#criminal rm

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Emily x Reader after Reader has a sh relapse, Emily patches and her up and assures her she's still beautiful by slow, gentle, loving sex and lots of cuddling please?

You got it, anon! Thanks for the request! :) Hope you like it!

Burning

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, self-harm, depression, mental illness, sex, fingering, etc., injuries due to self-harm, brief mentions of an eating disorder, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: With Emily away on a case and a depressive episode hitting you hard, you fall back into a pattern you thought you'd kicked a long time ago. When she comes home and discovers what you've done, you're afraid it'll be too much for her. Emily does her best to show you that it's not.

You’d been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for what felt like hours, but was probably mere minutes. Time warped itself when the urges took hold, every second a lifetime of effort, until it became all the potential lives you might live stacked one on top of the other, and they were too heavy for you to carry.

The hand that held the unlit match was shaking, and you seesawed between the unbearable desire to scratch a painful itch and the knowledge that self-hatred that would flood you afterward. But at least the self-hatred and the pain would be something to feel, other than the abject hopelessness that had seemed to swallow you up over the last week.

You’d known a depressive episode was coming before Emily left. You could always feel them coming. But what were you supposed to say? Don’t go save people from a terrorist cell? Stay here with me because I’m scared I’m getting depressed and I need you? It’d be pathetic. You were pathetic. And it wasn’t Emily’s job to keep your mental illness at bay.

But she’d been gone longer than you expected–over a week now. And your depressive episode had hit you harder than you thought it would. You’d called out of work, you’d binged on food delivery, then hated yourself afterward, staring into the mirror feeling lower and lower and lower. Until the only way you could think to stop sinking was to shock yourself out of it.

You knew it wasn’t wise or healthy. You knew you’d feel even worse once the pain subsided. You knew that a relapse would make it that much harder to stop next time. You knew that if Emily was here, she would stop you, she would hide the matches and the lighters, she would be so, so sad that you’d even thought about hurting yourself.

But despite knowing all these things, the hunger for fire, for pain, was too much to resist. You scratched the head of the match against the matchbox and the flame leapt into existence. Your go-to spot in young adulthood had been your arms, but the burns wouldn't fade before Emily got back, and she’d notice them on your arms. This time, you held the match to the upper side of your abdomen, where your arms would hopefully hide the marks.

You scrunched your eyebrows and winced as the flame licked at your skin, the pain white and bright and hot. You wished you could explain to people that odd, addictive mixture of self-loathing and dopamine that hit you and made you feel simultaneously worse and better. You wished people understood the desire for it, that sometimes you wanted to feel worse because feeling worse made you feel better. But it was hard to explain. Even harder to understand. So you didn’t bother most of the time. You lit match after match until the box was empty, until your side was scattered with raised, red-white blotches, like a constellation of all the shitty things you’d ever been through or felt.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and hated what you saw. And it felt good to hate yourself, like a guilty pleasure.

You jumped at the sound of the apartment door opening and closing, and cold panic flooded your system.

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Emily called from the entryway.

You quickly pulled a loose t-shirt over your head, wincing as the fabric brushed over the burns. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet. She hadn’t texted or called. She’ll hate me, you thought. She’ll hate me if she finds out.

Of course, Emily knew you struggled with self-harm. But you’d been in a really good spot when you’d started dating and had, for the most part, stayed in that really good spot for your entire relationship. You were in therapy. You had healthy coping mechanisms. You hadn’t relapsed in years. You didn’t know what had made today different from every other bad day in the last few years, but you knew you didn’t want Emily to know.

You silently cursed yourself for using all the matches; there were none left to light a candle in the bathroom to mask the scent of burning. You ran to meet her in the living room, hoping that by heading her off, the smell would have time to dissipate.

“Hi, honey,” you greeted her, forcing a smile. You took both her hands in yours to try and prevent her touching your side, which still felt as if it was on fire. You stood on tiptoes to kiss her, and she smiled, leaning in.

“I missed you,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around you. You flinched and inhaled sharply as her fingers grazed the burns.

She furrowed her eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, avoiding her eyes. “I just, um… fell earlier.”

Her hands fluttered over you, a worried expression on her face. “You fell!? Where!? Like, how hard?”

“Not that hard,” you said, trying to squirm away. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. Ow!” Emily had placed a gentle hand at your side and you couldn’t help your outburst.

“Well, honey, if it hurts that bad, you need to let me see it. We might need to go to the ER or something.”

You knew you were done for when she grabbed your wrist, hard. Emily was much stronger than you, so instead of fighting, you went numb.

You felt your whole world stop as she lifted up your shirt to see the scattered burns. You felt tears prick at your eyes. There were too many marks, and they were too symmetrical to have been an accident. You knew it, and Emily knew it, too.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that her eyes were wet with tears she wasn’t going to let herself cry because you needed someone strong right now. If you’d looked at her, you would have seen a mixture of sadness and pity and heartbreak and undying love. You’d have seen the face of someone who wanted nothing more than for you to be okay.

“Y/N,” Emily managed after a moment. “Did you do this to yourself?”

You nodded, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“Today?”

You nodded again.

“How long ago?”

You looked at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry. “Right before you walked in.”

You hated yourself. You hated yourself even more because you knew that Emily would feel awful. She’d think that if she’d just been a few minutes earlier, she could have prevented this. And you never wanted Emily to feel like your mental illness was her fault or her responsibility.

“Come here,” she said, gently taking your hand and guiding you to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, making sure the water was cool but not cold, then slowly pulled your clothes off. She nodded toward the shower and you got in, shivering under the chilly stream.

Emily sighed and sat down on the toilet lid, watching you. She looked tired, so tired. You hated to be another thing that exhausted her, another thing she had to take care of and fix.

“You should sit down,” she added quietly. “You’re gonna have to be in there for a while. Until they stop burning.”

You sat on the tiled floor, the water leaching the pain away from the burn marks, leaving only disgust and self-loathing in their place. You pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face, trying and failing not to cry.

Your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. You heard Emily stand and were sure she was going to leave. Why wouldn’t she? She deserved to. She deserved not to have to deal with you.

You jumped a little as Emily lowered herself into the shower next to you, clothes abandoned on the bathroom floor, and wrapped her arm around your shoulder. She pressed her face into yours as the shower drenched you both.

“Shh,” she soothed, careful to avoid your burns. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Em,” you wept, rocking. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “You don’t need to be sorry. I love you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I hate myself,” you whispered.

Emily gently grabbed your face and tilted it toward her. There were tears in her eyes, too. “Baby, please don’t say that.”

“I can’t help it.” Your voice was so quiet, so small, the sound of the shower almost drowned it out.

“That’s okay,” Emily said, brushing strands of wet hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay?”

You looked in her eyes then for the first time since she’d discovered the burn marks. You didn’t know what you’d expected to see: annoyance, disgust, hatred, or worst of all, ambivalence. But there was none of that in Emily’s eyes. Only love and concern.

Even so, you were scared to ask what you needed to ask. “Do you still love me?”

“Oh, honey, of course I do. I could never stop loving you.”

And then you kissed her. You kissed her with the cool water pouring down around your bodies. With your skin hot from the burns and from your aching love for Emily. You kissed her desperately, hungrily, like someone clinging to a lifeboat, and Emily was. She was your lifeboat. And for Emily’s part, she was gentle, almost too gentle, as if you might break at any moment.

You wrapped your legs and arms around her and she held you so carefully, so mindful of your burns. You shuddered in the cool water as your hips pushed against her.

Emily moaned into your mouth, her hands faltering for a moment.

“Y/N,” she said breathlessly, pulling away to hold your face in her hands. “We don’t have to do this." She looked at you a moment longer, then added, "I love you.”

You kissed her again. Her mouth. Her forehead. Her collarbone. Emily’s chest heaved into you and your heart beat rapidly.

“Please,” you begged. “Show me.”

Emily pulled you into her, letting her tongue and her lips roam over your neck, letting her hips meet yours as the water surrounded you, soothing your burns the way Emily soothed the roiling, burning despair inside of you.

“I love you,” she whispered as she kissed your eyelids. “I love you,” she whispered as she pressed her hands into the soft flesh of your ass. “I love you,” she whispered as she slipped her fingers inside of you. You bit back a moan and trembled against her, your body pulsing around her.

She fucked you slowly, tenderly, as if it was both your first time and your last, though this was neither. And she kept saying it–“I love you”–again and again, never stopping, so that all the darkness in your mind, all the self-doubt, didn’t have any room to make itself heard.

You let out a strangled groan as your body tensed around her, and when your pleasure flooded you, it was like you were on fire. And this fire was so much better, louder, brighter, than any flame you’d ever held to your body. It was a burning that consumed you, one that would leave you new and glistening afterward instead of scarred and in ashes.

You fell limp against her as she removed her fingers, kissing your forehead, your collarbone, your mouth, swirling her tongue with yours until you felt drunk on her. “I love you,” she said, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of hearing it. “I love you.”

You were quiet as she turned off the shower head. Quiet as you both dried off, as Emily gently pressed a towel to your side, making sure your burns were clean and dry. She sat you on the toilet lid as she pulled gauze squares and antibacterial ointment out of the bathroom cabinet, spreading the ointment on the gauze, then pressing it gently to your skin.

“Lift your arms up,” she said quietly, as she circled your body with bandages, wrapping it just tight enough that it wouldn’t shift in the night.

She knelt down in front of you and caressed your face. “Bed?” she asked. You nodded.

“You go ahead,” she said, patting your leg. “I’ll be right there.”

You felt self-doubt start creeping back in as you laid in bed on top of the covers, your burns still too hot to sleep underneath. When Emily came into the room, she carried a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

“Take these,” she told you, handing you a few. You drank and swallowed obediently.

She lay down in the bed and motioned you over. “Come here and let me hold you.”

You rested your face in the crook of her neck, and she played with your hair, careful to avoid your burns.

“I love you,” she whispered after a few minutes, kissing the top of your head.

“You said.” You meant it to be funny, but your heart wasn’t in it. Not yet.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it.”

You were quiet for a minute, then spoke. “I love you, too, Em.” You nuzzled your way closer to her, hoping against hope that her arms around you were enough to keep the darkness and the numbness away for the night.,

And as you drifted off, she kept saying it–“I love you.” And then a kiss on your head.

As your eyelids fluttered closed–“I love you.” And she pressed her face to your forehead.

As your breath slowed and evened, and your body went limp–“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[angieblogging]

scars of the past.

worldwide issues || read on ao3 || writing masterlist

a/n: please read the warnings on this one! also i’m thinking about making this couple parts, so we’ll see.

description; you’re the new addition to the BAU team, after Derek Morgan left, Reid and Penelope hate your guts, but when you and Reid get paired up to visit the coroner’s office together he learns something about you, something you wanted to keep a secret and it changes the dynamic between the two od you.

warnings; mention of scars, sh, razor blades, swearing.

— THIS WORK IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

You were new to the team, when Agent Morgan left a spot opened and you got it, the excitement you felt was indescribable, you wanted this job forever and now it was your chance to become a profiler, to help the FBI, to meet other profilers. Your first day was rough, you were late and no one really talked with you except Emily, but you just shook it off as them being focused on the case, later on Jennifer also started to talk with you, you felt more comfortable knowing the two a little bit made you feel less alone and alienated.

The days passed fast and you had to admit the job wasn’t turning out how you imagined. You obviously were profiling, that part lived up to your, for a lack of better word, expectations. However the team wasn’t. You made two connections, you couldn’t even call that friendship. Jennifer and Emily tolerated you, they respected you and treated you with kindness, but the rest of the team was not a fan of you. Spencer always had an attitude when it came to you, as far as you noticed he gave it to no one else and no one defended you, except that one time where Emily had to stop him, because he was going too far.

Penelope treated you like air, like you didn’t exist and if she had to acknowledge your existence she did it as fast as she could, just so she can go back to pretending you don’t exist. It was crushing you. Every time you had to talk with Garcia or Reid the knot in your stomach tightened, it was there present all day long at work, but it was the worse when it came to those two. You knew there was another open spot for the BAU, that still remained empty and you wondered if another person would have to deal with this shit to and your heart just broke for them.

Since you joined the team you have solved one case so far, the way back on the jet was peaceful, everyone was exhausted and you just couldn’t wait to go home. Going home was your favourite time, drinking a glass of wine, catching up with your pet, watching TV, quite literally anything that would shift your focus from the terrible anxiety you were feeling, every fucking day at work.

Next day at work it shocked you to see more people around the table, you weren’t that surprised to see David Rossi, he took a time off because he got hurt during a mission, before you joined the BAU and you haven’t had the pleasure to meet him yet, but the other woman you didn’t recognise.

“Okay, so everyone is here. This Doctor Tara Lewis, she will be joining us on this case, alongside Rossi.” As Emily spoke, you glanced at Tara and smiled lightly as she looked at you, you felt at ease when she returned the smile.

On the other hand you ignored Reid, you could feel his eyes on you again, drilling a hole in your head.

You fucking hated this job.

The jet ride is always calm, not this time. David called shots this time and unknowingly of the situation put you with Reid, he wanted to protest, but David shut it down so he just glanced annoyed at you.

“What’s up with that?” Tara whispered to you, the two of you talked more, she noticed how disconnected you were from the team and when Emily mentioned you joined recently she felt at ease, knowing she wasn’t the only “outcast”.

“Great question, wish I knew…” You shrugged, you really didn’t know why Reid disliked you, but the problem was not on your end.

You and Reid were headed to the coroner’s office, to examine the victims bodies. The ride there was quiet, you didn’t know what to say and he said nothing.

You listened to his observations about the wounds, the two of you examined the body. What stood out to you were the scars on the women’s arms, you knew those very very well, you had the same ones on your shoulder. It was warm, but as long as you could you wore long sleeves, so only you knew for now.

“Hm.. Those scars, are they fresh? Was it a knife or another weapon?” Reid looked up at the coroner, but before he could speak you answered his question.

“Razor blade.” You just stated, but the silence made you glance both at Reid and at the coroner. “Um… Those are razor blade scars… They’re deep, but still narrow, a knife could do it, but probably not with this much precision.”

Reid looked back at the coroner and the man just nodded.

“Yeah, your partner here is right. These are most likely from razor blades, those scars are about a month old, most likely not connected to the UnSub, but both women had similar scars in different stages of healing.”

You two left in silence, but the ride back was not silent. You jumped up when he spoke at first, no radio and a quiet street combined with his speaking out of nowhere scared you.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You cleared your throat, he was focused on the road, very focused, his eyebrows were frowned and his brown eyes looking ahead as he repeated what he said before.

“I asked about what you said at the coroner’s office. The razor blades.”

You frowned, that was not the hole you wanted to dig under yourself. “What about them?”

“How did you know so fast?”

He knew? Did he? He was a genius, but you weren’t sure, that didn’t stop your mind from racing with no proof. Can you lie to a profiler?

Your chest started to feel heavy, an imaginary pressure was applied to it, your lungs were heavy as if filled with sand, you could feel how your heart sped up and how the temperature of your body rose up.

“I- um… I just did…” You managed to mumble out, fucking anxiety, you were a terrible liar, even worse under pressure.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you prayed he let the topic go.

“You clean now?” He glanced at you and back at the road.

That question made you want to jump out of the moving car, that was in fact not his business and you truly didn’t want the team to know, what’s in the past is meant to stay there. You didn’t know what to say to that, you opted on being a bitch untill he drops the topic.

“That is so not your fucking business… And who even said I- I did that.” You scoffed looking out the window.

You’re okay… You’re okay…

You kept repeating in your head that fucking phrase, but you were in fact not okay.

“Well, you do wear long sleeves always and in this weather you must be hot… Your eyes immediately focused on the scars at the coroner’s office… You knew the blade, you can know everything in theory, but you were sure of it… You pretty much told on yourself….But if it’s not you, then it’s someone close to you.”

Fucking profilers.

“Just focus on the road.” You said firmly, you did tell on yourself, especially when you claimed it was “none of his business”. That didn’t matter now, you couldn’t say anything to go back. He was right, but you didn’t want him to know, not him, not anyone. It was definitely too late now.

[tobbotobbs]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Selfharm, use of You & Y/n

Summary: Reader has a hard time with his depression. Spencer is there for him.

Requested: Yes!

I hope you all enjoy this and that it helps with a bad day or week <3

You were standing in the middle of your and Spencer's shared apartment. Everywhere were books. Shelves filled with old ones, new ones, special edition ones and on the floor there were also little towers of books collected. For some it might have looked kind of trashy and not clean. Like chaos. But for you, it meant home. Or at least that's the way what it should feel like. But right now, nothing on this planet felt quite like home. You felt uncomfortable in this apartment but also everywhere else you went. But mostly, you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. The nagging feeling of not being enough for your friends and your family, the people around you started building up again since you came home from work.

You walked around the apartment, trying to make yourself feel better with cleaning the rooms a little bit even though they weren't really dirty. You took all the things that belonged to you and tried to put them away, hide them from anyone who could come by and take a look at their home, because it felt like you were the only thing that made this place look like trash right now. It wasn't Spencer's hundreds of books laying around that made this place look weird. It wasn't his stuff. It wasn't the stuff that made it look trashy. It was you, you realized after another 20 minutes of trying to hide 2 pictures of you that were standing on the shelf in the living room. You didn't look good on the pictures. Your face was all weird looking and you didn't fit there on the top of that shelf. Maybe somewhere less visible. Yeah that should do.

You went to your and Spencer's bedroom and looked if there was any space for the pictures. But after seeing no place for them you decided to just hide them in the closet far in the back, nobody cared or really needed them anyway. But mostly, Spencer didn't need them. He probably just put them up there so you felt more welcome in his home. Maybe he just tried to make it look like you belonged here as well. But truly, do you even belonged anywhere? At work the people always seemed to be complaining about how fast you worked or if you even really cared to put hard work into your assignments. They always seemed to be judging the way you did things. They probably all thought you should finally leave work or your boss should put an end to this and fire you.

Spencer probably thought the same. He isn't home often now. And when he's home he doesn't really talk a lot to you since the last few months. What if he finally saw what you really are? The failure you've been your whole life and only tried to hide from the outside world, with obvious failure as well. The thought that the only person who really made you enjoy life just a little in the last months could actually have become not interested in you anymore because of how stupid you were, made your stomach turn. Your eyes started filling with salty water and as you tried to look up to the ceiling to not let them fall while walking back to the living room, you ran right into one of the book towers building up next to the hallway. A gasp left your body as the books all scattered to the floor, a few going farther than others. One of the books flew open while getting kicked to the floor and landed on its pages which now had bad looking creases and you were sure that on page was even a little torn by the force.

The books. Spencer's books. Spencer loved his books. He cared for them. He loved his books. Spencer loved these books and you had hurt one of them. You had made the perfectly clean slim pages look now dirty and torn, with creases in it and on the floor with others together all over the place. The tears you tried to stop were now falling. Flowing all over your cheeks and onto the floor. The hiccups and whimpers you let out made you feel even worse because you sounded so pathetic to yourself. ,,I-I didn't....I didn't mean to..!", you sobbed and stuttered into the silent apartment. Noone was there and still you tried to apologize. To who exactly? You didn't know, but you knew when Spencer would come back that was it. He would hate you. Like everyone else did. And he would tell you and show you that you actually weren't special or smart or anything you desperately tried to tell yourself the last few weeks.

With trembling hands you stumbled away from the books. Your thoughts going a mile in a minute. You were bad, you were no good, a failure. Couldn't even walk without destroying something. Your thoughts told you mean things, it weren't yours right now but that didn't matter because you still believed them.

Your eyes were so glassy you couldn't really see, but even that didn't matter right now. Your body seemed to know the way by heart. And you couldn't, no you didn't want to stop it. And just like that after just mere minutes of crying and desperate prayers that Spencer wouldn't be mad, your mind suddenly felt foggy. Not in a bad way it was...calming. It felt good and soothed you. Your thoughts suddenly your own again or at least not disturbing you, because really, you couldn't think straight right now. Just the foggy calm feeling of flowing, an ecstatic feeling of euphoria. A little bubble of happiness forming in something that's not meant to feel like a good thing, something that shouldn't comfort you as much as it did in this moment.

A clicking sound, the creaking of a door, your apartments door, and the thudding of steps coming into your home made you look up from where you had sat and locked your eyes on in the bathroom. Your eyes suddenly met in the mirror in front of you. You looked like shit. Tears still streaming down your face but not as much of them as before, they were also puffy and red because of the crying. You had a little broken smile on your lips and it was then that you noticed Spencer coming your way. ,,Love I'm home! You haven't been at the door so I thought you were already asle-", he stopped in his tracks right away when he saw the tears in your face and then looked down at your thighs. You had strapped off your work pants sometime in your procedure and were only standing there in your grey boxershorts now. They were stained with blood though and that's what made Spencer act right away.

He saw the still kind of dissociated look in your face as you tried to greet him but failed to form words. Slowly he walked closer to you and took the blade out of your hand. He put it aside to later get rid of it but for now he was going to give you all his attention. ,,Love can...is it okay if I touch you? Can I do that?", unsure he tried to look into your eyes and see some kind of resction but you seemed so out of it. Your head nodded yes in a nearly not noticeable manner. Breathing in, the brunette tucked you carefully into his arms, not caring that the things he had on got soaked with your tears, which were flooding your face again, or the other reddish body fluid on your thighs. He hold you while you cried, rocking from side to side with you in his embrace to calm down your agonising sounds of despair.

,,I've got you my love. Let it all out...I'm here for you", soothing you with his calm and comforting voice and his thumbs that are drawing little circles on your back, Spencer tried to get a clue of what had happened. If it had anything to do with your work or him not being home often lately or if something else had happened in the time between where he and you went to work this morning and him coming home now. Your crying subsided down a little and you tried to say something. ,,Shhh, shhh. Calm down first dove and then we can try to talk alright? Can I tend to your wounds while you sit and try to breath love? We need to bandage that yeah?", softly he took your face into his hands and caressed of your cheek with his finger. You nodded again, this time more noticeable though. Careful he sat you down ontonthe toilet and went to the cabinets in the bathroom to get some sanitizer and bandages to help with your wounds. Turning back around, he saw that you had already pushed your shorts a little up so he could do what he had to do. A loving smile formed on his face and he started his work. You wanted it to hurt a little but sadly his sanitizer didn't hurt that much, now with bandages around your legs he took your hands and together you walked into the living room where the books were still all over the floor.

,,I'm sorry....I ruined them..."

,,What? What do you mean my love? You didn't ruin anything- hey, hey look at me love", Spencer saw how you looked at the books all over the floor. Especially one that was laying open on its pages next to the coffee table. ,,My love is that...is that the reason you're feeling so bad? You accidentally walked into one of my book towers? Baby that's okay they are just b-", ,,You love your books", you interrupted him with a desperate tone in your voice. Your hands clawed at his sweater and you nearly broke down again. ,,My love no. Look at me. I like my books. I really do like all the copies I have. But I love you, not my books. It's okay I should stop building towers anyway. They are not really safe and make this place look a little too chaotic- hey where...where are the pictures of you? The two I out on the shelf there?" ,,I'm sorry....I...I thought....well....I hid them in the closet....", it started to make Spencer realize what was going on with you.

,,I haven't been feeling....well in the last few months, I guess. I don't know why but...I feel like I'm failing everyone and- and it feels like I can't do anything right, Spence I- I'm so sorry I didn't know what to do", you cried out and hugged him again. Spencer pulled you in again and kissed lovingly your head. ,,It's alright dove, I'm here now. I'm sorry I didn't noticed how you've been feeling and that I wasn't home often to help you feel better about yourself. But now I'm here and I promise I'll help you. I love you y/n. You are my everything and I love showing you off. And thise two pictures are my favorite of you yeah? We can put them up on the shelf later together but now I just wanna hold my beloved one, okay?", he softly kissed your forehead and you nodded, letting him lead you onto the old comfortable couch and turn on the tv. He put on your favorite movie, turned down the audio so it's just nice quiet background noises while he started telling you things about yourself that he loved. He praised you for telling him what was going on and how you felt and that you let him help. He was caressing you cheek and kissing your nose, your other cheek, you head and your lips. Just holding you and making sure you felt secure and safe. At home.

,,I love you, my little dove. I love you so so much. I'm so happy that you let me into your heart and let me love and care for you. I'm so thankful to call you mine and to be able to say that I am yours. Just look at how handsome and smart you are love. Ypu deserve the world, you deserve me and way better things. You deserve everything my love."

Hey I hope you liked it! I tried my best I hope it's good and that it makes you feel better! Just know that your feelings are valuable and that you deserve to be cared for and to be loved. It took me a little bit to write this so, sorry for that!

Much love and till next time <3

[lavenderspence]

having to watch aaron comfort and let strauss die in his arms...I'm NOT FUCKING OKAY😭

[yoongi3]

being a boy group stan in 2024 moodboard

[redtsundere-writes]

OPEN FANFIC COMMISSIONS!

I just changed a couple of things...

Order yours now!

If you want me to write you a fanfic but don't have the money, you can always use the Free Request on my profile!

Thanks for reading!

[paulodybaeeela]

Any time I see K*rim Benzema progressing in his career (getting a goal) I’m convinced God hates us.

[0and0its0doctor0]

Sometimes even to live is an act of courage

So this is sad. and triggering. if you get triggered by Mental health, suicide, self-harm please do not read. Be safe my friends. This is also my first fanfic on tumblr and in this fandom so be nice.

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” ― Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Spencer sighed as he stared at the stupid sobriety coin he was fidgeting with. He didn’t know why he carried it, he had only been sober for a couple months but apparently that was a big achievement. He didn’t feel like he had achieved much. He still felt the pull in his flesh, his veins were begging for it and thanks to his perfect memory he couldn’t forget what it felt like to jam that needle into his antecubital vein and press the plunger down releasing the Dilaudid into his bloodstream. So he replaced it with another addiction. He looked at the cuts decorating his forearms and frowned. One addiction. Another addiction. That was all he was good for, addictions. He knew the risks, just like he knew the risks when he was shooting up. There was a possibility he could die then and there was a possibility he could die now. It would be so easy to slip and sever an artery and just bleed out on the floor of the small jet bathroom. But he couldn’t do that to his team, who would be the one to find him? Would that even affect anyone on his team to find him like that? Surely they were all tired of him by now. Tired of his change in attitude. He saw the pitying looks. They would be glad to be rid of him. He gasped softly as the blade in his hand bit into the soft white flesh of his wrist crossing over another recent flesh wound. A knock on the door made him jump causing the blade to knick his skin a little deeper than he was going for. “Yeah?” He said quickly, grabbing a paper towel and pressing it to the bleeding flesh. “You okay pretty boy?” Derek said worried that Spencer had been in the airplane bathroom for a while now. “Yeah.” He said quickly tossing the tissues in the toilet and flushing it so no one would see his blood trail. He tugged his sleeves down and stepped out of the bathroom.

The plane ride was quiet and he was playing chess with Gideon when Aaron looked over and noticed red staining the edge of the sleeve of Spencer’s sweater. He didn’t want to bring it up and draw attention to it in front of his teammates so he waited till the plane landed and once everyone had stepped off the jet he grabbed Reid by the collar of his shirt and directed him into one of the SUV’s to take them both back to Quantico. The rest of the team piled into the other SUV. “You have blood on your sleeve.” Aaron said once the vehicle had pulled out of the parking lot. Spencer looked down at his sleeve and noticed the red spreading where he nicked himself. “Bloody nose.” Spencer lied and it caused Aaron to sigh. “Wanna try a different lie?” He asked looking over at Spencer who felt the tips of his ears blush. “Why does it matter?” He asked defensively. “Spencer, I need to know that you are okay. Are you okay?” He asked, focusing on the road as he drove and Spencer looked out the window watching the scenery pass by. He didn’t answer Aaron and stayed quiet all the way back to Quantico which thankfully was a short ride.

Once back inside Aaron walked into his office and shut the door leaving the rest of the team to settle back into their desks to do paperwork. It wasn’t a particularly hard or long case but there was still work that needed to be done to finish out the case. About an hour passed before Aaron stepped out and dismissed everyone. “Reid, I would like to see you in my office before you go.” He said, waiting for the man to walk into his office. He shut the door behind Spencer and sat at his desk looking up at the man who began to pace. “I need you to turn in your gun.” Aaron said formally. Spencer paused and turned to look at him. “Are you firing me? What did I do wrong? I didn’t break any rules!” Spencer said beginning to feel himself start to hyperventilate. He was losing his job. He was losing the only thing he had that was holding his fractured mental health together. “I’m not asking for your badge. Just your gun. I don’t trust you with a firearm at the moment.” Aaron pulled out a sheet of paper and read over it quickly before handing it to Spencer. “A psych eval? I’m on suspension pending a psych eval? This is ridiculous and you know it, Hotch.” Spencer snapped. He pulled his firearm out of the holster on his hip and slammed it on the counter before storming out of his office. Aaron felt bad but he felt like it was the right choice. He was a step away from having the kid committed. If he thought that was the best course of action to keep him safe he would take it.

Spencer didn’t show up for work the following day, Aaron told the team he was sick. Derek joked that the boy always looked sick with how pale he was. Aaron wasn’t amused. Spencer didn’t answer his phone. The first, second, fifth, eleventh time Aaron called. He didn’t answer when Derek called, he didn’t answer when Garcia called. It started going straight to voicemail around 3pm the following day and Aaron started getting concerned. Even though Spencer wasn’t allowed in the field he was still allowed in the office and it was not like him to not show up or respond at all. Last time he did this he was heavy into his dilaudid use. Aaron made his way to Spencer’s apartment and pounded on the door. “Spencer if you don’t answer I am going to kick this door in.” Aaron threatened. There was the sound of shuffling on the other side of the door but eventually Spencer answered it. He was still in his clothes from when they got back from the case. He hadn’t changed at all except removing his tie and he looked disheveled. “What do you want?” He asked folding his arms, hugging them tight to his body. “To know that you are still alive.” Aaron said, looking over the genius standing in front of him. “You missed your psych evaluation.” Aaron said looking at his watch and Spencer simply shrugged. He stepped away from the door and back inside his apartment, Aaron followed. The place looked like a tornado had happened. There were books scattered everywhere and piles of clothes, blankets, trash. “Do you have a point?” Spencer sounded so tired, exhausted, just done with life. “I can’t clear you until they do. You know that.” Aaron said. Spencer sat on the couch pulling his knees to his chest.

“Come on Reid. Tell me what’s going on.” Aaron sat down next to him and Spencer tried to scoot as far away as possible to avoid physical contact. “I missed it because I know they won’t clear me. They won’t let me keep my gun. What is an FBI agent without a gun?” Spencer said quietly. They sat in silence for a little while and Spencer picked at his sleeves. “Can I see?” Aaron asked and Spencer hesitated but nodded and tugged his sleeves up. “Oh Spencer.” Aaron said, looking at his arms. He had added to the wounds since the plane ride. They were deep and getting closer together. “Please leave.” He said, tugging his sleeves back down. “Spencer, I'm not going to leave you.” Aaron said sternly. “I said get out!” Spencer yelled, standing up and stomping into his bathroom slamming the door shut behind him. Aaron sat there for several minutes but wound up sighing “Spencer please show up for a second evaluation tomorrow.” He said through the bathroom door before leaving even though he didn’t want to. He was worried about Spencer but there wasn’t much that he could do.

The following day Aaron waited nervously with the psychiatrist in his office waiting for Spencer to show up. As time ticked on he started to realize Spencer wasn’t going to show up. His heart broke even more, he didn’t know what else to do. As the day ended he made his way back to Spencer’s apartment and felt something sink in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. There was no noise on the other side of the door as he knocked. “Spencer?” He called out knocking turning to pounding. He took a step back and it took two kicks to bust in the door. He cleared the living room and the bedroom and made his way to the bathroom. He wound up having to kick that door open too and the sight he saw when he did ripped his heart to pieces. The porcelain white bathtub was stained red, his arms were laying limp at his sides, slit from wrist to elbow. He was pale white and ice cold. He had been dead for a while. Aaron took a step back and punched the wall. He shouldn’t have let him go home by himself. He shouldn’t have left him alone. He knew he was struggling. Aaron felt a sob rip through his chest as he pulled out his phone and called it in.

The sound of Amazing Grace being played on bagpipes drilled into his soul, what was left of it anyways, as he looked at the flag placed over the coffin. Aaron insisted that Spencer get the full funeral of a fallen officer. He deserved it. And now he had to deliver a flag to Las Vegas where Spencer’s mother was. How was he going to tell her that her son took his own life. He watched as the flag was folded and handed to him and he hugged it to his chest. This felt like his fault. Maybe it was.

“There comes a time when you look into the mirror and you realize that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it. Or you kill yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors.” ― J. Michael Straczynski, Babylon 5: The Scripts of J. Michael Straczynski, Vol. 2

[vampyretaemin]

i love watching older videos where taemin is talking about criminal. he Knows how good it is and hes so proud if it. criminal you will always be that bitch

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii can u please write an emily x reader fic where emily sees readers sh scars for the first time? and kisses them or smt? if not don’t worry :))

Of course! :) Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Tracing You

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: past self-harm, mental illness, trauma, implied sexual assault/abuse (nothing graphic though!), mentions of afab body parts, discussions of sex Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Emily have been dating for over a month, and you've still haven't let her get to second base. You're scared she'll see your self-harm scars and run for the hills. But, eventually, you'll have to expose them.

You knew it was coming. You always knew, and you always hated it, hated to cut everything short.

Emily was kissing you hard, passionately, as you both lounged on her couch, and you kissed her back. The movie you’d started earlier was long-forgotten. You loved kissing Emily. You could kiss her forever. You loved the way she pushed her body into yours until she was nearly on top of you, as if she physically couldn’t stand to be apart from you–even one centimeter apart. You loved the way she snuck her tongue into your mouth, somehow gentle and rough at the same time. You loved how her fingers felt against your flushed skin–cool and electric. The way she smiled into you. She gave you butterflies.

But you also knew that any minute now, she’d pull up on your shirt, as if asking for permission. You knew that her hands would sneak a little higher up on your torso, and she’d watch you to make sure you were okay. And you knew that, just like you always did, you’d gently push her hands back down, gently tug your shirt back into place, and continue kissing her like nothing had happened.

But that was the problem–nothing had happened. Nothing would happen because you couldn’t bear to let Emily see what was under your shirt. It wasn’t that you were modest, that you had a hard time with sex. What you had a hard time with were the scars that dotted your breasts like a galaxy, scars that even the best of sports bras couldn’t hide entirely. You wanted Emily and, god knows, she wanted you. But you just knew that she’d see them–see those red streaks painted across you like an oil painting of flames–and one of two things would happen.

She might see them and feel sorry for you. And you’d seen that kind of sorry before. It was the kind of sorry that swallowed relationships whole, that changed the way someone thought about you, looked at you, loved you. And you hated that. You were six years into recovery, no relapses, and you were proud of that. You wanted the people who loved you, who saw you at your most vulnerable, to know the you that you used to be, but to love the you that was now. And so often it seemed that people got stuck on the you who dragged safety pins across your skin. You weren’t her anymore. You’d worked hard not to be.

Even worse, Emily might see the scars and find you disgusting. She’d see that there had been something wrong with you, with your brain. She’d know that at some level, there was still something wrong with you. After all, your trauma, your mental illness–they hadn’t gone away. You had spent a whole lot of years in therapy and on medication to deal with them, but they were still a part of you, a part of your story. They were a part that was hard to look at. Even for you. You found those parts of yourself ugly, believed they deserved to be hidden–much like your scars. How much uglier would they be to Emily? Emily, who wasn’t in your mind, who didn’t know what had come before or during or after, and could only see what was left–the evidence that you were not okay.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Emily’s fingers slipped under your shirt, tentatively dancing up your torso. You let out a shaky sigh and grabbed her hands in yours, deepening the kiss, hoping it was enough to distract her. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

She pulled back and watched you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” you prompted, flushing and trying to act like nothing was wrong.

She bit at one of her nails as she watched you, and you pulled her hand away to hold it between both of yours.

“Are you…” She hesitated, like she didn’t quite know how to ask. “Do you want to… break up?” She looked sad, scared. And, for your part, you were sure you looked absolutely shocked.

“What!? No! No, Em, of course not!” You ran gentle fingers over her face, trying desperately to communicate that you absolutely didn’t want to break up and would, in fact, like to never, ever break up.

“You just…” She sighed, picking at her fingernails again. “I love making out with you, but you never want to go any further. And I get it if you’re not ready, that’s completely fine. It’s just… it’s been a while, and I want to make sure you’re not here because… you know, because you feel like you have to be.”

You stared at your hands. You felt like your guilt might swallow you whole. Here you’d thought you were playing it cool, but realistically, what would have been the end game? Never having sex with Emily? Never letting her see your body? You’d been in relational limbo for over a month now, and it had been stupid, so stupid, to assume there wouldn’t be any consequences. She thought you didn’t like her! She thought you weren’t as into her as she was into you! And it was exactly the opposite–you were so into her that it scared you, so into her that it was scarier than it had ever been to show your scars. The thought of losing her–already, even so early on–was terrifying.

“Emily,” you started, rubbing your thumb over her hand. “I’m here because I want to be. I really like you.”

She blinked, thinking harder. “Am I… am I doing something? You know, that makes you… not want to–”

“Oh god,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “No, Em. No. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. I do want to.”

You sighed and looked at her. Her head bent, hands worried. Your self-consciousness was making Emily self-conscious. And you really couldn’t bear that she’d think less of herself because of you.

“Take off my shirt,” you said, bluntly.

“What?”

“Take it off. It’s okay.”

Emily fiddled with a stray piece of upholstery on the couch. “I don’t know, Y/N, this doesn’t seem like the right mood for—”

“Emily,” you pleaded, squeezing one of her hands. You knew if you didn’t do it now, you might never. “Please.”

Emily watched you with concern, but did as you asked, slowly lifting your shirt up and over your head.

You looked up to the ceiling, exhaling shakily, willing yourself not to cry. She would see them. She was seeing it. She saw them. You didn’t know if you could ever look her in the eyes again. You didn’t even know if you could look at yourself.

You felt Emily’s hand press gently into yours, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Then you felt one of her fingers, cold for the shock of it more than the actual temperature, at the top of your breasts, the part that peeked out from the bra, littered with angry, red lines that had only somewhat faded over the years.

You felt her trace one of the scars, the whole, long trajectory of it, with her finger, and then when she reached the end, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at its zenith. Your breath caught in your throat as she continued following the scars, kissing you again and again and again until–though you’d worked so hard not to–you had stray tears leaking down the side of your face.

Emily grasped your face in her hands, so gently, so gingerly, and lowered your head, using her thumbs to brush the tears from under your eyes. You still couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Y/N, look at me,” she said softly, caressing your face. You finally forced yourself to look into her eyes, and what you saw there surprised you. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t disgust. It was something new. Admiration and respect. And–maybe, just maybe–love?

“You’re beautiful,” she told you, staring at you pointedly, holding your face so that you couldn’t look away. “You’re beautiful, and that’s all we’re gonna say about it unless you want to talk more.”

“I feel like you should–” you said, your voice breaking a bit as you sniffled. “You should know why and– and when, and–”

“I am happy to listen to anything you want to tell me,” she assured you. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your story, and you can tell me what you want, when you want. Believe me, though,” she said, smiling mischievously. “I don’t need any more information tonight if you’re not ready.”

“Really?” you asked.

Showing the scars had been hard enough. You didn’t really want to talk about your hellish high school and college years, the man who had touched you there and made you want to rip all your skin off, the years of therapy, the relapses, the depression, the medication. You’d tell her. You’d tell her all of it, you knew. But right now, you wanted to reap the rewards of being brave. The rewards being Emily.

Emily nodded and winked at you, then leaned in to brush her lips against your ear. “Y/N,” she whispered. “The only information I needed was that you had boobs under there.”

You blushed and grinned at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another heated kiss.

When you pulled away, Emily was nearly panting. You smirked. “I showed you mine. It's your turn.”

[postaresume]

Expert Talk Ep. 138 with Himanshi Awaal on How can managers handle difficult situations in a better way. Ever wondered how top managers turn challenges into opportunities? What’s the secret to navigating difficult situations as a manager? Facing tough situations at work? Learn how to handle them like a pro in our next Expert Talk Live! Our speaker, Himanshi Awaal, is someone you don’t want to miss. As the Founder of Quapleics Solutions, a Leadership Communication Coach, and a Mindset Transformation Facilitator, she has dedicated over 9 years to helping people lead more prosperous lives, both personally and professionally. Date and Time: Fri, 4th Oct, 8 pm IST Speaker: Himanshi Awaal Join us on LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/events/7246477502351560704/ You can also join us on YouTube - https://youtube.com/live/FuRMn3ISTC8Let’s make the most of this opportunity to learn and grow together. Join us live to find out! #VipulTheWonderful #ExpertTalks #LeadershipSkills #MindsetTransformation #ManagerTraining

[bwaldorf]

one thing that was funny to me this episode was that rhaenicent were talking about some "you know how aemond is" meanwhile daemon's RABID ASS is on the loose! NURSEEE NURSE HE ESCAPED AGAIN

[adobodemon]

best announcement they made for HSR today was two completely skippable banner runs (for me para mi if you dont have ruan mei pls pls pls get her I wish I could have two of her literally)

[olomaya]

Smoking+ (Mild Teenage Delinquency)

*cue the Spongebob 2 Years Later meme*

28-Sept Update: Added Brazilian Portuguese translations (thank you @cs2te!). Fixed an issue where there was no exit to the Sell Fake ID interaction. For those that have the Religion mod, you don't need a separate RM specific version, just download/redownload the main Overhaul package.

3-Sep Update: Thanks to ProtectusCZ over at MTS who let me know about a string issue with the vape flavors. That's been fixed so the flavors should not show up as blank when you are filling/refilling the cartridge. Also the smoking durations should now be tunable so you can adjust them in Retuner.

Czech version now available thanks to ProtectusCZ

2-Sep Update: If you have my religion mod installed, please download this version HERE (alt: here) to replace the main mod file. If you don't and don't want it, carry on.

This is the updated version of my overhaul of Cmomoney's Smoking mod which you can find here (original here). This update adds new features like vaping as well as more delinquency options for your teens by way of fake IDs.

Please read the full instructions after the cut before downloading.

Credits: Fake ID from @aroundthesims. And of course the OG smoking mod from Cmomoney on MTS.

I think that's it. Enjoy ruining your Sims' health and well-being. If you run into any issues, please let me know.

What does it do:

Everything my previous mod did

Sims can now sit and chat with others while smoking

I updated the way addiction works in the game. Previously it was just based on a random number of times smoked but now it's more nuanced and based on how often you smoke and certain trait and lifestyle factors (for example, if you have other smokers in your household, you're more likely to get a smoking habit)

Cigarettes and smoking items can now ONLY be purchased in a special section at the grocery store by YAs and above. You will see a new interaction in the store RH called "Shop for Cigarettes". Teens can get around this by using a fake ID. 

Fake IDs

Teens can purchase fake IDs from: 

Any common criminal (Sim in the criminal career Level 4 or below) 

Any teen that has a fake ID

You can offer a price and based on your offer, the dealer will either accept or reject. 

Rebellious, Computer Whiz or teens with high Rebel Influence Skill can also buy fake IDs online. The underground online market for IDs moves very quickly so prices change every time you check but will never go higher than §500 or lower than §50. Once you purchase, the ID will be mailed to your home the next day. 

HOWEVER, you need to make sure you get to the package first. If your parent gets the package and opens it, then all teens in the house will get in trouble. The one who ordered the fake will get a special moodlet that will allow them 24 hours to confess to doing it. If they confess to their sibling(s), the sibling will either forgive and agree to keep quiet or they will get mad and have the opportunity to snitch to a parent. If the wrongdoer confesses to a parent, it will exonerate the other teens but also potentially get them into bigger trouble with both their parents and their siblings.

Fake IDs aren’t foolproof. If you use it in the store, there’s a chance you will get busted and your fake ID will be confiscated. The chance is based on how young your teen is and the quality of the fake ID. Fake ID quality is determined when you purchase, based on the price you paid so you may want to think twice before jumping on that §60 fake.

Vaping

Sims can now vape, vaping pens can be found where you buy cigarettes.

Vaping pens cost §300 with a cartridge that needs to be filled before you can use and then after every 10 uses. You can buy a regular cartridge or a flavored one and the costs are varied but are all between §200-§300. (I know, it's an expensive habit.)

Vaping is not as unhealthy as smoking regular cigarettes, is less addictive and doesn't leave your Sim with a smoke smell.

For teens, vaping will still get them in trouble if they are caught by a parent doing it.

Known Issues:

There are no IK targets on the sitting animations (they kept floating above the chairs when I added them) so teens will sink a little into the chair because they're smaller than adults.

Download here | SFS alternative

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

weak and frothing at the mouth for soft dom!jason. maybe a little something something about jason getting just a teeny bit jealous when someone hits on reader and reader's just a little bit flustered because it has almost never happened before.

love your work! thank youu <3

"No thank you- I'm here with-"

"Come one baby," he said smiling, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if-"

Behind you, thankfully, you can feel Jason. Back from talking to the waiter you'd come to talk to for a case. "You ready to go, Princess?"

"Jason!" You push the other guy away from you, wrapping your arms around yourself and stumbling back, "I didn't- I-"

"I know," he said, steadying you on your feet and letting you tuck yourself against his side. "You're alright?"

"Fine," you murmur, "just-" embarrassed, flustered, annoyed- the club was too loud and too busy for you to sort it out properly.

Jason kissed the top of our head and let you go gently, stepping up to his 'competition' with a smile that had made criminals visibly shiver. "Touch my girl again and I'll cut off your hand, understand?"

"Listen I just thought-"

"It's not an essay question."

"Yeah," he said, face burning, "I- yeah."

"Good," Jason said, stepping back to wrap his rm around you, "Let's get you home, beautiful."