#like.. yeah!! still the case but let's say there is much more now

[pathologicalreid]

defrost | s.r.

in which the heat goes out in your apartment and Spencer comes up with a creative idea to keep warm

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, hand job, good old fashioned dry humping, softdom!spencer, masturbation is referenced, unprotected p in v sex, sex on the floor (!!!), kissing, established relationship word count: 2.8k a/n: smut? havent seen that word since october. well past due if you ask me :-) hope you enjoy

It took entirely too much of your focus not to trip on the comforter that you were hauling from your bedroom, adding it to the heap of linens that you’d collected. The heat had gone out in the entire apartment complex earlier that afternoon, and while it was originally supposed to be fixed by five, the time was pushed back until the gas company finally just told you the issue wouldn’t be resolved until the morning.

Luckily, Spencer had managed to light the fireplace while you gathered every linen from the apartment and arranged a makeshift bed in front of the hearth, but even when you sat in front of the crackling flames, you were still cold. Pulling the cuffs of your sweatshirt over your hands, you tucked them beneath your thighs in an attempt to defrost yourself, you looked up at your boyfriend in desperation, “When did they say the gas would be back on?”

“They said eight, but before that, they said six, so there’s really no accurate measurement that they could provide. I hope we’ll know more in the morning,” he told you, taking a seat next to you and draping a blanket over your shoulders, making sure you were cozy before grabbing one for himself.

You sighed, admiring the way the movement of the fire reflected in his eyes. The two of you had ordered out for dinner, discarded takeout containers were in organized chaos on the coffee table, and two mugs were sitting on coasters filled with warm tea. Your range was out of commission, but thankfully, you had electricity. Admittedly, you were milking the situation, opting for candles over your lamps.

Spencer leaned over and nudged you gently with his blanket-covered elbow, “Are you warm enough?” He asked, looking around for another blanket to hand off to you, but coming up empty.

“If the gas isn’t back on by tomorrow afternoon, we should book a hotel,” you suggested, though, with your luck, Spencer would probably be called on a case tomorrow, leaving you to freeze on your own.

He furrowed his brows in response, “You were the one who didn’t want to stay in a hotel tonight, though?”

Shrugging, you looked at the thermostat on the wall, too far away to read, but you imagined it telling you that the apartment was becoming an industrial-sized icebox. “I don’t like staying in hotels if I can help it, I like having my things and my routine,” you responded as if he didn’t already know this about you.

“But?” He pressed.

“But I’m cold,” you told him, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself and smiling when he opened his blanket cocoon. Gratefully, you obliged, shuffling yourself over to him and settling into his lap, sighing in contentment when he closed the blanket around you, “Oh, you’re warm.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and Spencer took the opportunity to press a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. “Is this better?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes and let your body relax into his, his arms wrapped around you, adding a reinforcement—a border of warmth, if you will. “Yeah, much better,” you murmured, trying to think warm thoughts.

“You know, it would be easier to share body heat if we weren’t wearing clothes,” Spencer told you, shifting one of his arms until his hand was on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze.

A shy smile bloomed on your face, turning your face to bury it in his neck, though the warm glow of your cheeks was a welcome sensation, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now?”

Spencer hummed, shifting beneath you slightly—a telltale sign that he was turned on—and gripping both of your hips, “Technically, I’m trying to get you out of them.”

Now grinning, you leaned forward, pressing your torso against Spencer’s until his back was against the blankets you’d stacked for your makeshift mattress. You took a moment to adjust the fabric that surrounded you, removing the layers of separation between you and Spencer when you finally reached his sweater. Carefully, you slipped your fingers beneath his layers of clothes, pausing abruptly when he inhaled sharply, “Are you okay?”

“Your hands are freezing, honey,” he told you; a lightness was present in his tone as if he was trying not to laugh.

Withdrawing your hands, you instead stuck them beneath his back, hoping to warm them up while you craned your head up to his, placing your lips on his and immediately sighing into him. You settled the rest of your body across his, bringing your knees up to his hips and grinding your core against his hardening length. The layers of clothing between you were proving to be a hindrance, but you weren’t ready to rid yourself of any insulation just yet.

You bunched up the wool of Spencer’s sweater in your hands, finding a rhythm between your rocking hips and moving lips, patiently waiting for the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and hoping your hands were sufficiently warm when you moved your dominant hand back to his torso. Slowly, you lifted your hips from his and tucked your fingers beneath the waistband of both his flannel pajama pants and briefs, making sure he didn’t flinch at the temperature of your fingers when you wrapped them around his cock.

His mouth opened against yours at the contact, a low moan vibrating in his throat as you kept your hand in his pants. This was your opening, leaving you to slip your tongue in his mouth, deepening the kiss and speeding up your heart rate.

Moaning against his lips, you needed to sacrifice your kiss for the sake of a hand job, ducking your head so that you could focus on the flick of your wrist, the elastic waistbands working against you.

Spencer craned his head, dropping a kiss on the crown of your head, you could feel his abdomen tensing under your arm as you reached your other hand down to try and push his pants over his hips. “You wanna take my clothes off, don’t you?”

Your ministrations slowed as you peered up at him through your eyelashes and nodded, taking your cheek between your molars.

You hummed as Spencer used his grip on your waist to pull you up until your faces were close enough to meet again, he kissed you again, chastely this time, before whispering, “You first.”

Bracing yourself for the cold apartment air to brush against your skin, you assisted Spencer by pulling your arms through the sleeves of your sweater, gritting your teeth while he tugged it over your head. You were pleasantly surprised when the air surrounding you remained insulated, too distracted by the heat to think about the way Spencer was pushing your pants down.

While you regained your focus, you helped him discard your pants, kicking them off into the abyss of blankets that you were still cocooned in. “Are you still warm enough?” Spencer asked, dragging his knuckles up and down your bare waist as he looked up at you.

“Yeah,” you asked, the way he was so concentrated on keeping you warm and comfortable sent a flurry of butterflies to your stomach, making you all the more needier. “Spence,” you whispered, thinking about all of the layers of fabric that still separated the two of you.

He pulled you close to him, looking to the side before rolling you both over until he was on top of you. You quickly got to work, tugging at the hem of his sweater and relishing in every inch of exposed skin that touched yours. The inherent eroticism of skin-to-skin contact was beginning to drive you crazy, and Spencer noticed. He tossed his sweater off to the side, laughing lightly as you disappeared beneath the covers, finally pulling his flannel pajama pants off until it was up to him to get them off the rest of the way. Once you peeked your head back above the covers, you saw the lovesick grin on his face. “Hi,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to cup your face.

You reflected his smile back at him, “Hi,” you murmured, studying his face while he kept his every attention on you.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, moving his hand down to grip your thigh, parting your legs around his waist while you kept your eyes on him.

Raising your eyebrows, your face warmed at his claim, “What? Beneath you?” You teased, grinning so broadly that you stuck your tongue beneath your teeth to try and tame the smile.

He didn’t falter. Instead, he tilted his head to the side and nodded, “Well, yes,” he admitted. “It gives me the opportunity to do things like this,” he said, dropping his hand down to your core, his eyes on yours as your mouth parted in anticipation. “It’s much easier to see your face while I touch you when you’re beneath me.”

As he spoke, his index finger slipped between your folds, causing your stomach to twist even as he was just barely grazing your clit with his knuckle. “And here I thought it was a control thing,” you challenged, your voice weaker than you’d originally hoped, practically breaking off into a whimper.

“That certainly doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, using his finger to spread your slick over your pussy, any sounds muffled by the blankets that still surrounded you. “But nothing will ever beat the look on your face when I slip my finger inside of you,” he teased, but his words didn’t reflect his actions, leaving you slightly disappointed.

You hummed, leaning your head back and checking on the fire before looking back up at Spencer, “You have an eidetic memory, don’t you have enough of me in your spank bank at this point?”

Spencer shook his head, watching you with an undying interest as he slipped his index finger into you tantalizingly slowly. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted, and a small, choked noise escaped your lips. “There it is, honey,” he cooed. “No memory will ever do that justice.”

Nodding, you forced yourself to open your eyes and meet his, studying the ring of gold surrounding his irises while his hand found a rhythm. Lifting your hips as his thumb applied pressure to your clit, you gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around his finger while his ministrations refused to cease. “Spence,” you breathed, “feels good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, taking your reassurance as a hint to add a second finger to his ministrations, “I like it when you let me take care of you, you spend too many nights alone in our bed for my liking.”

You lifted your hands up, just barely peeking over the blankets so you could place them on his shoulders, “I’ve never minded,” you reminded him. He always comes back to you, albeit in various states of disarray sometimes, but he always comes home.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck and leaving gentle kisses on the soft skin, never sucking long enough to leave a mark, but he paused once he reached your collarbone, “I mind,” he muttered against your skin, kissing down your chest until his lips were level with your breasts, taking the opportunity to take your nipple in his mouth.

As he sucked gently on the sensitive bud, you became all too aware of the familiar knot building in your lower belly, “Oh,” you gasped, your hips bucking up when he hummed against your chest in response, the vibrations going straight to your core, tightening the knot.

Spencer switched nipples, latching onto your other breast while he continued the pressure on your clit. A strangled moan made its way through your throat as the rubber band in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm rippled through you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your entire body while Spencer continued to work you through it. He separated himself from your chest, leaving tender kisses on your jawline while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Your orgasm ebbed into a dull ache between your thighs, and you let your head fall back against the blankets, wincing when Spencer withdrew his fingers from your cunt. You caught your breath while Spencer adjusted himself, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices from them—it made your walls clench around nothing. “Please,” you found yourself saying, looking up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes.

“Patience,” he cajoled, pinching your hip lightly as you squirmed beneath him. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to practice the virtuous trait, “I feel really good,” you assured him, your breath hitching when you felt his tip aligned with your entrance. “We should have sex on the floor more often,” you told him.

He smiled dropping a small kiss on your nose and deciding to adjust the blankets around you. Although, funny enough, you were beginning to get too warm. “You look gorgeous,” he told you, gently pressing into you, only part of the way.

Releasing a shuddering breath, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and met his shining eyes, which he accepted as an okay for him to slide further into you. You were sure you did not look gorgeous, in fact, you could feel your hair sticking to the back of his neck while he sheathed himself inside of you, giving you time to adjust and smoothing your hair out of your face in the interim—as if he had read your mind.

Your walls clenched around him, and he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, “You feel so good,” he muttered, lifting his hips from yours before pushing back in.

“Honey,” you whispered up at him before he found a rhythm, “Will you kiss me?”

You only saw his look of incredulity for a moment before his lips were on yours, you hummed contentedly into his mouth, your breathing faltering as he continued to thrust in and out of your cunt, finding a rhythm.

One of your hands dropped to the side of his neck, cupping his jaw while you moved your mouth on his, taking control of the kiss while he focused on fucking you. Separating your lips only to take a breath, your other hand was on his back, nails lightly grazing his otherwise unmarred skin as you searched for any semblance of stability.

 There had to have been something about the atmosphere, the various flames around you, or the heat of the blankets that covered you, that brought your orgasm on so quickly. You could already feel it building, and you gasped into Spencer as you felt it.

Using one hand to keep himself hovering just above you, he took his other hand and hooked it beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg up and opening your cunt even more to him. The change eased the pressure in your core, giving him more time to build up his own, but you had to separate your lips, “God, Spence,” you said, somewhere between overstimulated and overheated as your cunt clenched around his length.

He sighed, hot breath against your neck as he assured you, “I’ve got you.”

Just like that, you were a goner, head thrown back in complete bliss as your walls pulsed around Spencer’s cock, the sensation bringing on his own orgasm. You were trying to catch your breath while his cum spurted out inside of you. “Oh,” you sighed as he dropped your leg, letting your muscles stretch as Spencer’s hand massaged the inside of your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, dropping a soft kiss to your forehead.

You nodded, forcing yourself to open your eyes and look up at him, “Yeah,” you answered breathlessly, wincing slightly when he pulled out of you, more at the feeling of the fluid sliding out of you than anything else.

Spencer hummed, “Are you sure?” He brought a hand up, skimming his knuckles over your cheekbone, “It seems like something’s wrong.”

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to hold his, leaving a soft kiss on his palm, “Promise,” you assured him. “I’m just warm, and I know I have to get up to go pee,” you told him, adjusting yourself on top of the rumpled blankets.

He gave you a lopsided smile in response, “What do you say you get up to pee, and I’ll get us some water while you’re gone?” He offered, bringing a smile to your face. “When we get back, we can watch a movie, your pick.”

Grinning up at him, you run a hand through his hair before ruffling it, “I say you’ve got yourself a deal.”

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part three

I'm the most impatient person I know, so here's another!

Warnings: reader smoking cigarettes, just more case stuff, and as usual their bickering (but also moments of...non-bickering? gasp?)

Morgan finds you outside the precinct, pacing.

“Hey,” he says. “We’re going to get lunch and stop at the school, come on.”

You stop pacing. “Fine. Can we make a pit stop?” You follow Morgan over to the car, yanking the door open.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “Where?”

“Just a gas station,” you reply, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. “I need a fucking cigarette.”

“Uh-uh, woah,” Morgan turns his body toward you. “Since when do you smoke?”

“On and off,” you shrug. “When I’m stressed. Can we go?”

“Yeah.” Morgan turns the key in the ignition. “But cigarettes are the last stop.”

“That’s fine,” you say, trying hard to sound nonchalant, even though you know Morgan sees right through you.

Still, he says nothing, and heads toward Lila’s school.

“Marie’s mom is on the way to the school to pick her up,” Morgan says. “And to be there while we talk to her.”

“Alright,” you reply. “I don’t think Marie knew what was happening.”

“I don’t think she did, but I don’t think she’d say if she did either,” Morgan says, “but I’m hoping something about her behavior will tell us what she doesn’t say.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to talk to her without her mom present?” you suggest. “I mean, at that age, I probably wouldn’t say anything if my mom was in the room.”

“It’s not likely, but we can ask,” Morgan says. “Sometimes the parents surprise us.”

“I don’t think I want any surprises,” you say. “I just want Lila to be home safe.”

“She will be,” Morgan says. “We’ll get her home.”

“I need that optimism,” you tease. “Got any to spare?”

“I have plenty to go around, believe me.”

+++

The middle school freaks you out. It’s so small.

“I haven’t been in a school since I was…in school,” you murmur. “Is it just me, or are the ceilings really low?”

Morgan looks up and laughs. “It’s just you. Come on.”

The two of you flash your badges and the school secretary takes you right in to see the vice principal. The principal is out of town, so not only is the VP doing two jobs, but now she has a missing kid. You introduce yourselves to the frantic, yet somehow collected administrator.

“Thanks so much for letting us come as well,” you say, shaking her hand. “I understand our colleagues, Agent Hotchner and Prentiss, were already here.”

“Yes, very brooding, that man,” she says. “I’m Mrs. Henry, I have our SRO doing another sweep of the campus to see if Lila might be hiding anywhere.”

“I don’t think she’s hiding, Mrs. Henry,” you say.

“But we appreciate the effort,” Morgan adds. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Yes, exactly,” you agree, covering up your quick mouth. It really will get you in deep shit one of these days. “Is Marie Laud here yet?”

“She’s in the counselor’s office,” Mrs. Henry says. “Her mother is on her way, but I can take you to her.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“And do you mind if I ask you some questions while Agent L/N speaks to Marie?” Morgan says.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Henry shakes her head, grabbing her radio. “Right this way.”

The counselor’s office is just around the corner, and you spot Marie instantly. She’s doing homework by the looks of it, and the counselor is next to her, simply typing on her laptop. Marie doesn’t look closed off, but she’s also not an open book — that much can be told from her willingness to do homework instead of talk.

You observe her from a distance for a while longer, listening to Morgan’s questions.

“Is every door locked at all times in this building?”

“Well, yes, but anyone inside can open them. It would be a fire hazard if no one could get out.”

“I understand,” Morgan nods. “We just want to cover every base. Now, you’re positive she was present this morning?”

“I’ve spoken to the teacher personally, as well as Marie, and yes, Lila was here.”

You turn your head. “Marie is in Lila’s first period?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Henry nods. “They have almost every class together. Their fifth periods are different, but that’s all.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly. “I’m gonna try to talk to her.”

Waiting for Marie’s mom might be the smart thing to do, but you can deal with the mom’s anger later. You worry that Marie will feel judged or like she’s in trouble if her mom is around, especially if she knows something about Lila’s disappearance. 

You walk into the counselor’s office with a warm smile, introducing yourself to the counselor, Ms. Blackwell. 

“Is it alright if I sit?” you ask.

Ms. Blackwell nods. “Of course, go right ahead.” 

Marie’s eyes are glued to her homework, but you see her attempt to look at you through the very top of her peripheral vision.

“Algebra?” you ask. “You’re better at it than I am.” She is blasting through each question. You don’t even know if they’re right, but it looks like they must be. She seems confident. “Is that what class you’re supposed to be in right now?”

It’s tiny, but Marie does nod. She doesn’t look up, but she says, “Me and Lila have it together.”

“Oh, I see,” you murmur. “Did you see Lila this morning?”

Another nod. “Yeah, in homeroom.” Marie pauses, looks up. “That’s first period.”

You chuckle. “I had a homeroom, too.”

Marie looks back at her worksheet. “She just told me she had to go to the bathroom.”

“What was that?” you ask.

The counselor looks dumbfounded. Clearly you’ve gotten more out of Marie than Ms. Blackwell has this entire time.

“Lila said she had to pee,” Marie says again. “We were about to go to second period, but she had to pee. I didn’t wanna be late, so I went to class. She said she’d be there.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Was she really eager to leave? Did it seem urgent?”

Marie nods, looking at you weirdly. “Yeah. I thought she just had to pee really bad or got her period or something.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you reply. “Was she texting anyone?”

“I mean, she had her phone in her hand, but I dunno if she was texting anyone. We usually text in class,” Marie glances guiltily at the counselor.

“I used to pass notes in class, old fashioned texting,” you chuckle. “Did Lila say anything else that was maybe really weird or just something else you remember?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Marie shrugs. “Her book bag looked bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Yeah, like she had a lot of stuff in it. She usually only has one notebook and her planner, but it was like. Big.”

“Huh,” you comment. “That is odd.”

“Right?” Marie says, looking back at her math. “I asked her why and she said she just felt like bringing her lunch today. It was weird.”

“Does she not normally bring her lunch?”

“Nah, we get the salads in the cafeteria,” Marie says. She tries to solve a math problem, then stops, and looks back up at you. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I hope so,” you murmur. “Hey, if you think of anything, here’s my number.” You hand your card to her. “You can text or call me, any time.”

“Thanks,” Marie says, smiling a little. “Oh, there’s my mom.”

You turn and see Mrs. Laud coming toward you, so you stand. “Mrs. Laud, I’m Agent L/N.”

“Hi,” she says. “Did you speak to Marie?”

“We just finished,” you smile. “I apologize for not waiting for you, but every minute counts.”

“Oh, yes, I understand, that’s no problem,” Mrs. Laud replies, surprising you. You’ll have to tell Morgan. “Is Lila going to be okay? Her mom is so distraught; I just got off the phone with her again.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” you assure her. “My partner and I need to get back, but if you think of anything that might help us,” you hand Mrs. Laud your card, “please, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“Of course,” you reply. “Excuse me.”

You head back outside in the hall where Morgan stands, listening to the vice principal ramble. You’re not sure if she’s said anything helpful, but Morgan looks ready to go when he sees you.

Once you’re back in the car, you tell Morgan everything that Marie had to say.

“So she had a bag packed,” Morgan says, coming to the same conclusion as you did. “I wonder if her mom noticed. I feel like you’d notice if your kid suddenly took a lot more with her to school than usual.”

“Lila could’ve had the clothes in her locker,” you suggest. “I don’t think it matters much if the mom noticed or not. The point is, she clearly had a plan.”

“You’re right,” Morgan nods. “We should get lunch and head back. You can call Hotch in the car.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Morgan chuckles. “If y’all are gonna work together, you need to work your shit out.”

“Derek, you have no idea how impossible that is.”

+++

Admittedly, Hotch is shocked to see your name come up on his phone. It still flashes with your old workplace; he needs to change that to BAU. As well as your photo. It’s one he took ten years ago when you first put your number in his contact list. You were glaring at him then, the same way you do now.

“Hello?” Hotch answers, half expecting Morgan’s voice, but he gets yours.

“Hi.” You don’t sound too happy at all to be the one calling him. Hotch wonders if you know the feeling is mutual. “We spoke with Lila’s best friend. Marie said Lila left in a hurry. Said she had to use the bathroom, but Marie didn’t want to be late for class, so she went ahead, thinking Lila would catch up.”

“Did Marie say what time? That must be when Lila left school.”

“Right before second period,” you reply, then add, “which puts it around 9am. The teacher must’ve called roll as soon as the bell rang.” 

“Alright,” Hotch sighs. Unfortunately, this doesn’t tell them much that they didn’t already know, but he supposes confirmation is better than nothing. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Morgan’s voice comes through. “I spoke with the vice principal. She said every door is open for safety reasons. Lila could’ve walked out any of the doors and no one would know. None of them have alarms.”

“And not all of them have cameras,” Hotch fills in. “Garcia has run into a wall. None of the footage shows Lila leaving. We only have her entering school that morning. JJ is going over it with Garcia right now to study her behavior.”

“It’s not looking good, Hotch,” Morgan says.

“I know,” Hotch replies. “Grab lunch and get back here. We need to find her.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you sing.

Hotch sighs deeply, ending the call without a goodbye.

Rossi looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Hotch asks.

Rossi only shakes his head, looking back at the file he has in his hands. “Nothing.”

+++

“Did you hear that?” Morgan taunts. “Lunch, and high tail it back. No cigarettes, sorry honey.”

“I’ll get some tonight,” you mock him. “I’ll need one to calm me down enough to sleep, anyway.”

“I’m gonna lock you in your room,” Morgan says, turning into a random drive-thru. He sounds a little too serious.

“I’ll jump out the window,” you grin. “Now shut up and order.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Seven hamburgers and fries later, you and Morgan are headed back to the precinct to deliver food.

“Food has arrived,” you announce as you walk into the conference room. “What’s the verdict, boss?” You toss Hotch a hamburger, surprised that he catches it so easily.

He scowls at you, unwrapping it to find you remembered exactly what he likes. Or Morgan did. Probably Morgan.

“Don’t tell me he messed it up,” you groan, seeing Hotch’s frown. He’s grumpier than usual if his food isn’t right, and you have more important things to argue with him about than his damn food. “I gave Morgan every detail. Did you say it wrong?” You take a fry from Morgan’s share out of spite.

“No, it’s right,” Hotch says, still shocked that you remembered and didn’t purposefully order incorrectly just to irritate him. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” you nod, grabbing yours and tossing Spencer his (plain, only ketchup). “How’s the chatroom, Dr. Reid?”

“Interesting, actually, I’ve been comparing Rich’s messages with other texts that we have from a few years ago, and they’re not the same person — unless he’s changed drastically since being in hiding, but I doubt that. People can change how they speak, but not that much, look at this,” Reid forgets all about his food and slides two papers over to you. “See how he talks to Lila here? He lets her think she has made the plans, but that’s not at all how Richard talks; he’s too dominating, and—”

“Kid, kid,” Morgan interrupts. “Eat something, then continue. You need fuel if you’re going to run that fast.”

Puzzled, Reid says, “I’m not running.”

Morgan and Emily laugh, shaking their heads.

“Metaphorically,” Rossi says. 

You nod, pushing his food closer. “Eat up. Then you can run it by me.”

“Oh,” Reid says. “Right, right, that makes sense.”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “Where’s the footage of Lila entering the school?”

“Here,” Hotch says, taking the seat next to you and turning the laptop around toward you. He presses the spacebar and it begins playing.

Lila walked into school, clearly struggling with the weight of her book bag. She looked around, almost paranoid, but then she saw Marie and went right to her. They hugged, talked, put their book bags down as they waited for the bell to ring. It looks normal.

Three minutes later, the bell rang, and the two girls went to class.

Hotch presses the spacebar again, stopping the footage. “That’s it.”

“Damn,” you mutter, swallowing your last bite. You reach over and reverse it, starting the video from the beginning again. “She must’ve had more than clothes in that bag. Look. She can hardly get it up on her shoulders. She’s looking around, social anxiety, maybe? I was the same until I found my friends, like she does when she finds Marie. Then she’s fine. They’re talking, laughing. Marie points to the book bag,” you pause, watching, “but Lila shrugs.”

“We’ve already been over this,” Hotch says. “While you were out with Morgan.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you wave Hotch and his attitude away. “I know. Fresh eyes, isn’t that what you preach?”

Hotch glares at you, but leaves you alone. He stands and walks to the board where pictures of Lila, Richard Monroe, and Lila’s mother are posted. Rossi joins him, the two having some sort of silent back and forth.

Nothing about Lila’s behavior seems overly concerning to you, and that is what worries you.

“Reid, how does Lila sound in the chat room?”

“Calm,” Reid says around a mouthful of fries. “She trusts this Rich person, and clearly thinks it’s her father.”

“Does he ever say that he is?”

“Not exactly,” Reid replies. “He says so in a roundabout way, but not explicitly.“

“So, it’s not Richard Monroe,” you conclude, much to Hotch’s displeasure, which he makes known by his glare. “Can I see the messages?”

Reid hands you the papers, and you tell him to finish his food while you look at them. The kid needs to slow down and eat sometimes.

JJ’s phone rings and she sighs. “More press. Gotta get this.”

“Tell them we have no comment right now,” Hotch says.

JJ only nods, putting on her facade to speak to the reporters.

“They want us to make a statement, don’t they?” Emily asks, and Morgan scoffs, knowing how the media can be.

Hotch nods. “This is going to get out of hand if we don’t find her. Quickly.”

+++

Hotch sends everybody to their respective hotel rooms for a minimum of seven hours of sleep. That is, if anyone falls asleep as soon as they set foot in the door. Otherwise, it’s looking more like five or six hours.

For you, maybe four.

You take a walk next door to the gas station, grabbing a pack of cigarettes against Morgan’s better wishes. He’s not here to stop you, and he’s probably snoring by now anyway.

Besides, you need something if you’re going to make it through a case like this.

Why did this have to be your first with the BAU? Couldn’t you get something lighter? A regular, run of the mill serial killer?

Now you have to deal with memories resurfacing, and hiding that from the rest of the team, who is probably profiling you every second they can just because you’re new. Or at least Hotch is. He’s never stopped profiling you. You wonder if it’s exhausting for him. 

You ponder the thought, and many others, as you step out onto the balcony from your hotel room.

Hotch… He really hasn’t changed. You think you have, but then again, a lot has happened to you in the past ten years. 

A lot has happened to him, apparently, too. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring anymore.

Not that that’s any of your business, but you noticed. You thought he and his wife were happy when you first met him. High school sweethearts, too. It seemed blissfully perfect. Must not have been true.

Whether or not he’s broken up about it, you can’t tell. He’s always had that damn frown on his face, even back when he was (allegedly) a happy husband. 

You scoff as you bring out your lighter. He’s a mystery. An annoying bastard, sure, but mostly a mystery.

The first inhale after a long time is the hardest, yet the most relieving, too. You can practically feel your shoulders drop in relaxation, something they haven’t done in a while.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“JESUS fucking Christ,” you shout, dropping your cigarette and stepping on it by accident. Thank god you put on shoes, or else that would’ve burned like a bitch. You turn your head toward Hotch’s voice, finding him sitting on the balcony next door, his feet propped on the little table. He’s without his jacket and tie now, and his dress shirt is unbuttoned three down. “Seriously?”

“What?” he replies, looking straight ahead, out at the horizon, not at you. “It’s bad for your lungs. Don’t you have asthma?”

“Sometimes,” you mutter, annoyed that he remembered. It only acts up when you do smoke, but that’s not his business. You light another and take an even longer drag. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you,” he says, threading his fingers together over his lap. “Sans cigarettes.”

“I’ll give one up if you’d like,” you say, knowing he won’t take it.

He doesn’t budge. “No, thank you.”

As weird as it sounds, this might be the nicest conversation the two of you have ever had.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, taking another drag. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he says. “I probably won’t until we find this girl.”

“You used to sleep.”

He turns his head toward you. The moonlight highlights his features. His cheekbones, his nose. “Pardon?”

“You used to be able to sleep,” you repeat. “At least for a few hours. Did you develop insomnia while I was gone?”

“No,” he deadpans, turning to look straight ahead again. “What about you?”

“Sometimes I just don’t sleep,” you shrug. It’s not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie, either. You would be sleeping right now if it weren’t for the nature of this case. If it weren’t so close to the hell of a childhood you lived through.

“Will you be able to work tomorrow?” he asks, sounding accusatory.

“Yes, Agent Hotchner,” you scoff. “I’ll be able to work tomorrow. Will you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

“Good,” he echoes, taking his feet down and standing. “Get some sleep.”

You roll your eyes. “Good night.”

He disappears into his room and closes the curtains. You blow smoke in his direction anyway, watching it cloud your view of his room.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

IF your requests are open, could you please do Hyugo, Geo, and Crowe with a calm s/o that makes them feel safe? Like, for Hyugo, the s/o is probably the big spoon, (was thinking of slightly taller but I think slightly shorter is better..?), someone who just loves to hold him - and for that little time, Hyugo is in heaven. And so is s/o. (Just giving suggestions, you don't have to follow the script.) For Crowe, it's probably similar? But Crowe is the prince charming - meaning s/o would probably have to be hard to fluster (?). The s/o would probably kick some ass if anyone dared say anything about all those three in a ny situations - or if anyone talked shit about the s/o's close friends in general. Geo is probably a completely different story. He doesn't like to be touched - but little things, such as little gifts (or maybe flowers) and the s/o's presenece makes his feel strangely at ease.

I LOVE your work! I can't really figure out how to write my oneshots, especially hcs - but if I ever do, I'll make sure to tag you!

WITHIN YOUR ARMS

Thank you so much for the kind words! And, if you want some advice on writing oneshots or HCs, just press buttons on your keyboard that at least somewhat personify what you're trying to say; but either way make SURE you tag me, whatever it is you cook up I'll feast upon till the day I wither and die. 😔

-- Signed solemnly by @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer AKA Sky Fort(resse)s and Burning Citadels <3

In Geode's case, you serve as one of the few people - that he's already well acquainted with - whom he trusts. Fully trusts. He doesn't know whether to be irked or content with this innate feeling, so he does what he typically does with feelings - repression.

He's very rarely someone who cracks, or makes it aware how weak he truly feels, the only people who have are Hyugo and maybe his parents - adoptive parents, but parents nonetheless. The point is, that odd trust makes him feel that if he were to crack and have the dams break, you'd do something different. You wouldn't try to rebuild said dam or freeze the cascading waterfalls of tears with ice...you'd simply let the waterworks run, let these feelings run wild and about, until they find their due course down wherever it is that feelings go.

Not that he will, of course. That'll never happen, especially if sober. The only way tears'll ever happen is if Geo's tipsy or high. He's never been under the influence. Doesn't want to be either.

The only reason he starts somewhat talking to you is if you're close with Crowe or Brittney. Or if either of them - or even Deryl - ask him to be more open with you.

He appreciates your nonchalant nature, you've got a moral compass and plenty of passion - but you're logical, reasonable, tolerable. He finds himself approving of you eventually.

You both get closer typically through Deryl or Crowe being with you lot, the former tends to drag Geo along regardless, while the latter wants to simply relax with his friends - and you lmao.

Anyway he'll only start cracking when you show a more serious interest in being his friend, whether that be inviting him somewhere or getting him a small gift. "Did Deryl put you up to this? What even is it."

"It's from me! We're friends - at least I want us to be - so, yeah. Heard you like these. :))"

"Oh". *long pause* "Thank...s. It's appreciated. :]"

Soon enough he decides he likes you enough to hang out with you alone, and that's when the true bonding starts. You become good friends pretty quickly - especially comparing to Geo's friendship track records and in turn it takes him significantly longer to discover he likes you. Not simply platonically.

To put this simply, Geo's a little bitch who fears rejection and humiliation and thus, you will have to be the confessor in terms of these romantic feelings.

Insert long dramatic timeskip.

When together, Geo gently, gingerly, starts being less stoic around you, he still detests being touched, but he'll allow a handhold every now and then, he enjoys knowing you're comfortable and content with him. Only allows things like hugging when severely comfortable around you, and only when you're asleep. You'll probably be watching a movie together and you 'fall asleep' (or maybe you actually do, who knows) on his shoulder, and after about 20 minutes that man is grinning to himself. Not that you'll ever know, but the satisfaction he gets is insane.

This man will also serve as the perfect #malewife. Will cook, will clean, will drive, will be a jealous little shit. There's no way he isn't. He definitely spends hours in bed contemplating what to do about these nuisances. ALSO GETS RED AND FLUSHED EASILY!!!!!!!!!! He blushes so hard his skin looks red. That's probably why he looks up at the sky when around you lets be fr.

In terms of sleeping in the same bed, it'll probably never happen. Firstly, his touch aversion; secondly it's normal for couples to sleep separately in Japanese culture anyway, so for him that was always the norm growing up. It'd take a LOT to get you both together, but let's make some magic happen and you're in a one-bed scenario (check out that one HC I did of this trope btw).

Only touching that happens will probably be hand-holding, but while that may seem small for most, for Geo that's insane. For him to initiate touch is even crazier, so if he does, you better stay with him. If something happens that makes you either scared or otherwise require comfort, he might let you hold him - him being preferably in a couple of sweaters to ignore the feelings (also I HC he's cold all the time) - BUT he's big spooning. He is not risking his hair being touched, no sir no ma'am.

"Hm. >:)" *silently smiles in the dead of night in a Japanese manner*

For Hyugo, you're one of - if not the - only thing that's remained steady in his deranged, messy life. He's surrounded by falseties, by masks, by faces of people who either hide their truth from him, or - like his brother - made it apparent how willingly they would be to leave him alone within this web he's entangled himself into, been forced to be entangled into.

He's been raised in wealth and fame, so he's learnt about reputation - and the vitality of safety - from a young age, an age that should've been saved for childlike naiveties...but not Hyugo. Since his youth he's either guarded, watched or puppeteered - if not by his family then by his reputation, and if not for reputation then the endless scandalous things he's gotten up to.

He's learnt to rely on intuition, on logic, on maintaining unpredictability that can leave most confused or deterred from pursuing any suspicious things he might've revealed sometime ages ago. He's got a good memory to, how else is he meant to memorise every alibi and lie he's ever uttered?

Either way, he never was able to simply be. To exist in himself and feel serene, at ease. Until he met you, that is; and it wasn't a short process either! This man's got intense, well-rooted trust issues. He fears attachment, but alas his heart decided that this one - this beautiful stranger - was someone...stable. Someone trustworthy, someone safe.

He's by far not a saint, he knows it, some nights it even haunts him...on rarer times he wonders if he's even got any humanity left. If he has any empathy left. Love left. The thought scares him, oddly enough. Until you come along and remind him that clearly not, because he feels something akin to devotion in terms of you, especially after a long time of knowing you.

When he does grow close to you, in a sense that blends the lines of platonic and romantic, he sees you as his aegis. His sword and shield, his camouflage and beacon. Not that he'll admit the extent of thee feelings, of course not. He's got a facade to maintain, or 100.

When you two eventually try out a relationship and find it works well, find you guys have stuck it out together for a year or so and decide to live together, he serves as a domestic cook and tutor. He'll help you as much as he can, when not MIA or finding himself occupied by important-people-duties.

In terms of sleeping in the same bed, it'll take a LONG time to get to that, but say you two are watching a movie and he ends up resting his head on your shoulder, gingerly nuzzling into your neck and then, before either of you know it, he falls asleep.

According to himself, one of the best nights of sleep he's ever gotten. And that begs the thought, was it you specifically? yes it was

He thinks about it, and overtime notices he's less anxious around you, his inner turmoil finds pause in your arms, and soon enough he's wrapped around your abdomen as many nights as he can get - and if you're willing. You've a calm presence, a soothing soul and your touch is a balm to the many wounds he's earned and suffered, both physical and mental - murder takes its toll on everyone. He'll rarely say it, but your calm is one of the things that's kept him relatively normal.

100% snuggle switch, loves being the little spoon on darker nights, where the intrusive memories and haunting thoughts return to drive him insane; loves being the big spoon when he's in a protective or possessive mood. If he's feeling affectionate he'll be your personal koala. "Haah. You're many things, Y/N, but you're not false and I pray - for both our sakes - that we'll remain together, that I can stay together with you. For you...I'm willing to try." OR... "Hello. Goodnight." *snores in Japanese*

Hyugo will sometimes decide to flirt with you. If you're calm enough to not appear fazed, he's gonna be the biggest tease possible, kissing either your neck or cheek when he's off to do whatever. Enjoys seeing your reactions to things he does, it brings him immense joy to have you feeling - and expressing - your contentment.

May or may not mutter itadakimasu before annihilating your cunt. May or may not get extremely horny at the prospect of feeling so at ease in your arms, because while being inside your arms are nice, he can think of a few places that'd also be real nice to fit in.

I'd also like to say I'm betting my amygdala on the fact that Hyugo sounds really melodious when he whines. He loves being touched, also. If he feels safe with you, you holding him or touching him makes him feel heavenly. He loves it, and he definitely grows to loving you as well.

In Crowe's case, you've already been friends ages, but even from the second his gaze landed on you he knew he was gone. Despite your camaraderie starting during the pinnacle of a fight he'd thrown himself into to aid you, feeding his newly innate desire - need - to protect you...he knew he was gone.

He probably hadn't realized the extent of it, but even after that fight ended and especially when you finally accepted his hand in friendship, seeing that stoic and distrustful glare turn into a gaze of a simmering warmth, a soothing calm and acceptance. In short, he found you ethereal.

And it was over the course of this friendship that he recognised how truly trustworthy and reliable you are. You're non-judgmental, you voice your concerns, you remain a force of stability amongst the dramas and chaos that is university. You provide a calm to his boisterous and troubled life. You're got an authenticity about you, another trait that Crowe adores you for.

He's got baggage, he knows it, yet with you he feels unburdened. Free from all the shit that's piling up behind the scenes, the rumours and the scandals and the insanity. You offer him a respite from that. An escape, one he ironically enough wants to be trapped in forever, as long as you allow it.

Crowe enjoys making playful remarks, flirtatious compliments; especially when he's jealous or feeling particularly bold. Typically you either bite and flirt back, or coolly brush it off, giving a snarky "I know." or "I'm honoured you think of me so highly."

Anyway Crowe catches on to his own feelings rather quickly, and is the most logical about acting on them. He aids you with homework, studies alongside you, spends as much time with you as possible. But as the years of uni go by, you both grow more distant due to busy schedules and a general social growth and/or decline on your part.

Crowe became a council member, the class president, gaining leadership roles and popularity as time went on, but at the end of the day; nobody - not even his current friendgroup, as awesome as they are - can compare to how safe and genuinely at peace he was with you. By your side.

Now let me say, for the sake of the argument and these HCs, that one day you both lovedrunkenly confess under the stars and have primal carnal sex and in general are so intuned with one-another spiritually physically emotionally that you guys end up together, like how you were always destined to be.

In terms of dating, Crowe will amp up his flirting, especially if you react to it subtly, or indicate you like it. He respects your boundaries of course, that'll never change. He also gets the #malewife title btw.

When you both end up sleeping in the same bed, it doesn't take too long for that to happen, considering how long you've known each other, and while yes sometimes you two go at it and have more carnal loving heated passionate *coughs*...ah, sorry. Anyway! Despite how invested you both are in each other, on nights where it's quiet, where you're listening to each other's heartbeats and breaths (a DJ can make a backing track just from that tbh), Crowe holds you in his arms and resists the urge to weep. Because he has you, in his arms, in his bed, in his heart and soul; and you have him in your heart, your mind, sometimes even between your thighs.

He's so in love with you it's beyond words, touches or gifts. He feels so safe and loved with you, knowing you'll support and defend him as passionately as he does you...and his heart swells.

Will typically serve as the big spoon, loves holding you in his arms, pressing you to his chest and feeling you softly breathe on his skin. Can be a little spoon sometimes, and whenever you wrap yourself around him, he sleeps a tad more soundly than he would normally with you.

"I love you...God I love you so much it hurts..."

OR

"Darling, you're everything to me...and you always were and will be. Eternally."

[mrabubu]

Please don't be scared of this question but... what kind of bed chem do Leo and Ana have?

COME ON ABUBU WE'RE ADULTS HERE, IT IS NOT REALLY WEIRD TO HAVE WONDERED ABOUT THIS TOPIC ONCE.

C'mon man don't block me T_T

WHEEEEEEZE

Okay, sorry, I thought about that I wanted to finish a little animatic at first, but I realized it's taking too long, and found this sketch.

Also, I mean, yeah? About how people probably thought about this. DON'T LIE THAT YOU DIDN'T /or maybe you indeed never thought about this, then okay/ And, yeah, both Ana and Leo are adults in this au (Ana is 24-25, Leo is 26-27)

Just in case, I'll hid the text, so if you people want to read it, go on. Otherwise you can just skip it. There won't be much of like details details, obviously, but still. If this topic is sensitive to you, please, just skip it.

I won't go into details, but if trying to describe in short, it's both intense and caring. It took some time for Ana to learn how to control herself, because at first her new instincts been taking over to the point she could hurt Leo, and it's not only about the bed, but overall. At the same time, after Ana would learn to control herself, these moments could be their chances to kind of let go a bit, a let out their pent up feelings and emotions without worrying about hurting each other (only furniture), because both being not fully humans meaning they both can handle much more that average people.

It was also kind of meaningful for Ana as well because she was worried a lot about her appearance, being half-Kraang now and all, kind of a monster. I had this idea of the scene where Leo could say "well, we're both kinda monsters, in a way".

And yeah, they're both extremely caring towards each other afterwards.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Visenya | 1

Part 2

He snorts though his jaw tightens, "stupid little girl," he tilts his head and puts his hands in his pockets, "I wanted you before you were any of this."

Daemon Targaryen x Reader x Gwayne Hightower | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, modern au, stripper!reader, power imbalance, age gap, slow burn?, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this pairing was voted on but the plot was inspired by anora cuz damn it got me thinking about fics I've read that are better than that film. i said this was gonna be a mini series (i wanted it to have 3 parts) but it feels so much like a train wreck idk fam, so pls if you like this please leave a comment/reblog cuz 🧍‍♀️ what even is this. Edit: nah this slaps

You were no stranger to attention; you had no choice, as it sought you out with a vengeance. For a while, attention was your enemy, a flame you so badly tried to put out, it left your fingertips charred. Now, attention was your comrade, a match you purposely dropped in the woods, the wildfire that warmed your eternal winter.

Once upon a time, you felt your face burn in shame and embarrassment. Once upon a time, you pretended to be completely distracted by the design of your textbook and the music from your earphones, though it was not really the case. Now, you took up space and stared back to whomever did. Now, you made them uncomfortable by being more than a rumor, a reputation, a name.

And for every self-righteous woman in your college that had shit to say about your night job, for every man-child who made it a point to make cheap porno noises whenever you passed them by, you got yourself a new customer, eager to find out about the name on everyone's lips: Visenya.

"I clocked some guys come in for you, V," Mysaria says as she fixes her lipstick. She can't really; the dressing room lights are so dim and purple. It doesn't matter either, cause the entirety of Mockingbird is poorly lit and none of its patrons care for the quality of makeup when ass and tits begin to jiggle. It does matter to her; Mysaria has perfect lipstick every night.

You pull your jeans down, unashamed to change in front of the other dozen girls in the room, having been both so accustomed to both their company and being half-dressed, "oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she turns to you, "all pretty with suits and ties."

You adjust your cotton underwear, which did you no favors, and slip on your tiny booty shorts. You put on your ulta-glittery, backless micro dress and upon adjusting it on your body, you remember you hadn't shaved your armpits. You check your pits in the mirror and quickly wave yourself off, "it's fine."

Another girl groans, "maybe I should stop shaving too."

You chortle at the sentiment.

"Maybe then the creeps with the big bucks will come to my stall after Visenya over here is done robbing them blind," she chirps, slapping your ass before walking out.

You, as well as the rest, giggle at the thought. You grab your bald cap and begin to fix your hair, calling out to the woman who just left, "I'll send you a creep if you think you can handle one, baby girl!"

You walk towards the mirror, squeezing in beside Mysaria. You continue your conversation, "is he rich?"

The dark haired woman watches you as you expertly put on your silver wig. Pride blossoms in her chest as, once upon a time, it was she who fitted fake hair onto your head as you sobbed over the difficulties of this job. She crosses her arms, tilting he head at you, "very. Sports car, penthouse, granddaddy's money rich."

You fix your lace front and grab the hairspray in your bag, "how you manage to tell all that from how they dress still manages to astound me."

Mysaria smiles as she watches you spray your wig down. You let it dry a bit before wrapping your hairline with your satin band. She watches you put on your makeup. You do it so quickly, it felt haphazard, though it was anything but. She taught you better than to do things like that.

You look at her after you put on your lip gloss. As you smack your lips, you find yourself knitting your brows at her smile, "what? Is it bad?"

Mysaria shakes her head, placing her hands on your shoulders, "no." She affectionately pushes your fake silver hair back, "I'm just so proud of you."

The thought makes you pout.

"I'm so," she clutches your cheeks, "so proud of you," her eyes water, "for persisting. For not taking shit from anyone. For busting your ass off," she takes your chin, "for you."

Your eyes begin to water, "Mysaria."

"You're gonna do what most girls here can't," her breath begins to shake, "I'm both so happy and so sad that you'll be leaving us soon."

You pull her into a tight hug as the rest of the girls in the room coo at your exchange. One of them groans and chucks her mascara on to the table, "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU BITCHES ARE GONNA MAKE ME CRY BEFORE MY SHIFT!"

You and Mysaria chuckle as you break away. Someone offers her a tissue and she grabs it, muttering a soft, "fuck you, V," to you before leaving the room.

You affectionately call out to her, and just then, Littlefinger walks in. Your boss claps his hands before shimmying over, "there she is."

You chuckle as takes you by the hand and spins you around.

"My Visenya, in all her glory" he looks you once over, "armpit hair and all."

You roll your eyes at his remark and pull your hand away mm, "I'm not shaving."

"No!" he shakes his head as he places his hands on his chest, "I would never ask you to do anything you don't want, my queen."

You turn to Mysaria, who promptly rolls her eyes.

"Especially not when you rake in as much money as you do," he grins.

Mysaria rolls her eyes one last time, giving you a final look before walking off. Littlefinger eyes her as she leaves, "go make me some money, baby girl."

"Don't tell me what to do, Petyr."

He chuckles as he turns back to you, "I love it when she calls my name."

You shoot him a look.

"Anyway," he claps his hands, "I have 3 rich assholes in VIP for you and Sandor on standby."

You strap on your thigh garters and heels.

"They're already half drunk and obnoxious, so make sure to make their life a living hell."

You grin, undoing the satin band on your wig, chucking it into your duffel, "with pleasure."

In truth, you don't know why you were so surprised to see the clientele in VIP. You should have known the moment Littlefinger said asshole, he meant your most generous regular: tall, blonde, and trust-fund.

"Konīr issa," a familiar baritone called, making his friends cheer, "Dāria Visenya," he raised a glass, "Tala Zaldrīzoti."

He wasn't an asshole per se, just a cocky rich guy that's very much full of himself and needs an attitude check. It's easier to just call him an asshole though.

You stalk over to the three men, eyes locked on the one with hair as fair as yours. You place your hands on your hips once you're in front of him. The man leans back and spreads his thighs, a stupid open mouthed half-grin on his face.

His friends holler like teenagers when you step your 6-inch heel on his lap. You lean forward, "you gonna translate that for me, honey?"

He gulps and grits his teeth, grin not wavering once.

"Woahhhh, Daemon," his friend yells, "you gonna let this hooker bitch talk to you like that?"

The same man yells again, only this time it's because you kick him back and dig your heel into his, making sure it hurts, "you wanna say that to my face, little boy?"

Daemon's eyes are on your leg. He so badly wants to touch you.

He yelps and tries to push your foot away, but you pull away before he can touch you.

You click your tongue, "someone clearly didn't listen to Sandor's briefing."

"Fuck you, you psycho-"

"And that's strike three," you raise a finger and turn to the door, "Sandor!"

Not a second later, a hulking man walks in, rolling his neck and shoulders back. His eyes are on you, and you merely point your finger to the man beside Daemon. Without a word, Sandor grabs him by the collar and forces him to his feet.

"W- get your fucking hands off me," he swats Sandor's hands off him.

Sandor glares, "you get three warnings from her and one big one from me. Get the fuck out of here."

He brushes his suit jacket off and combs through his hair, "I paid 500 to see this stripper shake her ass."

Sandor's face curls and so does yours. You raise your brows, "you paid for the Visenya Experience and your idiocy has led your experience to be getting thrown out by her Hound."

The man scoffs, "listen, sweet cheeks, I'm not fucking-"

Sandor shuts him up by punching him in the belly. The man lurches forward, not a morsel of fight left in him as he's dragged off. You grin and wave goodbye, "thank you, Sandor."

He nods, "you're welcome, V."

You turn back to Daemon and his remaining friend when the door closes. You cross your arms and walk over to the latter, "did that scare you, kitty?"

The man turns to Daemon but Daemon's eyes are locked on you, watching intently as you rest your knee on his friend's instead of his. He breathes heavily as when you turn to him.

"What's this one called?"

Daemon immediately answers, "Robb."

"Robb," you turn to the said man, reaching for his face. You see him anticipate your touch, which is why you pull away with a lopsided smile. You walk off to the poll in front of you, "I asked you a question, Robb."

Both men watch you as you walk around the poll.

Robb examines the shape of your legs, "...no."

Daemon counts the steps you take, as by now, he knows your routine by heart.

"Good," you stop in your tracks, "what about you, Daemon. You owe me a translation."

Daemon licks his lips. He wonders what punishment you'll have for him if he disobeys, but he'd rather not have you on your bad side today, not when this would be the last time he'd see you. He translates the words he spoke in High Valyrian, "there she is, Queen Visenya. Daughter of Dragons."

You tilt your head, "cute."

Robb gasps when you continue your routine. He'd seen pole dancing before, but what you just did was not something he'd ever seen before. You dip and spin and twirl so effortlessly; you've done this dance so many times you don't break a sweat. Daemon shifts in his seat and tilts his head in anticipation for his favorite move.

You climb up the poll and invert into an Eros position, slowly dropping down to your hands before doing a forward walk over.

Daemon huffs as you flip your hair back. He pulls out a thick fold of cash and looks at you expectantly. You smile and beckon him over.

He immediately drops to his knees and crawls towards you. His hands brush up and down your thigh until it's as warm as his palms, and then he takes his time hooking each bill into one of your thigh garters.

You turn to Robb and tilt your head, "my other thigh is cold, kitty cat."

Robb jumps off his seat and pulls out his wallet, garnering your other garter with all the cash he had at hand.

The two extended their session until Mockingbird's closing time, and when that came around, Sandor had to get involved because neither refused to leave.

Robb is now shirtless and drunk out of his mind; you have to hand him his dress shirt and suit jacket as he's pulled by the arm amidst his begging, "no wait, please— save me a dance tomorrow. You have to let me-"

"She doesn't owe you shit," Sandor grunts, shoving him out the room.

You smile and wave at him.

"B- wai- why does Daemon get to stay?!"

You turn to Daemon, who's lingering beside you. His jaw length hair is tousled, and the first four buttons of his shirt is undone. Though he had about as much to drink as Robb, you could tell from the focus of his lilac eyes, he wasn't drunk at all. You shrug and purse your lips, "yeah... why do you get to stay?"

Daemon eyes your body, "because my queen lets me."

Sandor manages to muscle Robb out, who huffs defeatedly outside VIP. The tall man then turns to you, asking plainly, "in or out, V?"

You smile at Daemon and turn to Sandor, "in. Give me 5."

With that, Sandor nods and closes the door.

Now that it's just you and him, the air is different. Your heart races when Daemon circles behind you and brushes your hair back. You feel your breathing as he leans close, so close that the tip of his nose brushes against the shell if your ear, "lift your hair for me."

You feel your skin prickle at his hot breath. You suck in a deep breath before doing what you're told. The air is completely different.

He brings his arms over and around you, and soon, you feel a brush of a cold metal on your burning skin.

"Happy graduation."

You drop your hair and look down at your décolletage. You brush your hands against the small, shimmering diamonds before turning around, "stalker."

Daemon drinks you in. He imagines what you would look like in a floor length dress under normal lights. He is pleased by how you inspect your reflection in the mirror, "it suits you."

You turn back to him, "how do you know about my graduation?"

"Mmm, a smart girl like you refusing to schedule more dances with me?" he clicks his tongue, "something clearly made you think you're too good for my money now."

You chuckle and cross your arms.

"Between you and me," he pulls out a bill, "the paper you get from me is better than the one you're gonna get from your kindergarten."

You roll your eyes at him but gladly take the money, "some of us don't want to live at the mercy of sleazy men's paper."

He snorts and puts his hands in his pockets, "we're all at the mercy of some sleazy man's paper, doll face."

"At least I don't have to walk around every night feeling like a piece of meat."

He does not reply. There's nothing he can say to that.

You stare at each other for a moment before moving to unclasp your necklace.

"No," he raises a hand, "it's a gift."

"You know I only take cash, Daemon."

"It's worth more than everything I've paid you tonight," he motions, "if you really don't want to keep it, go pawn it or something. Buy yourself a car or pay a few months of rent with it."

Just as you remove the necklace, he steps back and tilts his head at you.

You stare back at him, holding the necklace up.

"It spells out Visenya, you know," he points to each dangling stone, "V-i-s-e-n-y-a."

"Cute."

"I would have spelled it out after your real name, had I known it."

You shrug, "you should probably just go find a real Visenya then."

"Or, I can just make you another one once you tell me your-"

"Daemon-"

"It's your last night. When will I ever get to see you again?"

"Hopefully," you shake your arm for emphasis, "never."

He raises his brows, "please?"

"If you don't take this necklace, I'll never tell you."

"So... you'll keep it if I don't get your name?"

Your brows quirk.

You both stare at each other until the door flies open. Sandor cocks his head to the side, "come on, blondie. Time's up."

You turn to Sandor, but Daemon's eyes remain on you. When you look back at him, his hand is out for a handshake. For a split second, you think of shoving the necklace into his palm, but you decide against it.

His hand is as warm as it always is when you take it. Your breath hitches when he leans it and presses a kiss at the back of your hand. His eyes remain on you until he pulls away, "till we meet again, my queen."

Sandor gives him a twisted look as he walks away, but you, you watch him intently as he walks down the hall. The former scoffs, "fucking jackass."

So, no, you weren't a stranger to attention at all. It was exactly that, your ability to attract attention and manage it under your thumb that you found yourself where you were today, soaking in all the attention in this gala, only to shrug it off your shoulders.

You cared little for the attention offered in this place anyway. It's not like any of it was genuine.

"Sorry I took so long, my love."

You barely manage to turn before you feel a kiss on your lips. Your eyes widen at the lipstick stain left on his face as he pulls away, "Gwayne! I'm wearing red."

Gwayne places a hand in your waist, bringing you close to him, "mmm, yes. I'm not colorblind, my dear."

His pale blue eyes rove over the form of your red of your dress as you rub off the red lipstick on his mouth. You raise a brow, "I take that it went well."

He groans and leans into your neck, "must I talk about work with my wife as well?"

Wife. The word makes you smile, and you do, but you still push him away, "I'm not your wife, Mr. Hightower."

"Mmm," he takes your hand and rubs your knuckles with his thumb, completely focused on the feel of your skin rather than the large marquise-shaped emerald on your ring finger that he proposed to you with, "count your days. You will only be able to tease me with this for so long."

Your laugh is cut short by the feel of his lips on yours. You push him away again, and this time, the mark on his mouth is so big, you are concerned by how your own mouth looks, "Gwayne!"

He chases after your lips, stealing another kiss. When you push him away this time, you break away all together, quickly covering your mouth, knowing red was smeared all over. He does not flinch when you swat his arm, nor when you pull out the handkerchief from his breast pocket as you instruct him to wipe the mess off his face.

He does just that as he watches you run off to the ladies' room with a hand hovering your face. He cannot wait to marry you.

The moment you're in the bathroom, you make a beeline for a tissue dispenser and walk towards the mirror. You were glad he didn't do so much damage that you'd have to use makeup to fix it. You wipe red off the edges of your lips and on your chin, then inspect the rest of your body. After looking yourself once over, you chuck the used tissue into the bin and head out.

You stop in your tracks when you see Alicent and two of her friends at the door. Their conversation runs dry when they see you. You press your lips into a soft smile, rubbing your hands together as you walk past them.

The moment you do, they break into loud laughs, and you pointedly hear Alicent say, "no, I know, it's embarrassing."

You shake your head, telling yourself not to think about her as you go back to Gwayne. The only problem was, he was no longer where you had left him, and you quickly figured he was probably pulled by the collar into another conversation with some rich old man who wanted to absorb him into his company.

You decide to simply wait for him in the same spot, completely turned off by the idea of joining in a conversation with rich old men.

Suddenly, your ears ring at the name you hear. Of course, it wasn't your name, so you ignore it.

But there it is again: Visenya. You swear you even recognize the voice.

"V!"

The call was so loud, you had to look.

Your brows raise and your lips part. The man who had been so eager to run to you now grows laggardly, in disbelief it was actually you.

In truth, you had never seen him in proper light, but there was no mistaking his blonde hair or his violet eyes. He stops a few paces from you and he's unmistakable as he sighs. You take in his suit and the shorter cut of his hair. He takes in your floor length dress.

"You know," he chuckles softly, "I've only ever dreamed of seeing you like this."

You raise your brows and tilt your head, "sorry, do I know you?"

He laughs. Loud. He clutches his belly and steps forward, "her majesty forgets the face of her subjects too quickly."

You chortle and turn away, shaking your head at his ridiculousness.

Unlike you, he does not stifle his laughter. "Konīr issa, Dāria Visenya, Tala Zaldrīzoti."

You hum and cross your arms. You purse your lips, "you gonna translate that for me... old man?"

Oh, he's missed this. He chuckles, "I assure you," he takes another step, "I am just as capable, if not more, in my age now than years ago."

"Capable," you pull your head back, "of what?"

"Everything."

You chuckle dryly, "you haven't changed a bit, haven't you?"

"No, but you-" he reaches a hand out, "-clearly have."

You ignore his hand in lieu of rubbing your chest and pouting at him, "don't worry. It's never too late for some change. I mean," you point, "you managed to get a haircut."

He chuckles, brushing his hair back as he stares at your décolletage, "and you managed to lose my necklace."

"Ha... an odd response."

"Is it, when you bare neck is begging for my diamonds," he raises a finger, "V-i-s-e-n-y-a."

Your forehead curls, "baby's first-time spelling?"

"Baby?" he excitedly chuckles, "if we're talking about babies, I-"

"For gods' sake, Daemon."

You step back as Gwayne comes between you both.

"I turn around for one second, then the next you're here, sticking your nose into my business."

Daemon scowls, "this is literally none of your business, Hightower."

"Oh," he chuckles dryly, "I do beg to differ."

You can see his face begin to turn as red as his hair, "Gwayne-"

"No," Daemon laughs, "you work for him?"

Your lips curl at his words, "no." Gwayne looks between the two of you as you say, "I'm his partner."

"O h !" the blonde gasps exaggeratedly, raising his hands, "pardon me for the semantics."

"No, as in we're going to get married, Daemon," you blurt, showing him the back of your hand.

Daemon's entire expression drops at the sight of your ring.

This put Gwayne all the more on edge. He pulls a pinched expression as he asks you, "time out. You two know each other?"

"Unfortunately," you retort.

Daemon scoffs. He clenches his jaw and raises his brows, "why don't you ask her how we know each other, Gwayne."

You give Daemon a look.

"While you're at it, why don't you ask her about her old pal, Visenya."

"Visenya?" Gwayne repeats, turning to Daemon.

"Yes, Visenya," Daemon sneers at him, though his eyes remain on you, "go on, ask her!"

Your face twists at his expression.

"And what makes you think I wouldn't already know about her?" Gwayne snaps.

Daemon finally looks at Gwayne.

His shoulders are tense, and his face is hard, "or that I would ever be baited by someone as degenerate as you?"

"Alright," you grab Gwayne's arm, "that's enough."

"What do you know about Visenya?" Daemon asks, like a wronged child.

"I know that if you every try to hang this over her head, I will make sure you never be able to work in-"

"I said that's enough, Gwayne," you cut him off, pulling him away from Daemon.

Gwayne's nostrils flare as he turns to you. He clenches and unclenches his jaw as his chest heaves. You shake your head. He speaks out your name.

The sound of it makes Daemon tense and his belly churn.

You clutch Gwayne's cheeks and offer him a reassuring look. Without a word, the two of you walk off, intent on going home. Daemon does nothing, can do nothing but stand there, watching you as he tests the sound of your name in his mouth, over and over again under his breath.

[sir-fenris]

Started with tags, but then it got too long, as always :'D

-

"He was too busy with his hundreds of psychic children"

And lost all of them. Should've stayed with your own kids, mate. You're awful with anyone else's.

But I'm glad he does love his own kids.. it's hard to see Martino loving anything with that attitude of his. Such a bitter man.

"Ohhh so you can be nice but you just choose to be cruel to me. Why"

ouch

That actually made me sad, that's a heartbreaking feeling/thought, cause it IS so fucking unfair and there's nothing to do about it. Delta deserved so much better.

Fuck you Martino, ugh.

Lorelai knowing Martino's daughters is..... very interesting. Feels like two different worlds interacting, idk why. Martino and Lorelai "side to side" (as in, Lorelai and Martino just coexitisting in the same space or talk) feels.... idk. Two worlds apart. Though they're actually very close, considering Paris. And even Delta. And now Martino's daughters.

"(...) totally backfired and delta was the one who ended up getting punished for it, as seems to always be the case. "

Fucking ouch

I like Simon better than Martino, but fuck him for that one, holy shit. Even Paris comforted Delta in his half-assed way. When Martino and Paris defend Delta is when you know you fucked up BAD. Cause this two seem to make his life miserable just for the freaking thrill of it sometimes. Most times. All times.

Delta cried. Cried. And then blamed himself for crying. And then- ugh. I could spend hours talking about that chapter, really, I meant it. Heartbreaking. Every single detail, beginning to end.

A bit of more yapping below.

So yeah. I like Simon. At least more than Martino. But he's not out of hate's way. Delta also suffered without reason because of him >:(

And I really do like Martino. His character is cool to read about, and I'm always, constantly, curious about him. Sometimes even more than I am about Simon. But I still hate him. Cause fuck this asshole. Everytime I re-read a scene of his, I feel like kicking the air.

"There was nothing they could do for the broken ribs. Dr.Martino was clearly reluctant to yield about the painkillers; Simon had to leave the room to calm down." (This chapter) <- LIKE THIS FUCKING PARAGRAPH, FUCK YOU MARTINO. The way this man makes me angry with one single sentence is astounding.

Guess liking and hating him at the same time is what makes me be so curious about him, tbf.

Since Martino is dead, though, I'm very curious about Simon.

"Simon stared at him. Paris briefly misread his expression as scorn; his hand tightened around the blade. But as the light shifted, he knew what he was witnessing. He’d seen grief on the faces of plenty of old men. He let go of the sword. Simon didn’t say a word." (first chapter of Crash out) <- I take this as to say he's miserable. Cause like...... His mind was already on a bad place before.

How could it be not? The person who had his role before pulled the trigger for a reason (honestly, curious about this person too. But that's not new, I'm curious about everything)

And then he learn Martino AND Delta are gone in one swoop. Like? Fuck. And he probably knew more people who died, but I think Martino and Delta must have hit harder. And then he doesn't have a job anymore. And Paris is also gone. And NEZU is on the throne. Like? Fuck #2. Terrible place to be in, really.

Why did I make this a long comment again? Geez. I have to stop writing so much. Sorry :') Thanks for the extra information, I always love extra informations.

-

Delta saying "i love you" and being so much softer in Rubies it's so... 🥺🤏 melts my heart. And then I started to think, how would people that knew Delta before react if they saw him now, being like that?

So... Simon and Martino (if the asshole was still alive), how would they react to seeing Delta now?

And by the way... how is Simon? To him, both Delta and Martino are dead and Paris is gone and... well. How is he holding up?

While Martino might not think Delta is being intentionally deceptive, he would still believe that Delta is misrepresenting himself with any facsimile of softness. That is a fucking serial killer. Martino would think Galatea was being way too lenient with him and that it’s an accident waiting to happen.

But I think on some level he actually would feel guilty. He can recognize how completely starved for affection Delta is and knows that it is largely his fault. He’s being present with clear evidence that Delta is actually capable of kindness and empathy rather than just mindless obedience, which definitely ruins his perception of Delta as a soulless monster who basically deserved everything that happened to him. He feels a small pang of conscience over this, but ultimately buries it because “Delta’s just being manipulative again.”

As for Simon, this will be answered within the story! How do you think he’s doing? :)

[cyellolemon]

His everything

oc: Olive (he/him)

[cuteniaarts]

Behold, my latest and most enamouring new obsession:

Malina, Lady of the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe. As if Red Lotus child OCs weren’t niche enough

[blighted-lights]

I feel like your approach to criticizing a certain fandom was the wrong way of doing it. Don't get me wrong, you are a hundred percent right about the lack of representation for certain characters. But you had to have known that you would've gotten backlash for insinuating that the only reason that content is being made is because people are... misogynistic? The characters are well-written; that's why they get attention. The women are also well-written, you're right! But instead of getting mad at the people who enjoy specific characters, you could contribute to what you want to see in the fandom. Make fanfiction, make art, talk about your favorite ships, talk about your favorite characters, talk about the head-canons you have for them, connect with other fans of those characters, make AUs with them, make the fandom you want to see! But I don't know what you were expecting when you come out and say in the tags "you must be misogynists for liking these characters and you must be awful people for playing around with AUs" even though every fandom on this website does that. That was hostile and was only going to get a hostile response in return especially when you specifically put it in the tags for fans of those characters to see. Because it reads as you insinuating that fans of these characters existing is why you don't get any representation of your favorite characters. Or, alternatively, that everyone only likes certain characters because they're misogynists who hate women characters. People make content of them because they like them and because they want to make content of them.

Want more content of the things you want to see? Pay or support the artists and writers who make that content or start making it yourself. Its not helpful to complain that some characters get more attention than others but then make no attempt to contribute to it in any meaningful way. You cannot just get mad at people for liking characters and expect the fandom to magically decide its going to give you the content you want.

This is a long-winded way of saying you are correct in that the fandom seems to hyper-focus on some characters over others. But the way you approached that discussion was combative, hostile, and unhelpful, and you're not going to motivate a community into making content by being passive-aggressive to the people making the content they want to make. Be the change you want to see in the fandom, or support the artists and writers who make the content you want to see.

Its like... You can't complain your garden isn't growing if you're not watering it and not adding seeds, and instead are blaming everyone else for having plants in their gardens that you don't like.

anon i dont know how to tell you this but if you felt the need to write a five-paragraph essay talking about how i need to be nicer to other people when i am pointing out misogyny in a fandom space then, well... actually, i dont know what to tell you other than the fact that i was trying to be aggressive and im not going to be civil about misogyny. my post wasn't made in the hopes of getting people to make more content of the women in borderlands because that would never in ten fucking million years work. it was not a constructive post. you are assuming i have some sort of goodwill about this and i don't. i wanted to be an asshole because, surprise, i am an asshole. funny how that works.

you are also pulling so much of this out of nowhere and putting so many words in my mouth that i dont even know where to begin with it?? i mean this in the kindest way possible nonnie but. this is a wild response to make when all i said was essentially "wow it sure is weird that the majority of content made for bl is focused on only three men when there's a full cast of amazing women to look at" and then "its also weird that people are making aus to erase the canon abuse and exploitation of a CHILD in order to make jack a good father". but thanks for the essay, nonnie. i guess.

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about one of the loser men I dated directly post-college who, after I showed them Dirty Computer [the emotion picture] by Janelle Monae, said they "prefer rap that has something to say"

[meezer]

just relistened to the tarot reading I got from jared in march 2021... dude. 😭 two of swords and the hanged man stuck with me the most but the other ones too which I had kind of forgotten... it was the perfect reading tbh it was exactly what I needed to hear and it really helped

description of the situation: two of swords reversed

what I could do about it: five of swords reversed

what I COULDN'T do about it: the chariot

the lesson behind it: 3 of pentacles

how it's gonna turn out: the hanged man

I'm getting so emotional now on behalf of my past self. I know I was listening to this at the time and crying.

[basiltonpitch]

god this episode proves what i said in the tags of this post last week. ellie does not actually enjoy being violent she doesn't enjoy killing and when she is faced with having to shoot someone she does not aim to kill. yes she paralyzes him yes he ends up dead anyways but the point is. she panicked. she hesitated. she didn't put a bullet in that man's brain even though she could have. she isn't inherently violent.

[snekdood]

Ppl gotta understand that just bc you do x thing because you're mentally ill, doesnt mean your actions dont have the same effect if you weren't. Like if you've been manipulative to your friends, you cant get mad at them for not sympathizing entirely with you when you go on about how they dont accept you for your mentally ilness. Regardless of your reason, you were still manipualtive, you fucked with peoples trust. Theyre still gonna have trust issues about you even if its bc of whatever mental illness you have.

[arolesbianism]

Oh also further update on my experiences with the new oni dlc. Bionic dupes struggle in early game ceres a bit I think (their poor poor gears)

[starboundsingularities]

good lird they did not make a gimmick blog about a real life murder

#someone fucking DIED but whatever who gives a shit it's funny i guess

7 notes

🥚 eggvidenced Follow

honestly with how suspicious and confusing everything on the dl-6 case was i wouldn't be surprised if it came out that it was that prosecutor guy tbh

🌟 rockliker270 Follow

date posted: june 23, 2010

1,834,853 notes

⚖️ courtofpublicopinions Follow

🌟 rockliker270 Follow

ok hear me out. what abt winston payne though

🧊 just--ice Follow

okay now they're just making lawyers up

#also didn't mvk die or something?

28,932 notes

🔥 triedbyfire Follow

why the fuck are you people still posting about the gavinners as if theyre not copaganda. didn't the guitarist get convicted of murder

🎸 guiltiest-lovers837 Follow

so fucking tired of this "um um didn't daryan get convicted of murder" YEAH AND HE'S LITERALLY NOT IN THE FUCKING BAND ANYMORE. dipshit

🔥 triedbyfire Follow

are you gonna address the copaganda thing or

1,092 notes

🌻 attorneybout Follow

he's so. 😳

📂 trialanderror Follow

why is he defending

📂 trialanderror Follow

OP WHY IS HE DEFENDING???

24,374 notes

🦈 giantlakemonsters Follow

i just wanna hear about another gourdy sighting thats all

🥜 liberdeez Follow

op. i'm so sorry op. gourdy isn't real you have to let her go. they had a whole trial about it.

🔐 wrightorwrong Follow

hi!! so this isn't actually the case as while gourdy was briefly mentioned in a trial, said trial had nothing to do with whether or not gourdy was "real" per se as much as. well. murder, actually. while gourdy WAS found out to be an inflatable steel samurai this was not brought up in the case at all as the veracity of gourdy wasn't really as relevant as the fact that the witness was looking for gourdy rather than at the murder she claimed to have seen. plus this was also a relatively small part of a MUCH larger trial which for those interested not only solved the dl-6 case but ALSO marked the end of prosecutor von karma's ~40 year long record and the court records are really a fascinating read through!!

🦀 mad_libz_87 Follow

net 0 information post

#thanks again lawblr

94,834 notes

🍒 cherriescoola Follow

btw i was at the park the other day and klavier gavin (of gavinners fame) was there and obv there was a huge crowd but this guy was there with him and at some point he (the other guy) waved to the crowd and someone still screamed like it was klavier??? who was that guy ive never seen him before in my life

2,284 notes

🩸 has-dl6-been-solved-yet Follow

December 28, 2016

YES!!!

702,947 notes

🪙 tellerlikeitis Follow

guys help i'm a bank teller and this guy just introduced himself as robin banks what do i do

🔪 violencekilling Follow

you gotta let him rob you that's the law

302,948 notes

👻 ghostesswiththemostest Follow

look if i ever get convicted of murder im just hiring the lawyer with the coolest sounding name

💼 courtofwaw Follow

bestie if you already got convicted it is Too Late

62,193 notes

📋 lawandwhoreder Follow

guys i know it's real fun to think people just can predict whatever but if you look at the earliest reblogs of that post that "guessed" the true killer in the dl-6 case it was actually a post about how they didn't want to go to the store. clearly edited

#stg nobody bothers to factcheck anything anymore

7,293 notes

🐺 lawnewolf Follow

i am NOT homophobic or whatever the fuck you guys are saying now i just think its weird to write fanfiction about realass people?? go touch grass ffs

🌈 lawsbian Follow

the fun police (this guy) putting me in yaoi court but the lawyers (phoenix witrght and miles edgeworth) just keep trying to make out (real court is like this too btw)

🐺 lawnewolf Follow

YOU HAVE SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU.

#look idc what your enemies to lovers fic bullshit says #they're straight. and more importantly REAL PEOPLE. #there's TENSION because they are in COURT and there are LIVES on the LINE. #not because they wanna fuck. god.

12,293 notes

🔮 inhighspirits Follow

why dont they just ask the spirit mediums to ask the victims who killed them this law shit is easy

837,495 notes

💞 lawveyourself Follow

seriously i cant believe they gave this guy a law degree

💞 lawveyourself Follow

what do you mean evidence fraud

503,893 notes

🎧 instrumentalillness Follow

fuck you *unguilties your love*

384,568 notes

🎀 copiicat Follow

perjury isnt illegal btw in fact if youre one of tge witnesses youre legally required to lie on the stand. thats why everyone does it. trust me

[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.”