#i love women that can kill me / out of character .

[geodraws04]

New AU Alert - Fallen Detectives AU

okay Chat I can’t contain myself anymore I GOTTA SHARE THE DESIGNS WITH THE WORLD.

So! Me and a few moots @elina-sakura and @draconicsparkle are working together on making an official fic for an AU called “Fallen Detectives!”

(SPOILERS DOWN BELOW!)

This AU takes place around the events of Chapter 4.

It essentially boils down to - “What if Yomi had kidnapped and essentially brainwashed the NDA into becoming peacekeepers?” And after their disappearance, it’s up to Kurumi to figure out what happened to them and eventually uncover the secrets behind Kanai Ward, the people in the city, and saving the NDA from Yomi’s grasp.

There are gonna be HUGE changes that will explain certain aspects of why you may see some characters designed here, but for the sake of keeping it a surprise, I won’t share them. :)

But one that I CAN share is this: Martina Electro will still be around!

While I do love the redemption arc we briefly saw at the end of Chapter 4, I just wished she wasn’t “killed offscreen in chapter 2 only PLOT TWIST SHES BACK!”

And idk. We love to see women’s wrongs here. So! She is still going to be present for this AU after chapter 2!

While we can all agree that Yomi is a sadistic evil shit, I really wished we had seen him and Martina be a lovey-evil couple and not have the “he backstabs her” thing because I feel like we rarely see evil power couples nowadays. Now Yomi is still an absolute asshole - of course - but, idk. I just wish we could’ve had a power couple thats absolutely evil and horrible together, yknow?

But that’ll be explored more in the AU once we get further into it.

I’m so pumped for this to be explored and share it with you guys.

AND HERES SOME MORE OF THE DESIGNS! Obv. Spoilers for the end of the game!

Also! If anyone ever does wanna make fanart for this AU when the story comes out use the tag #FallenDetectivesAU so I can see it!

also yes makoto has painted nails because I said so.

[cheynovak]

Perfect Aim - pt 1/2

Russell x Y/N f/character and co worker

Summary: Russell and Y/N are send out on a mission, she can't stand him until she gets hurt and he takes care of her.

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! - Spice/smut, blood, guns, shooting, ...

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Comments/Sharing are appreciated.

The hum of the engine filled the quiet space between us, an almost welcome respite from his incessant chatter. The man couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it.

Russel Shaw. Perfect record Shaw. Smooth-talking Shaw. And if that wasn’t annoying enough, it was clear he charmed his way through life, likely leaving broken hearts and dirty laundry behind for someone else to pick up. Probably his mother.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest, staring out of the window of his chevy to ignore his running commentary. Every word he said was like nails on a chalkboard, and the heat radiating from his cocky smirk wasn’t helping. His reflection caught my side-eye in the window, and he laughed.

“Damn, you remind me of my little brother, Colter.” His tone was teasing, but the casual dig at my mood set my teeth on edge.

I turned to glare at him, narrowing my eyes. He loved that. Of course, he did.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart, just like that. I like my women feisty.” His grin widened like he was daring me to respond.

“Like you could even handle me,” I muttered, more for myself than him.

“I bet I can,” he replied smoothly, looking me up and down as if he had the right. “What do you say, shall I remove you from those uncomfortable pants once this mission is complete?”

“Perv,” I shot back under my breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of anything more. The rest of the ride was silent, just how I liked it.

***

The job was straightforward on paper: grab the intel, avoid bloodshed, and get out clean, no killing! And it had gone that way—at least until the alarm screamed its betrayal into the silent halls.

“Run!” he yelled over the chaos.

Adrenaline and pure spite for the man fueled me as we sprinted through the labyrinth of corridors, but it wasn’t enough when I felt the sharp sting in my leg and hit the ground.

My hand reached just above my knee, seeing how the blood started to collor my pants darker. "Fuck!" I yell at the pain. I looked up see Russel coming back.

"Stay down!" he yelled aiming his gun.

The sound of his gun firing shocked me, for a second forgetting about the pain.

"Come on, I got you." he said and before I knew it, he was hauling me up and dragging me to safety. His arm draped around my side while the other held my arm around his broad shoulders.

"Can you walk?" he asked while I looked back over our shoulders to the men lying dead in the hallway. "uhu" I answered agreeing.

***

The ride to the motel was tense, silence heavy except for my ragged breaths. He looked back to where I was sitting in the back. "Keep pressure on that leg!" he ordered.

In other circumstances I'd bit back, knowing how I'm no child and cab take care of myself. But this time I'd be wise and shut my mouth.

***

Russel drops me onto his motel bed before retrieving something out of his car. Something that looks like an home made ER kit.

His hands were steady, no-nonsense, as he stripped off my boots and tore my pants to clean the wound.

“This might hurt a little, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer, concerned even. " Are you sure you won't go to a doctor?"

“Been through worse,” I bit back, hiding the way my stomach turned at the pain of him searching for the bullet. My hand clenching the sheets trying to hold my leg still.

***

Once my leg was closed up, stitched and clean he moved me to my bed, visibly relieved.

He handed me a glass of bourbon, sinking into the chair across from the bed. “Reckon you deserve it,” he said quietly.

I drank without answering, the weight of the day settling heavily. Unable to hold the tensed silence. A joke slipped out before I could stop it. “Well, at least you got me out of my pants tonight.”

I felt his eyes scan my bare legs, maybe even a little too long. I've never been self cautious, but his glare made me want to cover up my silk black panties.

But them I heard his laughter, rich and full, echoed around the small room as he leaned back. “Touché,” he replied, shaking his head as though I were an enigma he couldn’t quite solve.

It was too quiet then, the kind of quiet where you could hear truths trying to fight their way to the surface. “Hey, Russel,” I broke the silence, my voice softer. “Why did you shoot to kill?”

“Who said I did?” His answer was quick, his tone flippant.

“Come on. Your aim’s too good to shoot two men dead on accident. And that's a compliment, it's taste horrible on my tongue so take it."

His hand tightened around his glass, his knuckles whitening. “I know it was supposed to be a no-kill mission." he admitted after a pause, looking anywhere but at me.

"But seeing you hurt… it triggered something. I—” His voice wavered, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of smugness. “I admire you, Y/N. Always have.”

He smirks looking at his glass again. "I eh, I asked for a very long time to team us up. Finally they agreed and look at you."

The weight of his words hit like a blow. Admire sounded too much like *more than admire,* but I ignored it, brushing off the warmth pooling low in my stomach.

"It's not your fault." I whisper. "The killing is." he looked me in the eye. I saw disappointment, hurt, flicker briefly across his face.

He moved to stand and poured another glass.

“Hey, Russ, can you help me? I nodded towards the bathroom. He moved on his feet before I even finished the sentence.

As he bent to help me up, I tugged him closer by the back of his neck, crushing my lips to his before I could think better of it. He froze for the briefest moment before relaxing into the kiss, returning it with unguarded intensity.

"Thank you." I murmured against his lips.

When I finally pulled him down onto the bed with me, he braced his hands on either side of my body, staring down like he wasn’t sure this was real. “Don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough, his eyes darker.

“You won’t,” I answered, my voice steady despite the heat flooding my veins. "Shaw,” I teased, voice low, “I reckon you deserve this.”

Russel smiled into the kiss, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his chest as his body pressed carefully against mine. His movements were deliberate, slow but confident, as if savoring every moment.

Hiis calloused hand trailed down my side, his touch igniting something inside me that I hadn’t anticipated. When his lips began to explore the curve of my neck, I couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped my lips.

His kisses became more insistent, wandering lower, as his hands skillfully removed the barriers between us—clothing discarded with a confidence that betrayed his experience.

But none of it felt rushed. It felt... intentional. My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and surprisingly silky, scratching lightly along his shoulders. The groan he released sent a shiver through me.

I couldn’t hide my reaction, my heart stuttering in a way I wasn’t used to, not with him. His fingers toyed with the waistband of my remaining clothing, waiting. I bit my lower lip, a silent permission that his sharp eyes immediately caught.

Without a word, he tugged them off, his gaze flicking up to meet mine, ensuring I was still with him.

When I nodded, his lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, the kind that wasn’t steeped in bravado. Then he surprised me—he kissed down my stomach, his movements unhurried and intentional.

This wasn’t what I expected from Russel Shaw.

I always pictured him as arrogant, quick to take, sing a woman for a quick blow leaving in the morning kind of guy, but everything about him now was... giving. Thoughtful.

He moved with purpose, pressing kisses to my skin like he wanted to map every inch of me. And when his head dipped lower and I felt the first deliberate stroke of his tongue, my back arched off the bed.

My mind blurred, my fingers clenching in his hair as sensation overwhelmed me. It wasn’t just what he did—it was how he did it. He took his time, responding to every sound and movement I made, adjusting with a precision I hadn’t thought possible from someone like him.

The low hum of appreciation he released vibrated through me, as though he was savoring me as much as I was unraveling under his touch.

“Russ,” I gasped, unsure if it was a plea or an acknowledgment of the man completely undoing me.

Painkillers had worked well. The throbbing ache in my leg? A distant memory. All that remained was him, his mouth, his touch—completely consuming every shred of thought.

The moment felt endless and too fleeting all at once, his actions so perfectly attuned it left me breathless, every nerve alight. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t thought possible with Russel, leaving me to wonder if I ever truly knew the man at all.

The intensity of Russel's focus was unlike anything I’d ever felt. His fingers teased along my sensitive flesh, their movements deliberate and methodical, sending shockwaves through my body.

The first finger entered, curling and pumping with precision that made my breath hitch, my back arching off the bed. When a second finger joined, then a third, it was too much. The pressure built until I was screaming his name, tugging hard on his hair as my world went white.

His free hand moved to cup my breast, fingers pinching and rolling, heightening every sensation, while his lips and tongue continued their meticulous work. I felt completely undone, laid bare in a way that was both terrifying and electrifying. His hand didn’t falter, carrying me through wave after wave until I was left trembling beneath him.

"You like that, huh? Yeah, I can tell. I can *feel* you," he emphasized the word, grinding slow and deep. “Your body’s so eager for me, so needy… Are going to come, sweetheart?”

I finally reached it and when I came down from the high, Russel climbed up my body, his expression soft but smoldering.

He positioned himself carefully between my legs, but the weight of him had my injured leg shifting. Pain shot through me, and I hissed, sucking in a breath.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his tone almost shy as if he wasn’t the same man who’d just pulled me apart moments ago.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head, “Don’t stop.” The need in my voice surprised me, but it was the truth.

Russel hesitated, his hand grazing my cheek, and I couldn’t help but laugh—bitterly amused at how this man could be such a gentleman when I was lying there, legs wide open for him.

"Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated against my throat. "Tell me what you need from me. Tell me how bad you want me, Y/N."

“Just fuck me, Russel,” I snapped, desperate now.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smirking, his voice dropping an octave as he positioned himself.

The first thrust was gentle, almost too careful, as though I might break beneath him. But he still hit that spot with unerring precision, proving once again that Russel knew exactly how to aim.

Each movement after was soft but firm, his rhythm thoughtful, avoiding any aggravation to my injury but still managing to drive me insane. My hips bucked against him, urging him on, desperate for more.

“God,” I gasped as he tangled himself deeper into me, his hands everywhere—on my hips, gripping my shoulders, tracing down my sides. The sheer overwhelming intimacy made me squirm under him, needing him faster, harder.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he muttered against my ear, his voice rough and breathless. "That's it," he groaned as my hips rolled up to meet him.

"Taking me so perfectly. Fuck, Y/N, you were made for this—made for me." He bit down gently on the lobe of my ear, a quiet growl slipping past his lips.

“Russ,” I moaned, the sound half a plea, half surrender. His movements turned sharper, his breathing ragged, his restraint faltering as he gave me what I needed.

As Russel moved against me, each slow, precise thrust sending shockwaves through my body, his lips found my ear. His voice, rough with restraint, brushed against my skin as he murmured.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath warm and ragged. "You don't even know what you’re doing to me, do you? Been thinking about this… about you for years."

The depth in his tone sent a shiver straight through me, and my fingers dug into his back, urging him closer.

I let out a whimper in response, my head tilting back, exposing my throat to him. His lips trailed down, pressing against my pulse as his hips snapped just a little harder, dragging a gasp from me.

"Listen to you," he murmured against my skin. "Every noise you make is mine, sweetheart. You sound so fucking beautiful."

His hand slid to the back of my knee, carefully lifting my injured leg to wrap around his waist. He hissed at the change in angle, but his thrusts had me crying out, louder now.

He looked up at me, I could feel him retreat, on instinct I grab his neck and shoulders. Kissing his neck.

“I need you,” I admitted, the words falling unbidden as my back arched and I clutched at him. “I need all of you. I can… I can take a little pain, keep going .”

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice tinged with smug satisfaction. His fingers gripped my hip tightly as he began thrusting harder, each movement driving deeper and making my body shudder.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he muttered, his tone raw with honesty as if the words had slipped out unguarded. “So tight, so wet. Just for me, huh? You know how crazy that makes me?” His voice cracked slightly, and I could feel his control starting to slip.

He dropped his head to my shoulder, kissing and biting down as his breath hitched. “You’re driving me insane, sweetheart. Can’t hold back much longer… You gonna come for me again? Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.?”

The dirty, guttural edge in his voice sent me spiraling. My nails dragged down his back as my body tensed, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. The words didn’t stop, his encouragement turning filthy as he coaxed me through the final push.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, feeling me clamp down around him. “Let go. Let me hear you scream my name, yeah? You feel so fucking good, Y/N. Come on baby girl, milk me.”

I fell apart beneath him, and his own release followed quickly, the sounds of his pleasure mingling with mine. Even as we tangled together, spent and breathless, his lips pressed soft words against my temple.

My body tightened around him, every nerve electrified, and as he ground into me one last time, stars burst behind my eyes. His groan, low and guttural, reached me as I felt him lose control, his body trembling as we came together.

For a moment, the room was silent except for our heavy breathing. Russel stayed above me, his arms trembling slightly from holding himself up. Finally, he collapsed onto the bed beside me, pulling me into his chest, careful of my leg.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured against my hair, his voice warm and surprisingly soft.

“Yeah,” I replied, still catching my breath. “I guess… you weren’t just bragging when you said you could handle me.”

He chuckled, low and satisfied, brushing his fingers down my arm.

***

The buzzing of Russels phone on the night stand woke me.

The morning felt colder than it should have and still the memories of last night warmth my chest. I could still feel the ghost of Russel’s touch, the intimacy of last night lingering on my skin, but it clashed with an icy feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.

I hopped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. My leg ached as I cleaned the wound, trying to focus on something tangible—anything to drown out the vulnerable warmth still blooming in my chest.

When Russel walked in behind me, his presence was an instant shift in the air. I could feel him watching me as I dabbed at the stitches.

"I could have done that," he said, his voice still husky from sleep.

"I know, but you were sleeping," I snapped back, harsher than I intended. There was an edge of defense to it, and I immediately bit my tongue.

Russel frowned but said nothing, instead leaning forward to press a kiss to my temple. I froze.

He pulled back with a quiet sigh. "I guess we need to head back to HQ soon," he muttered before disappearing into the shower, leaving me standing there with my mind spinning.

"Yeah, I guess."

I clutched the counter, my reflection staring back at me with wide, confused eyes. The kiss—it wasn’t like him. Russel Shaw wasn’t gentle, wasn’t... soft. Was he? The warmth stirred in my chest again, and my heart fluttered against my better judgment.

Stop it. He’s Russel Shaw. He doesn’t do this. But he was soft last night. Only because you where hurt. Or wasn't that it?

Did he... made love to me?

I couldn’t help the thought that maybe,just maybe, I wasn’t just another notch on his bedpost. Maybe last night had meant something to him too.

He said he admired me... I tried to push the idea aside, determined to keep my head clear. But I felt like a love sick puppy.

Then I heard it again. The soft chime.

My gaze darted to where Russel’s phone rested on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with another message. The room was quiet except for the sound of the shower running, and I shouldn’t have looked. I knew better, but curiosity was a demanding thing.

I limped over, trying not to jostle my leg too much, and hesitated before tapping the screen. A preview of notifications slid into view.

**5 missed calls. 3 texts.**

My chest tighten.

Reenie:

*"I tried to call you."*

*"Don’t ignore me, Russ"*

*"Russel, come home."*

That last text hit me like a fist to the stomach.

Home.

The word clawed at my throat, choking me. Home meant someone waiting for him. Someone he had obligations to. A wife? A girlfriend?

I stumbled back, bile rising in my throat. The warmth from last night shattered into cold, piercing clarity. I felt like a fool—a stupid, naive fool. The intimacy, the softness, the connection I thought we had... all of it felt like a cruel joke.

He had someone else. Someone he was going back to while I was daydreaming about something more, while now left with nothing but guilt and regret.

My chest tightened painfully as humiliation crashed over me. I had fallen for his charm, let myself be vulnerable. And now, I was a mistake he’d leave behind while going back to his perfect life.

Tears blurred my vision as I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder, my injured leg protesting with every movement. I needed to get out of here. Now. Before he could come out of that bathroom, flashing that perfect, crooked smile, and tell me another lie.

I yanked open the door and hobbled into the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last. I barely noticed the stares as I boarded the first bus I could find, not even bothering to look at where it was heading.

All I knew was I had to escape—from him, from my feelings, from this mess. The tears spilled over as I slumped into a seat, clutching my bag like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I felt stupid. Stupid for thinking I could be more to someone like Russel Shaw.

And worse, stupid for still hoping, deep down, that I was wrong.

--

taglist

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla

@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss

@muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy

@livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11

[icarianlibrary]

BAHAHAHA RIGHT?? Me and this other person who just YAPPING about the characters in EPIC (What I said is below) but the 3 Min slow mode was CRAZY.

Circe is so intelligently written. She is a women who only cares for things if it affects her directly, or her nymphs. Throughout the Circe Saga, we see her judge, manipulate, and almost kill Odysseus. But in the end, she ends up helping Odysseus with the divine and mutual goal of the Hatred for Poseidon. Though the dismay for him are for completly seprate reasons: Odysseys’s hatred stems from Poseidon’s ruthlessness; while on the other hand, Circe’s hatred stems throug the abuse and manipulation Poseidon puts women through, they have the understanding that they both hate Poseidon, which ultimately makes her caves. Circe is so incredibly written as an anti-villian, and recognizing that she is not confined by the boxes of “Good guy” or “Bad guy” can extremly change one’s views on her can exponentially change their view on her. Along with this, Jorge does an incredible job of writing morally ambiguous characters. Name one character who is truely the villian? You can not. Odysseus is a villian throughout the entire story to other’s around him. Poseidon is mearly avenging his son. Polities may seem like the peacemaker, but quoting Hamilton here “If you stand for nothing what will you fall for”. On the other hand Eurylechus has the Crew’s best interest in mind, but he has struggles with Hubris. Penelope unthreaded her tapestry every night in mallice to avoid the suitors. Telemachus never stood up for himself. Zeus was just going by justice and providing the best future he could with the circumstances, persuading Odysseus to kill Astynax. The gods mentioned in God Games simpily do not care for the Jouney(ssy) of Odysseus, and are overall reckless, even going so much as wishing bloodshed on others, but they also let him reign free after the convincing of Athena.

Athena is not able to understand human emotions until she meets Odysseus’s son 12 years after falling out with Odysseus because of her Apathy. Athena really only wanted Odysseus’s success though, and knew emotions would get in the way. I already covered Circe, so I’ll be skipping her. Calypso was a game for the gods. She manipulated Odysseus, but she also was longing for someone to love her. Hermes did his best to help Odysseus, but ultimately was sent in a grey area overall because of his relation to the gods. No one in EPIC is the hero, nor the villian. They’re all the puppets in someone else’s game.

NO ONE in EPIC is a redeemable character, and that’s why they’re so likeable! Odysseus has a savior-complex that he looses into a selfish reason to only save himself and his family. THE MAIN CHARACTER. The EPIC characters are so likeable because they aren’t perfect or only flaws. THAT is what builds a great chaarcter, and Jorge does a splendid job building onto that.

The thing is, even the gods are pawns in the game they created. Take Prometheus, he played the gods’ games and won. Daedlus, syphilis, all of them. We, as humans tend to gravitate towards an explanation for EVERYTHING. That is my personal belief on why the Greek myths are as they are, humans need an explaination for things! For me, as a Mormon person, my explaination lies in the hands of God, BUT in the hands of people from ancient Greece (Or modern day Hellensitic folk, hey y’all!!), that is their explaination! The myths, and every content inside are all an explaination human’s use to understand. We are the player, they are the pawns.

So NONE of my EPIC the musical mutuals were gonna tell me that an EPIC-secret-Santa-art-thingy was going on?? Hater… /j ily <33 ANYWAY take the EPIC doodles for compensation

Ignore how bad Polites is colored, I drew & colored him in a FedEx store while waiting for my father to get his order finished 🙂‍↕️

[evelicious]

Im on my way to work BUT! I’ll do asks in the meantime. I’ve missed my evil wife </3

like for an unprompted ask or 👀

[arolesbianism]

I wish So Bad that I could confidently recommend lob corp and library of ruina to people because they're both genuinely rly good games and I also need ppl I know to understand the insanity that is project moon but like godddd they are a fucking Investment. Both in time and in brainpower. I generally think ppl exaggerate how hard lob corp is but it's certainly not easy and when it does get hard it gets HARD. Also it literally requires at least one day 1 reset (basically a new game+) to fully beat the game and at this point I've done at least 10. And for lor I'm not nearly as far in and I'm just scratching the surface of the real game but it's a beast of its own. Also 100+ hours and also hard as hell. Like this game does not fuck around with its difficulty spikes it will make you use your brain and it will give you a damn headache in the process. It's also one of my favorite card combat games I've ever played with mechanics that just so beautifully complement each other to create a dynamic and interesting battle system that gives it a completely different vibe and feeling than any other deck builder games I've played to the point where it almost feels wrong to me to categorize them together. But also I am not even slightly joking abt the headache thing every time I play this damn game I close it with a horrible headache and have to take a multi day break. I think everyone should experience this with me <3

[skrunksthatwunk]

im exploding into a million pieces i found a reddit thread about butches in video games (specifically looking for them) in hopes that there was some kind of lesser known dream daddy-esque butch dating sim or SOMETHING cute like that and guys the fucking crumbs we have to live on you're actually killing me. im withering away why are there no kissable butches in video games im going to throw up and kill everyone. nobody wants a butch dating sim apparently. im gonna go weep in the fetal position

[sskk-manifesto]

What a good episode. Maaaaaan

[luckyemo]

wait people know tsumiki was abusive to patients before being accepted into hpa/meeting junko right like thats 100% canon and the reason she went into nursing was because she enjoyed having people dependent on her and isnt above making them be dependent on her

[hexados-on-a-string]

I JUST FUCKIN REALIZED ITS FEBRUARY. FEMSLASH FEBRUARY. bakugan sapphics i have failed you... i will make content to feed myself (a lesbian) tomorrow maybe...

[specialshinytrinkets]

[ID:

You do [caps] not [end caps] need to kill off a character for 'emotional impact', or 'realism'. Especially if you've given readers / watchers time to bond with said character. Come on.

/endID]

im starting to think you guys dont like it when stories make you feel things

[thesmokinpossum]

btw, while I think we can all agree that her chapter contains quite a few...questionable elements, I'm glad Lucy Mancini exists in the universe of The Godfather because thanks to her there's one woman in this book who ends up in a materially better place than where she started unlike litterally all the others so we can at least appreciate that

[moe-broey]

Oh. Huh.

[evelicious]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓     𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐗     𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋   !        multis  please  specify  .

[jadepresentingnipples]

Apparently the way to make me write about my OCs is to get me distracted while writing explanations for my choices on a survey in the tags.

[reidrum]

close to home | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a/n: this has been rotting in my brain for days now i hope you enjoy the angsty comfort this brought me <3 my requests are open (guidelines in pinned!) or if you wanna just chat hop in my ask box :) gonna hopefully work on a smut fic in the next week so keep an eye out hehe

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, protective!spencer, afab!reader who uses she/her pronouns, non bau!reader, cm type violence, reader sustains injuries from unsub, vague description of injuries, maeve mentions, derek being a good friend, spencer being so in love with reader, this takes place probably a year after maeve, inconsistencies with tls and characters but who cares

wc: 2.4k

summary: the bau is working a local case when their unsub strikes again mid investigation, hotch tells reid and morgan to go check it out but spencer finds the address of the crime to be a little too familar

_______________________________________________

Whenever the BAU has a case based in the D.C. area, it’s always a little easier on the team. Familiar stomping grounds, ease of resources, no major time difference, and everyone can sleep in their own beds. The hard part about home cases is knowing there’s a serial killer in the place they know deeply, with people they cared about deeply.

Spencer and Callahan are in the middle of the bullpen staring at the giant white board with all the evidence they have so far. The unsub has been killing women in their mid 20s in the local dc area, with the mo currently unknown. there had already been two victims, both killed in their homes. Spencer was currently trying to analyze all the information the case had alongside with what Garcia was able to provide, and he was still hitting a dead end. Morgan had joined them at some point too, trying to offer what he could remember from the crime scenes but to no avail. He felt his eyes straining and dropping so he decided to get more coffee, but was stopped by Hotch and Garcia entering the bullpen.

“Police just got a 911 call about a break in, but there’s a witness this time. She was home when it happened and it looks like he didn’t expect that and tried to knock her out before escaping. I think it sounds like our unsub. Morgan and Reid, I need you to go check out the scene and interview the witness, see what she remembers.” Hotch explained.

Morgan and Reid nodded as Garcia spoke up, “I just sent the address to your phones, it’s a house on Hillcrest so it's not that far from here.”

Spencer froze. he had to have heard wrong, she did not say Hillcrest, “Did you say Hillcrest?”

“Yeah, Hillcrest Drive. It’s like, a 15 minute drive, not that far.”

He felt his heart drop to his feet, a sinking feeling building in his gut. That was the street you lived on. He tried to ground himself with logic, the probability of it being your house is only 10%, but he was dreading asking the fated question.

“Garcia, what’s the house number?”

“Reid, I already sent it to your pho-“

“Garcia, what is the house number,” he spoke again. 

Please don’t say 1159. Please don’t say 1159. Please don’t say-

“1159.”

Fuck. The color drained from his face, and the nausea was building to a head quickly. Spencer hurriedly tried to think through the last time he spoke to you. Last night? This morning? He doesn’t check on you as much as he does when he’s not on a case, but oh my god why can’t he remember the last time he saw you.

“Reid,” Hotch bellows, finally breaking spencer out of his trance, “What is it? What do you know?”

He shook his head, “Nothing. Morgan, let’s go.” he grabbed his jacket and booked it out the door.

Morgan, Garcia, and Hotch all looked at each other in concern, before Morgan spoke up, “I’ll see what’s up.” The latter two nodded softly, though the worry didn’t let up in their eyes.

Morgan walked up to the car to find Spencer repeatedly trying to call someone on the phone, clearly unable to get through and getting really frustrated.

Spencer was alerted by Morgan’s presence hearing the car unlock but he didn’t even look at him, just immediately got in the car and strapped his seat belt. Morgan joined him in the drivers seat giving him a wary look before turning the car on and pulling out of the bureau.

“Okay Reid, spill it. It’s obvious you know who lives here.” Morgan speaks up.

“Just drive, please.”

“Because if you know something, something that could help the case, it would be helpful if we knew.”

“Morgan, just drive.” he borderline yells.

He raises his eyebrows at his raised voice, “Listen kid, i’m just trying to help you. I can see you’re upset but we’re on the same side, you know that.”

Spencer takes a shaky breath, feeling another shade of guilt at yelling at one of his friends, for something he didn’t even know about. He’d kept you a secret for many reasons— your relationship with him was still new, and he just wanted to keep you to himself for a bit. After what happened with Maeve, he felt especially more responsible at keeping you safe and making sure you didn’t get tangled up in his line of work.

Some job he did of that.

The one thing he regrets about how he handled the Maeve situation, was not asking for help until it was almost too late. For not doing anything about her stalker when he was part of one of the most famous fbi teams built to find people like that. He’d always live with that guilt, but he vowed not to do that with you.

He loved you so much. You were so kind, and smart, and beautiful. A breath of fresh air after feeling lost in a dark tunnel for so long. You were so understanding when he explained what he did for a living, and what had happened to him and people he cared about as a result. He still remembers what you said to him when he told you that you could have an out, if you wanted.

“Any risk is worth taking if getting to be with you is the consolation prize.”

Tears welled up in eyes thinking about the memory. If you were willing to take any risk, then he should be able to as well.

He cleared his throat, and Morgan’s ears perked up, “My uh, my girlfriend lives there. Where the unsub, at- attacked.” he voiced softly.

Morgan looked at him for a beat while driving, Spencer missing the way his face dropped. He tightened his hands on the wheels, and without hesitation he turned the lights and siren on and shifted gears to speed up.

__

The car pulled onto your street and the first thing Spencer sees is the flashing light of the ambulances. Morgan doesn’t even put the car in park before Spencer’s bolting out hoping he can find you quickly.

He’s asking all the paramedics he’s passing if they’ve seen you or know if you’re being treated, were you transferred to a hospital and he didn’t know. The tunnel vision slowly overtaking him until he hears a voice breaking through like sunlight call out his name.

He whips his head in the direction he heard it come from, and he’s never been more grateful to be met with the beautiful sight of you. You watch his eyes widen and let out a sigh before running over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance. He’s definitely not thinking when he goes in to hug you, not even knowing the extent of your injuries. He’s overtaken by the desperate need to hold you in his arms so he knows you’re safe and okay.

“Hi,” you choke out muffled, “Funny seeing you here.”

He pulls back to inspect your face, taking note of a small cut above your left eyebrow and the beginning splotches of a bruise forming on your lower jaw. His heart aches so much looking at you, knowing what happened to you and who did this to you.

“Hi, honey,” he lets out tearfully, “Are you okay? I mean, of course you’re not. But what did the paramedics say? Did they give you anything? Are you sure they checked all your injuries? You know what, let me go call the guy over. I’ll be two seconds.” his panicked ramble fading off as he rounds the truck you’re sat in to find the emt.

Upon his extensive questioning of the man who treated you, he found out that you had sustained a minor concussion from when the unsub swung at you with an umbrella, superficial cuts caused by a broken vase you threw to defend yourself, and a dislocated shoulder from getting shoved into the wall.

You were okay, but at what cost.

The EMT leaves you two and Spencer sits himself next to you on the rig. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you as tight as he can and the other hand cradles your head into the crook of his neck, holding you so tight he’s hoping he can squeeze the bad memories out of you. It’s at this moment of feeling safe and sound in his arms when the adrenaline of your attack wears off.

Spencer hears a small whimper and feels a few hot tears trickle down his neck, your breathing gets faster as you’re attempting to beat your body’s fear response. The slow build up of sobs starting to rack your chest, and he immediately holds you tighter.

“It’s over, baby, they won’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”

You sniffle, “I know, I just can’t believe this happened. To me. To us. It’s not fair to you.” trailing off the last two words.

“To me? Wh- what do you mean?”

You take a deep breath, “I don’t mean to bring it up again, I just know how eerily similar this is to a past experience you’ve had. and I hoped that I wouldn’t be in a position to make you feel that way again. I don’t know why this happened, I'm sorry.”

He looked down at you incredulously, genuinely unable to believe that you were sitting next to him on an ambulance, beaten up with bruises and scars after a home invasion attack, worried about how he would feel when he got to you. It was enough to finally let the swell of tears saved up in his eyes fall.

“Oh sweetheart,” he chokes out, realizing you’ve been trying to be brave for him this whole time, “What happened is not your fault, do you understand me? My job is to always worry about you and your safety. When Garcia said the address I…I couldn’t even process it, I don’t even know how I got to the car,” he shook his head, “But I am the last person you need to push your emotions down for. I will always take them in stride and love you even more for that, okay?”

“Okay,” you take a shaky breath, “I love you.”

“I love you.” he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

Both of your heads look up at an approaching figure, who you quickly recognize to be SSA Derek Morgan. You knew Spencer hadn’t told the team about you yet, so you tried to sit up independently as fast as you could before he came over and suspected something.

Spencer’s grip didn’t let up when he bent down and whispered, “It’s okay, he knows.” You look up at him with wide eyes when derek finally reaches you.

“Reid, I already talked to the detectives and we’re good to go when you’re ready,” he turns his body to you and gives you a comforting smile, “Hi sweetheart, I’m Derek Morgan, it’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at the nickname while you giggle softly, “Hi Derek, I’ve heard so much about you. It's nice to finally meet you too.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” he sighs, “Listen, I know it’s all still really fresh for you, but it might help the case if you’re able to come in for a cognitive interview, or even talk to a sketch artist.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat before protesting, “Absolutely not. We can do it later, it’s fine.”

“Reid-“

You look up at him placing your hand on his chest, “Spence, It’s okay. I want to help, please.”

He rests his hand on top yours and gives it a light squeeze, “Okay, but i’m not leaving you alone for a second.”

“I didn’t think you would.” you smile.

“Alright lovebirds, you can have your private time later, we should go now.” Derek teases.

Spencer groans, “See, this is why i didn’t say anything.”

“You think I’m bad? Wait till Penelope meets her.”

__

The three of you pile into the car before starting the drive to Spencer’s apartment so he could get you a change of clothes and other things you might need. You end up falling asleep in the back seat, the final stage of your shock sinking in like a rock. Spencer checks on you from the rear view mirror and sees you passed out, and smiles.

“She’s cute,” Derek starts, “Can I ask how long?”

“Nine months.” he replies, fishing for something out of his pocket.

“Pretty boy hid a girl from all of us for nine months? Maybe we’re not as good profilers as we thought.”

“Imagine that,” he laughs, and gestures to the item in his hand, “Look.”

Spencer’s holding out a well loved photo booth strip with three pictures, of you and Spencer from the time you went to a local county fair. You’re sitting in his lap, mostly due to the cramped space and the expansive limbs. The first picture is the two of you holding up finger guns attempting to be as back to back as you can. The second picture, you intended it to be a normal one where you both smile at the camera, but spencer couldn’t take his eyes off you and the picture captured the love struck gaze he had on you. The last one you were about to tell him the idea for it, when he grabbed your face and pulled you closer to kiss you, neither of you knowing when the final picture snapped.

The edges were worn out and frayed, clearly broken down by the oils on his fingers from pulling it out frequently. It was his most treasured item, a constant reminder of what was always waiting for him when he got back from grueling cases, and how lucky he was to have you in his life.

“You look really happy, kid.” Derek says, thinking about the many times he’s seen his friend at rock bottom, the things that have been so brutally taken from him, and the suffering he’s had at the hands of his job. His heart warms for his friend, who seemed to finally catch a break.

“I am.”

[arolesbianism]

The amount of times I've started a new post and simply typed "Olivia Broussard" and then deleted it is frankly embarrassing I can't take this anymore can everyone I've ever met just start being obsessed with this sad divorced woman too