗

[ellieslittlewh0re]

Temptations part 3 - step-sister! ellie x fem reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

wk - 5k

additional tags- step-sister! ellie, sarah doesn’t exists in this bc I said so, band! ellie, weed! mentions, cocky! ellie, loser! ellie, perv! ellie, sexual tension, overstimulation, orgasm denial, light choking, use of the word daddy like once, word cock/dick usage, oral (reader! receiving), fingering (reader receiving), strap-on usage (reader receiving), pussy slapping (sorry but not really), spit play, ellie is messy w it, scissoring, finger sucking, e! is rough but also really hot, implied consent obvi

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You quickly pull away, the loud banging on the

door practically sent you into a shock.

What were you thinking? We're you even thinking at all? That was a dumb question because no, you weren't. You simply let your body take control- letting it fulfill whatever fucked up need you had.

Ellie pulled away with a huff, frustrated in more ways than one, as she walked towards the front door, leaving you in the kitchen with a soaking patch growing inside your panties.

"The fuck took you so long?" Ellie said, annoyed, greeting the man at the door who was nothing but a stranger to you.

You get up, adjusting the hem of your dress to make sure everything was covered and walk towards to them.

"Sorry man. Tire blew out- had to put on a donut."

The guy said, sounding pretty unaffected- buzzed beached hair and a piercing on the arch of his eyebrow.

"I thought you said you got pulled over?" Ellie asked, sounding pretty fed up already.

"Ohhh yeah- a cop pulled us over to tell us we had a flat. Was wondering' why the road felt so bumpy." The man trailed off, mentally putting together the puzzle pieces in his head.

He was high.. like really high, the whites of his eyes a shade of pink, half closed and glossed over.

He glanced over Ellie's shoulder, meeting your shy and slightly guilty-ridden face.

"Damn Williams- you didn't say you had a new girl with you."

He points a finger in your direction, making you more uncomfortable with the acknowledgment.

"Don't be a fucking creep- she's my sister." Ellie snaps back, moving further in front of you like she was shielding you from his sight.

"Get in the van ash before you piss me off more."

Even from standing behind her, you could tell she was rolling her eyes. She was never the patient type.

The man "Ash" threw his hands up, spun around, and walked towards Ellie's car, a classic creeper van that she got because "it's convenient to move shit."

"Sorry bout' him. Weed burned all his brain cells, but I promise he's harmless."

Ellie apologized as she turns around to face you, scratching the back of her neck. Bingo.

"S' okay." You giggle, chasing her eyes with yours and when she looks- you bat your doe eyes at her, your lips widening into a gloss coated smile which made Ellie's cheeks flush and her head spin.

If it was up to her, she'd say fuck the band and fucking anything else that got in her way of having you to herself.

She would've had you bent over the same counter just moments earlier- your bare tits smushed against the granite while she had your dress hiked up over your ass and her knuckles snugged deep inside your pussy.

Ellie clears her throat, rocking on her heels as she looks around the room at anything but you. You weren't going to make this easy for her, and you wanted her to know that.

"Ready to go?" Ellie holds out a hand and you take it, letting her lead you two out the door and down the driveway.

This was Ellie's way of pretending that you're hers, even if it's just for tonight, canvassing it like it was just innocent sisterly affection.

The back of the van was packed to the brim with three more people besides the man that you met earlier, along with instruments and other equipment that you couldn't name.

Ellie points at them individually, telling you their names, and they all greet you in unison, laughing and smiling- not one of them seemed entirely sober but friendly enough.

Ellie insisted you were her passenger. She pretty much kicked Ash from the front seat so you can sit beside her- claiming "family comes first".

It was kinda embarrassing. I mean, Ellie wasn't being the most subtle, so you mouth a "sorry" under your breath in his direction before putting on your seat belt, but you couldn't deny how hot your face felt when she'd openly favor you to such a degree.

The van shortly filled with a thick haze of smoke, the music cranked to an overwhelming degree and everyone talking- more like yelling over each other. It was fun though, and it felt refreshing to be with a group of people that didn't care what anyone else thought about them, freely being themselves without feeling bad about it.

"Here- you take control." Ellie said without looking at you, eyes still on the road ahead as she hands you the aux cord.

"Oh- no- Ellie I don't know what to put on."

I take the cord in my hands, turning it over in my fingers.

"Just play anything babe-"

Ellie cuts herself off to fix her mistake, but it was too late. She slipped, and she quickly froze, waiting to see if anyone else in the van caught on, but they didn't, too busy finishing off a joint and laughing at the top of their lungs.

But you? You definitely noticed, and for a second, it felt normal until Ellie's reaction reminded you it wasn't.

"Babe, huh?" You chuckle, mocking her words under your breath as you plug in your phone, scrolling through Spotify until you find something that felt like a safe choice.

Ellies felt her cheeks ignite, both from embarrassment but also your reaction. You weren't mad or scared; you smiled wildly at the nickname, embracing it, and based on your body language- you encouraged it.

You shifted in the seat, scooting as close as you could, turning your body in her direction and crossed your legs, not bothering to fix your dress that scrunched up to the point your lace underwear was peaking out from under the fabric.

You traced shapes on her forearm that rested on the center console with your manicured nail, tracing the lines of her tattoo. You felt Ellie tense under your touch, swallowing hard and trying her best to keep her eyes on the fucking road.

Sisterly affection, right?

-

Ellie pulls the van into the alley behind the bar, shifting the gear into park.

It was pitch black, the only light source being a light pole at the corner, flickering in and out, making the already sketchy area even more unsettling.

You take a deep breath as you exit the car, shutting the door and adjusting your dress.

"Do you play here a lot?" Your voice peaks in question, looking at Ellie who was already unloading the van, holding something heavy in her arms, veins and muscles straining under the weight.

"Yeah- every other weekend or so."

You tried helping in any way you could, grabbing mic stands or rolled up cords, but Ellie always shot you down, shaking her finger followed by a "tsk tsk" and a "can't have you gettin' hurt, princess- the old man will never forgive me."

You eventually give up, knowing anything about your step sister-she's stubborn and doesn't take no for an answer. Instead you sit in the van, legs hanging out the side with the door open, observing the amount of effort it took all of them, but if you were being honest... you only looked at Ellie.

How could you not?

Her biceps bulged, and veins popped in her forearms and all the way down to her hands. Her face was focused, eyebrows scrunched together that made her look unapproachable, but when ever she caught your stares, she'd always give a side smile and a wink.

She was a literal walking wet dream.

-

To say the bar was crowded, was an understatement. The small area was filled with people that were hip to hip, waving beer bottles in their hands, yelling and cheering like they were celebrating a hard-earned victory.

It smelled like smoke and sweat; stickers and hand draw graffiti decorated the walls. Most of the people in there, we're young, mid-20s/ 30s, with the occasional older biker types sprinkled in.

You stood by awkwardly, definitely wishing you wore something that blended in more while Ellie and the rest of the band were setting up on the makeshift stage that was only a few feet from you.

You dazed out into the crowd, rocking from foot to foot when you felt Ellies presence loom over you.

"We're about to start. If you want a drink or anything- just tell Mario at the bar that you're here with me. He'll hook you up." Ellie said in a unintentionally raspy voice, crouching down on the stage to be at eye level with you.

You smile at her, looking down and giving Ellie the perfect time to ogle your tits from a downwards view.

You look up at her and lean in, positioning yourself between her bent knees, letting your nails linger over the denim of her jeans.

You stand on your tippy-toes so that you could get close enough to whisper.

"I'm not taking my eyes off you."

Ellie took a deep breath in as those words danced off the tip of your tongue, so sweet and yet, so suggestive.

Ellie bit the inside of her cheek hard; to bring her back down to earth after the way you teased her. She lifted a finger, tapping it to the underside of your chin, not in an affection way, more of "keep that shit up and see where it gets you" sort of way.

She stood, returning to the center of the stage and draped the guitar around her shoulder, plugging it in and strumming the cords to ensure the tune.

The crowd erupted into cheers louder than before, you look around and can't help but smile as the first few notes start to play.

You didn't recognize the beat, but you didn't care. Your eyes solely looked at Ellie, tuning everyone else out.

She sang into the microphone, chipped black nail polished fingers holding it in place on the mic stand. You felt entranced- under a spell, too busy soaking up the sight and not wanting to forget this night happened.

She looked like a natural, happy, and in her element, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and bridge of her nose, making stands of her hair stick to the sides of her face.

You sway to the music, rocking from side to side with a stupid smile on your face; because all you can think is, she was born for this.

Ellie tried her best to interact with the crowd, but it was hard to look at anyone else knowing you were there, front and center. The way your face lit up in shades of green and red from the neon lights overhead, your smile beaming and how effortlessly you swayed your hips, not too much, but enough to help Ellie imagine you using those movements- swirling your hips on her strap.

You catch Ellie's attention, using the opportunity to blow a kiss at her which definitely may or may not have, made Ellie's voice crack.

You can tell she was frazzled- embarrassed that her mistake echoed into the bar, but no one else seemed to care, too busy singing along and dancing- not to mention inebriated.

You cover your mouth to hide a giggle, your cheeks gleaming from the fullness and sweat of the hot bodies that danced around you.

-

Ellie and the rest of the band; were starting to pack up after saying their closing lines and thanking everyone for being here tonight.

The crowd had fizzled out. Most left, respectively-being it was almost 3 in the morning, while others passed out over tables and chairs.

"Well, whaddya think, was it everything you'd dream it'd be?" Ellie asked, dropping down from the stage to dangle her legs over the edge right next to you.

You leaned against the platform, placing a hand on her knee, looking around to make sure everyone else was still putting shit in the van.

"I think-"

You draw out your words, hushing them into a whisper.

"You- might have found your biggest fan."

Somehow you ended up between her thighs, your hands on each knee as you continue to lean into your words.

Ellie found herself subconsciously leaning in, closing the space between you, her eyes flickering to a darker gaze, her lips parted slightly as short breaths escaped them. You had a spell on her, a girl who thought she could snake her way between any women's legs, but you?

You had all the power over her.

"What do you think you're doing, huh?" Ellie asked, her voice low and coarse from her hours of singing/screaming into a microphone.

It sent shivers down your spine- how she loomed over you, how she looked at you- like she was ready to jump your fucking bones.

You bat your eyelashes, inching you hands further up the inside of her jean cladded thighs, "m' not doing anything, el's... just showing my appreciation is all." You play dumb, rubbing circles dangerously close to the seam of her crotch.

"You're unbelievable-"

"Vans' all packed, ready to go-?"

Ash called out, entering the doorway from the back alley.

You pulled away, clearing your throat, trying to shoot down any suspicions that he may have had. 

Ellie kicked off the platform, running a hand through her shagged haircut.

"Yeah- let's blow this place."

She took your hand in hers, letting you trail behind her as you go back to the car.

It felt urgent and rushed, feeling her grip. She was frustrated and wanted to get you home as quickly as possible to teach you a lesson- make herself feel like she was in control again.

-

The ride home was... tense. Ellie didn't say a word, her jaw clenched, white fisting the steering wheel.

When we got home, she didn't bother saying goodbyes or offering anyone to crash for the night, which she usually would do. She was too determined, too eager to let any more distractions get in her way.

The rest of her band pulled out of the driveway, red brake lights disappearing into the distance, while Ellie continued to tug- more like drag you into the house, making sure to be as quiet as possible to not wake your poor, unsuspecting father.

She drags you up the stairs, your heels making you trip, but she doesn't ease up. The grip on your wrist tightening.

You whisper yell to her, telling her to slow down, but it went unacknowledged.

She yanks you into your bedroom, practically pushing you onto the bed, shutting the door quickly, but making sure to turn the knob so it wouldn't echo a clicking noise throughout the house.

Your heartbeat thuds harder against your chest, propping yourself up on your elbows as you looked at her. You felt a tightening in your stomach, and the room felt like it was on fire.

"You had fun tonight, huh? Like playing your little games with me?" Ellie said accusingly, steeping to the foot of the bed, placing a knee between your legs that dangled over the side.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You continue to act innocent, lowering your voice into a hushed wined like a kicked puppy.

Her knee between your legs forces them apart, displaying your laced-covered heat.

Ellie clicked her tongue against her teeth, slinking a finger to raise the hem of your dress to get a better look.

"Want me to take care of that?" She teases, a cocky smirk hinted on her lips as she motions a eyebrow raise at your sopping cunt.

You almost whimper just from hearing her voice alone, in fact, you probably did.

You don't respond, too distracted by how fucking hot you felt.

Ellie widens her stance, prying your legs further apart as she climbed on top of you.

"Or- do you want me to let you deal with it yourself."

She mere inches from your face, her breath brushing against your lips.

You shake your head desperately, indicating a no.

"Ah-ah.. need to hear you say it pretty girl."

She smirks, her eye contact deepening.

"N-no els.. need your help." You whined, hoping it would make her have pity on you.

Your hands reach up, snaking your fingers through her hair.

She dips down further, pausing before your lips touch. Ellie's lips ghost over, barely grazing yours. Her knee hikes between your thighs and bumps against your cunt.

"A-ah.." You moan, biting your lip and start to grind yourself down on her knee.

In an instant, something ignited in Ellie, hearing your moans and how you desperately tried to get yourself off with little patience or rhythm. She connects your lips, and a low moan vibrates in your mouth as she slips her tongue inside, grazing your teeth and spongy walls.

"You're fucking killing me.." She growls between open mouth kisses, letting her knee drag over your poor, neglected pussy.

You whine, placing your hands on the back of her thighs and pushing her harder against you.

"S' not enough... need more e-ellie."

"Pretty girl needs more, huh?" She said mockingly in a way that sounded dehumanizing.

You nod enthusiastically, your eyebrows furrowing up in frustration.

"Then beg." She stopped all movements with her knee, and your hips raise to connect the contact, but it was no use- only she can save you now.

"P-please els.. I'll do anything- I'll be good.. please." You babbled and pleaded, not really sure what you were saying, but you didn't care as long as it got her to touch you.

Ellie smirked down at you, clearly satisfied that she had you this needy.

"Atta girl... have to be quiet though- Can't have dad hearing you getting fucked, can we?"

You nod pathetically again and Ellie rewards you with a kiss for how good you were being. She pulls away, hovering over you on her knees as she looked down, eyes trailing slowly to take you all in.

She gets off the bed, kneeling at the edge of it to be eye level with your soaked cunt.

"Up."

She taps your calf, signaling for you to prop up your legs and you do what she says without any hesitation.

She thumbs over your pussy, looking up to watch you squirm from the littlest touches that she gives you.

She rubs tight circles over your clit, and to be honest- it felt like a punishment- how lightly she was doing it, knowing how fucking worked up you were.

"Els... please." You whine, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, thrusting your hips up shamelessly.

You hear ellie chuckle to herself before she palms your pussy harshly, rolling her wrist against it which caused you to cry out.

"Sorry baby- just love seeing you all stupid for me." She continued to feel you through your panties, getting you more wet than before.

The pet names she was throwing out had you close by itself, knowing how fucking wrong it was, but fuck... nothing has ever felt this good.

She wrapped her hands around your thighs, fisting the fat between her fingers to spread you out more. You cover your mouth to suppress a moan.

She dips down, hovering over your cunt and you felt her breath hitting your core before she flat tongues a strip over the fabric. She uses her fingers to tug aside your panties, letting the tip of her tongue flick your erect clit.

You bite down on your hand while the other fists your comforter, rocking your hips against her tongue.

"F-fuuu- mm." Your jaw hangs open, fully engrossing yourself with the sensations of her skilled touch.

"Taste so fucking good, baby.. knew you would." Ellie whispered- almost growled between each taste, her hunger growing more out of control.

You pull at the top your dress, yanking your straps down your shoulders and palm your tits, kneading the fat between your fingers.

Ellie noticed, her eyes widening a little before going dark again. She rips off your underwear, yanking them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

You yelp/moan in surprise as her hands grab you by the back of your thighs and yank you down further to the edge of the bed. She pushes your knees up, leaving your pussy fully exposed to her.

"So pretty.. such a pretty pussy." Ellie says, almost to herself as she placed a kiss to your bud before taking it into her mouth, suckling it until it was swollen and puffy.

You were a mess at this point, overstimulated, and at the same time, you wanted more.

Ellie sat up to watch you carefully, running her fingers over your folds before slapping your puffy cunt repeatedly. It started light at first, but each slap had more power than the last, and she just watched. She watched you squirm, and buckling your hips, trying to get away, but her other hand had a tight grip on your hip to keep you in place.

Full-on tears were streaming down your face at this point, and your clit was throbbing, but you still felt so empty and desperate to be filled.

"E-ellie.. it's too much.. n-need you inside." You said through broken sobs to the best of your abilities.

Ellie's hand tighten on your hip and it will definitely leave bruises for the days to come.

"You need me inside pretty girl?" Ellie fakes a sympathetic tone, her hand smearing your slick further down your thighs before placing a kiss to the delicate skin.

You nod down at her through wet eyelashes, using the back of your hand to wipe away a stray tear.

Your exhale was cut short, Ellie's finger plunging into your pussy, slow at first and just holding it inside, curling it against your walls.

"O-oh- fuuck." You fist the sheets at your sides, your dress bunched up where it only covered a small portion of your mid-section, leaving all the most important details on display.

Her single finger was joined by a second, pumping in and out slowly and spreading them apart inside you. Ellie lacked any rhythm, purposefully slowly her movements when you were close to your climax.

You were a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, and your lip was swollen and raw from biting down on it to keep yourself fucking quiet.

Ellie loved every second of it, watching you fall apart from every little thing she did to you, but it was getting harder to ignore how her boxers were sticking to her own arousal.

After Ellie was satisfied that your were properly stretch out for her, she got up and left the room, leaving you confused on the bed.

She returned not even 2 minutes later, her pants gone, leaving her in just her boxers and her black muscle tank, but she had on something else; a harness that cupped the underside of her ass and a purple silicone dick that stood between her thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a shudder runs down your spine as she strolls over to the bed. 'How could she possibly get any hotter?' You thought to yourself.

She gets on the bed, crawling over you and cages you in with her hands on either side of your head.

Her hand reaches around your throat, squeezing lightly as she connects your lips, it's sloppy and rough, leaving you begging for what's to come.

You break away, your hand coming up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

"We shouldn't do this."

"Oh- now you want to stop?" She grins, her hand on your throat coming down to squeeze your tit before rolling your nipple between her fingers.

You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your head presses further back into the mattress.

"S' not what I said." You whisper sweetly.

"Good-" and just like that, her hand holds the base of her dick, lining it up to your entrance, running it along your folds, and coating it in your slick.

"P-please, please, Ellie.. I need it- O-oh.. fuc-k." You're cut off by her dick slamming into you, fully disappearing inside your cunt. Your nails sink into her forearm, surly leaving crescent shapes into the flesh.

She slowly pulls out only to snap her hips forward, repeating the motion that had you reaching for her, begging to feel her lips on yours again.

You were split open, brain foggy and the only thing you could focus on was her. You whine and moan, sharpe exhales cut short by the tip of her cock hitting your cervix just right. You are babbling incoherently, barely able to form a coherent thought, simply muttering her name over and over again, and it was music to Ellie's ears.

She falls forward, her hand wrapping around your jaw as she plants open mouth kisses to your puffy lips, wet of your saliva mixed with hers.

"Fuck- taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl."

She breathed into your lips, pent up frustration covered up by praises.

Ellie was growing more insatiable, her hand wondering down to squeeze your tit, pulling at your redden and abused peak, but it wasn't enough.

Her pointer and middle finger glazed over your bottom lip, smearing your spit across your face before tapping for entry. You opened hesitantly at first, too fucked out to question her. Her fingers slip in, reaching further into the back of your throat. You moan around her, tasting yourself on her as she presses against your tongue.

Ellie snaps, her hips rutting faster against yours, hitting deeper and harder than you thought anyone could. You yell out in painful pleasure, Ellie's hand coming up to cover your mouth as she sucks on your neck, breathing into it like a women starved. Ellie wanted to take her time with you- wanted you to beg for her to come, but she was past that point.

Tears steamed down your cheeks, your nails clawed at the back of her shoulders as she pistoned into your aching cunt. Your cries were growing louder, muffed by Ellie's hand and she felt your body tense under her, signaling how close you were.

Her lips tugged at the sensitive skin below your ear, pulling and letting it plop back into place, moving up to position her lips over your ear.

"Cum fr' daddy, baby girl."

That's all it took, hearing her primitive voice echo in your brain, feeling her breath fan over your neck. Your hips buckle and then stiffen, her lips capture yours the hide the cry that you both knew was coming on. Your back arches off the mattress, your legs tighten around her waist to keep her deep inside as you come undone on her cock.

She slows her pace inside, snapping her hips against your spongy walls, working you through your orgasm.

She quickly placed a kiss to your worn lips, carefully removing herself from you. You were left breathless, still feeling the aftershocks sparking through your body, not noticing Ellie ridding herself of the hardness and the rest of her clothes minus the black sport bra that she kept on.

She crawled back on the bed, her hands prying your knees open as she portioned herself between your legs.

You barely had time to take in the fact she was almost fully naked, her toned stomach and defined 'v' that lead your eyes down to her dripping pussy.

"Wha-? Els... what are you-?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"M' not done with you yet, baby- not after the way you've been teasing me- gonna use your pretty pussy to cum... can you let me do that?" She smirks, rubbing a hand down your inner thigh. It wasn't a question- she was simply vocalizing what she was going to do, and who were you to deny her? 

Your breath hitches, your cunt clenching around nothing, already missing the pressure of her inside. You nod weakly at her, taking your bottom between your teeth.

"Good girl." She coos, leaning down to kiss your knee.

She wedges herself between you two, positioning one of your legs over her shoulder as she sinks down onto you.

"Mm... fuck- oh my god- you make feel so fucking good babe." Ellie moans, grinding her sopping cunt against yours, the combination of your slick coating your thighs and hers.

You're beyond gone at this point, eyes blown out, and the corners of your vision going dark. Ellie grunted with each snap of her hips, her temple resting against your calf as her eyes focused on where you two were connected. Her jaw hung slightly and her brows furrowed upwards, little moans threatened her tongue.

You felt your stomach tightening, your clit pulsating and rubbed raw.

"E-ellie... I can't- gonna cum." You whine, your tone dripping in lust, and desperate to come undone.

"M-me too.. fuck- gonna cum all over your fucking pussy." Ellie said through clenched teeth, speaking more to herself than to you, getting off to hearing such crude words come from her mouth.

If kissing your step-sister wasn't bad enough... this was crossing the line of downright; filthy. The sounds that filled the room, wet skin rubbing against more wet skin, your whines mixed with Ellie's moans and sharp, shallow breaths. It was something straight out of a porno.

"You feel so-fucking-good.. oh my god-" Ellie's jaw drops, rutting her hips harder and faster against yours to reach her growing climax.

Your nails dig into her hip bone, your body going limp and you just take it, too fucked out to do anything else.

You babble her name weakly, eyes rolling back into your skull, grabbing at her in any way you can.

"Fuck-fuck-ohmygod-" You cry, causing Ellie to kiss your inner thigh that rested on her shoulder, sweetly, cooing words of 'I know' and 'cum for me pretty girl'.

Her hips sputter and jolt, growing harder to keep her pace as she reached her peak.

One last glide of her hips had both of you falling apart, shaking and squirming beneath her, whining and moaning into the back of your hand.

She slowed her pace before stopping all together, gently removing your leg and brought it down to rest on the bed.

She laid beside you, breathing heavily, bringing her forearm to rest over her eyes. You both stay like that for for a moment, catching your breath and letting the silence creep into the room.

Ellie turns to face you and brings the sheet up, and over your frame, slinking an arm over your torso. You turn to look at her, almost too engrossed in her features to think about the consequences. Her skin was dewy, freckles sprinkled her cheeks and upper lip, and her lips were full and a darker shade of pink from how chaffed they were. She was beautiful, and you were fucked.

"Probably shouldn't have done that, huh?" She chuckles, bringing her hand up to remove a strand of hair from your face.

A burst of air escapes your nose as you return a giggle, placing your hand on top of hers as it cups your cheek.

"Probably not- what are we going to do?" You ask rhetorically, eyes dazing up to the ceiling.

Ellie hums in thought, memorizing the side of your face, wanting to remember every detail of your skin.

"We could change our names... move to the other side of the country." She teased, but only partly.

"Ha- seems like a lot of work for the sake of having sex with someone." You playfully scoff, rolling your eyes.

Her thumb dances over your bottom lip, swiping back and forth like she's deep in a thought.

"Just say the words and I'll buy the plane tickets."

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jason Wilson at The Guardian:

In a December 2023 speech, JD Vance defended a notorious white nationalist convicted over 2016 election disinformation, canvassed the possibility of breaking up tech companies, attacked diversity, equity and inclusion (DEI) efforts and talked about a social media “censorship regime” that “came from the deep state on some level”.

The senator’s speech was given at the launch of a “counterrevolutionary” book – praised by the now Republican vice-presidential candidate as “great” – which was edited and mostly written by employees of the far-right Claremont Institute. In the book, Up from Conservatism, the authors advocate for the repeal of the Civil Rights Act, for politicians to conduct “deep investigations into what the gay lifestyle actually does to people”, that college and childcare be defunded and that rightwing governments “promote male-dominated industries” in order to discourage female participation in the workplace. Vance’s endorsement of the book may raise further questions about his extremism, and that of his networks. The Guardian emailed Vance’s Senate staff and the Trump and Vance campaign with detailed questions about his appearance at the launch, but received no response.

‘Congratulations on such a great book’

Vance’s speech was given in the Capitol visitor center in Washington DC last 11 December, according to a version of C-Span’s subsequent broadcast of the event that is preserved at the Internet Archive. The occasion was the launch of Up from Conservatism, an essay collection edited by Arthur Milikh, the executive director of the Claremont Institute’s Center for the American Way of Life. In his introductory remarks on the day, Milikh said the book “maps out the right’s errors over the last generation … on immigration, on universities, on the administrative state”.

The book, however, appears more directed towards supplanting an old right – seen as too accommodating – with a “new right” focused on destroying its perceived enemies on the left.

In the book’s introduction, Milikh writes: “The New Right recognizes the Left as an enemy, not merely an opposing movement, because the Left today promotes a tyrannical conception of justice that is irreconcilable with the American idea of justice … the New Right is a counterrevolutionary and restorative force.” Also in that piece, Milikh offers a vision of the new right’s triumph, which has an authoritarian ring: “We like to say that one must learn to govern, but a truer expression is that one must learn to rule.” In his speech, Vance first offered “congratulations on such a great book, and thanks for getting such a good crew together”, and then warmed to themes similar to Milikh’s. “Republicans, conservatives, we’re still terrified of wielding power, of actually doing the job that the people sent us here to do,” Vance said, later adding: “Isn’t it just common sense that when we’re given power, we should actually do something with it?”

Brad Onishi, author of Preparing for War, a critical account of Christian nationalism and the host of the Straight White American Jesus podcast, said: “Vance, many Claremont people, including some folks in this volume, and especially the ‘post-liberal’ conservative Catholics that he hangs out with, have advocated for a form of big government that will wield its power in order to set the country right.” He added: “And you may think, well, OK, that doesn’t sound so bad. But here the common good is rooting out queer people, making sure non-Christians don’t immigrate to the country and outlawing things like pornography that are currently a matter of personal choice. “You end up with this conservatism that promotes an invasive government conservatism rather than a small government.”

[...]

‘Free our minds … from the fear of being called racists’

In the book, commended by Vance, a series of authors take reactionary – or “counterrevolutionary” – positions on a number of social and economic issues. In one chapter, John Fonte writes of disrupting narratives of civil rights progress: “The great meaning of America, we are told, comes from liberating so-called oppressed groups and taming the power of privileged groups. Thus, our history is one of liberation: first of Blacks, then of women, then of gays, and now of the transgendered.” Fonte retorts: “Not only is this narrative false; it will take us further down the path of national self-destruction … On the questions of slavery, American Indians, and racial discrimination, the progressive narrative is not a historically accurate project designed to address past wrongs, but a weaponized movement to deconstruct and replace American civilization.”

Like other authors in the collection, Fonte offers policy recommendations. He proposes heavy-handed federal intervention into education: “[T]he US Congress should prohibit any federal funds in education to support projects … that promote DEI (“diversity, equity and inclusion”) and divisive concepts such as the idea that America is ‘systemically racist.’” In his chapter, David Azerrad tells readers: “We need to free our minds once and for all from the fear of being called racists.” The assistant professor and research fellow at rightwing Hillsdale College, and former Heritage Foundation director and Claremont Institute fellow, also claims that conservatives have been too conciliatory on race: “For too many conservatives, the goal is to outdo progressives in displays of compassion for blacks … yet blacks continue to vote monolithically for the Democratic Party and progressives have only ramped up their hysterical accusations of racism.”

Azerrad continues with white nationalist talking points on race, crime and IQ, writing: “It is not racist to notice that blacks commit the majority of violent crimes in America, no more than it is to incarcerate convicted black criminals … There is no reason to expect equal outcomes between the races … In some elite and highly technical sectors in which there are almost no qualified blacks, color-blindness will mean no blacks.” Elsewhere, Azerrad writes: “[C]onservatives will need to root out from their souls the pathological pity for blacks, masquerading as compassion, that is the norm in contemporary America … This is most obvious in the widespread embrace of affirmative action (the lowering of standards to advance blacks) and the general reluctance to speak certain blunt but necessary truths about the pathologies plaguing black America – in particular, violent crime, fatherlessness, low academic achievement, nihilistic alienation, and the cult of victimhood.”

[...]

‘Do not subsidize childcare’

Helen Andrews, meanwhile, offers “three things we could do right now that would put a big dent in the multiplying lies that have come from feminists for the last forty years about women and careers”. Her first proposal is to “stop subsidizing college so much”, since, according to Andrews, in the 22-29 age group, “there are four women with college degrees … for every three men. That is going to lead to a lot of women with college degrees who do not end up getting married.” “Second,” Andrews continues, “the Right can do more to promote male-dominated industries. Reviving American manufacturing and cracking down on China’s unfair trade practices isn’t just an economic and national security issue; it’s a gender issue.” Her third proposal is “do not subsidize childcare” – since the fact that “many working moms are struggling” with childcare costs “might actually be good information the economy is trying to tell you”. Andrews is the print editor of the paleoconservative magazine the American Conservative and has previously written sympathetically about white supremacist minority regimes in Rhodesia – renamed Zimbabwe after white rule ended – and South Africa.

Scott Yenor claims in his chapter that before the 1960s, America lived under a “Straight Constitution, which honored enduring, monogamous, man-woman, and hence procreative marriage. It also stigmatized alternatives”. Yenor is a political science professor at Boise State University and a fellow at the Claremont Institute. He then claims: “We currently live under the Queer Constitution”, which “honors all manner of sex”, and under which “laws restricting contraception, sodomy, and fornication are, by its lights, unconstitutional”. Yenor claims: “These changes in law are but the first part of an effort to normalize and then celebrate premarital sex, recreational sex, men who have sex with men, childhood immodesty, masturbation, lesbianism, and all conceptions of transgenderism.”

Yenor says the state should intervene in citizens’ sex lives: “In the states, new obscenity laws for a more obscene world should be adopted. Pornography companies and websites should be investigated for their myriad public ills like sex trafficking, addictions, and ruined lives. The justice of anti-discrimination must be revisited.” In a separate essay co-written with Milikh, the editor, Yenor advocates in effect destroying the current education system and starting again. The essay includes a recommendation for school curriculums: “Students could start building obstacle courses at an early age, learning how to construct a wall and how to adapt the wall for climbing … Students could learn to build and shoot guns as part of a normal course of action in schools and learn how to grow crops and prepare them for meals.”

The Guardian reports that Trump VP pick and Ohio Senator JD Vance promoted far-right extremist views from Arthur Milkh’s Up From Conservatism essay book.

[love1kimono]

Geisha Girls who broke the window

Stereoview by an unknown American photographer taken ca.1899-1901. From 1901 to 1910, the above image was printed for customer demand as needed. Every print was done by hand on Albumen paper and published (sold) by the B.W. Kilburn & Company of New Hampshire, USA via a vast network of door-to-door canvassers. During this time, almost every home had a stereoscope with which to view and enjoy the images in deep 3-D.

[asbestos-n-asbesties]

john price likes fat girls.

he likes how his girl squishes and spills over his paws when he grabs her. obsessed with the way she can handle roughhousing. he loves how her tum pokes out from under her shirt as she lifts her arms up. he thinks its hot when she has to jump a lil to pull her pants on. he notices how she waits a few minutes to let the denim stretch before she buttons it. he likes when her bra doesn't smooth the rolls on her back. he thoroughly enjoys how soft her jawline is - he swears it makes her look ethereal. calls her venus. john price hates when she wears her hoodies because he buys his flannels larger just to see them dwarf her. he hates how she wears her pants on her waist and not on her hips. he wishes she would wear low cut jeans more. he thinks that her clavicles being prominent shows his incompetence at providing. he loves the way the stretch marks on her breasts are dark but the ones on her ass are light.

john price buys boudoir photo shoots for his love every valentines day and has them oil painted on large canvasses that he hangs around the house. this man has polaroids of his woman in every (safe) conceivable place. he would get his whole body tattooed with pinup girls of his woman if he could. he makes sure to get the extra deep couch when furnishing his place - to give her space to curl up. her recipe books are on the top shelves in the kitchen so he can peek at the small of her back as she reaches to grab them. he makes sure his tub is a custom soaking tub both large and deep. his shower is more of an enclosed wet room. he has a walk in closet dedicated to her (his space is the very slim space to the left). man knows every size she needs. bra? done. underwear? done. jeans? what cut?

he likes how his girl's tummy pushes against him when he takes her over his knee. he watches the fat jiggle as he spanks her and nearly cums his fucking pants. and fingering her in this position??? spreading her ass cheeks to see her lil fat mound slick from her punishment?? i don't think he could resist pumping his thick fingers in.

price would love hunting his girl. have her walk down a dark alleyway and grab her. tie her up, blindfold her, and (with simon's help) put her in the back of a van. whisper sweet things while he slowly cuts her clothing away. putting the knife to her throat, dragging it down and placing the flat of the blade against her nipples to harden them. playing with her as she sobs through a makeshift gag of prices boxers. taking a gun and placing it against her tears to lubricate it, then slowly fucking her open with it. opening the door of the van, bringing her out, cutting her loose. saying if she ran and escaped she could be free but if she didn't she would come home with him. try as she might theres no fucking way she is escaping him. he'd love the way her eyes tear up and the way she'd shake. he'd love catching her. he would love fucking her against the hard ground. he would love the scratches she gave him fighting back. he loves kissing her tears away after and caressing her adrenaline filled body.

he loves being rough with her. he loves the fact that she can take it. he loves showboating his strength by shoving her and pinning her. he loves that she challenges him just for the punishment. he loves dressing her up just to ruin it later. if anyone wanted to watch? sure why not. they just dont get to touch. man would make porn of his love and then sell it to his men just to show her off.

yeah. john price loves fat girls

[rumeras]

cw: hickey prank ٭(•﹏•)٭ | suggestive

You’d been trying your hand at makeup recently, mostly different effects you could make mixing certain colors in your skin. Somewhere along the line, you decided maybe it would be fun to prank your boyfriend. You mix the purples, the blues, and a bit of black and make the perfect looking hickey just under the left side of your jaw.

You’re giddy, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from work. A little jitter in your tummy that has you giggling as the door opens and you put on your game face.

Xavier greets you as he walks in, slipping his shoes off and making his way towards you. His arms open for a hug, he envelopes you and moves to nuzzle your neck. But then he sees it. The hickey. He pulls back a bit, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. A soft pout jutting out his bottom lip.

He grabs your chin tilting your head away from him. “Where’d you get this?” He asks, voice drier than normal.

God, it takes everything in you not to crack right there. A soft, “Huh? Get what?” leaves your lips.

His fingers dance across the fake bruise, pushing your hair away to get a better look at the mark on your skin. You watch out of the corner of your eye as his lips purse into a thin line. “This,” he pushes into your skin.

You hiss, as though it was real. He clicks his tongue softly at that, eyes flickering to yours for a moment. You can see the gears turning in his head, but he says nothing.

He tilts your head the other way, exposing the blank canvass of skin on your right side. Your breath hitches as he leans forward, latches onto the skin over your pulse point and bites deep. Your eyes shoot wide as you grab onto the front of his shirt, you’ve got no other option but to let him do as he pleases. Especially as he begins to walk you backwards towards the couch.

“Xav—”

You’re cut off when he sucks harshly on your skin, a gasp leaves your mouth as your knees hit the couch and you fall back into the cushions. He follows, one hand cupping the back of your neck so you can’t run; and the other hold himself up. He slots a knee between your open legs and pushes his thigh against you.

A delicate whimper leaves your mouth, and suddenly he’s gone. Your eyes flicker open, watching as he stands above you. He reaches forward, fingers dancing from the side of your jaw down to the fake hickey.

“Tell your secret lover to do better next time.” He pulls away, but not before swiping his thumb across your skin, smearing the makeup. “Or I’ll show him just how many I can leave behind.”

He walks off, leaving you breathless and a little more than bothered on the couch.