#Or is it a case of you are a victim to a certain point after you are complicit if you do not make a change?

[this-user-is-new]

nowhere did i say the show needed to spoon-feed the audience with "direct answers." what i actually said, if you’d bothered to engage in good faith, is that by refusing to show the long-term consequences of piltover’s actions, the show gives certain viewers the option to downplay them. case in point: you, right now, pretending the gas attack was a minor, targeted event with no lasting impact and that it somehow only affected the "right" people.

also, funny how you conveniently ignore that zaun canonically has child labor, which means kids would’ve been in those factories when the gas was used. and even if you want to invent some excuse for why they weren’t physically present at that moment, gas doesn’t just disappear. it lingers, it spreads, and it would’ve affected them eventually. but the show carefully avoids depicting that, which is exactly the problem i pointed out.

but that would require you to have some brain cells, because that’s how gas works. that’s how physics or chemistry function.

so yes, gas fucking spreads. that’s literally how gas works. it doesn’t just stay put in one spot, and it doesn’t vanish instantly after use.

also, zaun has poor ventilation. season 1 explicitly shows that the city is filled with pollution and stagnant air, meaning toxic substances linger. so arcane isn't exempt from basic logic.

again, people, including children, work in those factories and even if they weren’t present at the exact moment of the attack, they would have been exposed to the lingering toxins. so no, i didn’t "fabricate" anything. i just applied basic logic to a situation where the show deliberately avoided depicting consequences. and people like you trying to prove otherwise is why it should have been shown.

and while we’re at it, what a coincidence that arcane rewrote both viktor and orianna’s stories in ways that conveniently soften piltover’s culpability. but you don’t address that, right? you can pretend that’s not deliberate, but at some point, a pattern is just a pattern. but i guess it’s easier to ignore all that and just reduce my argument to "moral outrage bad" instead of actually engaging with it.

but no really, i actually wanna know—what do you think about the show completely erasing piltover’s guilt in their lore changes? about orianna being reduced to "singed’s daughter who mysteriously died" instead of a victim of piltover’s neglect? about season 2 oversimplifying viktor’s struggle with "beauty in imperfection" when the guy was literally dying because of piltover? go ahead, explain how that isn’t deliberate or how it's totally okay.

has anyone else noticed that the writers were absolutely reluctant to fully commit to the darker implications of piltover's actions? like the gas attack on zaun? but tbh the writers' self-sabotaging of arcane's potential as social commentary is not what's really frustrating, it's that it's not just a missed opportunity, it’s a deliberate avoidance. the writers couldn't make piltover that bad, at least not through the characters we have to follow.

with the gas attack, what we get are scattered hints: a single man coughing, kids praying to janna in a song (in a way that’s super easy to miss), and worship of a painting of janna. but the show never fully depicts the suffering caused by the gas. it never commits to the atrocity and by refusing to depict the actual impact, the show softens piltover’s culpability and allows a big part of the audience to either overlook or justify it.

but the gas attack aside, the writers had two opportunities to make an explicit statement about systemic oppression, environmental racism, and the true cost of unchecked industrial power but they avoided doing so. and those two clearest instances of this avoidance are in how the show handles viktor and orianna:

in season 2, viktor’s story is literally warped to avoid blaming piltover. viktor, a character who should represent the suffering zaunites endure because of piltover’s neglect, is instead pushed into the role of an irredeemable villain for a marvelesque shit show. his transformation discards his humanity so blatantly that the audience is distracted from the actual injustice: he was dying because of piltover.

his ending is framed around jayce’s “beauty in imperfection” speech as if he should have just accepted his disability rather than seeking a cure, when the reality is, he wasn’t just disabled, he was dying because of the system piltover built. that was his entire struggle in season 1, but by season 2’s end, the narrative no longer engages with it to protect piltover.

as for orianna, she is reduced to an easter egg as a gift to league of legends fans (which is funny because the show ruined her lore for them), but more importantly, to avoid critiquing piltover.

her lore was an explicit condemnation of piltover’s disregard for zaunite lives. she was a little girl who helped zaunites, got sick due to piltover’s pollution, and had to slowly replace her own body with machinery until she lost all humanity. but arcane erases this. she’s barely a cameo, and the audience isn’t even told how she died. the show doesn’t just sideline her suffering, it removes it entirely, sanitizing piltover’s guilt in the process.

more importantly, all of this lets a big part of the audience defend piltover. for instance, by never showing the gas’s impact, the show gives certain viewers the option to ignore it: no bodies, no long-term sickness, no undeniable, inescapable horror. and i'm sure we've all seen how this allows for interpretations that justify piltover’s actions in the fandom, whether that means erasing the gas attack’s consequences or framing it as acceptable because the victims are zaunites (who are often conveniently portrayed as violent criminals).

also, ekko’s line about rescuing more people because of gang fighting is a perfect example of how the show subtly misdirects the audience. yes, gang violence is an issue, but it’s not the only crisis. the gas remains, it spreads, it poisons the people, especially the children working in factories. those are also people the firelights must have rescued. but the show chooses to highlight one crisis over another, and we know why ...

anyway, it's sad that the writers had no balls. they let so many people feel comfortable not thinking too hard about piltover’s crimes, and comfortable enough to insult anyone who criticizes characters participating in those crimes, especially caitlyn and her squad.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Loviees should ATJ replace CE? 👀👀

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

A murder mystery film set in a medieval village. After an outbreak of plague, the villagers make the decision to shut their borders so as to protect the disease from spreading (see the real life case of the village of Eyam). As the disease decimates the population, however, some bodies start showing up that very obviously were not killed by plague.

Since nobody has been in or out since the outbreak began, the killer has to be somebody in the local community.

The village constable (who is essentially just Some Guy, because being a medieval constable was a bit like getting jury duty, if jury duty gave you the power to arrest people) struggles to investigate the crime without exposing himself to the disease, and to maintain order as the plague-stricken villagers begin to turn on each other.

The killer strikes repeatedly, seemingly taking advantage of the empty streets and forced isolation to strike without witnesses. As with any other murder mystery, the audience is given exactly the same information to solve the crime as the detective.

Except, that is, whenever another character is killed, at which point we cut to the present day where said character's remains are being carefully examined by a team of modern archaeologists and historians who are also trying to figure out why so many of the people in this plague-pit died from blunt force trauma.

The archaeologists and historians, btw, are real experts who haven't been allowed to read the script. The filmmakers just give them a model of the victim's remains, along with some artefacts, and they have to treat it like a real case and give their real opinion on how they think this person died.

We then cut back to the past, where the constable is trying to do the same thing. Unlike the archaeologists, he doesn't have the advantage of modern tech and medical knowledge to examine the body, but he does have a more complete crime scene (since certain clues obviously wouldn't survive to be dug up in the modern day) and personal knowledge from having probably known the victim.

The audience then gets a more complete picture than either group, and an insight into both the strengths and limits of modern archaeology, explaining what we can and can't learn from studying a person's remains.

At the end of the film, after the killer is revealed and the main plot is resolved, we then get to see the archaeologists get shown the actual scenes where their 'victims' were killed, so they can see how well their conclusions match up with what 'really' happened.

[loycos]

this season we got to see a whole new side to caitlyn's fighting: close counters. something that she used to be so, SO terrible at.

This season, not only did we see her physically fighting twice, but she also went against the 2 most badass fucking terrifying butches on the show: Sevika and Ambessa. and in both times, she WON.

how does that make any sense? is she now an amazing crazy brawler who can kick anyone's ass??? hardly. of course there are factors at play that helped her achieve this other than raw strength (the hextech malfunction and mel's magic, respectively). but just how the hell did she even hold on her own in physical fights with these beasts of women without them literally flattening her in less that 5 seconds?

that's where a whole side of Caitlyn that i don't see discussed often comes in: respect. or at least, lack thereof. Caitlyn is one of the least respected characters in the show, by other characters. i've addressed it in a post before with Jinx, who doesn't want to acknowledge Caitlyn as a human, for many reasons, but it can definitely come across as disrespect. we saw it with Salo on 2 different occasions. Singed did not give a fuck about Caitlyn's threats and basically called her an impatient baby. she is referred to as a "child" or a "girl" more than fucking Isha. if we go back to season 1, seems like her own parents struggled seeing her as an adult that can make her own choices. her coworkers make fun of her dedication. Marcus thought she was an entitled brat. when they first met, VI didn't respect Caitlyn at ALL.

the 3 characters who know Caitlyn and respect her are: Vi, Jayce, and Mel. that's so fucking sad. Caitlyn wants to be acknowledged for who she is and her capabilities, yet she has to fight harder for it than anyone else around, despite her privilege. or maybe because of it. notice how it's something Maddie preys on: "Piltover looks up to you. i look up to you". she knows Caitlyn desperately wants be taken seriously.

back to fighting: if you notice, Sevika and Ambessa are doing the exact same thing here.

during their fight, Sevika looked like she was mostly just pushing Caitlyn around, trying to hold her off, while Cailtyn was fighting for her life.

we know how ruthless Sevika can be when she actually puts effort into fighting, but in this case it looks like she was playing with her food for just a little too long, and then the hextech weapons started freaking out. and that cost her the fight.

with Ambessa it's even clearer. yes, in a way she sees Caitlyn almost like a surrogate daughter, but does she? notice how she calls Mel by her name. she addresses Caitlyn as "child", and she's not even HER child. it's belittling. Ambessa mostly tries to mold her, and she clearly did not expect Caitlyn to be intelligent enough to pick up on it.

the whole fight in episode 9. Ambessa letting the mole she planted in Caitlyn's bed to execute her? not even doing it herself? disrespect. mocking her for being desperate? disrespect.

when they actually fight, Ambessa shows the exact same symptoms Sevika did. maybe its a Noxian ritual or something, to torture your victim before u publicly execute them, but in certain points in the fight she couldve had Caitlyn killed and just chose not to. it's especially noticeable after she gauges Caitlyn's eye, and Caitlyn rests defenseless on the floor, bleeding on 2 fronts. what does Ambessa say? "you fought well, child." if that's not the disrespect of the century i don't know what is. and AGAIN, this cost Ambessa the fight. and her life, in this case.

the saddest part of it all is that Caitlyn is the character that shows respect the most, to almost everyone she meets. regardless of how they treat her.

[incognit0slut]

Lesson learned

PART 3 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.

Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy

You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense. 

Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”

Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”

“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”

“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”

He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“

“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”

“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”

You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”

“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."

You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”

“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."

You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”

“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”

"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”

"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."

"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”

His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.

“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”

"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”

“Well, have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”

“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”

"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”

You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”

You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.

Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.

Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.

Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.

“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”

His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?

There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.

What if you did? you ponder.

What would it feel like to trust someone like that?

What would it feel like to trust him?

But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.

“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”

Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.

The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.

But today, you can’t find that peace.

Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.

It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.

You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.

“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”

You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.

“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”

“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”

You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”

Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.

“I didn’t say yes either.”

You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.

It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.

“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”

Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”

“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."

“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”

“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”

He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”

You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?

“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”

Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.

“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”

“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”

“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”

You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.

“You… want to teach me?”

“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.

“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.

He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”

You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.

“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.

You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.

You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.

Spencer. And his damn offer.

You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.

You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.

God help you, but you’re actually curious.

And that might just be the scariest part of all.

You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.

Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.

Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.

“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”

He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”

He quickly nods.

“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”

He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”

You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”

Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.

“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”

“Thank you.”

He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.

“Are we… are we going to have sex?”

He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”

You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”

“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”

“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”

He gestures for you to continue.

“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”

His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Okay, so… now what?”

“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“

He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.

“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”

“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”

Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”

The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.

“What if I want to do something more?”

Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”

Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”

“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”

You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”

He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”

You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.

“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”

You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.

“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”

You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.

“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.

“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.

You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."

"Physical touch?”

"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."

Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"

A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”

You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.

But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.

Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”

It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.

Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.

Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.

“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”

But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”

Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”

“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”

You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”

Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”

His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.

“Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.

His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.

“How about this?”

You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.

Oh. Oh.

Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.

“Still with me?”

You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.

He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”

His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”

“…yeah.”

His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”

You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.

“You can take them off.”

Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.

“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”

His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.

Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.

Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.

“You’re so pretty.”

Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.

And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.

“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know.”

He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”

You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”

His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.

His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.

“Does this feel good?”

You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.

The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.

He takes your response as a sign to continue.

"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.

"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”

He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.

“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."

Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.

He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.

You need more.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.

Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”

You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.

“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”

That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.

"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."

You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.

Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.

“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."

You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.

Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.

Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.

“Like I’m about to pass out.”

“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”

You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”

He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”

A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”

Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”

“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”

You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.

“So you think I might want to explore this further?”

His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”

The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.

You feel a tightness in your chest.

“I think… maybe, yeah.”

His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”

You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”

His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”

What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.

[nachrosas]

A LITTLE BIT OF JEALOUSY, PLEASE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which you're jealous of the new agent. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff word count: 776 a/n: i promised to myself that yesterday was the last fic of 2024, but i kinda lied? this can be viewed as the reader version of “a cup of jealousy, please” (but you also can see then separately)! hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The BAU's famous meeting room was illuminated by the yellowish light of the fluorescent lamps, and the round table was littered with papers and folders. You and Spencer were poring over the evidence from the latest case the team was working on, analyzing every detail with his characteristic attention. He moved quickly, adjusting his glasses and pointing at the scattered documents, while his words formed a continuous stream of logical reasoning.

"So, if we consider the pattern of the attacks, the modus operandi of the criminal begins to distort... we need to start looking for people with a certain knowledge of psychology, or someone capable of manipulating minds." said Spencer, his voice soft and focused.

You were totally focused, analyzing the data with him. But something in your mind told you that something was wrong. A murmur from somewhere behind Spencer caught his attention, confirming his suspicions. The sound came from one of the corners of the room, where the team's new agent was trying to talk to him, her words sounding louder than usual as if she was trying her best to capture his attention.

"Do you really think that criminals think like that?" she moved a little closer, making an almost casual gesture towards his face, as if she were fixing his hair. "You have such a fascinating way of looking at things. It must be amazing to have a brain like yours."

Spencer, totally oblivious to the change, and possible intentions, in the tone of the conversation, shook his head in understanding. "Well, I have an IQ of… 187. But I like to study patterns and behavior. I believe that every human being is predictable, on some level."

The agent smiled, leaning forward slightly, her eyes shining with an expression you could recognize from miles away: interest. Something more. Her eyes narrowed involuntarily, and an uneasy feeling began to form in the back of her mind - and her heart.

You looked back at the papers, trying to concentrate, but the sound of the conversation continued to flow in the background. The agent didn't seem to want to stop. "You're really modest, Spencer. You don't know how… attractive you are when you talk about your work."

You knew that jealousy was a strange feeling, of course you had felt it a few times before, but now, when she mentioned it, it was completely clear. You were dying of jealousy at the interaction between the new girl and Spencer. Your stomach churned. Spencer seemed so innocent, so absorbed in their conversation, that he didn't even notice her intentions. And that made him even more vulnerable. But who wouldn't? The way she smiled at him, the way she touched him lightly as she gestured. You had to hold on with all your might not to get up from your chair and rip her hand off his arm — Hotch would certainly be grateful if you didn't do that, after all, aggression between agents wouldn't look good on his report card.

You bit your lip, mentally deciding that you had put up with enough of this nonsense — in your own opinion. You raised your head, your voice coming out stronger than you expected.

"Spencer." you interrupted the agent's conversation with a firmness that surprised everyone in the room, even you. "I think we've found new evidence about the connection between the victims. Come and see it here."

He quickly turned to you, his expression of concentration giving way to a gentle, soft smile. "Oh yes! I'm sorry, I'll help you." And, as if nothing had happened, he walked away from the agent, who stood there awkwardly, watching the two of you work together and who was quickly forgotten by Spencer. Giving up, she quickly left the room, stamping her feet at not having gotten what she wanted.

"That's new, huh?" Spencer commented, as he approached, noticing your change in behavior. You didn't want to look at him, but you couldn't help it.

"Oh, it's no big deal. I just didn't like the way she was throwing herself at you. I thought she had something better to do with her life."

Spencer let out a low laugh, understanding but keeping his tone playful. "You know, I didn't really realize what was going on. I'm not very good with… social cues."

"I know," you replied, your lips curving into a slightly annoyed but also relieved smile. "Fortunately, you have someone to take care of it."

Spencer laughed again, more softly, and the two returned to their task. And you mentally prayed that a moment like that wouldn't happen again, otherwise it wouldn't just be words flying at the new girl.

[kisses4reid]

red tissues | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you get nose bleeds regularly, the alarming increase in their appearances gets aaron’s attention, especially when you wake up one day to blood covering your entire face for aaron to see.

genre - hotch x fem!reader, fluff

warnings - lots of mentions of blood, nose bleeds, mentions of being over worked, sickness

a/n - i’m going to open a permanent taglist for anyone who wants to be tagged in every criminal minds fanfiction i write, so either comment on this or make a request that you’re interested! ❤️

The office was buzzing with the sound of typing and chatting, pens being passed and chairs being adjusted. The night was surely coming, sun setting against the window panes to cast shadows onto piles of files. Your desk was dark and your pile was unfortunately much taller than everyone else’s. Funny how shooting a criminal earns punishment through 10 more files to fill out. 

But right now, all you cared about was filling your Snoopy mug with something. The coffee machine was broken by a certain muscly man, so some tea bags delivered that day were your only solace. Chamomile. Sounded tranquil enough. 

As you waited for your beverage to brew, you glanced back to your desk and then to your teammates. You should’ve taken Spencer and Emily’s offers to take some files off you, but being a perfectionist and selfless, you kindly declined. Shoulder’s slumping, you pulled the mug close to your nose and took a long smell, closing your eyes in relief. 

Suddenly, right before you could take the much needed first sip, a pang hit your head and your eyes and eyebrows ached, causing you to clench them. When you opened your eyes, the light brownish-yellow of the tea was mixing with red.

Blood. Shit. 

You swiftly turn to grab some tissues as your boss, Aaron Hotchner, was grabbing his plain mug from the top shelf, you hadn’t even noticed him in your panic. He followed you with his eyes as he grabbed a green tea packet. The tissues held against your nose were turning red and soggy. And before he could ask what had happened, you had abandoned your mug and vanished from the room, heading for the bathrooms. 

Aaron furrowed his eyebrows and noticed the discolouration in your mug, before grabbing it and washing it out for you. 

A few days later, Morgan and Reid were sat in front of you, JJ leaning on your seat’s armrest as Aaron conversed with a lawyer over the phone. Prentiss covered the basic details of the case but all you could focus on was the slight pang in your heart when you heard Aaron chuckle at whoever was talking with him. Though your eyes didn’t leave the case files, your ears were suddenly attached to your boss’ voice. 

Which was much closer, after he sat down next to you. 

You felt stupid, being happier now that his attention wasn’t on some other woman, even though his attention still wasn’t on you. He sighed as he sat, a whiff of his strong cologne circling the group as they updated him on other details they had caught. You mentally scolded yourself for acting like a 14 year old girl crushing on her teacher, but alas, you would continue.

“We noticed all of the victims went to private religious schools, most of them went to church as well. Y/n pointed out how in all of their photos, they were dressed in a conservative way - which is a contrast when we look at their ages.” Spencer started before Rossi added,

“They’re all teenagers, nearly turning 20. They all had boyfriends, and we found that one of them was already engaged.” 

You listened carefully, looking at the faces of the victims that were spread on the table, “As well as the common religious commitments, they all had one other thing in common.” You squinted your eyes with a short breath, feeling a headache approaching before you pointed something out that nobody else had noticed, “Same initials, all of them.” 

Hotch nodded, “Amy Sanders, Alice Soo, Adriana Santiago and Alexa Smith. Nice work, Y/n.” 

But before you could reject the complement and internally squeal, a throb attacked your head, and your eyes scrunched to create wrinkles you would try to massage away that night, before you threw your hand under your chin to swiftly catch a drop of blood. It was like a 6th sense these days.

“Excuse me.” You croak, leaving the back of the plane with Prentiss close behind you. You bent your head back before the raven haired woman’s hand pushed it forward. “Don’t do that, the blood might go down your throat.” 

You followed her instructions and raised any eyebrow, pinching the bridge of your nose. “My niece used to have a lot of nose bleeds whenever she had a cold.” She promptly explained as she bent to pull out tissues from the white bathroom cabinets. 

Around 5 minutes later, you and Prentiss returned to your respective seats, no one but you noticing a strong stare following you. “Are you okay, L/n?” Spencer asks, squinting in curiosity. “Yeah, sorry, sensitive nose, that’s all,” you lied.

These weren’t the first times you’ve had nose bleeds at work or around the team. There was one on your third day of work, the second time you went to a bar with Garcia, and one time on the plane around 4 months ago. You had been lucky that all your other nosebleeds happened either on the way to work or in the comfort of your own apartment. These days, when each case was followed by a heavier one, and each road trip was followed by a 10 hour flight, you were starting to get exhausted. You’re body has decided nose bleeds was the indication for you to take a fucking break.

The next week, you had almost forgotten about your unfortunate trait until a certain tall man called you into his office. “I need those finger print files done by tonight, is that alright?” He asked, smooth voice cutting through your fatigue, leaning on the front of his desk only a metre away from you.

You glanced at him up and down. He was clad in a smoke grey suit, perfectly fitted to his muscles and wide shoulders, tie loose enough to show the amount of work he had been through that morning. He smelt amazing, like wood and petichor, like metal and… “Yeah of course, sorry. I put the victims confirmed profiles on Spencer’s desk to check over before I could finalise the um…” Shit. Why did this have to happen right now?

But before you could even excuse yourself or hold a hand to your nose, a soft hand was cupped under your chin, careful not to touch you but close enough to catch droplets. Heat was radiating from the near contact, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the eye contact you were putting yourself through, or the blood that was currently pooling down your chin and into his palm. Aaron had appeared so swiftly, you wondered how he knew. “We should really get you checked out.” He said, recalling back to your third day on the job. 

“You can check- You’re right I should get… your hand is getting blood on it.” He broke your eye contact and glanced down at his palm, before taking a breath and nodding. “Right, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

His other, clean, hand is hovering over your lower back, and everyone’s eyes are hovering over the two of you, following you into the closest bathroom available. You can feel your cheeks heat up. As you pass the kitchenette, he picks up the box of tissues and you try to grab some from his hand, but instead of allowing you, he takes your wrists and holds one to your nose himself. His grip is soft, but restricting, warm. And you can’t help but look at him as he searches for an empty bathroom.

In the bathroom, he guides you to lean over the sink, washing his hands in a sink beside yours while watching you carefully. You look at him through the mirror, and you’re so distracted you almost don’t hear him tell you, “Lean forward more, don’t pinch your nose too hard.” 

You comply and he crosses his arms and leans adjacent to you. “Do you know what’s causing all these nose bleeds?” 

You thought back to shorter than 5 minutes ago and bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. “Um, I think it was your cologne.” You glance over to him finding he was already looking into your eyes. You were embarrassed, he was your boss and you were basically insulting him. “You smell great, don’t get me wrong. My nose and I obviously have different… opinions.” 

Aaron nods with a small smirk, compelling you to look away before you say anything more. 

Thankfully, saving you from any more embarrassment, your nose stopped painting the porcelain sink reddish-orange. “Thank you for helping me, Hotch.”

Aaron returned to his computer and opened a tab, searching ‘Common causes for frequent nose bleeds’, and, ‘Ways to avoid nose bleeds’.

And the next morning, Aaron walked into the office to get his coffee (the machine had been promptly fixed after your nose bleed situation) before Morgan spoke up, “New cologne, Hotch?” 

Hotch nodded, and turned back to his coffee, pocketing some chamomile satchels to dispose of later. The comment reassured Aaron.

He wanted to be someone you could be around without risking anymore red tissues. 

Aaron placed himself next to you on the plane, the team had gone over the case six times already, and the plane flight was long. It’s always been long. You opened your mouth to greet him before he cut you off, “We can provide a doctor for you, if these nose bleeds keep happening.” 

You blink in surprise, “I’m sorry they’re inconvenient but there’s not much I can do about it.” You bit the inside of your lip, unaware that your bleeds had caused anything negative other than a decrease in tissue supplies and unwanted attention (not including Aaron’s).

“I’m not saying it’s an inconvenience to me,” he shakes his head, “They’re an inconvenience to you. I’m worried it’s because you’re overworked.” 

Oh. 

You cleared your throat and avoided eye contact.

He continues, “You get to work the earliest, stay the latest, you’re always the one travelling the furthest when we have to split up.”

A smirk appears on your face as you finally look back up at the stoic man, “Sounds like someone I know.” 

“I make time, Y/n.” 

You wrung your hands in your lap and sighed, “I’ve had this problem since I was a kid, Hotch. My longest record between nose bleeds was three months, that's only because I finally found some medication.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “They had terrible side effects, it wasn’t worth saving some tissues. I can deal, is what I’m saying.” 

He nods and looks away in thought, that's when you allow yourself to look over his chest and arms, his posture and his… smell?

“You smell different.” “I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.” 

You couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron Hotchner since what he said on that plane a little over five days ago. He changed his cologne, he offered to find a doctor, he listened to your reasoning. You thought he was being friendly. You wanted him to be a little bit more than that.

The plush seats and convenient seating arrangement that put you next to Aaron didn’t offer any comfort against the dry and hot weather of Nevada. If a place was your enemy, this was it. You had already concealed a small bleed in the drive over, Spencer not giving you a second look when you pretended to sneeze into a tissue. With the increased frequency, she didn’t want any useless worry. You weren’t going to take a break, so you needed to hide any signs of exhaustion as best you could. Even when the sheriff opened every window in the temporary office, JJ continued waving herself with a file, Morgan had already chugged three plastic bottles of water. Even Hotch only had a dark blue dress shirt on and damn did he look hotter than the sun. 

But even with your best techniques and play-pretends (never looking down for too long, staying hydrated, avoiding the hotter places in the precinct), an unfortunate pang hit the front of your head and travelled to your nose. Your eyes shuddered, and you started to look for a tissue, before one appeared at the bottom of your chin before blood even trickled down your top lip. 

It was Aaron holding it there, eyes on the case. 

You looked at him in surprise and awe, before you took the tissue off him and excused yourself, getting a worried look from the old sheriff. 

The tall man had learnt when you were about to get a nosebleed, a sudden stop in motion, scrunched eyebrows and eyes, stopped breathing. And as you left his line of vision, he tried not to worry about the amount of blood you would lose in this weather, and it motivated to close this case even more. 

Everyone around the table glanced at Hotch and then at each other, putting on blank faces when Hotch looked up. 

It wasn’t much better in the hotel rooms you had been given. They had aircon, and free water, but small windows, and broken fridges.

It was a relief to be able to sit on something that wasn’t covered in someone else’s sweat, even if it would be covered soon by your own. You had the coldest shower you think you’ve ever had, put on a larger t-shirt and a small pair of basketball shorts to fight against the heat during the night.

It came a surprise to you when you were blood free the entire afternoon and you counted it as good luck for the flight home, forgetting to place tissues or water on your bedside table. After denying an invitation to poker, you threw yourself onto the bed with crisp white sheets and soft pillow cases, in the direct shot of the air conditioning and only window in the room, and passed out.

There was a frantic knocking on your door, or maybe a pounding in your head. You couldn’t tell, and when you tried to investigate, you felt like your eyelids were sewn shut.

You were able to peak them open and lift yourself weakly, when suddenly a figure appeared in front of you with long blonde hair and soft hands on your shoulders.

“JJ?” Your lips felt tight.

“Jeez, Y/n. How long have you been sick?” Her voice was muffled, but as your vision became clearer so did your hearing. Hotch stopped in your open doorway, already dressed and bags dropped in the hallway, before walking in.

For a second you were going to try and stand to clean your room, realising how late it was. But as soon as you tried to stand, everything went hazy, and you could taste metal on your tongue.

“Y/n, we need to get you cleaned up.” JJ said sweetly, as if you were a child. She took your heavy arms and pulled them to the bathroom, light making your headache into a migraine.

You lifted a hand to the bone between your eyebrows, and when you took it off, it had dried blood on it. As JJ grabbed your body towel from last night and wet a corner of it, you stole a sight of your face. Your mouth and nose was covered in dry blood, some of it had travelled to your left cheek, and between your eyebrows. There was fresher blood on your chin and some even on your next.

You had a delirious thought that you had been stabbed, or you had stabbed someone, but when you looked out into the bedroom and saw Aaron taking the pillow case off of the pillow you were using, you wondered if you caused it to go from white to red overnight.

“What happened?” JJ asked, carefully placing her fingertips on the bottom of your jaw while her other hand dabbed softly at your face. You couldn’t answer, even though you had a fairly good guess. Aaron appeared in the mirror to hand JJ some pain killers, for you.

Swallowing was painful, but as your blonde friend wiped off the last bit of blood from your top lip, you looked worse than your throat felt.

“I’m sorry JJ, I could’ve cleaned myself up.”

“Don’t apologise Y/n. You worried me. You weren’t responding to your texts, not even Hotch’s,” she put the towel down and looked into your eyes with a motherly concern. “I think you need to listen to Hotch when he offers you a doctor again.”

And you nod, because she was right.

JJ left the room with a hug, leaving you with a very cross Aaron Hotchner.

“I’m-“

“You could’ve choked, or suffocated, or passed out- Actually I think you did.” He motioned towards your alarm clock that had been running since 5 a.m. “Y/n…” He looked confused, worried, sad? Your eyes hadn’t 100% cleared yet, a headache slowly throbbing, knees still slightly buckling. You wanted to lay down and be thrown into an ice bath.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” You croaked out.

“You’ve got one window open, cold and dry aircon on, and no water bottle on your bedside table. You should’ve asked to sleep in the same room as someone, in the same room as me.”

You looked down to your feet, only noticing now that Aaron had packed all of your things for you.

“I thought you had been…” He raked a hand through his hair and paced before placing his hands on your upper arms, “I’m going to get you to a doctor, and you can’t say no. That’s an order.”

His grip tighten only slightly, before he turned around and left with your luggage, heart beating fast in his chest.

You were back home, thank god. The air was cooler and clearer, and you didn’t feel like you needed to moisturise every two minutes. You stretched your arms above your head, squishing your eyes closed for some relief to the sting from the computer screen. Your chest expanded deeply, and your nose finally cleared. 

And when you opened your eyes, you glanced over to your boss’ office windows to see if he was still working. But he was already out of his door, looking at you. 

Butterflies played tag with each other in your stomach, a blush crossing your face and you both shot your gazes away. 

His shoes were nearly silent against the floor, but when you quickly stood to pack your shoulder bag and take the sweater off the back of your chair, Aaron was there to greet you when you turned around.

“Let me walk you out?” He asked, as if the last words he said to you weren’t full of unprofessional emotions.

You were silent for at least 3 seconds, Aaron getting worried for a second before you stumbled over your words, “Y-Yes plea- Yeah. Sure.” 

He smiled, a genuine smile. 

Side by side, his briefcase touching your shoulder bag, you made your way towards the elevator. Aaron fiddled with his fingers and felt unfamiliarly nervous, heart thumping a little harder than when he walked out of his office. 

“Thank you for everything. Caring, catching my blood. I would ask how you knew, but you are a profiler after all.” You smile softly, and he nods. “I’m glad you noticed.” He presses on the car park level in the elevator, hands coming to discreetly fidget once again. 

And you can’t take the silence, “You still smell good.” 

“You always do.” Aaron looks as surprised that he said that as you do, looking away quickly before looking up and sighing, “Tomorrow is Saturday.” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any plans?” 

“I have a movie I want to watch, maybe a recipe I wanna try,” you reply oblivious, shuddering at the sudden change of temperature when you both exit the elevator. Suddenly a thicker layer of fabric was draped over your shoulders, one that smelt like new cologne. You blushed, looking up at him. 

The cold breeze was pushing his hair out of place slightly, making his nose a little redder, his eyes clearer. He looked like the word handsome humanised. 

“I think that you should watch that movie and try that recipe at… my place.” 

You widened your eyes chasing any regret or embarrassment in his eyes, but all you got was nervousness, something you had rarely seen in him before. 

He is so handsome, I can’t believe this is happening, I have to tell Garcia- Can I tell Garcia? He’s my boss after all- I mean this doesn’t mean it had to be a date or anything- 

Some blood dripped onto the jacket draped over his shoulders. 

“You could’ve just said no.” He joked as you pinched your nose, smiling against the small headache. It must’ve been the last bit of blood from that morning. “No, I wanna go, I do- Just, could you get a tissue from my glovebox? I don’t want to get anymore blood on your coat.” You reply, nasally and carefully. 

“We’re definitely getting you to a doctor.” 

“Sounds like a fun first date.” 

[forhappysake]

"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness,  not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib. 

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was. 

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed. 

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern. 

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.” 

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.” 

Spencer. 

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces. 

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked. 

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends. 

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours. 

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.” 

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.” 

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath. 

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked. 

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-” 

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt. 

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other. 

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked. 

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said. 

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped. 

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping. 

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.” 

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him. 

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried. 

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.” 

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply. 

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.” 

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked. 

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[xneens]

leaked nudes

pt. 2

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while looking at crime scene pictures on your phone, aaron swipes too far left and discovers some … sexy photos.

word count: 1.4k (short one)

warnings: nudes, masturbation, aaron jizzing in his pants like a teen, pervy aaron

This particular case had the whole team restless. Other than one lead that turned out to be useless as the suspect had an airtight alibi, there was nothing else that pointed where the unsub was. Thankfully, it seemed like his time in between kills was increasing, though that did very little to ease the team.

The precinct was almost empty, save for the few officers working the night shift and the team spread out around the conference room. Rossi was nursing a coffee, wishing it was whiskey. Emily sprawled out on the floor, the case file resting on her stomach. JJ sat sleeping in her chair, a blanket laid over her. Spencer was going over the details of the case while Derek stared at his file, unmoving.

You were positive he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Aaron sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand while he reviewed the case. You had given up trying to focus, taking a break as you played Tetris on your phone. Every few minutes, Aaron would glance at you before smiling and focusing back on his file.

After losing another game, you placed your phone on the table, leaning back in exhaustion. Looking around you, you were certain everyone except Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron were clocked out for the night. Derek was about ten minutes away from smacking his head on the table when his head slips from his hands.

Aaron flips through his file, brows furrowing. He looks around the messy table, searching for something in particular as you watched him with curiosity. “Where are the crime scene pictures from this morning’s victim?”

“Sheriff said their printer broke so they couldn’t print them out. I took a few pictures on my phone if you want to see them.” You motioned to your phone, yawning. Looking over at JJ, you resisted the urge to snatch the blanket from her.

He picks up your phone, swiping. “What’s your password?”

“Twelve thirty-four.”

Aaron paused, his lips twitching as he turned to look at you. “One, two, three, four?”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” you grumbled, ignoring his soft chuckle.

He put in the passcode, bringing him to the unclosed game of Tetris you were previously playing. Aaron couldn’t help but be amused at the high score before closing out and opening your photos. In your recents were the crime scene pictures he was looking for.

Aaron had swiped through the photos, trying to find a deviation from the killer’s MO but it looked the same as his previous victims. Maybe you had taken too many pictures of the body because he kept swiping left, looking at all the angles you had taken. The crime scene pictures had to end eventually but he was too sleep deprived to realize he’d eventually come across one of your other photos.

So he wasn’t prepared when he swiped to the left and instead of being met with another photo of the victim, it was one of you in skimpy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking his coffee as he saw it since he still managed to choke on his own saliva. Aaron’s eyes widened at the risque picture, sitting up, suddenly alert.

During him looking at the crime scene pictures, you had gotten up and walked to the vending machines. From where he sat, he could see you kick the machine in hopes of free food. The only one to witness his change of behavior was Rossi as Spencer was too engrossed in his reading, who had raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

In the photo, you were in a lacy black bra with a matching thong, bent over your bed. You had taken the picture facing the mirror, your back arched and ass up–on your knees and your clothing barely covering your essentials. Aaron swore he could see your nipples through the laced bra.

Curious, and driven by his hardening cock, Aaron swiped more. His breath hitched at the site of you topless, with just a pair of boxers on. A pair of his boxers. He remembered you shamelessly asking him for some shorts out of his go bag as you had forgotten to repack your sleep clothes and he had given you his boxers, blushing all the while.

As he stared at your breasts, he grew hard. He knew he should stop and close out, respecting your privacy and all, but he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look away let alone put the phone down.

He swiped again, this time you covered your bare breasts with one hand. You lay on your bed, naked yet what Aaron desperately wanted to see was covered by a discarded shirt that laid between your legs. The sun hit your body right, sunbeams illuminating your hair and despite the sensual position, he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you are.

Looking up, he saw you were still bullying the vending machine and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He didn’t want you to see him being … perverted was the only word that came to him that described the situation perfectly.

Aaron couldn’t meet Rossi’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, careful to swallow it right. He pushed the chair into the table, concealing his rock-hard cock. His polyester suit pants rubbed against his cock, and he hissed quietly at the friction, wanting to head to the bathroom with your phone in hand to fix his situation.

He remained seated, pulling up your phone again in the hopes that he looked like he was going through the crime scene pictures, the reason you granted him permission to look through your phone.

He’s thinking about stopping, his finger shaking, urging him to swipe one more time while a small part of him screams to stop. Aaron swipes anyways.

His exhale is ragged as he sees your pussy for the first time. The video plays on mute and he almost combusts right then and there as you slowly finger yourself. You’re in a hotel room, your shirt bunched around your tits, a hand playing with a nipple. Aaron watches your index finger enter your dripping cunt, the wetness visible on camera. He has to bite his fist as you slowly slid it in and out, biting your lip at the feeling.

As you take your finger out, he watches your hand pinched your nipples, eyes narrowing at the shirt you had on. As you inserted a second finger into your sopping pussy, Aaron realized it was his shirt. A small, barely audible groan escaped his lips at the revelation. Video you had arched your back, mouth opening as you fucked yourself with two fingers. He could barely keep it together at the thought of you wearing his shirt as you fingered yourself.

He can’t take his eyes off your show, unknowingly palming himself with his free hand. Aaron watches in awe as you pump your fingers faster, unable to decide whether to watch the ecstasy on your face or your pussy swallowing your fingers in greed. The video is a minute from ending and he’s mesmerized at the screen.

So mesmerized he hadn’t noticed you come back into the room with a bunch of snacks in your arms. He jumped slightly as you dropped the snacks onto the table, quickly closing out your photos and placing your phone on the table.

You smiled at him, noticing the redness in his cheeks and ears. “I come back from battle with a feast.”

He nods, subtly fixing his pants under the table. Aaron doesn’t dare speak a word, knowing well enough that his mouth was dry.

Picking up a bag of goldfish, you threw it at Spencer’s face, breaking him out of his own world before getting a bag of Chex Mix and handing it out to your boss. “Here, Hotch.”

Your hand touches his as you give him the snack. From the video, a small touch and you saying his name, he cums in his pants. His hands wrap tightly around the bag, Chex Mix flying to the floor as the bag pops. His climax hits him hard, spurts of his cum wetting his pants and euphoria washing through him in powerful waves.

When he comes down from his high, he sees the whole team wake up, staring at the snack littering the floor and table. You glanced at him, confused, grimacing at the mess.

Aaron cleared his throat, slowly putting the bag on the table. “I don’t like Chex Mix.”

[reiding-writing]

Congrats on 1000 followers! That's such a huge milestone! For the climacteric event, could you do a continuation of 'Takedown'? Maybe a role reversal, where cold!reader witnesses a badass moment from Spencer (whether his 'takedown' is physical or verbal is up to you) and gets flustered about it? I love your cold!reader series so much, it's such a great character dynamic with the rest of the cast!! Congrats again!

TAKEDOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˈteɪkˌdaʊn/ /part one/

Spencer might be a know-it-all, but at least he actually knows the things that he talks about.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, just some guy being really obnoxious and annoying, mild mansplaining

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 2.4k || event masterlist!!

a/n: we’re gonna ignore i uploaded this prematurely and just focus on the fic thanks 😭🫶

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

this is a continuation of my original ’takedown’ fic for cold!reader with a role reversal!

Spencer wouldn’t say that he liked to ‘show off’.

He knew he was smarter than most people, and his teammates knew he was smarter than most people, and that meant that when he displayed his intelligence to provide important details about a case, the team would take his word for it.

It saved a lot of time in explanations for where he got his information from and allowed for profiles to be built at twice the speed.

But sometimes asking someone to quote a source was necessary.

Case in point, a police detective from Indiana who just would not leave the BAU team alone as they tried to curate a profile for the serial killer they were hunting.

Some of his muses, most definitely flukes in knowledge, actually did have a productive outcome.

“A majority of stabbing cases have an underlying sexual motive, so I’ve taken the liberty of looking into the sex-offences registry for anyone who could be our killer,”

And some…

“Have we considered the possibility that our killer is actually killers, I mean if you look at the stab patterns across the victims, there’s a clear dominant and submissive personality no?”

…were the exact opposite.

“What you’re seeing is a progression of the unsub’s confidence,” Spencer shook his head slightly at the detectives attempt at an explanation. “The slashes are only jagged and uncertain in the two first victims, with all of the victims after that displaying much more confident wounds, which clearly shows the evolution of one individual, not multiple,”

He didn’t like having to shut other people’s trains of thought down, it was something that he’d gone through enough to not want to put anyone else through it, but when they were the complete opposite of productive, sometimes it was for the best.

It was remarkably easy to tell when somebody had read something on the internet rather than actually going through the training required to be competent in a certain specialty. Especially when it came to the forensic side of things.

Throwing in key words like dominant and submissive personalities didn’t mean that he knew what he was on about. It just meant that he’d read a few case articles on a certain subject and then passed that off as a rounded understanding of whatever concept he was trying to explain.

And it was really frustrating.

“What’s wrong with you today?” You enter the put aside meeting room with narrowed eyes, a cup of takeout coffee in your hand that serves as a relic of you being able to escape from the hellhole that Spencer was inherently trapped in.

“It’s nothing, i’m alright,” He presses his lips into that awkward smile of his, but it lacks any of the genuity that it’s usually accompanied by, merely a shell of a smile that Spencer knows you’re not buying.

A quirk of your eyebrow is the only push needed for his façade to break immediately.

“It’s just—” Spencer exhales heavily through his nose, biting the inside of his mouth in a will for him to keep himself together. “I’m just frustrated.”

You gesture with your head for him to continue, and it’s like you’ve blown a hole in a dam with how fast everything comes tumbling out.

“Officer Harrison keeps interrupting the investigation and talking about absolute nonsense under the guise of it being objective fact and I’ve spent so long correcting him that I haven’t actually managed to do anything,” He gets it all out in a single breath, and it’s honestly quite impressive to watch until he’s caught at the end with barely any air left in his lungs and has to take a moment to catch it up.

“I just wish he would leave me alone,”

You haven’t met Officer Harrison, too busy with the coroner and taking interviews, but if you had to make an educated guess you’d say Spencer’s apparent frustration was well founded.

He wasn’t one to exaggerate things.

“Tell him to then,” You shrug out your answer like it’s easy, leaning your lower back against the table to sip at your coffee.

“I’m not like you,” Spencer sighs exasperatedly, his shoulders in a slump alongside his mind. “I can’t just— scare people off,”

You give a small quirk of your eyebrow at his assessment of your personality, and Spencer can see the small traces of amusement in the corners of your mouth. “You have the authority Reid, you outrank him tenfold,”

“I know, I just—” Spencer shrugs, defeated. “I don’t know, I just can’t,” He uncaps his marker to return to the barren whiteboard to try and actually get some decent headway on the profile with a solemn expression, submitting himself to the inevitability of having to do two jobs at once.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Your offer sounds almost like an assassination proposal, monotonous and almost too serious.

“No,” Spencer shakes his head lightly. “No it’s alright, it’s not your problem, I’ll be okay,”

“You’e sure?”

“Yeah,” He gives you a small nod over his shoulder, lips pressed into a line as a grateful but dismissive smile. “Thanks anyway,”

You push yourself from the table with a sigh, joining Spencer at his side to pull the marker from his hand.

“Wh—“

“Go make yourself a coffee Reid.” You cap the marker with a knowing tilt of your head, putting it away in your back pocket so he can’t try and take it back from you. “You need to take five and calm down, you aren’t going to get anything done like this,”

You can see the want to turn your idea down, to say that he’s fine and not affected by the officer in his expression, but you both know it’s not something to be acted on, and so gives you a small nod with an exasperated exhale as he drags himself out of the meeting room to do as you’d asked.

He’s grateful for it really, the warm ceramic under his hands serving as a grounding point and sickly sweetness of the drink as it reaches his taste-buds a welcome distraction from the rampant frustration inhabiting his prefrontal cortex, but that small voice in the back of his head continues to torment him about the inevitability of having to deal with the officer again.

He knows he should at least try to let it go over his head. If he stepped back into the meeting room like he was you probably wouldn’t even let him get one foot in the door before sending him on a longer break, but he didn’t want a break, he wanted to work, to crack this profile open and actually make some real headway.

He just needed to take a second to breathe.

When he does return to the meeting room, you’re not alone anymore, and Spencer can practically feel the amount of will power you’re using to keep your mouth shut as Officer Harrison rambles on about something he’s not quite close enough to hear yet.

“…very unlikely for that to actually happen,” The officer points to a section of scrawl you’d added to the whiteboard after Spencer’s departure, something about brief episodes of mania as a possible reason behind the unsub’s violent attacks.

“That’s not actually true, it’s been disproved dozens of times over,” You shake off his attempt at over-explaining your own theory to you with a full tone and a shake of your head, a clear indication for him to leave you alone.

He doesn’t of course, and Spencer swears he sees your eye twitch as Officer Harrison continues to talk aimlessly.

“I’m just saying, there’s research to support the idea that serial killers make their crimes more gruesome than they need to post-mortem so they can plead insanity in court if they’re caught,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, and you quirk your eyebrow at his explanation.

“And where did you get that information from?”

“A doctorate thesis paper from Stanford,” Officer Harrison crosses his arms like he’s secured a victory over you in knowing something that an expert doesn’t. “You’ve probably never read it, it was an investigation into the differences between legal and clinical insanity, and it concluded that serial murderers over gruesomise their kills to plead legal insanity in court despite being completely sound of mind,” He points back at your scribbling with his index finger, knocking his knuckle against the board. “So this theory isn’t worth looking into sweetheart, trust me,”

The use of the placeholder ‘pet’ name makes your eyebrows furrow until there’s a prominent frown line between them. “I have read that paper, for your information,” You spin the whiteboard marker between the fingers of your left hand, likely a way to expel some of the tension in your muscles as you grow increasingly frustrated with the man.

“You don’t have to lie sweetheart, it’s alright, no one’s expecting you to have read an 85,000 word paper from almost a decade ago, I just like to educate myself in my free time,” He shrugs with a nonchalant expression, but there are traces of what’s almost condescendion in his tone and Spencer decides it’s time to stop this little debate before Officer Harrison ends up with a broken nose and you end up getting a very long talk from Hotch.

“She wrote it,” Spencer presses his lips into a tight line as he walks around the table to join you at the whiteboard.

“Excuse me?” The officer blinks at Spencer blankly, eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and a slight amount of irritation at Spencer’s intrusion.

“The thesis paper you’re talking about? She was the one who wrote it,” He nods his head in your direction, and he can physically see the way the officer’s air of intellectual superiority drains from his face.

“And I’m not actually convinced that you’ve read the whole thing yourself, everything you mentioned was part of the paper’s abstract, which at an average reading speed of 238 words per minute, should have only taken you a minute and 24 seconds to read, rather than the 5 hours and 54 minutes to read the whole thing,” Spencer feels a little guilty for how good the drop in Officer Harrison’s face makes him feel, but it’s easily overrun by inherent relief at getting the frustration off his chest.

“Can you name anything important from that paper apart from what you just mentioned? Anything at all?” The frustration underlying Spencer’s tone was obvious, and it was almost gratifying for you to watch him take a stand in his own beliefs for once.

There’s a few moments where he pauses, giving Officer Harrison the very slim opportunity to redeem himself and prove he had actually read through the whole document.

Neither of you needed to watch him try and stumble through his answer to know that he didn’t.

“Maybe if you had read it you’d know that the ‘fact’ you just mentioned, was proportional to the percentage of serial murderers that weren’t diagnosed with any mental illness prior to their arrest, which was only 63% of the total sample that was analysed. 114 of the murderers were actually diagnosed with some form of clinical psychosis, which is still entirely probable for the unsub that we’re looking for,” There’s a lingering trace of snark dousing Spencer’s tone, joined by an elevated sense of conviction as he narrows his eyes towards Officer Harrison. “Or maybe you’d at least remember that it was actually 97,502 words long, not 85,000,”

The fact that Spencer recalled such specific details of your thesis shouldn’t be a shock to you, his eidetic memory was practically a staple of his character after all, but considering you weren’t even aware he’d read it in the first place until five minutes ago made that revelation hit you just a little harder than it probably should.

“If you want to act like an expert in something, become an expert in something,” Spencer crosses his arms and it may as well have been a done deal. “Don’t pass off surface level, incorrect information as objective fact, all you’re doing is slowing the real experts down,”

The assertiveness in his tone, whilst occasionally used when arguing his point for a specific topic, was much more present as he shut down the Officer, and it was almost a little too gratifying to watch the wind get knocked out of his sails at Spencer’s reprimand.

“Now if you’d please excuse us, we have a profile to work on,” He gestures to the whiteboard with his head, and Officer Harrison is off like a whippet, retreating out of the room with his tail between his legs and a traffic light red coating his face from the embarrassment.

You give a dragged out whistle as the door closes. “Congratulations on telling him to leave you alone,”

Spencer laughs almost pathetically. Was he really so socially inept that he had to be congratulated on standing up for himself?

“Thanks,” He presses his lips into that typical Spencer smile as he fiddles aimlessly with the button on the cuff of his right sleeve. “And uh, thanks for letting me handle it on my own,”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You asked me to,”

“I know, I just— thank you,”

“It’s nothing to thank me for Reid,” You shake your head dismissively, but Spencer knows you’ve accepted his thanks through the slight quirk in the corners of your mouth that break the ever-present scowl that cements itself on your face. “I didn’t know you read my thesis,”

Spencer blinks for a moment before giving you a small and enthusiastic nod. “Three times actually, it’s extremely well written from a logical perspective, and the transcripts from the interviews you held were very interesting,”

And there’s the Spencer you knew.

“You’re an incredible psychologist, it’s no wonder you skipped your bachelors,” He emphasises his words with exaggerated head movements that make the curls of his hair bounce against his forehead.

“Thank you, Reid, that’s very sweet,” There’s a fondness to your voice that you’d deny if he pointed out, but you’re trying much less to hide it from Spencer than you would from anyone else in your team.

Spencer Reid had read your thesis three times. You wouldn’t be surprised if he knew it better than you did. You’re almost certain he knew it better than you did. He could probably recite the whole thing word for word where chunks of it had already been forgotten in your mind.

It wasn’t exactly something revolutionary, but it may as well have been.

[eyeheartboobiez]

bruce wayne x gn!reader

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG PLSSS😭 i really only planned for this to be a couple of hundred words but it ended up being a couple of thousand lmao but i hope you like it🫶🏿

summary: you’ve been stressing yourself over a case at work, leaving your loving husband home alone. luckily, he knows just the thing to help you wind down.

wc: 2.4K

warnings: smut, barely proof read..

Just when you think you've gotten a step closer, you end up taking two steps back.

For hours now, you've been stuck at work, desperately trying to break what may just be the toughest case of your career. The only light illuminating the room was the lamp positioned at your desk, as the office was completely void of life – aside from you of course.

You were supposed to be back home hours ago, yet the pile of reports stacked in front of you was nowhere near finished. The forensic evidence wasn’t matching up with the alleged suspect, and the words on the paper before you got blurrier by the second.

Rubbing at your eyes, you let out a heavy sigh, coming to the devastating conclusion that you wouldn’t be able to solve this on your own. While integrity was one of the most essential parts of the job, a little help from a certain someone couldn’t hurt, right?

However, before you could pick up the phone and call your beloved Bruce, a knock was heard at the door. Who the hell could be here at this time of night? Despite your immense fatigue, you were sure your body couldn’t have gone to the point of hallucinating.

Well you weren’t imaging things, because lo and behold was all six feet and two inches of your husband standing at the entrance.

“You missed dinner, you know.” he said, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway.

He made his way towards your desk, his strides slow but formulated as always. The way he stalked towards you had the likeliness of a predator shadowing its prey. Somehow, the darkness of the room became even dimmer.

You weren’t scared though. Nervous, maybe, but this was your husband after all.

As much as he likes to parade the streets striking fear into the villains of Gotham, you know he was a sweetheart at the end of the day. However, if he couldn’t stand you staying late at work for one night, then he’d just have suck it up and deal with it.

“I know baby, but really, I have to get this done tonight.” you sighed, refusing to go down without a fight.

Stressed enough as is, you really weren’t in the mood to deal with Bruce’s antics right now. Closing your eyes, you put your head down on the pile of papers in front of you, hoping to subdue your worsening headache.

“Alfred even made your favorite.” A pair of large hands found themselves at your shoulders, “He was disappointed when you weren’t at the table, love.”

His digits kneaded at your traps, skillfully working their way into all the knots of the muscle. “C’mon darling, let’s get you back home and fed, ‘kay?”

You let out a deep groan, the tension in your shoulders had dissolved in an instant. Oh you already knew where this was going. 

You see, Bruce was a master at the art of persuasion, as if he had the secret ability to make anyone and everyone bend at his will. It was a power that even your eldest son Dick had picked up (to both your delight and disdain).

While you’d usually fall victim to his schemes, now was not one of those times. You were determined to wrap this case up, even if you passed out in the process.

Noticing your stubborn behavior, the dark knight leaned down and began nipping at your ear, “Damian was even hoping you’d make it back in time to say goodnight to him, you know.”

It was a compelling argument, you’ll give him that, but still you refused to submit to his tactics. 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you started to get irritated. Why was it so hard for him to understand you were busy? 

“Bruce, seriously, cut it out. I gotta stay here and work my way through this evidence.” Lightly shoving him off, you picked up your pen and went back to sorting out the documents before you. Although the break was much appreciated, Bruce was proving to be no help at all.

Hoping he’d actually listened to you this time around, you jokingly made a last remark, “Since Alfred cooked too much tonight, how about you show me how much you love me and go grab me a plate.”

“How about I show you how much I love you right now.”

Before you could even question it, Bruce’s lips found themselves back at your earlobe. Except this time, his small pecks quickly transformed into open mouthed kisses.

His fingers went back to rubbing your shoulders, his workmanship more intense than ever. His fingers stealthily trailed up to your throat, squeezing at the area.

As you felt the pressure increase more and more, you finally became aware of what was happening. This entire time, he had been shadowing you like a wild animal.

And now he was ready to pounce.

“I see how stressed you’ve been recently,” He murmured against your skin, “Do you think I like seeing you exhausted like this, sweetheart?”

Eyes closed, you could do nothing but focus on how he sounds, how he feels. Your chest felt heavy, your mind felt hazy, and you couldn’t seem to get the words out to respond.

“Don’t know how to speak when your husband is talking to you? Guess you must be more tired than I thought.”

“No, Bruce I— ahh!”

Your voice was cut off as his hands began fondling your nipples, the hem of your shirt bunched up at your chest.

“Y’know how much I miss you on nights like this?” he spoke up again, leaving wet, languid kisses along your nape. 

“Waiting on our couch, laying without you in our bed, aching for you. Do you actually like leaving me alone like this?”

Your chest heaved at the thought, has he always been this desperate for you? As he continued to ravish you below the chin, your head moved against his lips, mimicking the harsh circular motions of an ocean wave.

Feeling his hand trail lower and lower, your breaths became more and more shallow. Case work be damned, you’d be an idiot to go back to working at a time like this.

“Bruce, this investigation was really important.” You mewed, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“If that’s the case, I think I deserve a little something in return, hm? Lemme look after you, angel.”

With that, you were pulled out of your chair and immediately brought to your feet. Strong thighs pressed themselves firmly against your bottom, leaving Bruce towering over you. 

His dominating aura was overpowering, and you were left heaving at the thought of all the ways he could take you, all the ways he could claim you.

All at once, he skillfully moved to pull at both your trousers and undergarments, leaving them pooling at your ankles. “Open your legs for me, love. I wanna see you.”

In all your glory there you were, lying chest down against your desk, pants to the floor, with your beloved husband practically rutting into you from behind.

You habitually arched your back, aching to be filled. Bruce sighed in pleasure, stepping back to take a look at his beloved spouse. Just the sight of you like this damn near made him go crazy.

His hands circled our waist, thumbs thoroughly messaging the small of your back, “I jus’ wanna help you out, baby. Would you like that? Hm? For me to fuck the stress out of you?”

“Yes Sir! Anything you want from me.”

As soon as the bedroom name hit his ears, Bruce let out an audible groan. As many cases you’ve solved in your career, you still didn’t have a single clue of the things you do to him.

Emphatically pulling at his belt, Bruce frantically released his throbbing member from his slacks. Violently spitting in his hand, he began stroking his arousal, lining it up with your tight opening.

He teased his cockhead around the swollen area, his pre-cum painting the heat between your legs. It was as though he was playing with you, as if you were some toy solely meant for his leisure.

Finally, after edging you for what felt like forever, he finally plunged inside of you. His sex speared into you with unrelenting vigor. Slowly, his shaft inched its way inside.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good that you wont be able to get up for work tomorrow,” his husky voice was leaving you in a trance, “Would you like that, angel? For this cock to take all your worries away?”

“Mhm, please sir,” your wanton moans were like music to his ears, as if the pearly gates of heaven were calling his name.

At your request, Bruce’s demeanor did a complete 180. His unrushed pace being switched out for something much more barbaric. Wet smacks could be heard throughout the room as his hips jerked into your swollen entrance.

The table shook at the force of his thrusts, leaving your pencil case to fall as a result. Papers were scattered about, some even sticking to the dampness of your skin. Your hands went to grip the edge of your desk, looking for something, anything to keep you stabilized.

“This is what you’ve been missing out on,” Bruce heaved, “This is what you could’ve had all those nights you decided to stay here and work.”

You practically begged him to slow down, the abuse to your hole was getting to be exhausting, “Bruce, mmn— ‘s too much.”

But your pleas fell on deaf ears, as his girth did nothing but continue its relentless assault. Your moans started to match his movements, pitch getting higher with each thrust.

“Shittt,” the hero groaned, “You're doing so good for me, sweetheart. Jus’ be good and lay there for me.”

His words were lulling you to sleep, that deep, velvety voice paired with his raspy grunts were more than soothing. Your lids started to get heavier by the second, you knew you were close. Any more of this and you were sure to tap out.

Your cheek was pressed against the surface below you. Eyes rolled so far back, it seemed like you could take a peek of your brain if you tried hard enough. It felt like your soul momentarily left your body as you started convulsing below him.

“Sir ‘m gonna, fuckkk, I’m coming!”

“There you go, love. Ease into it for me.” Although you were well over your limit, Bruce’s movements were still as vigorous as ever. 

You could tell he was close. As his thrusts got sloppier, your hips dug further into the edge of the desk, leaving marks along the surrounding skin.

“Broosh, please, I can’t ‘nymore. ‘M tired baby.” you babbled. Your barely formed words were only proof of how your consciousness was holding on by a thread.

“Shhhh. Just let me put you to rest, angel. Let your husband take care of you t’night.” Bruce’s cock throbbed, the thick appendage desperately looking for release.

Your entire body was limp by now, overstimulated beyond belief. It didn't even register how lifeless your legs were until you felt two arms scoop you up, hugging your midriff. You could just imagine how insane the scene must have looked, two grown adults humping over a table like a pair of wild dogs.

Eyes shut, you were nearly asleep at this point, the only sign of life from you were the light whimpers slipping past your plump lips. Your only purpose by now was to let your husband use you as he pleased, like some ragdoll.

Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. His movements stuttered as his senses came to a peak, “Mmm s-shit Y/N, just stay right there for me sweetheart, I got you.”

Once again, your insides fluttered as cum coated your heat. You felt his weight collapse on top of you as he tried to collect himself. Feeling him pull out, the thick, white liquid painted your skin as your hole throbbed from the aftershocks. 

Bruce’s member continued to pulsate, airy ‘ahs’ nd ‘mhms’ could be heard throughout the room. Bringing you down from you high, you heard a voice speak up from behind you, “You okay, darling? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Mm-mm,” you rumbled, not having the energy to give a real response. 

“Don’t give out on me yet, angel,” affectionately rubbing at your exposed skin, Bruce moved to tidy you up, “Let’s get you dressed so we can go home alright?”

Grabbing some spare napkins from a nearby tissue box, your doting husband wiped you down. He made sure to clean up every ounce of the thick cream dripping down your thighs.

Kneeling down, he moved to pull up your trousers, softly kissing the expanse of your legs along the way. You could barely react to his touch considering how spent you were.

As you wobbly stood to your feet, Bruce quickly went to pick you up bridal style, your head slugging against his firm chest.

Honestly, you should have known you would end up in this position the second he walked through the door.  As resistant as you were in the beginning, you can help but feel appreciative of Bruce’s actions, the love you have for him growing by the minute.

Unbeknownst to you, however, there was a reason your husband decided to surprise you tonight.

The case you had been working on, well there was a reason the forensic reports weren’t matching up. There had been a new villain roaming the streets of Gotham, and while Bruce didn’t know who he was yet, he knew he was more than dangerous.

As he placed you in the passenger’s seat, Bruce’s mind traveled to all the innocent lives that had been taken by the hands of this corrupt individual. He surely wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you ended up one of them.

Although he admired your determination, the dark knight knew better than to allow the love of his life to follow a path of such evil. 

So if this little “distraction” was the only way to throw you off their trail, then so be it.

a/n: feedback is always welcome and reblogs are always appreciated!! ilyyy

[writingwithfolklore]

How to Nail your School Essays

                Not to brag, but I’m kind of a big deal when it comes to essays at my school. Since I started highschool I haven’t received a grade less than 90% on an essay—so I’m here to share my secret. This works for the classic essay, but you can also use the same advice and fit it to formal reports or other academic writing.

1. Your essay is about 2 things, demonstrated 3 or more times

This is how I’ve always thought about essays. They’re about two ideas, demonstrated as many times as you need to fill the wordcount. Shakespeare + Feminism, Media + Truth versus Misconception, etc. etc. If you’re lucky, your teacher or prof will give you one of your elements. You’ll get assignments like, “write an essay about Hamlet” or “write an essay about the American dream” lucky you, that’s your first thing—now you need to connect it with another.

This connecting idea is my favourite part because you just get to choose a concept or idea you’re interested in. Here’s a tip, if your first/given topic is something concrete, choose an abstract connecting idea. If your given topic is something abstract, choose a concrete.

So, Hamlet (concrete) could be paired with any abstract concept: Loyalty, Truth, Feminism, etc.

However, if your prof gives you something like, “truth” or “race theory”, you’ll find it much easier to connect that with a more concrete thing, like a book, movie, or other piece of media, or even a specific person.

If you are luckiest, your prof will give you both things, “write about the American Dream in The Great Gatsby” in this case, you’re onto the next stage.

2. Stick to the formula

Tried, tested, true. Nothing wrong with a formula, especially not when it gives you A+ grades. Typical essay structure is:

Intro with thesis

2. 1st Body

2a. Evidence that proves it 1

2i. Justify its relevance

2b. Evidence that proves it 2

2ii. Justify its relevance

Etc.

3. 2nd Body

3a. Evidence that proves it

3i.Justification

Etc.

4. 3rd Body

4a. Rise and repeat, you know where this is going.

5. Some may argue…

6. Conclusion

Let’s break it down.

Thesis:

                Thesis completely outlines all your points, or the three+ places you’re demonstrating your connection, and why it matters.

                Here is an intro + thesis I wrote a couple years ago:

“This literature review will explore the impacts influencer marketing has on the children that regularly consume social media content. Specifically, this review will focus on how influencers can impact children’s brand preferences, dietary choices, and lastly, the influx of children taking advantage of this system and becoming influencers themselves.”

Or

“Burned discusses the human aspect of sex work and reverses reader’s expectations on sex workers, while Not in My Neighbourhood discusses prostitutes as victims of a system created against them. Both challenge readers’ perceptions of sex workers, effectively drawing attention to the ethics of displacing sex workers from their cities.”

                So you have your connection (children and social media)/(Burned and Not in My Neighbourhood and sex work), and the different ways you plan on exploring or proving that idea (children’s brand preferences, dietary choices, children becoming influencers.) etc.

                You may also have a more specific stance in your thesis. Such as, “In Macbeth, ambition is shown to be Macbeth’s ultimate downfall in these three ways.”

The Body Paragraphs

                You start out every body paragraph with the point of the paragraph, or what it’s aiming to prove. Such as, “Influencers often include advertisements within their content, which can encourage children to feel more amiably to certain brands their favourite content creators endorse frequently more than others.”

                After this claim, you spend the rest of the paragraph further proving it through examples. This will look like citing a specific source (a book, academic journal, quote, etc.) such as, “The authors claim likeable influencers can associate their likeability with the products they use, influencing children’s perception of brands, referred to as ‘meaning transfer’ (De Veirman et al. 2019)” (super important to always cite these sources!)

                The last part is after each example/proof--you need to justify why this proves your point/is important. So, “This proves children are more influenced towards certain products depending on how close of a relationship they perceive to have with the influencer.”

                Typically, your evidence will all lead into each other so you can transition to the next piece of proof, then the justification, rinse and repeat until you’re finished your paragraph. You can have as many pieces of evidence as you want per paragraph, and the longer your word requirement, the more you’ll want to fit into each point (or the more bodies you want to have.)

                Piece of evidence + why it matters, rinse and repeat.

Some May Argue:

                This is a small paragraph just before your conclusion where you anticipate an argument your readers may have, and disprove it. So, for example, you’d start with, “Some may argue that with parent supervision, the impacts of influencers on children could be lessened or moot. However…” and then explain why they’re wrong. This strengthens your argument, and proves that you’ve really thought out your stance.

Conclusion:

                Lastly, you want to sum up all the conclusions you came to in a few sentences. Your last line is one of the most important (in my opinion). I call it the mic drop moment. Leaving a lasting impact on your reader can bring your essay from an A to an A+, so you really want to nail this final sentence.

                My final sentence was, “Ultimately, it is hard to know in advance how technology and social media will impact the development of children who have always grown up with some form of screen, but until they grow up, parents and caregivers need to take care in the content their children consume, and their very possible exploitation online.”

This sentence is backed by the entirety of the essay that came before it, and usually leaves a little something to chew on for the readers.

Any other tips I missed?

[meanbossart]

How did your DU drow react when he got told he had to kill his spouse? and then when he went to wake up Astarion and get tied up? I think I just wanna know how your DU drow mentally/emotionally is doing during and after that part, and when talking to Astarion afterward, I'm a sucker for hearing about those deep kinds of moments (hopefully that makes sense?) Also, how did your DU react when you met Kressa Bonedaughter and learned all about what was done to him (again, I know none of the companions really comment on literally something horrible being told such a shame, honestly) but how would you say or think that Astarion and Shadowheart might have reacted hearing that info? Again, thank you for all your art and for answering these questions! PS: (I really don't care if your answer is super long; I WILL EAT IT UP)

Sooo for the first question, I wanna preface by saying that I personally don't think their relationship was that in depth yet, at that point. Yes, DU drow enjoyed Astarion's company and relied on him in a similar way which he relied on Shadowheart. And also yes, Astarion saw DU drow as the first person who ever took him and his agency seriously - but I think feelings were still in their infancy. DU drow's mind was a mess through and through; he drank constantly to keep his urge at bay, he kept his distance from everyone most of the time, and when he did seek out comfort in either Shadowheart or Astarion (the non-sexual kind, they didn't really fuck at all), it was a kind of primal instinct and desperate longing for companionship - if you asked him if he was in love with anyone, however, he would have said no.

Similarly, while I think Astarion's act 2 confession is sincere, I also think that he's being sincere when he says that he doesn't know what you are yet. You're not really a lover, but you aren't a victim, either; what you are is a person who he would rather not have to murder eventually, and as someone who has had their empathy squeezed out throughout the course of two centuries, that's meaningful enough. He may fantasize about the best case scenario for you two - but he has no expectations that whatever this is will last. But it is nice, for the time being.

So the "murder your darling" scene, rather than a proof of love and trust, is to me the turning point where:

A) DU drow has to come to terms with the fact that he doesn't have as much control over the Urge as he thought, and B) When Astarion snaps out of his care-free, just-go-with-the-flow nature around his plan and this relationship. They both realize they bit off more than they could chew and are now caught in each other's crossfire.

Which is to say that I don't read Astarion's words of comfort to him as entirely honest - specially when you compare it to certain dialogue deliveries later in the game. I think he's still, to a degree, telling you what you need to hear so that you hold out for just a bit longer and kill Cazador. You probably can't be together forever as he idly fantasized about once or twice, when he let his mind wander - but god damn it, he needs to at least be free, and it seems like you have bloodlust to spare to make that happen.

Meanwhile, DU drow finally comes to confront the fact that he is not in control. Doesn't matter how hard he tries or how much he drinks, the urge will do to him as it will, and when it wishes. It stops being fun and it gets scary, from that moment on.

But here's who did stop it: Astarion. Where alcohol fell short and his willpower failed, Astarion stepped in.

So, more interesting than the scene itself to me, is how from that point on DU drow would have no choice but put his trust entirely on the vampire to control him. He ties him up, he keeps an eye on him, he has full spoken-word permission to kill him if necessary - he is forced to be as vulnerable at humanly possible under his hand, every night. Regardless of whether or not DU drow realizes that Astarion is doing it for his own reasons, he doesnt care, because Astarion has now become his rock and his bondage - hell, if Astarion does have a reason to keep him alive that's all the better; someone else might just slit DU drow's throat and be done with the concern altogether.

And so, it's only from that point on that DU drow truly starts to see Astarion as an equal, and even a partner. He's thinking that, if his whole life has to be like this, at least he has someone who can handle it.

Astarion, meanwhile, I believe only comes to truly consider (and wish for) DU drow's freedom after he's free from Cazador - and after he bestows that freedom upon his siblings and the other spawn. That's when he finally understands the length of DU drow's devotion to him and the value of freewill as a concept- and how he wants it for both of them, instead of being content with his own.

Not to mention... I think in Astarion's mind he was 100% not going to survive Cazador LOL so when he succeeds he's like "oh shit I guess anything is fucking possible huh. Yeah fuck it lets go fight your dad, also I've decided I want you for realsies, now."

Anyways, can you believe I thought this was gonna be a short ask. Here have a doodle I made while thinking about all this bullshit:

As for Kressa, I got an ask about that before but I can't find it now LOL to summarize; he was pissed, angered, and in a far more personal level embarrassed to have had his dirty laundry aired (AKA, victimized) in that way in front of the others - but this isn't something he would have expressed outwardly, and I think both Shadowheart and Astarion would have known better than to inquire him about it. It's not really something he would have sought out comfort for in anyone, so, I think the subject died as soon as Kressa did. In this case, their lack of commentary was completely appropriate - If they had reached out in any way (which would have been, in my opinion, completely out of character) DU drow would have shut them out with a quickness.

[a-killer-obsession]

Rage [Killer x Reader]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

You lose control when your bestie almost falls victim to a creep.

CW: attempted rape via date rape drugs, graphic violence, gore, fluff, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, afab reader

WC: 5371

Masterlist || A03

Going out to the clubs was actually a rarity for you and the other female residents of the Victoria Punk . The Kid Pirates loved to party, of course, but the captain and commanders preferred pubs, and you usually had to go where they went. Kid didn't like his crew getting separated at night on unfamiliar islands, especially not his girls, he wanted them where he could see, and protect them. But every now and then, after the collective force of every girl on the ship whining and batting their eyelashes, he would give in and let the crew go to a dance club instead. 

On this particular evening you found yourself grinding on the dancefloor with Quincy, your bestie on the crew, and the two of you had no issues touching each other and dancing provocatively to attract someone to spend the evening with, though truth be told the most ideal outcome would be if a certain first mate took notice and decided to take you home. It was unlikely though, Killer had never returned any of your flirtations, and whenever your eyes turned his way, you never caught him watching. No matter, plenty of other attractive men were out on the floor tonight, and plenty were watching your clear display with Quincy. The plan was in full force and you had no doubt you'd both be getting laid tonight. 

The tempo of the song changed and you and your bestie decided it would be a good time for a quick rest and drink break. You'd both been on the floor for a fair while now, and you could really do with something to wet your lips. Quincy offered to grab drinks while you headed back to the table where the commanders sat, perching on the edge of the booth seat next to Heat so you could take off your heels and rub your sore feet for a moment. You didn't really need to rub them, sore feet from heels was something you were more than used to every time you went clubbing, but you were sat across from Killer, and at this angle as you bent over slightly, he had a clear view down the front of your low cut dress. His mask tilted down so slightly that you would have missed it, if the view hadn't been entirely on purpose. A little butterfly wiggled in your stomach at the small win, Killer was definitely checking out your tits, even if you couldn't see his eyes. 

You looked back towards the bar to where Quincy was ordering drinks. The barkeeper had just placed two cocktails in front of her when a man slid up beside her and engaged in conversation. You smiled as you watched her laugh at something he said. He pointed to something behind her and she followed his finger, and as she looked away you watched his other hand move. It was subtle, but you saw it, there was no mistaking it. 

“Son of a bitch,” you growled, shoving your heel back on and standing. 

The commanders all looked at you expectantly as you began to march towards the bar. They all knew that walk, either you were about to shoot your shot with someone, or you were about to kick some ass. They all shot up and followed behind you, knowing full well that in this case, it was definitely the latter. 

Quincy raised a drink to her mouth just as you approached, and you slapped it out of her hand, the delicate martini glass hitting the floor and shattering. She was about to protest when you grabbed the man beside her by the collar and shoved him against the bar. Quincy wasn't one for fighting, and quickly backed away, sensing something was amiss here. You would never just attack a man for no reason in the middle of a night out, not when she knew you were on the prowl for a lay. And you would never come between her and getting laid unless you had a very good reason. 

“The fuck kind of piss ass slease needs to drug a girl to get with her, huh?” You spat at the man.

“No idea what you're talkin’ ‘bout, doll,” the man smiled, putting his hands up in mock defeat.

You reached into the pocket you'd seen him pull the drugs from and pulled out a bag of pills, waving it around for all to see. Nosey bystanders made a ‘ooooh’ sound and security began to close in. You looked at the closest guard, who had moved in to break up a fight, but seeing the baggy had now focused his attention on the man, a scolding fury written on his face. 

“No worries babe, we'll take care of this cunt,” you told the security guard. They gave a quick nod and began to clear a path to the door, wanting the mess outside as quickly as possible. Heat and Wire quickly flanked the man, and you let go of his collar so they could drag him outside, but not before giving him a hard kick in the dick. He groaned in pain as they pulled him through the club doors, and you followed them out, anger bubbling and fists clenching in preparation. Quincy tried to follow, but you gave her one stern look and she knew better, retreating back to the safety of the other Kid Pirate women. 

The commanders dragged the man to the alley down the side of the bar, and threw him hard against the wall. Killer moved to hit him, but you placed a firm hand against his chest. This was your fight, you wanted to do this. You needed to take your anger out on this man or it would fester, and fuck were you angry . Killer's mask tilted to look down at your hand, ready to argue with you, before Kid spoke up from behind. 

“Let her have it Kil, this is her find,” Kid commanded. Killer took one look at Kid and gave an obedient nod, before stepping back to give you space. The men spread out around you and the stranger, ensuring he had nowhere to run. 

Like a fool, he tried to run anyway, and you quickly made it clear he was going nowhere with a swift kick to the head. You may have been only a medium height, but you were agile, and strong, kicking his head was easy for you, even if he was taller than you. He went down quickly, clutching his head, and you followed with a hard kick to his stomach. He gagged, one hand moving from his head to his gut as he curled up in a protective ball. 

You turned to your captain, your eyes flicking between his and the dagger strapped to his chest, asking silent permission. He handed it to you without a word, curious as to what you'd do with it. You had killed plenty of times, but you usually prefered a quick kill with a gun, you weren't keen on torture. He got the feeling though that this was different, it felt personal. You'd never insisted on killing someone yourself before, and he could see the way your eyes were dark with rage, your head twitching every so slightly whenever you looked at the man. He still wasn't entirely sure what you were mad about, but he couldn't care less, he was happy to lean against the wall and watch one of his girls kill. 

You leant down next to the man, twisting your fingers through his hair and pulling hard, yanking his head up to force him to look at you. At the same time you pressed the tip of the dagger to his throat, just enough to pierce it a tiny amount, the threat of death made very real as a thin line of red ran down the man's front. 

“What were your plans with my girl, huh?” You spat, “feed her your drugs, drag her away, maybe to this very spot, and rape her? Leave her broken and dying in this alleyway? Did you think she was all alone?” 

The man whimpered as you pressed a foot against his groin, pressing the sharp heel of your shoe right against his dick. The men around you silently grimaced as you began to press harder, the stranger starting to cry out in pain as your shoe began to dig into his delicate parts. 

“Pathetic little tiny dicked man,” you growled, pressing harder yet, “the only thing you're good for is dying” 

You slid the dagger down his chest, cutting a long strip down his front, then you brought your foot up and kicked him back. His head slammed against the concrete wall with an audible crack as you stalked towards him. He tried to stand, groaning in pain, and you charged forward, jamming the dagger right into his stomach. Pinning him to the wall, he screamed and clawed at you as you twisted the blade, before pulling it out along with a small segment of his intestines. He grappled at his gut, and you dug the blade back in, higher this time, leaving it in his gut as you grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the wall behind him. 

“Kid, pin this bug for me would you?” You asked sweetly. Kid compiled with a small chuckle, sending sharps of scrap metal from the alleyway straight through the man's hands, effectively nailing him to the wall. He screamed out, his hands beginning to bleed and tear as his legs started to give way underneath him, and his guts continued to spill out. You grabbed the blade that was still wedged in his gut, twisting it again for good measure before pulling it loose. 

The man was writhing and screaming, on the edge of passing out from either blood loss or shock, whichever happened first, and you saw red as you realised you didn't have much longer to make him pay. Who knew how many girls he had hurt, how many Quincys hadn't had the good fortune of a friend looking at just the right moment, how many girls whose lives he had destroyed for the sake of an easy lay. Quincy was your best friend, you imagined finding her in the alleyway, unconscious and unclothed and beaten and used. You wanted to scream, cry, vomit, but most of all you wanted to kill.

“RAPIST CUNT! DIE!” you shrieked, charging back at him and stabbing over and over. You didn't bother to focus on where you were forcing your blade, sheathing it in any piece of his flesh that you could. His chest, his arms, his groin, even his face wasn't untouched. You blacked out, unleashing every ounce of fury you had pent up inside you on this man. 

He was growing cold, long dead, and you continued to stab, his blood splattering all over the large amounts of skin you had exposed in your little black clubbing dress, your shoes starting to get slippery from the blood pooling inside them. You almost fell because of it, and two strong arms caught you, looping under your armpits and dragging you backwards as you fought against them, blade still in hand. 

“Kid, she's out of control,” Killer spoke up from behind you, struggling to keep you steady as you slipped out of your heels and attempted to fight your way out of his grasp, still intent on burying your knife in the unrecognisable red mess of the stranger. Kid knew that bloodlust well, he had seen it in the mirror, but never on one of his girls. It startled him, and until Killer had spoken, he'd been in a haze, pride turning to concern as he watched you continue to work away at the corpse till you couldn't stand. Finally, snapped out of it, he used his devil fruit to pull the blade from your hand, receiving an almost inhuman growl from you in return. It sent a shiver down the spine of all four commanders, and drove home just how out of control you really were. 

“Take her back to the ship, clean her up,” he told Killer, “Heat, stay with the girls, Wire help me get rid of this mess” 

Killer swept you off your feet, in a way that would have been quite sexy if not for the fact that you were growling and hitting him, still trying to get at the dead man, and he began a quick march towards the ship. You saw Heat hurry back inside as Kid began to drag the body to the nearest dumpster, Wire holding the lid open for him as he threw the bloodied mess in, before Killer pulled around a corner and they were all out of sight. 

The short walk back to the ship was a blur, and it wasn't until Killer placed you in the shower and turned the cold water on that you finally stopped fighting him, suddenly snapped out of your rage by the icy water pouring over your bare skin. You took in a sharp breath as the water prickled you, pressing your back against the wall of the shower in instinctual self defence and almost slipping in the process. Killer pinned you against the wall to keep you upright, his feet still outside the tub and his clothes getting drenched. 

“Are you going to stop fighting me now?” He near growled.

You looked at where his eyes would be, coming back to reality far too quickly and realising all of a sudden what you had done. You had never been so violent in your life, you didn't know what had come over you. You grabbed the strong forearms that were either side of you as you felt your legs threaten to give out. 

“I- I-” you stuttered, starting to hyperventilate. 

“It's okay, I've got you,” he said, softer now. He guided your body down, letting you slide safely down the wall till you were sitting in the bathtub, and he switched the water to warm as you began to shiver. “I'm right here, I've got you” he cooed, almost a whisper, running a hand through your blood soaked hair so gently that anyone watching the exchange would mistake him for a lover. 

“I don't know what happened,” you shivered. 

“You were protecting Quincy,” he told you, “he was going to hurt her, you were right to be angry, I would have fucked him up just as bad. Hell, I was planning on bringing him back here, taking my time with him”

You stared at Killer's blank mask as you realised that, while extremely violent by your standards, he was right. You probably did the man a mercy by killing him so quickly, had Killer brought him back to the ship he would have tortured him for days. Maybe that would have been better, given what he'd done, what he was planning to do to Quincy. Maybe you did a bad thing, by stopping Killer. Selfish. 

Killer saw the way your thoughts were beginning to spiral and curled a gentle finger under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Hey, don't let your mind play games with you, you did good, Kid was impressed, Quincy will be thankful, and who knows how many girls you've saved from a similar fate” 

You sniffed a little as Killer leaned away, giving you space to compose yourself. Both of you were still fully clothed, drenched by the shower, and you were absolutely covered in blood. There were even bits of organs and skin stuck in your hair, you wanted to gag at the thought. 

“This is disgusting,” you sighed as you pulled a piece of some unknown flesh out of your hair and flicked it towards the drain, “and my dress is fucking ruined” you pouted. 

“It looked good while you had it, at least,” Killer remarked. You lit up, your eyes practically glittering at the compliment. It was the first time he'd ever said something nice about your appearance. 

“Yeah? You liked it?” You pressed. 

“Made your legs look real good,” he smirked behind the mask, knowing the little ego boost would help you out of your mood, “and I appreciated the view earlier” he would have winked if not for the mask. He stood and pulled his wet shirt over his head, revealing the tight muscles and the blonde trail of hair that ran down from his belly button and disappeared under the light blue sash he wore around his waist. He tossed it in a laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom before grabbing a towel and dabbing at the exposed hair that had gotten wet. He watched the way you eyed him hungrily, biting your lip a little and tilting your head ever so slightly, so focused on his rarely seen bare chest that you didn't even notice the way he was showing off for you. It was an expertly planned distraction, you'd all but forgotten about your rage induced overkill as you watched a stray bead of water run down his front. You very nearly moaned watching it run over his muscles, and he stifled a laugh. 

He finished drying his hair and flung the towel over his shoulder, before grabbing another clean towel and hanging it on a hook next to the shower for you. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he said as he turned to leave. You'd almost forgotten you were still sitting fully clothed, covered in blood, under the running water. “I'll find you something to wear,” he said as he left, closing the bathroom door behind him. 

You let out a heavy sigh at his sudden exit before registering all of a sudden that you were in his bathroom. You'd never even been past the eave of his bedroom door before. You shot up, your eyes darting around the room as you took in every little detail. To be fair though, it was unbearably clean, barely anything to be nosey about. With a slight disappointed pout you began unzipping your dress, wringing it out slightly before throwing it to the laundry basket, along with your bra and underwear. You took the bobby pins out of your hair and left them along the side of the tub to retrieve later, along with your earrings, one of which was broken. You'd have to ask Kid very nicely to mend it for you later. 

You let the water run over you freely to remove most of the blood from your skin and hair before finally turning to Killer's array of products, neatly lined up along an inset shelf next to the tub. No wonder his hair was always so nice, you couldn't think of any other man you'd ever met who used hair masks, and Killer had several to choose from. You opened and sniffed each product on the shelf carefully out of curiosity, before finally starting to wash your hair and skin. You would have liked to have used a hair mask, but you'd already spent more than enough time fucking around in Killer's bathroom. 

Satisfied that your murderous rampage was entirely cleaned from your body, you turned off the shower and patted your hair with the towel, letting the rest of your body drip dry till you felt like your hair was dry enough. You wrapped the towel around yourself, drying off the last few rogue drips, before taking a deep breath and walking out to the bedroom. 

You weren't sure what to expect from Killer's room. You had seen glimpses of it from the hall, but never the whole room. It was tidy, not many personal belongings out on show save for a few books and a small metal elephant that Kid had clearly made him. Even less expected was Killer himself, who was lazing on the bed reading, in nothing but a pair of navy sweatpants. Let me repeat that, nothing but a pair of navy sweatpants. Your eyes flicked between him and his mask, which sat neatly on his side table, as he turned to the next page of his book. You stood frozen in the doorframe, steam slowly escaping the bathroom behind you as you stared at Killer, his icy blue eyes moving side to side as he read. 

“There's clothes for you on the dresser,” he said without looking up, like he wasn't casually unmasked for the first time in front of you, “my briefs are probably too big for you but it's better than nothing” 

You took a quick look around the room, finding the dresser right beside you, an old band tee and boxer briefs sitting on top of the wooden drawers. ‘Fuck that’ you thought to yourself, marching confidently to the side of the bed. Killer finally looked up just in time to watch you drop your towel, a sly smirk spreading on his face. His lips, to your surprise, were painted purple. Now that you were closer you could see how sharp his features were, and the unseen portion of his scruffy goatee that was usually half hidden by his mask. 

“I wondered how long it'd take you to finally cave,” he said coyly, returning to his book. You grabbed it and threw it across the room, climbing on to the bed and straddling him. 

“Your mask isn't on,” you said plainly. You weren't sure if it was a question or a statement. 

“Fuck, really?” He toyed, “I hadn't noticed” 

Your playfulness suddenly wavered as you realised the gravity of the situation, sitting down on his thighs and looking at him more intensely. 

“Your mask isn't on,” you said, softer. This time it was definitely a statement. His hands found your waist and his thumbs made small circles against your bare skin, leaving goosebumps and making you shiver. 

“I know,” he replied, his voice gentle and quiet. 

“Kil..” you almost whispered. Your hands came up and cupped his face, thumbs running over his cheeks as you held his face carefully like it was the most fragile thing on earth. “.. why?”

“I'm not sure myself, to be honest,” he replied, his eyes searching your face anxiously for any hint of rejection, but finding nothing but adoration, “it just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, this is my room,” he finished with a more playful tone and a small smile. Your heart skipped a beat, seeing his smile for the first time. Your eyes flicked between his eyes and his mouth, and his smile waived as he misread your expression as disliking his smile. He began to turn away, but you held his face steady, before finally closing the distance and pressing your mouth against his. 

It was a soft kiss, experimental, you may have been entirely naked in his lap but you somehow felt insecure about whether he actually wanted you. The insecurities were quickly lost though when he returned the kiss, one of his hands travelling up your back to find your hair, holding you steady as he pressed back against you. You made a small moan in response, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, running his wet muscle against your own. 

You raised yourself on your knees, hovering over him, to give yourself better purchase as his head tilted and your tongues fought against each other. The raised position opened you up to him, and he wasted no time sliding his other hand from your waist to your lower stomach, tracing down to your mound with an index finger. You moaned into his mouth as his hand ghosted across your slit, before finally sliding between your folds. He groaned as he found you already wet, and his fingers played with your silk before finally settling over your clit, circling it with his thumb. Your hips bucked as you tried to get more from him, and he took the hint, slipping a finger inside you and beginning a gentle movement. 

You had to break from the kiss for air as he added a second, your hands running down his chest and your face pressing into the crook of his neck as he began curling his fingers and pumping you, his other hand holding to you steady against him as you whined. You made the occasional kiss and nip on his neck, hearing him grunt as you made little marks across his skin, and you whimpered as he added a third finger, stretching you out and targeting your g-spot. You fluttered around him as you climax rapidly built, moaning against his shoulder and leaving his skin damp from your hot breath as you panted. 

“Let go [y/n], I can feel how close you are,” Killer purred, pumping you harder. Your legs shook and you were grateful for his support as you came hard, your release coating his fingers as he kissed and sucked on your neck, cooing praises. He guided you to sit back as he removed his fingers, keeping you upright with a strong arm around your waist as you sat against his thighs. Your pussy left wet patches against his sweatpants and you watched through half lidded eyes as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked your release off his fingers, an almost inaudible moan escaping you at the lewd sight. 

“So sweet,” he purred, “such a good girl for me” 

You whimpered at his praises and he helped you lay on your back beside him, rolling on top of you to settle between your legs, keeping his weight off you with an arm either side of your torso. “You're so beautiful underneath me like this,” he whispered, his face dipping down to run his nose over your clavicle, taking in your scent before running a tongue up your neck to your ear, where he nipped and tugged at the lobe. “I want to taste more of you,” he whispered, “can I have you?” 

You could barely tilt your head to look at him, but you managed to catch his ocean eyes for a moment before capturing his lips again, pulling gently at his hair as he kissed back with equal feverish need. You pulled away, gasping for air. “Take whatever you want from me Kil,” you panted, “I'm yours” 

A small lustful growl of appreciation was his reply, overly eager at your submissive response. It fueled his ego and he began making quick kisses down your body, trailing down your centre. He stopped for a short while to admire your breasts, and the way your chest was heaving from arousal, squeezing them and pressing his face between them. It was heaven on earth to be buried between them, but what he really wanted was to watch you writhe again, so he continued down till his face was between your legs. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding them open and making sure you weren't going anywhere, before running a fat stripe with his tongue between your folds. You whimpered and instinctively shied away, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but he held fast, keeping his mouth firmly on you. You felt the vibrations of his groans as he alternated between focusing on your bud and plunging his tongue inside you, your moans now flowing freely from you as he quickly brought you to a second climax. 

He eagerly drank up your juices as you nearly crushed his head between your thighs, the lack of oxygen making him light headed but only adding to his arousal. When you finally released him he gave one last long stripe before sitting up, kneeling between your legs and running his hands up your body as he licked his lips.

“Fuck, Kil…” you panted, a forearm resting over your face as you came down from your second high. He gently took your arm and moved it away, hovering over you and looking at you intently. 

“You okay?” He asked softly. 

“Mmm,” you mumbled, a small smile on your face. You spread your legs in a not so subtle hint, giving him the greenlight to continue. 

“You sure?” He replied, his still clothed erection pressing against your centre. You moaned and rolled your hips against him, and his arms almost failed to hold his weight off you as he grunted. 

“Please Kil,” you mewled, grinding against him again, “I need you inside me” 

He moved faster than he would in battle to strip his pants and boxers, throwing them to the floor and settling back between your legs. The fat tip of his heavy cock rested against your pussy and you bit your bottom lip, looking down between your legs at his impressive size and wondering how you were going to fit all of him. 

“I'll be gentle,” he near whispered, like he could read your mind, “just tell me if you want to stop”

You nodded eagerly and held his forearms, holding yourself slightly up so you could watch as he sunk his tip inside you. You immediately wavered in your strength, falling back against the mattress and moaning as he filled and stretched you. He let out a groan as he finally reached the base, pausing to enjoy the way your walls held him so tight before slowly pulling back out again. He started a slow, gentle rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back inside you, groaning softly every time he bottomed out. 

Confident that he wouldn't hurt you, you rolled your hips to meet him, encouraging him to go faster. He happily obliged, increasing his pace bit by bit. Every time he settled in to a new speed, you would roll your hips and reach for him, beckoning him to move faster and harder till he was ruining you, fucking you hard in to the bed while you balled the sheets in your hands, screaming out in pleasure at every hard thrust.

He pulled your knees up, putting them over his shoulders and pulling your ass towards him, putting you in a mating press and somehow fucking you even deeper. You reached for him and your nails sunk into the muscles that covered his arms, leaving crescent shaped indents as you writhed underneath him. His rhythm became erratic and his panting in your ear grew heavy as he bent over you, his groans only spurring you on more as you hit your third orgasm quite suddenly, screaming his name and drawing blood as your nails finally broke skin. He swore and gave two final hard thrusts before stilling and throwing his head back, letting out a primal groan as he emptied himself inside you. 

He slumped forward, releasing your legs from his shoulders and resting against your chest, both of you panting heavy and struggling for air. You ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes closed in pure bliss as you enjoyed his weight on top of you, his face against your shoulder and his cock still buried deep in you. Finally he rolled off of you, making you whine as he left you empty, but he pulled you with him, holding you close against his side so he could enjoy you without worrying about crushing you. 

“You know,” you forced out between heavy breaths as you traced his muscles with a index finger and his thumb rubbed small circles on the small of your back, “if I'd known all it would take to get your attention was going ape shit on some creep, I would have gone on a violent rampage much sooner”

Killer huffed a silent laugh, his eyes shut as he laid on his back and enjoyed the feeling of your warm body pressed against his, “actually, it was the dancing that did it”

“No fucking way,” you smacked his bare chest playfully, “Emma didn't think it would work, HA!”

“It was very… provocative,” Killer hummed. 

“That was the point,” you mused, raising yourself up to rest on your elbow so you could look at him, “you're very handsome, you know. The mask is sexy but this is a face carved by angels”

A clear blush spread across Killer's face before he quickly silenced you with kisses. 

[slasherscream]

Hi, can I request a poly ghostface with a reader who's in drama? How would they react to her getting a lead in a horror musical (for example Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd)?

A/N: going through my inbox and trying to get to the oldest stuff that still inspires me to respond. sorry for the world's longest wait. i am simply an easily distracted creature of the night.

They're hyping you up beyond reason. You're talented, but it doesn't matter if you sucked, they'd give you an ego about how good you are either way. Why? Because they love you. So everyone else better love you too... or else 🔪🔪🔪.

It's giving everyone better clap for my s/o when they come out to make their final bow or we'll blow up this fucking building, yeah.

Despite loving you, attending theatre really isn’t their favorite thing to do in the world. 

So you getting a role in a horror musical is like… even though they love you: *insert finally some good fucking food gordon ramsey image here*

Are you more pumped to have gotten the lead in this play or are they?

No amount of fake blood is enough for them. They want to see you dripping in the fake blood of your fake victims. They bully their way backstage during the intermission of the show and they make you do a twirl while covered in fake blood. You look delicious.

It isn’t appropriate to do but Stu can’t stop himself from cheering at certain points. Billy hits him and tells him quietly to “shut your fucking hole they’re trying to act up there!”  

Billy reads up on how to care for your vocal chords. Right before you go on stage he’s always got a hot lemon tea in hand for you. He makes you use a vocal nebulizer every day and go to a steam room twice a week. He’s got no clue if any of the stuff works but he doesn’t want you damaging your voice, so do it just in case and stop bitching about it.

Stu is your hype man. Even on the days they don’t attend performances, since the show runs for a while, he sends a shit ton of flowers for you to receive. We’re talking roses in every color. If someone working on stage crew has allergies, watch out! The sheer amount of flowers is a genuine public health hazard. He wants everyone to know you’re the best there is. A dozen rose bouquets might not send the message. Twenty will!

They keep an eye on your understudy as if your understudy is going to plot to kill you. You are not allowed to hang out with your understudy when they’re not around. 

Billy saw you drink a beverage that your understudy handed you and barely wanted to speak to you on the way home after rehearsal. “You’re asking for it. You’re really asking for it, Y/N. You don’t know what that nutcase might have put in there!” Sir, I think the only nutcase here is you. 

They might have to kill that understudy just to be safe.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Really

Hank Voight x Reader

You asked Hank out, it's only fitting that you admitted your feelings first too

Companion piece to Let me Decide

It was a little unconventional, your relationship with Hank. The age difference for one had a habit of raising a few eyebrows. The fact that no one had really seen him date after his wife passed then he got with you. You knew how most people saw him, as Sergeant Voight. The hardass over intelligence that did whatever he saw fit to solve the case he was handed. The man that played by his own set of rules and didn’t care who got hurt.

Hell you’d seen him like that for years. He put up a good front and to a certain point he was a bit of a hardass but that was simply due to the fact that he came from the old school of policing. Him, Platt, they had to learn to make themselves seem like they didn’t give a damn so they could attempt to help the people that needed it.

The longer you were with Hank the more you got to see past that demeanor and to who he actually was. He cared about his unit, kept a safe in his basement that had money in it that you weren’t actually sure where it came from but you’d seen him go in it to pay for a victim to be able to start her life over when her husband drained her accounts. He sent money to Olive every month so if she or his grandson Daniel needed anything. On Camille’s birthday he took her favorite flowers to the cemetery and on Justin’s he tended to want to stick closer to the boys out of his unit.

The man had gone through so much loss and was still standing it amazed you at times. You weren’t sure how he did it. There was no surprise he put that front forward. If you didn’t let anyone close, you didn’t stand a chance of losing them. You hadn’t given him a chance to not let you in, in Adam’s words “You’re always there waiting to make him be human”

You were leaving med from dropping off a heart attack patient. The entire morning you and Sylvie maybe had gotten a thirty minute break, Adam had sent lunch to the station house with a note that read “I pissed Voight off. Please protect me” which had caused a round of teasing from the entire rescue squad until you turned it onto Matt and Sylvie.

You turned to talk to her and bumped into someone’s shoulder. “I’m sorry” you apologized and realized it was Kevin. “Kev! Hey” he smiled “Hey, you dropping off?”

You motioned behind you “Our third trip today” “Good grief” he nodded to Sylvie then cut his eyes back at you “You get Adam’s note?” you nodded “What did he do to Hank now?” he grimaced “He broke the coffee maker in the break room” you shook your head “And the big bad detective needs my protection why?” “Because dad’s mad so we run to mom” he teased with a grin.

Sylvie giggled “Bet ya didn’t realize you were inheriting a unit of kids?” you shook your head “Actually, I knew that from the start” and patted Kevin’s shoulder “Tell Ruz I got him” then nodded to Sylvie “Let’s go. I’m gonna make a stop by the district on the way back”

Adam was doing his best to hide behind Kim at his desk. Hank hadn’t had coffee the entire day and the break room was a bit of a mess still. He heard the gate downstairs pop and figured Kevin and Jay were back.

When he didn’t hear their voices he cut his eyes towards the stairs and saw you and Sylvie carrying trays of coffee. “She got your note” Hailey laughed. He grinned and stood up to meet you halfway. “I knew I was your favorite” You passed him the tray in your hand but plucked one of the cups out. “Don’t let it go to your head. Hank in his office?”

“He’s in there,” Kim told you. The door was closed and the blinds were down but you knew he wouldn't mind you coming in. “Sylvie I’ll just be a minute” she sat on the edge of Jay’s desk and shot you a wink as she sipped on her coffee “Take your time”

_______________

You tapped your knuckles against the door as you were opening it. Hank looked like he was about to yell but his face quickly turned into a smile when he realized it was you. “Hey sweetheart, what are you doing here?” you held up the coffee “I heard my problem child prevented you from having coffee so I thought I’d make a special delivery”

He pushed his chair back from the desk so you walked over to slip between him and the desk, sitting on the edge of it as you passed him the cup. He took it and shook his head “You didn’t have to do this baby” you smiled “I know, I wanted to”

He sat the cup down on the desk so he could put a hand on each of your thighs, rubbing them gently “Why is someone like you with me?” you felt the smile fall from your face “Excuse me?” he looked up at you “You’re young, beautiful..smart as hell and a fucking livewire. You should be with someone your age, someone that can keep up with you. Not some grumpy old man that needs his mid day coffee”

You stood up, putting yourself nearly in his lap before deciding fuck it and just straddled him in the chair, watching how his eyes tracked you and his hands slipped around your waist to hold you to him. “You had no problem keeping up with me last night” you reminded him and a smirk slipped onto his face. “You know what I mean honey” he told you, one hand slipping under your uniform to tease across your skin. You leaned back just enough to look him in the eyes “Because I love you Hank” his eyes widened slightly “What?” you felt your heart drop. “And I shouldn’t have said that”

You started to climb out of his lap but felt his grip tighten “Don’t you dare move” you froze, not meeting his eyes “Why? So you can tell me I’m too young for you to love? That I’m ok to date, ok to fuck but not ok to be with long term because even though I am a grown woman and perfectly capable of making my own decisions I need to be with someone closer to my age even though that’s not what my heart wants?”

One of his hands moved from your hips to grip your chin and force your eyes to his, “No, so I can tell you that I love you too before you have to go back to work” A smile slipped onto your face “Really?” “Really” he replied and pulled you into a kiss.

You didn’t realize you hadn’t closed the door all the way until you heard Adam’s voice “Hey boss…holy hell I’m sorry” you broke away from Hank’s lips with a laugh and he muttered “I’m gonna kill him” as Adam backed out the office quickly, closing the door.

“Don’t you dare hurt my child” you laughed and he raised an eyebrow “He’s the same age as you” you shrugged “He’s my problem child and you are not going to hurt him because you love me, right?” he sighed “Right”