#the line between mad and genius is so thin

[sabines-wrens]

you know what i have absolutely no notes on the finale. it was a chaotic end to a chaotic season and it’s so fitting. 

no seriously favloni basically predicted all of the predictions and said fuck you in such a way i have to respect it. thought din would be tortured? nah. spent ages hyping up the darksaber just to crush it like a soda can. teased having a spy in their midst but everyone’s actually cool. decided to reveal in the last five minutes that hey his first name is actually djarin. and absolutely no helmetless scenes. not even a hint of one. 

they basically said what would the most insane choice and just floored it. kings of chaos jon favreau and dave filoni. respect. 

[aperrywilliams]

If Anything, I Find it Educative (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Part 1: If Anything I Find It Educative

Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

Part 3: Douchebag Falls Short in This Case

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer is not happy attending the annual FBI Gala this year. Having to socialize with a woman who only wants to seduce him makes it worse. But one not-so-fortunate incident could improve his night somehow.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Awkward Spencer. Morgan is stubborn about Spencer getting 'game.' Spencer spills facts about seafood (oysters), human biting, and cheating. Mention to Spencer's dick (only a phrase). Someone choking on food is described. A toxic relationship and job insecurities are described too. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Okay, people. This is kind of an experiment: I want to know how you think the relationship between Spencer and Reader might evolve (if it evolves at all). Good friends? Romantic relationship rom-com style? An angsty romantic relationship? Friends to lovers? Just lovers? What important things do you imagine could happen to them? (canon or not). What could be the Reader's whole back story?

This is just a one-shot, but I am considering continuing it based on your thoughts and suggestions.

Part 2

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Spencer's POV

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There are few things I hate more than being surrounded by many people at an event. Standing in the middle of a crowded party dressed in formal attire is one of them. 

It is an uncomfortable occasion highlighted by uncomfortable clothes.

And this time, it's Hotch's fault.

Tonight, I should have been at home, wrapped in a cozy blanket and enjoying my new edition of War and Peace. But the annual FBI gala and Hotch's adamant request blew my plans.

"Strauss wants to see the whole team at the venue this year. And we are in a very thin line with her to ignore her wishes."

No one seemed conflicted with the idea of attending this fancy party. Even some of my teammates looked excited about it. While JJ and Garcia chatted animatedly for days about what dress they would choose, Morgan saw it as a chance to get to know the new female agents working at Counterterrorism. Rossi only wanted to know how good the scotch would be this year, and Prentiss took it as an excuse to have free drinks. For his part, Hotch seemed as calm as any day at work.

But me? I wasn't excited at all.

Reluctantly, I purchased a tuxedo for the gala. At first, I thought about renting one since I would hardly use it again. But my germophobic self made me think again, and I decided the expense would at least make me feel less uncomfortable.

Keyword: a little less uncomfortable.

Now, I'm standing at the entrance, scanning the venue, searching for a familiar face. The place is packed with agents from all divisions and their plus ones, so it's hard to find anything at all.

But a familiar voice pulls me from my struggle.

"Boy genius! Over here!"

Penelope is calling my name from a table in the corner. As my gaze lands on her, I can see Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Hotch there too.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, and quickly, I stroll where my teammates are.

"Spence! You made it!" JJ greets me as I pull a chair next to Morgan to sit.

"We thought you weren't coming," Emily added before sipping her drink.

"I understood it was a requirement," I quipped, looking at Hotch. The aforementioned man nodded in agreement.

"It was, indeed. Have I to remind you Strauss is still mad about the whole ordeal with you stepping into a building with no vest and no gun?"

Hotch is right. Strauss made his life hell for a whole week until he notified my suspension.

I wince, remembering the incident in question.

Self-note: don't leave behind the vest and the gun again.

"You look very handsome, boy wonder," Garcia chimes, waving her hand and pointing at me.

I can't help but blush at the compliment. It's not she hasn't done it before, and I know she means well, but-

"Maybe pretty boy gets some game tonight," Morgan claps his hand on my shoulder, grinning.

That's why I don't like that kind of attention. At every chance, someone pips up and tries to play wingman or wingwoman for me. And although I appreciate their efforts, I like to move at my own pace. Even if some say my pace, it's more like a turtle's speed.

Giving him a tight-lip smile, I reach for a glass of water. I don't know how I'll survive this night.

Surprisingly, it is okay for now. I fall into conversation with Garcia and JJ, although it is more like me listening and them talking. Occasionally, I add some to the topic, and they seem receptive.

But Derek looks impatient to stand and march to a group of women talking on the opposite side of the venue, next to the bar. I don't look much into it until I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"You're oddly quiet tonight, pretty boy. What's up?" My sight darts from JJ and Penelope to Derek.

"Nothing?" I offer. My eyebrows creace. Derek snickers.

"I know what you need! Come on, let's enjoy the party and come with me to chat with those beautiful agents at the bar over there," he proposes. I shake my head.

"No. I'm good. You can go if you want. I don't think you need my help."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"Don't get dismissive with me. It'll help you to lose a little. I promise," he insists. And I know I'm losing my battle with him tonight.

"As if I had something interesting to say to them," I mumble, loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Don't say that. Surely, some would like to hear about, I don't know, oysters? And how they became a symbol of glamor or whatever. Because I'm sure you know that, right?" Derek points, grabbing an oyster from the tray a waiter offers him.

"Actually, oysters were not considered a status symbol until the 11th century, when the Crusades trunked access to seafood in Europe. Some researchers believe that-"

I'm about to explain the whole thing when Morgan cuts me off.

"See? Now, don't waste that knowledge with me, and let's share it with those gorgeous, shall we?"

I'm screwed.

I reluctantly stand to follow Derek. I know he's the best intention even if I won't tell him that. Maybe he's right, and I need to step out of my comfort zone occasionally.

As smoothly as only Morgan can be, he interrupts the conversation between three women by the bar. You would think they would return annoyed looks from the sudden interruption, but they did not. It is everything but that.

"Excuse me, beautiful ladies. Hope you don't mind some company. My friend and I thought it would be an honor to share part of your precious time tonight."

How the fuck can he do that?!

The result shocked me almost more than it impressed me. The three turn to us with flirting smiles flashing to Derek. And me?

That's new. And, of course, I have to blush furiously at that.

"Hey, handsome. Sweet talk, uh?" One of the girls teases Derek while the others giggle.

"I know I can do better, but you make me nervous, sweetheart," Morgan banters as smoothly as the beginning.

And that's it. We have their full attention now. Scratch that; Derek has their full attention now.

He asks for their names, and that's how I know the woman who spoke first is Vivian, and her friends are Julie and Ashley. The three of them work in the Counterterrorism Division.

"And who is your good-looking friend?" Ashley asks, skimming at me.

Why is she looking at me from head to toe?

Derek glances at me, and I understand it's time for me to say something.

"I'm Spencer," I wave.

Short and precise.

"Hi, Spencer. You are cute," Ashley points, and suddenly, my mouth goes dry.

As Emily once said, my IQ slashes to 60 when I'm in front of a beautiful woman. And Ashley is a beautiful woman. Her long, stylish blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin with perfect makeup, gorgeous smile, and a dress that accentuates her body in the right places. It would be stupid to say she is not attractive.

"Why don't we go to the dance floor while Ashley and Spencer get to know each other better, uh?" Derek offers to Julie and Vivian, winking at me.

Oh, Lord. Help me.

I don't think Derek or Ashley would appreciate it if I refused to stay here and run to the nearest exit. So I give Ashley a tight smile and prepare myself for whatever comes now.

"Well...?" she prompts, and I don't know what the fuck she expects me to say.

"Yeah. Nice party," I offer, hoping my attempt to small talk works.

Ashley's smile suggests it does.

"It is. Are you having fun?"

No.

"Yes! A lot! Are you?"

"Yeah. But I think it turns out better now," she says, subtly closing some distance between us with a playful look directed at me.

Is she flirting with me?

I clear my throat to appease some of my nerves. I need to cool off. If Derek can do this, I should try.

A waitress approaches us and offers some drinks. Ashley picks a glass of wine, and I prefer a flute of champagne. I don't usually drink alcohol, but I need it now.

"Slow down, boy. People would think I make you nervous," Ashley points seductively when she notices how I quickly down the liquid.

My eyes widen when she rests a hand on my chest and leans to whisper in my ear.

"I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Okay. That sounds very straightforward.

I should feel flattered. An attractive woman is more than insinuating me right now; I barely said anything. But it doesn't feel like that.

Derek surely would tell me, 'Take it and play it, pretty boy,' but I don't feel like it. If we could engage in a kind of conversation, I would feel more comfortable. Don't get me wrong. I know what a potential one-night stand means, but I'm not good at it. That's how I am. Sue me.

I want to turn her down gently, so I do what I know to do, and people usually hate me for it: spit information.

"Compared with other mammals, like dogs and bears, humans don't have the strongest bite. Scientists measure the pressure exerted by an animal's bite in pounds per square inch or psi. The human bite force is 162 psi. The bite force of some dogs can reach 250 psi, while some bears have a bite force of over 1,000 psi. It's interesting, actually-"

Ashley is now looking at me, confused. She retreats his hand from my chest and hums, faking interest in what I'm saying.

As I go on with my info dump, I notice how Ashley changes her empty glass of wine to a filled one when a server offers it.

Aside from 'interesting,' 'oh,' and 'uhm,' she doesn't add more to the conversation - or more likely, my rambling - and by now, you would think she's tired of me. But no. For God knows what reason, she is persistent. I give her that.

Typically, I can ramble on and on, which is not the exception. The waiters and waitresses keep coming with drinks and food, and even I pick some for myself.

When they offer us a tray with oysters, I can't help but recall what Morgan told me before.

As I see Ashley ushering one to her mouth, I deliver an exciting fact about it.

"Did you know that raw oysters are still alive? Indeed, some people argue oysters might feel pain, and others say that because they don't have a central nervous system, they don't feel pain like other seafood species might."

Not looking at her, I focus on my oyster, inspecting it before continuing.

"If it's that so, the question is when they die actually. This is likely to happen when they are shucked rather than when they are chewed or swallowed. Scientists think this because an oyster's heart is right next to the bottom adductor muscle, so separating it from the shell kills it."

I should have known the lack of response wasn't due to the interest in the topic, although speaking was impossible for her. Her face's blueness and her hand on her neck now tell me something is wrong.

Fuck. She is choking.

I don't know what to do. She is choking on an oyster, and I'm paralyzed. The people around us start to scream as they see her turning blue. That picks everyone's attention, and I want to dig a hole to get into right now. But first, I should do something to help her. Before I can reach for her, a pair of arms hugs Ashley from behind and applies the Heimlich Maneuver. After a few thrusts into the abdominal area, we see the oyster fly from her mouth to somewhere on the floor.

At the same time, Vivian, Julie, and Derek rush to us to find out what is going on.

Ashley starts coughing, and some of her natural color returns to her face. The arms around her torso loosen, and that's when I notice the woman who just saved her life from choking.

Everything happens so fast that I barely register the slap across my face—Ashley's courtesy.

A collective 'Uhhh' is heard around us.

Before I can say anything, Ashley starts a rant full of anger and frustration toward me.

"Are you fucking crazy? Why would you say something like that? It's disgusting!"

Ironically, I'm speechless now.

What is wrong with talking about oysters?

"You fucking weird!" Ashley continues with her rant. It's like she has been holding it since we were left alone.

The woman who helped Ashley now looks between me and her with her eyebrow creased.

"Hey. You should take it easy. You're just recovering from-" 

She can't finish the sentence since Ashley turned to lash out at her.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I almost died because of this pathetic nerd here who can't stop rambling about alive oysters! Just thinking about it makes me sick again!"

"Could it be a hint for not eating them anymore?" I muse, gaining a chuckle from the woman - let's call her the savior - and a deadly glare from Ashley. I recoil from saying anything else, and it is the wiser.

"I should have known better than to engage my time with you. Even if you actually pack a big dick, it doesn't worth it!" she whisper-yell at me, but loud enough for Derek, Vivian, Julie, and the mystery-savior woman to hear.

I'm utterly confused and embarrassed. What have to do my dick with all of this? 

Derek is now dispersing the crowd around us as Vivian and Julie try to soothe her friend's anger, rubbing her back and arm.

I bet they see Ashley's wrath boiling and the high probability of her launching towards me to punch me. Their efforts to subdue her seem to work because, after a loud huff, Ashley only grabs her coat from Vivian's hand and spits at me: "Thanks for ruining my night!"

The three pass by my side to one of the exits venue.

I don't even know how I should feel.

I feel upset because my escape plan didn't go as planned. I feel relieved because Ashley didn't die. Hurt? Yeah, that, too. I didn't deserve a slap on my face. She calling me a pathetic nerd? Sadly, I'm not surprised. And it only confirms my theory I'm not good at this kind of setting.

With the show over and people not focused on me anymore, Derek approaches. I know what he wants to say, but I don't want to hear it. I'm done for tonight.

"Don't say it," I cut him off.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," he tells me with a sympathetic look, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Sure you not," I grumble. "And what was about that comment about my… dick?" I whisper to him.

Derek's face tries to remain neutral, but I know him better.

"What did you do?" I demand to Morgan, and he sighs.

"I may or may not have suggested a rumor about your attributes."

I look at him in disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up! You did not!"

"Come on, pretty boy. It worked! You caught their attention, didn't you?"

I shake my head, trying not to snap at him in public. Morgan can see the distress I'm carrying right now and relents.

"I'm sorry, Reid. I thought it would be a good chance for you to show yourself around. You're a good kid; you deserve to have a good time."

It's useless to engage in this argument again. I understand his good intentions, but like this? No, thanks.

"I better get going," I mumble, walking backward. I'm done for the night.

"Reid..." Morgan starts, but the shake of my head cuts him off. He sighs as I turn to head to one of the exits.

Walking through one of the venue's doors, I find myself on a lateral terrace. I stop for a moment to look around. 

If there were different circumstances, I would be enjoying this view. To the front, you can see a beautiful and thick green shrubbery. Several fountains with little waterfalls and statues recreate a neoclassical garden. It is no coincidence since the property where the venue is located is a typical Jefferson's Neo-Palladian construction with high ceilings and large columns.

My architectural appreciation stops when my eyes land on a woman with her back leaning against one of the columns, her left hand resting on the concrete railing, and her right hand with a glass of wine. Her face is turned to the side, and she is observing the beautiful garden in front of her.

I know her. I've seen her before.

Although it is dark outside, the light from the venue's long windows illuminates the terrace enough.

My brain comes up with the answer in a fraction of a second.

Is the woman who saved Ashley from choking. 

After what she did, nobody even thanked her. The worst part is knowing Ashley behaved that poorly with her. It's not fair. And it's my fault.

With that in mind, I approach her.

She seems too concentrated to register I'm just a foot of distance from her. I clear my throat to call her attention.

She turns her head with a confused look at first. But she offered me a kind smile when she realized who I was.

It's my first chance to look at her; with everything happening so fast, I barely noticed her trying to talk back to Ashley moments ago. 

And now that I'm in front of her, I feel weirdly struck.

Besides her beautiful smile, her eyes hold a piercing gaze, but not the kind that frightens you. It's more like she actually sees you and gives you her undivided attention. With light makeup, her face lets you see some of her freckles. With her hair tied to one side, you can see her neck adorned with a simple gold chain with a compass-shaped pendant.

My not-so-subtle scrutiny is interrupted by her voice.

"Can I help you?" She asks, and my cheeks turn pink. But I'm here for a reason, so I clear my throat before speaking.

"Sorry. I - uh. I'm sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to thank you. For what you did back there," I say, pointing to the inside. "And, well, I want to apologize too. Ashley wasn't very kind to you, considering you mostly saved her life."

She tilts her head slightly, a frown forming, while contemplating what to say.

"Well," she starts. "I'll take the thanks. But I can't take the apologies."

Now, it's my turn to frown.

"Oh, okay. Uh - Why not?"

Not that she should do it. It's her right to do it or not, but I'm curious.

"Because you didn't do anything wrong to me, so you don't have to," she shrugs, like it's obvious.

"I kind of did. I mean, Ashley behaved awful, and I didn't -"

Before I can continue, she shakes her head to stop me.

"No. Don't do that. Why on earth do you want to apologize for someone else's bad manners, considering she treated you like garbage?"

She doesn't say it as if she is upset at me, more likely as if she doesn't understand why I would do that. And yes, she has a good point. But someone has to do the right thing, and that's what I say next.

"It's just the right thing to do."

She takes her time, mulling over my words and whether she believes me or not.

"Okay. You're correct. It's the right to do. And it's a shame most people don't do it. But I still believe it is not your responsibility here."

Something is telling me her statement concerns more than Ashley being impolite. But it is not my place to point that.

"But some people do. And that must count as something, I guess. "

It's curious how her look changes from pensive to more light-hearted.

"Okay. You win this time..." she trails off, not knowing how to refer to me.

"Spencer," I supply. She hums.

"You win this time, Spencer. And being that said, I accept your apology too," she added, sipping the remaining wine from her glass.

I smile, nodding appreciatively. It's a little gesture, but I feel better after what happened.

Silence settles between us, and I take that as my cue to leave. I had already taken enough of her time.

"Uh, well. Thank you again..."

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name.

"(Y/N)," she says.

"Thank you again, (Y/N). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night."

With that said, I should get on foot to leave the venue, as I had planned to do ten minutes ago, but for some reason, my feet didn't want to move, and I kept standing there. (Y/N) look at me as if I'm going to say something else due to the lack of movement on my part.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and now I have the same question for myself.

"Yeah. Yeah. Totally okay. Sorry, I'm leaving now."

Turning in my heels, I'm about to walk away when I hear (Y/N) 's voice.

"I didn't know that, you know? And, for the record, I didn't think it was disgusting."

I stop in my tracks to look at her with a raised eyebrow. When I catch what she is referring to, my eyes cast to the floor, and my cheeks turn pink again.

"If anything, I found it educative," she adds. I try to decipher if there is some teasing in her words, but I find none. She's being oddly genuine. Oddly, because I'm not used to people saying that when referring to the things I tend to ramble about.

"Thank you," I sheepishly say, my hands finding home in my pant pockets. "People don't tell me that very often."

A puff leaves (Y/N) 's lips before she says, "Ungrateful fuckers." 

I chuckle at her choice of words.

Weird. It's the first time all night that I don't want to run away from here.

"Yeah. Something like that," I agree, and she smiles. Now I'm comfortable enough to make some conversation.

"Uh, are you from Quantico?"

"Yeah. A very adrenalinal position," she prompts, and I raise an eyebrow. "Finance Division."

I can't help but snort, and she laughs. "I told you. What about you?"

"Behavioral Unit Analysis," I reply. (Y/N)' s eyes wide in recognition.

"Wow. The one and only BAU."

"You know us?"

"Sure. I wouldn't forget a unit that has its own jet. I'm the one who enters the travel expenses from all Quantico," she explains. I hum, trying to figure out the amplitude of that sole task. "Like I told you, very exciting."

She is mocking herself regarding her job. But I find it impressive for a desk job. Not all people have the skills to run financials.

"Well, I agree it is not very adrenaline but very important. I mean, we have to travel around the country all the time. Our job depends on traveling."

(Y/N) has now an amused expression on her face.

"It's nice to know someone truly values what you do. Not even our boss does it," she points before letting a deep sigh escape from her lips. "Gosh, I'm being very judgmental right now. You're going to think I spend my life complaining about everything. I do sometimes, but I'm not always like this," she explains. I shake my head.

"I'm not judging you. Everyone has the right to say what things don't like or would change about their jobs."

"Well, thanks. Although I'm sure you guys have more reasons to be concerned. You risk your life on the field every time. That's huge."

She rests the empty glass on the concrete rail, adjusting her coat around her body. The air is chiller at this time of the night.

"You know? People say that a lot. And I agree. It's a dangerous job, but it's not better than anyone's for that reason, or whatever another reason for that matter.

Her eyes are analyzing me with curiosity. I'm not sure, but it's like she's having difficulty believing what I'm saying.

"Can I ask you something, Spencer?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here tonight?"

My eyes narrow at her question. Isn't the reason obvious?

"What do you mean? It's the FBI annual gala," I point out, knowing she already knows that too. She nods.

"Precisely," she starts. "And at the risk of being impertinent, I can say this environment makes you uncomfortable. When you were with that girl talking - scratch that, when you were talking, and she looked at you, trying to devour you with her eyes - you seemed like you didn't want to be there. Above all, knowing this kind of event is basically to show off to other bureau agents, I don't think is your notion of an ideal night."

If I wasn't impressed when we started talking - which I was - I am now. 

She assumes my awe as discomfort.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to overstep."

"No, no. You are okay. And let me tell you, your observation is completely accurate," I hasten to clarify.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) asks, and I nod earnestly.

"Yeah. Have you not considered applying for a position as a field agent?"

An amused laugh leaves her lips.

"No way! I would be a total disaster! And carrying a gun is not my idea of a dream job anymore," she points out, still laughing. 

I chuckle, but her answer makes me think. Before I can ask for clarification, she calls me out.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question."

I didn't, although the answer is simple.

"My boss made me."

(Y/N) scoff in disbelief.

"What? Did he put a gun against your chest?"

Well, thinking better about it, maybe the answer is not that simple.

"Not quite, but you can say I felt it that way."

I tell (Y/N) how my team always worries about my lack of social interaction, which isn't that accurate if you ask me. However, some of the pressure of doing things that people my age would generally do is finally getting me and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

She listens to me with undivided attention and seems to understand what I'm talking about.

"Peer pressure, uh? I can relate to that to some extent," she agrees.

"That's why are you here tonight, too?"

My question makes her let out a deep sigh as her eyes focus on the garden beside us for a second.

"Not really. Who knows, maybe I do enjoy being here?"

(Y/N) phrases it more like a question than a statement. And I can tell she doesn't believe it either.

"Enjoying being apart from the crowd, in a lateral terrace barely illuminated and exposed to the chilly night air? I can think of several other places to do the same thing without the trouble of a gala environment."

Her cheeks turn a shade of pink, which tells me I'm right.

"Not fair, you are a certified profiler," (Y/N) complains, faking annoyance.

"And you haven't answered my question either," I remind her. She rolls her eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, let's say I came here to prove myself something. Spoiler alert: I failed. That's why I have been mostly spending the night here."

I hum, knowing she is vague in explaining, but I'm not in a place to pry.

"Look, I would tell you more about it, but I'm sure you have to return inside. Your teammates are surely wondering where you are."

I can't help but snort, and she raises an eyebrow at my reaction.

"I'm sorry, but your assumption is far from reality. Considering what happened inside, they think I ran home. What I was actually doing before spotting you here," I admit.

"Ha! So it's true I'm holding you back but for a different motive," she triumphantly concludes.

"I didn't say that!" I complain with a hint of exasperation, to which she breathly laughs.

"I know. I know. I'm messing with you. Honestly? There are two reasons why I'm avoiding this topic right now. First, I don't think you want to hear the mess my life is these days, and second, I would kill for a coffee and a sandwich-" she pauses, stifling a chuckle before continuing. "Considering oysters are out of the table."

"Oh, come on!" I groan, seeing how she falls into a fit of laughter, so contagious that I can't help but join her.

"Sorry, sorry. Not very kind of me, I know. But I couldn't help it," she apologizes, still giggling. I bit my lower lip in amusement.

"Alright. It's okay. It's frankly funny," I admit, my words leaving my mouth before I can think of them. "Well, I could tell you more of those moments in my life - many of them - if you let me join you with the coffee and sandwich. I know a good place that is open at this hour. And you can tell me what kind of thing you wanted to prove yourself tonight."

Spencer Reid. Is that you? 

I'm surprised by my sudden confidence, and it seems (Y/N) is, too. She hums, scrubbing her fingers under her chin while contemplating my offer.

"Okay, I'll take it. But don't tell me later that I didn't warn you about the mess of my life," she points her index finger at me.

"I won't. I promise."

-

Grabbing a cab is relatively easy since the FBI considered transportation outside the venue for people who won't be driving.

The fifteen-minute ride allows us to have a light conversation. That's how I know (Y/N) has been in the bureau for almost four years. Being an Accountant by profession and with a Master of Science in Finance from Georgetown, she was recruited for the FBI precisely considering her outstanding skills in the financial department.

She asks me about my trajectory in the FBI as well. I tell her about Gideon and the start of my life at the BAU.

Arriving at our destination, I insist on paying for the ride despite her resistance. I assured her that she could invite me to the coffee.

It must be a curious image for the patrons to see two fully gala-dressed people stepping inside a diner at eleven pm.

We sit on a bench facing each other.

A girl who can't hide her curious expression comes to take our order. As promised, (Y/N) asks for two coffees and two sandwiches.

"So, Agent Gideon recruited you for the FBI. Why did you accept? I would have thought you would be more comfortable in academics," (Y/N) asks, stirring a spoon of sugar in her coffee.

"I thought the same at the time. But Gideon saw something I didn't. He knew I wouldn't settle with learning and teaching for the rest of my life, and I needed it to be useful beyond that environment."

I explain how profiling has helped us to catch unsubs around the country and how worthy it is for me. I can't think of myself doing anything else. (Y/N) listen to me with raptor interest; it is nice to be heard that way.

"You know? I haven't heard someone speak passionately about their work in a long time. It's good you feel that way," she says with a hint of longing that doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"It is bold of me to assume you don't like what you do?"

Maybe I'm overstepping, but I'm curious. And (Y/N) doesn't seem bothered by my question. Shifting in her seat, she leans, resting her elbows on the table.

"Not bold at all, mister profiler," she teases. "But not always has been that way. I would say I started to feel uncomfortable not long ago. A couple of months, perhaps?"

I hum, thinking about what could have made her feel that way.

"It has to do with why you were at the gala tonight?"

She chuckles, nodding.

"Kind of. Remember I told you I wanted to prove myself something? Well, it has to do with what has been bothering me," she prefaces.

(Y/N) relates how things have gone well since she got into the FBI. She felt respected, wanting to do many things and learn everything she could. 

That's how she met her boyfriend.

"I wasn't looking for a romantic relationship, much less at work. I wanted to be professional, separating my private life from my job. But he was so attentive and supportive. He always told me he was happy I felt fulfilled with what I was doing. He was so perfect I thought I had found my soulmate."

I don't know exactly where she is going, but sure as hell, that prick wasn't her soulmate.

"What happened?"

"One day, I wasn't good enough for him anymore. After two years of relationship, he started with harsh comments and criticism about everything I did and didn't do."

A humorless chuckle escapes her lips.

"I should have noticed. By then, he was promoted from desk duty and junior trainee to field agent. He had always wanted it, and I felt so happy for him. But that changed everything."

(Y/N) tells me about how her boyfriend stopped listening to her, and instead, every topic of conversation turned to his job, implying - sometimes saying it explicitly - that it was more important than hers.

"It's not only the fact we stopped communicating; it was realizing how low he thought about me and my accomplishments. At first, I tried to understand. Of course, he was dazed by this new life, full of danger and adrenaline. I could understand it. But when he started comparing me to his female colleagues and the things they were doing, way more important than the ones I was doing, it made me insecure."

(Y/N) takes time to collect her thoughts, sipping the remaining coffee from the cup.

"The insecurities got the best of me. At some point, I just wanted to run away and leave it all behind. I knew it was irrational, but I believed him. I even thought about changing my career and training to be a field agent. Good thing we broke up before I could do that," she admits.

"What stopped you? I mean, like you're telling this, you were going to change for him," I ask. She cast her gaze, averting mine. Her cheeks turn pink.

"I don't like to admit it, but the reason we broke up wasn't because I realized how stupid the situation was. We broke up because he cheated on me. I discovered it two months ago, breaking the camel's back."

Fuck. That prick was not meant to be her soulmate. And I feel the urge to have one or two words with him right now.

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I manage to say. (Y/N) shakes her head.

"Nah. If anything, I'm glad it happened. Even if it broke my heart."

"He was at the gala, right?" (Y/N) nods.

"With the coworker that he chose to cheat on me. His current girlfriend."

Everything makes perfect sense now. (Y/N) was trying to prove to herself that the wound had healed. And from what she said earlier, it didn't turn that way.

She bitterly chuckles.

"Yeah. It's pathetic, I know."

Spencer, do something.

"No! It's not. Unfortunately, cheating is not uncommon, particularly in men. In 2020, IFS released a report stating that 20% of men have admitted to cheating, and only 10% have. In 2021, the Health Testing Centers asked 441 people who admitted infidelity to their partners and asked how long it took for them to tell their partners about it. 47.7% of the respondents told their partner within a week that they'd cheated. 26.6% of those have waited for a month, and 25.7% took six months or longer to tell their partner about the infidelity. And 60% of them said the affair started in a work environment."

And then again, the rambling. But instead of giving me a blank look, (Y/N) seems to consider what I just said.

"Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about it then. Anyway, it hasn't been easy to get out of this. I thought going to the gala and forcing myself to see them together would be enough to get a closure," she reflects.

"But it still hurts," I supply, making (Y/N) hum.

"Yeah. I'm not ready, and it sucks. Not for him, but for me. I hate feeling so out of place, so dissatisfied with everything," (Y/N) retorts, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

Her eyes look sad, and I want to do something to fix it, although I know that nothing I can say would be enough. Maybe joking will at least get her off the topic.

"And there I was talking about oysters all night," I sigh, feigning disapproval. Genuine laughter escapes her lips.

I didn't know that making her laugh could fill my heart so much with satisfaction.

"That's life," she adds, now checking the time on her cell phone. "I think I'll get going," she announces, collecting her things and preparing to stand.

"Can I walk you home? It's very late already," I ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about me. My building is not far from here."

I know she doesn't want to cause trouble, but it makes me uneasy about what could happen to her walking alone at this hour.

Thank you, BAU.

"Please?" I insist. (Y/N) raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you already fed up with me?" she asks curiously.

"Non yet," I grin.

Not having the energy to put up a fight, she accepts my offer, and after paying the bill, we leave the restaurant.

The night is colder now, and both of us walk in silence with our hands in our pockets.

I can't know what exactly she's thinking, but at least I can't stop thinking about tonight. For someone like me, it's hard to fall into spontaneity, but with (Y/N), it wasn't a problem. That amazes me, and I like it at the same time.

When she stops walking, I get out of my thoughts.

"Here," she says, looking at the building we are standing by. "Thank you for walking with me," (Y/N) states, smiling. It's the same warm smile she offered when I found her on the venue's terrace a couple of hours ago.

"Of course. It's the less I could do."

And I mean it. She saved my night in so many ways she doesn't even know.

"Well, I need to say it was a pleasure to share this shit of a night with you and turned it less shitty," she says, grinning and satisfied with her remark.

I laugh at her statement. I couldn't have said it better.

"Thank you. It's the best compliment I have had in a long time," I joke, making (Y/N) giggle.

"You are welcome."

I have the question on the tip of my tongue. I would love to see her again, but what if she doesn't think it's worth it? I opt for the vaguest thing that comes to mind.

"See you around?"

(Y/N) thinks about it for a moment. Am I being too obvious? Before falling into a spiral, she smiles at me again.

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

I can't help but feel the excitement pouring from me.

"Great! Well, I - I'll go now. Good night (Y/N)," I say goodbye, slowly walking backward.

"Good night, Spencer," she retorts before entering the building.

I watch her disappear behind the door, and I think that while neither of us got what we wanted, maybe we got what we needed.

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

Next -> Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

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A/N 2: I'm excited to know your thoughts about this!

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity

[system-to-the-madness]

My Cards - Spencer Reid x Reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort Word Count: 2 916 Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence (abduction, murder), mentions of drug use in the past Summary: At the day that Spencer is clean for eleven years, he decides it’s time to show you his cards. A/N: I've got a few asorted fics that I've writen ages ago, and will publish one after another (might sprinkle some anime and soc in between). Sorry for that already. If you want to block a certain fandom: the tag to blog is #mad (fandom shortcut) for criminal minds, that would be #mad cm

13 years. That’s how long Spencer Reid was your colleague already. Actually – he would correct you – it had been 13 years, 1 month, 2 weeks, 5 days, 14 hours, 7 minutes and approximately 26 seconds.

You were not sure for how long he had been your best friend. Probably 12 years. Spencer would not have been able to answer that question if you had asked him. After all this time he still sometimes struggled in accepting that there was someone he could call whenever, literally whenever he needed someone.

You had been with him through thick and thin, had been there for him after he had been abducted by Hankel, had comforted him, when he had cried for Hotch and Jack after Hayley had been murdered, had talked until the early hours of the morning after Emily had supposedly died. You had never been further than a phone call away, had never complained when he called you in the late hours of the night because he had had another nightmare, had cooked him tea or watched trashy soap operas with him when he had felt down.

He wondered if he had ever paid you back enough. Whether the few times you had called him after a nightmare or a traumatic event or a bad case would ever be enough to make up for what you had given him. With you around, his flat felt like a home, with you on the other end of the sofa he did not worry about the shadows lingering in the corners of the room.

He felt like a pervert for the many times he had asked you to share a bad with him, so he could fall asleep more easily. Every time, without fail you had climbed under the covers with him, maybe even wrapped your arms around him and stroked his back, lulling him to sleep. He hated himself for all the times he had reached out a hand while you were sleeping, to feel if you were really there, if your skin was warm, your chest lifting and lowering with even breaths.

People often liked calling him a genius, but it had taken him many years to figure out that somewhere along the line he had fallen in love with you after you had prevented his complete self-destruction over Maeve‘s death. He felt guilty for it, for having fallen in love with you while you had helped him grieve another woman he had loved, and somewhere in his heart still did. One night you had told him, that he would always carry the people he had once loved in his heart. He had asked how it would ever be possible for someone to accept him if a part of him still loved someone else. You had shrugged at that and answered, that this person would have to understand that we are made off who and what we love, that this way Maeve had become a part of him, which this person would love too, if they loved him. He had nodded at that, and wondered if you could ever love him.

When he had first realised his feelings for you, he had thought his heart wanted to numb itself by making up emotions for you to forget about Maeve, but after years he felt just as strongly about you as he had back then, and he came to the conclusion that maybe he had always loved you, deep in his heart.

12 years. That’s how long you had been friends with Spencer. And yet you had the distinct feeling, that tonight was different, that tonight was not his usual call for comfort. He had been nervous, when he had asked you if you wanted to come back to his place after work, and he had never been nervous around you before.

Now you stood in his living room, your shoes kicked off next to the door, just like his, your jacket on the coatrack, half covered by his. Usually you had no trouble to make yourself at home, but Spencer’s behaviour, his nervousness, made you feel like this was the very first time you had stepped into his flat, so you stood in the living room, fiddling with your fingers, while Spencer was searching for something in his bedroom.

When he emerged back into the living room, he tossed you something, which you barely caught. Confused you turned a coin in your hands, the dim light not allowing you to read the lettering immediately, but then you made it out.

“10 years?”

You held up the coin to take an even closer look, but other than that, and a small symbol, you could not find anything else edged into it.

“Is that a sobriety coin,” you asked, handing it back to Spencer, who took the coin back and let it wander through his fingers.

“It is,” he nodded, letting the coin disappear into seemingly thin air, presenting his empty palms to you before he sat down on the sofa.

You tried thinking back to ten years ago, and what had happened back then. Somewhat over eleven years ago Hankle had kidnapped him-

Spencer seemed to have interpreted your focused expression correctly, because without further prompting he explained.

“Dilaudid. Hankel injected me with it repeatedly. I- I developed an addiction.”

For a long while you looked at him as he was fiddling around with the coin again. You had always suspected that there had been a phase soon after the Hankle incident in which something had been off. You had basically lived at his place for half a year, since he had called you every night, asking you to come over. You had never hesitated to do so, your desire to comfort your friend also driven by the worry he might do something stupid. Like give in to an addiction. You should have confronted him about it, should have asked. Actually, you had thought about it, countless times, but always come to the conclusion, that he would only deny everything and shut himself off. You had let him suffer on his own, he had never, until today, felt comfortable enough to tell you about it. Maybe you could have helped him. Maybe-

“Actually, it’s eleven years today,” he suddenly said, and lifted his head to look at you. The coin was, once again, gone. “I just… I wanted to spend today with you, instead of going to a meeting.”

“I-”

The voice died in your throat at Spencer’s soft, lopsided smile, the smile he always gave you when he knew exactly what you were thinking, but also knew it was wrong.

“You think you should have said something back then, don’t you?”

You nodded quietly and watched him lean back into the cushions.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you’re the person, who actually helped me to get clean?”

He chuckled at your furrowed brows and patted the space next to him on the sofa, but you remained standing, rooted in spot. You had no right to sit next to him, to be here in his apartment, to be anywhere near the man you had let down knowingly.

“You left a flyer here once, for the community centre,” Spencer explained.

You remembered the flyer. You had spent hours upon hours looking up drug addiction in law enforcement until you had come across a newly funded self-help group in a new community centre not too far away from his flat. After work you had driven by there and picked up a flyer, which a couple of days later you had put onto Spencer’s table, telling him you were interested in one of the pottery classes, and if he wanted to go with you. The advertisement for the pottery class had been right underneath that for the self-help group and been your boldest attempt at ever confronting him.

“Without that flyer, I never would have had the courage to get help,” Spencer confessed. “Other than you, of course.”

“What did I do,” your voice almost was not loud enough for him to hear, drowned by tears that now also blurred your vision. “I just left you alone, I-”

“You always came when you called,” he explained, “I wanted you over as much as possible so I wouldn’t have time for the next fix. I- well I practically used your compassion to get clean.”

“Why did you never tell me?”

Spencer’s smile slowly died, and he pressed his lips together, a clear sign that he knew the answer but felt uncomfortable sharing it.

After a moment of deafening silence, he answered. “I was scared you’d be disappointed in me.”

“Disappointed? Spencer I could never-”

“It was easier to believe that than to accept the truth, that there really might be a person who would care for me either way, no matter how much I fucked up,” he confessed. “It’s still- I still struggle to accept sometimes that you are always here for me. Like… nobody ever really cared about me, other than my mum, and yet… you’ve been here every time I needed you, for years.”

“Not every time. I should’ve-”

“Every single time. And I just can’t understand why you would do that to yourself.”

“Because you’re my friend, Spencer. And I wanted to help you. Just like you helped me, too, when I needed help.”

“When did I help you?”

“You were the first one to check in on me whenever I had to shoot someone. You always make soup when I’m sick, you come over when I have nightmares, or am just lonely. You take me out to movies when I whine about not having a social life, you read me to sleep, sometimes for hours. Do you even realise how much you helped me all these years? Without you I would’ve quit the BAU a long time ago, but with you I can face the demons.”

Spencer looked at you, really looked at you. The soft orange light of the reading lamp beside the couch made his brown eyes glow like ambers. Neither of you turned away, just blinked occasionally. You wanted to tell him, then and there, that you loved him, that you had loved him for years, but you figured that there were some truths your friendship could not withstand. Maybe Spencer had felt that way about his addiction the whole time too. You wondered if there would ever be a time where you could tell him ‘hey Spencer, actually back then, I was totally in love with you and thought I’d spent the rest of my life with you’, and then you’d laugh about it. You blinked the thought away.

“Why did you tell me now,” you wondered, being the first to break the silence.

“I figured, after eleven years, it’s time to tell someone. So tonight I’m showing you my cards.”

“Cards? Plural?”

“There is one more thing.” Spencer got up from where he had been sitting on the couch, but did not step closer while your thoughts were reeling.

One more thing. Another secret he had never told you. Had he been diagnosed with schizophrenia? No, statistically he was too old for that. Dementia? His mother had it, and sometimes even young people got diagnosed with it. No, probably not, you would have noticed. Was he leaving the BAU? Did he have cancer?

“Whatever world ending scenarios you’re coming up with right now, it’s none of that, I promise you,” he spoke quietly. You hated how well he knew you. Well, not hated, but.. well.

“Is it bad,” you asked, watching how he started fiddling around with his hands again. He suddenly got nervous.

“I don’t know,” he answered, his voice a little higher than before. “It depends, I guess.”

“On what?”

“You.” His answer made your heart sink. “But things will be different, no matter what.”

“I don’t want things to be different,” you shook your head, silent panic rising in your chest. “I like the way things are now.” Quickly you took a few steps across the living room right to him and grabbed one of his hands. “I don’t want things to change!”

“And I don’t want to keep secrets, so please let me be honest.”

For a moment you looked at him, at his beautiful brown eyes, which had brought you comfort for so many years, at his wild, brown curls, at his dress shirt and the loosened tie, and the soft cardigan, and then his eyes again. If you allowed him to speak, you might lose everything you had had with him. He had been your anchor, long before you had developed feelings for him, but now that you had, you wanted to fight, so you did not have to give him up.

But he was his own person. Earlier or later, he would tell you. And he had said whether that secret was bad or not depended on you, so you needed to be ready to accept what he was about to tell you, just like that time your high school crush had confessed to you that he was gay and you had ended up with setting him up with his crush. They were married now. So, whatever it was-

Slowly you nodded, and Spencer’s previously tense features softened slightly. His eyes skipped over your face, making you feel strange self-aware, and his fingers tightened around yours, from where you had taken his hand; a comforting squeeze. Carefully he shuffled closer and bent down. For a moment you thought he might kiss you, but of course he would not do that. Yet he did not lean to your ear either. He just looked at you for a moment, making you hold your breath.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your lips hotly, “That’s my last secret. I’m in love with you and have been for the past three years. What you do with that information is now up to you.”

For a moment you did not move, did not dare moving, just stared at him with your heart hammering in your chest. You were an excellent profiler, had studied human behaviour for soon 20 years, had learnt to recognise what lying looked like. Spencer was not lying. Maybe you were dreaming, but even then-

A flicker of your eyes to his lips was all it took for Spencer to lurch forward and close the remaining distance between your lips. He was not gentle as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in, but rather desperate, desperate to finally feel you as close as he had always dreamt of, desperate to taste your lips and feel your breath. Hoping to find anything to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around him too, slid one hand into his fine locks, the other gripping tightly into his soft cardigan.

Kissing him was nothing like you had imagined it to be, but so much better. He was careful and yet demanding, and he slipped his tongue over your lips and into your mouth, gentle but unrelenting in the way he held you, walked you back to the couch, where he slowly lowered you down, before sitting down next to you, never breaking the kiss. Faintly you felt his heartbeat in his lips and under his skin, hammering hard, testimony of how much he had wanted this. And with each touch of his, your own guilt over the feelings you had developed for him slowly melted away and left nothing but hot, searing love in its path.

Only when you were out of breath, lips red and swollen, cheeks hot, did you pull away, gently shoved against Spencer’s chest, who was still trying to chase your lips. His eyes were wide and glassy as he finally met yours, still completely entranced, and yet confused as to why you had pulled away.

“Enough,” you commanded with shivering voice and a smile on your face, “enough, I need air.”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbled, and you could pinpoint the exact moment he started building up his walls, already searching for an excuse to explain what just had happened.

Not wanting to allow this, you quickly grabbed his face in your hands, and forced him to look at you. His cheeks were hot, and his eyes danced around uncertainly, before finally resting on yours.

“I’m in love with you too,” you whispered, and leant forward to peck his lips, before quickly hiding your face against his neck. You barely saw his look of doubt turn into that of surprise before a smile took over his face.

“Oh,” he repeated, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against his chest. He smelled divine. Like safety, like home.

“Can we just stay like this forever,” you asked, you voice muffled against his skin.

“Actually-” from his tone of voice you could tell he would doubtlessly tell you how long it would either of you approximately take, until one of you needed the bathroom or something to eat, but then he stopped himself. “Yes.”

You chuckled against his neck, causing a shiver to run through him and goosebumps to rise on his arms. Gently you brushed your lips against his skin, not getting enough of how soft it felt. Forever was probably not long enough.

You had been colleagues with Spencer for 13 years, his best friend for 12. But from tonight on you also were his lover.

[crownmemes]

Angry & Irritated Sentences, Vol. 7

(Angry and irritated sentences from various sources. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Have I pissed you off in a way that's more than normal?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had about personal space?"

"Please don't answer a question with a question."

"Stop. Does anything about this face say 'please analyse it'?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have you forgotten how this works between us?"

"My feelings will not be repressed."

"You are making critical assumptions without any facts!"

"I don't want to talk to somebody that doesn't have the balls to own up to who he really is."

"Are you saying that my house is sad?"

"All I did was what no one else had the guts to do!"

"With all due respect, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"What is it you want me to understand? The secrets or the lies?"

"You damn me for my secrets, but you're afraid to speak the truth."

"I sincerely hope you are not suggesting that I have something to do with this."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I took care of it myself. I can do that, you know."

"What are you insinuating?"

"I will thank you not to have this conversation in front of me."

"Being grumpy is really not helping."

"Please, could you not?"

"What the hell are you doing here this late?"

"I simply can't abide rudeness."

"If you let me down, I'll kick your arse from here to kingdom come."

"Just because we talked yesterday morning doesn't make us sweethearts."

"Don't try to be reasonable with me! I am so sick of being reasonable!"

"I have not yet expressed my opinion."

"Use your head; it'll save your ass."

"I don't know how I can forgive you for this."

"You want to see me snap?"

"Are you monitoring my life? Bugging my phones?"

"Maybe you like keeping your distance from people, but I don't."

"I put you in charge out there - now do the damn job!"

"Look, I know there's a thin line between genius and madness, but do we have to show everyone which side we're on?"

[montammil]

Lab whumper dialogue

My favorite trope is the sadistic scientist/doctor whumper, so I may have indulged...

1. “The greatest scientific discoveries often require us to step outside of our comfort zones. Are you willing to take that leap with me?”

2. “It will only hurt for a moment.”

3. “My dear, the ends always justify the means. Think of how so many people will find our research beneficial. You aren’t being selfish, are you?”

4. “Morality is just a construct created by society.”

5. “Everything we do is in the name of science... and science requires sacrifice.”

6. “You should feel privileged. Few people have the chance to contribute so directly to the advancement of science.”

7. “I understand your apprehension, but remember, you agreed to this.”

8. “I must admit, darling, I find your resilience quite admirable. You're much stronger than my previous test subjects. But don’t worry, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to break even the strongest of wills.”

9. “I assure you, I have done this many times before. You will be fine.”

10. “I know the methods I use may seem cruel to the unenlightened mind, but you’ll understand... one day.”

11. “I’ll have to remember to make note of this in my journal. Fascinating.”

12. “The line between genius and madness is a thin one, so go ahead and call me mad. To me, it’s a compliment.”

13. “You signed a consent form, correct? Then you fully knew the risks.”

14. “You’re doing so well, darling. Just a little longer and we’'ll have all the data we need.”

15. “I’m sorry, but the procedure was not a complete success. We'll have to try again. As many times as it takes. You understand, right?”

[justpoliteconversations]

By Omission [Linked Universe Four]

Everyone has their secrets. Four has more than most.

This is one of the requests from this Post. First time really getting into Four's inner workings, so lets see how this goes.

Masterlist

TW: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

It was times like these that Four understood the violet shade of his heart more than he'd like to admit. Past the outraged blue, the anxious red or even the ever soothing green, was the cool, mauve pragmatism glinting in ever-shifting eyes. Purpose beyond one's sense of self, and the intent to see it through no matter the costs.

The weight of the travel bag leaning against his leg sat heavy on Four's consciousness, laden with the burdens of his sins. Sins that seemed to keep growing by the day, right under the very noses of the ones he'd sworn to himself to protect. Festering in his heart and driving the sum of himself to near madness.

He leaned hard into Vio's unfaltering resolve on the hardest of days. Like now.

'We should just tell them.' Came the nearly sobbed whimper of Red, the swirl of bleeding crimson blotting the backs of Four's eyelids. 'They love us. They wouldn't hurt any of us!'

'Really?' Came blue spite, low but building like thunder in Four's ears. 'Let stab happy pretty boy in on the fact that we're all liars and one of us is a twice damned traitor?'

'Circumstances were-' Purple logic was cut short by an explosion of static navy crackling across their bonds.

Four wanted to tune them all out. Ignore the hissing, snarling depths of his own fears and misgivings. But denial was never a luxury he'd been afforded.

Not since that day so many years ago, when four other voices rose up to ensure he never forgot the sum of all of himself.

'He's an uptight prick with a sword up his ass under that fake as din smile and he's just looking for a reason! So yeah, Red! That would go over real fucking well! Absolutely genius!' Steel blue rolled like a tidal wave over the space between.

'There's no need to get nasty, Blue. We're all feeling the strain of recent events.' Came Green's gentle soothing, smothering down the blue sea that'd leaked over faintly wavering borders.

'Most of us, you mean! Since one of us is used to sneaking around behind other's backs!'

'Blue, please.' Red sniffed, like a fire brand across their heart, pulling guilt and sadness both from the lining of thier gut.

Four grit his teeth subtly, pushing back the onslaught of emotion. The roil of unease and understanding that flashed green and violet in his mind.

'One of us has to be.' Violet washed over the connection between them, quiet and thick like oil across the edge of a blade. Toxic as poison. Kept nice and neat within invisible lines that were consciousness, but for a fleeting, chilling touch.

It was quiet then, frustrated and sorrowful both. A breath and Four was fully back in the physical world with a thin, hard covered book (pointless, but a necessary deception) in hand and Warriors seated at his side with frustrated tension in his shoulders. Sky sat across from them both, looking just about ready to drop dead right there on the table, his own read nearly limp in his hands.

Seemingly unable to hold back his distaste any longer, Wars stood with a soft hiss, eyes narrow as he stared down his stack of historic accounts with disappointment. "This is the largest library in any of our eras, and yet there's not a single useful scrape of information."

'There was plenty.' Four thought with blue-lavender indignation, red guilt at it's core, the weight of his consciousness pressing on his throat. The bag propped against his leg felt like hellfire.

"Maybe you're just too far down the timeline." Sky suggested tiredly, though looking a little more alive now that he had an excuse to not stare at crisp white pages for even a small, merciful moment. Four was almost spiteful at the blatant disregard for freely offered knowledge, but soft, soothing mint subdued gleaming, darkening magenta.

Four was grateful.

Now was not the time. Not with the contents of his pack weighing so prominently at the forefront of his consciousness. Not with Wars so close, sword strapped to his back and gleaming ominously even here in the comfort of his own city.

Not with the assassination attempt that had occurred not even a day ago, putting a sharp, calculated gleam into the Captain's icy stare. A cold light that shone brightly upon all it touched, even his dearly beloved brothers. Looking for fault or guilt, even as he smiled so prettily.

"Could Cia have been here before." Four inquired with his usual calm, but for the way his heart quivered red and blue under the constricting violet haze. "She had an interest in us heros after all."

A moment of tense contemplation. And then Warriors sighed, slumping back into his chair with quiet defeat. It stabbed at Four's heart, to have put that silent, distant suffering into his brother's already wounded eyes. To sacrifice his peace of mind to ensure his own survival.

To ensure His survival.

'Vio's little secret.' Blue snarled sharply, a coiled snake tensed in its corner as Four retreated into his book once more. Not truly absorbing, merely flitting through the motions as he listened in.

Observing. Weighing the value of his many parts.

Lavender calm. 'You helped gather the pieces. Your hands are not clean.' Cold truth.

'You-'

'Please. Can we just not fight about this today? Not when we're guilty already for leaving Wild while we were stealing from Wars!' Red yelled quite suddenly, crimson dripping, splattering, searing all across the bond. Feelings of remorse so great Four nearly broke into sobs, stopped only by electric blue will and violet stoicism.

Vio and Blue stayed silent, letting the gentle wisp of green curl around thier bleeding heart. 'That's not what happened, Red. We would never have gone if we knew he'd be attacked.'

'But we did.' A whisper. 'Wars told us it wasn't safe and we still left him. If it had been someone else without experience. Twilight. Sky. Wind.'

'It won't happen again, Red! I promise you that!' Blue determination, heavy with the promise of thunderous storms.

'Yes. It was a miscalculation that won't happen again.' Cool violet easing silkily against the burning red guilt. 'We will take precautions.'

'We learn from our mistakes, as we always have. This will be no different.' Green confidence, a warm breeze clearing away the heat and cold and static charge.

'Okay.' Red sniffed, comforted. For now.

Still seated at the library table, besides the very man who may very well kill him for his transgressions someday, Four relaxed. Finally at ease within himself.

'We should tell them we can turn into a Minish.'

Four sighed, brows pinched as he felt a headache coming on. He ignored the empathetic doe eyes Sky sent his way, and War's equally sympathetic gaze.

He turned a page.

---

To the shadows to rest.

[zmediaoutlet]

for the spotify wrapped writing thing: 23 + (pre-series?) samdean ❤️

Sam arrives in Palo Alto a day before the dorm move-in date. He could've arranged early move-in but his timing was off. All that planning to get here and he didn't think, somehow, about how telling the truth on Wednesday instead of Thursday would have caused a tectonic crack in the center of the country, and he'd ended up on an earlier bus, and across the country in a furious miserable blur to end up -- a day early, and nowhere to sleep. The girl at the desk doesn't know what to do with him and offers uncertainly to call her supervisor but he tells her not to worry about it. He can get a motel, if she's got a phonebook.

Another two buses, city this time, to get far enough away from the university that the motels are something he can afford. Not the first entry in the yellow pages but, then, he isn't trying to be found. The clerk gives him a distrustful look and says they don't rent by the hour and Sam hitches his duffel higher on his shoulder and tries to look less like a homeless teenager handing over scammed, grimy cash. All he could save and all he was given, in shoved messy handfuls, in those last moments in the dark, last night.

Last night. A thousand miles away, in a dim brown room with a king bed and a broken mini-fridge, it feels -- impossible. Like it's been a month. Like it happened right outside the door he's bolted and chained, the shouting still shaking the windows. He was so angry he thought he'd start through punches; now he's just -- tired. Exhausted. Hungry, and normally right now it'd be the negotiation -- pizza or lo mein, not burgers, we had burgers last night -- but he's on his own, and there's no one to make the decision but himself. How it's going to be, from now until...

He sits on the end of the bed and holds his cell between two hands for long enough that his back hurts from being hunched, and then he calls himself an idiot and dials. It rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. He hangs up. What was he thinking? He falls back on the bed, bouncing a little -- it smells like dust -- and the night ahead is a deep and looming darkness, and then his phone rings, and he opens it and holds it to his ear and says, "Dean?" with his voice this embarrassing thin thing, and there's a pause and Dean says, wherever he is somewhere else in the country, Who else would it be, genius, and he doesn't sound glad to hear from Sam but he doesn't sound mad, either, so Sam will take what he can get.

The conversation isn't good. He says he got there safe. He's moving into the dorm tomorrow and has a motel tonight. It gross? Nah, it's okay. Met any hot California babes yet? No, he says, no, of course not, and Dean says huh but not in a way where Sam knows what it means. When last week, a thousand miles from here, Dean had curled up tight against his back and wiped a messy hand on Sam's shirt, made him splutter and say gross! and Dean said, yeah, so what, whose turn is it to do laundry anyway, and Sam said yours, and Dean said, soft against the back of Sam's neck, huh, and Sam was sticky and sweaty and kinda irritated but also soft inside like a tub of mallow fluff and he knew that Dean was smiling, so he smiled too, turning it into the pillow so Dean couldn't see it. Maybe Dean knew anyway but at least he couldn't see it.

The call time was six minutes, thirty-two seconds. At the end Dean said, well, don't be a stranger, and Sam said, "You too," which didn't make a lot of sense, and then the line went dead without either of them saying goodbye. It's eight at night and Sam's in the city where he'll live for at least four years and he wanted more than anything in the world to be here and he knows it was the right decision, the only one he could have made. He knows that as much as he knows his own name, or his brother's.

The night ahead stretches. The room is quiet.

[the-bar-sinister]

In Justice We Trust (98739 words) thesavagesabretooth

catch up here.

With Simon Blackquill and Athena Cykes assigned as their psychologists, the Phantom and Fulbright must grapple with their identity, their deeds, their future, and their love for the twisted samurai whom they betrayed.

All the while, Edgeworth and Wright find their relationship tested as they walk the narrow path between pursuing real justice, and the dark age of the law.

-

December 25, 8:20 am

At the airport, Phoenix had insisted on taking the photograph of their target– Mr. Lovelace– and using it as a starting point to check the baggage area for clues. Miles didn't understand his methods and didn't think anything would come of it but he gave him space to do so, hanging back with Gumshoe as Phoenix paced the baggage claim floor, holding up the picture.

"There's a thin line between madness and genius, Gumshoe."

“I dunno, I think Mr. Wright tumbled head first off the bridge into madness years ago, sir,” Gumshoe replied.

"Hm. Perhaps. And yet, he still gets results. It's shocking every time." He watched idly as Phoenix paced the floor.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause he thinks like a crazy crook, so he catches them.” Gumshoe chuckled. “Hey uh..actually sir, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell you.” 

"It may be, indeed. But, oh?" he looked up curiously, away from Phoenix's antics and at the detective instead. "What is it?"

“I ran into Mr. Justice today, sir. He uh…ain’t along with Athena at the scene.”

That brought Miles up so short he practically jumped. "He's not?"

Gumshoe grimaced.

“Given that she nearly got pummeled by him this mornin? No. He ain’t. He was stormin’ around the hotel lookin’ for you, sir. Sounded like he found out about Robert Halblicht, and started beatin’ the man in the middle of the restaurant. Athena interposed herself , and he stormed off…” Gumshoe’s expression was..complicated , to say the least. He rubbed his chin. “...I had a little talk with him after that, but he wants to talk to ya about the fact he’s expected to work in the vicinity of Clay Terran’s killer.” 

Miles' heart sank further and further into his stomach as Gumshoe spoke. He felt the blood drained out of his face.

"Oh… oh no. Oh sweet Justitia…" Miles turned and grabbed Gumshoe's lapels. "In all the commotion I forgot to tell him about Halblicht! I wanted to keep it private! To give him space to be upset– but I never got a chance and it completely escaped my mind this morning that I– oh no, I–"

“Yeah he ain’t taking it well, sir.” Gumshoe grimaced futher, even as Miles gently shook him by the coat. “He’s uh…not happy he was the last to know. And he ain’t happy about Bobby neither. So uh…I got him calmed down a little…had a chat with him and he ain’t in a fury no more, but he wants to talk.” 

Miles let his head fall against Gumshoe's chest and headbutted him repeatedly–if softly– as if he were slamming his head against a wall.

"What has been wrong with me the last few days, Gumshoe? I can't keep making mistakes like this. I'm going to get someone killed."

“Nobody’s died yet, sir. Still time to set it right, yeah?” Gumshoe put his hand atop the man’s head, sighing. “I think you’re tired, Mr. Edgeworth…can’t blame ya, of course. It’s been a hell of a week. “ 

Miles leaned there for a moment, soaking in the big, earnest idiot's strength and patience. 

"It's been a hell of a week," he murmured. "Believe me, Gumshoe, I would have slowed down if I could, but this could be our only opportunity to root the Phantom's organization out of the shadows– our one lead. I couldn't hesitate– but I am making mistakes, that is undeniable."

"Someone’s gotta stop these bastards, sir. After the stuff we all heard? We can’t let it stand…we got our chance and we’re gonna go all the way with it.” He smiled that big, dopey Gumshoe smile at him. “Yeah, you’ve made mistakes, sir…but it’ll work out. Everyone makes mistakes. I know I make ‘em all the damn time!” 

Miles took a deep, deep breath and straightened up. He fixed his hair, and nodded. "You're right, you're right of course. Though thank lady justice my sister isn't here at present to hear you say that. We were raised to be perfect, you know."

He smiled at Gumshoe like it was a joke, but it was the furthest possible thing from a joke. The way that Miles had been made, a mistake was worse than a sin. A sin could be forgiven, a mistake? Never.

Gumshoe’s new that Miles wasn't joking though. He didn't laugh.

“Well, sir. Look where perfection got Mr. Von Karma. The world's shortest bungie jump.” 

The black humor wrenched a miserable, black laugh out of Miles, though, and he slapped Gumshoe in the chest. 

"So indeed, my friend. So indeed." He took another deep breath and straightened his cravat. "Alright. Let's go see if Phoenix has found anything– and then we'll have a look at the security footage. And Gumshoe?"

“Yessir?” Gumshoe asked with a tender edge to his recovering smile. 

"I expect you to help catch me again if I make any more mistakes. Thank you for helping take care of this one."

December 25, 9:15 am

The investigation of the interior of the second car ultimately had not turned up anything of use. The body, however, was a different story.

The second body had been shot, much the same as the first one had. In the front of the head, but also additionally in the throat.

"Kind of puts a damper on the 'bystander' theory," Halblicht considered. He glanced at Athena, perhaps looking for her own insight. Though he was smiling, Athena couldn't read anything from him at the moment.

Athena’s own emotions also felt numb– they always did during an investigation despite the way she’d express intensely to signal to her usual investigative partners the ways she knew she must truly feel under the static discord in her chest.

She smiled back at him with a nod, brushing her hair from her face as she tapped out another note in Widget’s system. “...it puts a major damper on the bystander theory. This looks like it was part of the plan…it’s the same style as the first body’s, right? Ema said it seemed to be the same weapon, same method…I can only imagine it was intentional.” 

"Yes, and given that they were shot twice, we can probably conclude that one shot missed." Halblicht pressed his fingers together, smiling still, but seeming deep in thought.

Athena nodded slowly, her brow knit gently as she tapped at the illusion of a screen. “That’s my guess too…the shot to the throat, then in the head to finish them off…” 

Simon came back around from the other side of the car. "Everything's burned to hell. There wasn't anything useful in terms of evidence in the front or back seat that I could find. Some scraps of clothing, but they're unidentifiable."

Kelso slid out of the front seat with a grimace, dusting ash off her coat with a sigh. “And there ain’t anything in the front seat, either…fire did its job, unfortunately for us.”

From the edge of the scene, Sheila was watching them intensely with her arms crossed, radiating a strange emotion that Athena hadn’t been able to properly place during their conversation. 

"The two cars theory is becoming more likely, strange as it sounds," Simon considered. "My main question now is what of the blood on the pavement."

“It doesn’t make sense.” Athena murmured. “After all…if there were two cars, and they were each executed in the cars themselves from a distance, there’d be no way the blood from either victim would get on the ground. Meaning it was either from the killer, or there’s something we’re missing…right?”

“Could be unrelated.” Kelso mused with a flip of the bullet between her fingers and a quiet huff breath. Athena couldn’t tell the emotion from it…subtle frustration, maybe? “Or from the killer, of course.” 

"But the killer shot at range," Halblicht pointed out. "The question would be how would they have been injured."

Athena pointed to him with a nod. “Exactly. Exactly. The killer shot at range, taking out two agents of Interpol…we don’t have any sign except the blood that anyone was injured here, and it’s too close to match the distance of the bullet wounds. So that means we’re missing something, or there’s something wrong with our thinking.”

She bit her lip “...in situations like this…Mr. Wright would tell me to turn my thinking around and look at it from another angle.”

Kelso fussed with her sunglasses again. “Coulda been an injury that was inflicted when the killer was torching the cars. People are clumsy, coulda cut their hand or something.”

Simon cocked his head. "Ah, so your theory is that the cars were torched rather than going up naturally? It's certainly the likeliest scenario given what we know about the culprits."

For some reason, Sheila in the periphery started snickering again, and Athena could hear her trying to stop herself. As she was laughing, a musical tune started playing from her direction– her phone ringing.

“That’s my theory, yeah.” Kelso nodded. “goes along with everything we know, right?”

Athena looked up towards the sound to see Sheila stifle her laughter enough to answer the phone with her wolfish grin and a cheerful “hello~.”

It was odd…the emotions she picked up from the woman when she laughed were strange…a mixture of jagged, muted sorrow and almost performative, intense joy that overshadowed all else. 

Simon's gaze followed Sheila as she answered her phone, then he turned back to Kelso. "It does. But we'll see how the facts bear out."

For some reason, as she hung up the phone, Sheila began to laugh again, doubling over and bracing herself against the SUV. It looked like it hurt. It sounded like it hurt as Athena swiped to the mood matrix and watched the sorrow and anger dimly pulse after an initial spike only to be drowned in the flashing yellow light of joy.

Sheila hung up the phone and strode over with a wave of her hand and the ghost of a snicker on her lips. 

“Great news, pack,” she purred as her features stilled once more. Casually, she pulled out a tube of lipstick and began fixing her makeup in her compact mirror. “....Forensics got back to me about the plates.” 

Simon held out his hand and let Taka land on his arm as he smiled. "Oh? I hope it's something interesting, Ash-dono."

The woman’s smile didn’t leave her face as she pointed to one of the cars. 

“That’s our agent’s car. We had one match from our database on the plates, and security footage of that very same soon to be burned out wreck leaving the airport with the agents. One.” She held up her finger. “One. Isn’t that interesting? It's the one that slammed head on into the side of the other.”

Kelso looked at the car that was swerved into the barrier with a low whistle “...huh. I knew they wouldn’t have used two cars…”

Athena slapped her hand against her knees. “I knew it! Which…actually brings up a big question? Why’s there a body in the extra car? If it’s one of the agents, it’d mean it’d been moved. If it’s one of the targets…where’s our missing agent?” 

Halblicht cocked his head toward Ash. "I assume that if one of your agents, if they'd escaped, would have reported in by now if they were capable?"

“The instant they made it to town. Every wolf in Lang’s pack knows to howl.” She snickered again, and covered her mouth “...that’s what Lang says, anyhow. In layman's terms…it’s top priority to report the instant you’re able. Especially if a comrade is killed. The fact we’ve got nothing implies he’s dead, or a traitor.”

She smiled in a way that gave chills that cut through the static in Athena’s heart. “And I’d certainly know if we had traitors in Lang’s pack.”

Kelso was flipping the bullet between her fingers again as she stared at the car. “So it's possible that someone moved the body…or one of the pack managed to crawl away only to die somewhere nearby?” 

Simon glanced down at the ground where the luminol had shown up. "The blood didn't lead away from the wreck."

"No sir, Prosecutor Blackquill," Halblicht nodded. "It was only between the two vehicles."

Athena nodded. “And it was wiped up by someone, as if they didn’t want anyone to know.” She traced her finger from one car to another. An agent trying to struggle to safety wouldn’t waste precious time wiping it…and I can’t wrap my head around why the killer might mop it up…”

"So what we've got is a scene that was tampered with after the fact," Simon said. "Someone– our shooter presumably– manipulated the scene in some way after the fact, at the very least to remove the blood, and very likely to torch the vehicles. Athena!"

He turned to her with his sharp smile, fingers on his chin.

Athena’s head shot up as her smile unconsciously mirrored his own “Simon!”

The facts spun in her head, forming connections and making theories and logical leaps.

"What was the purpose of our culprit concealing the blood between the cars?" he asked.

“To conceal their actions and throw us off the investigation” Athena murmured thoughtfully. “my guess is to hide the fact that someone bled between the two cars… likely one of the corpses… maybe it was moved from one to the other, right? To confuse us with the number and occupants of the cars.”

"But why would they bother?" Halblicht asked. "Just to throw us off the track for a little longer? Or for some other reason."

"Good question, half bright," Simon drawled. "Why don't we have a look at that blood again. Skye-dono, if you could light us up?"

Ema Skye nodded as she hurried over and began spritzing luminol over the area, flipping her glasses down with a nod. “You’ve got it. Give it a second to react.”

Athena leaned over , watching curiously with a tilt of her head. “...my guess is to obscure a crucial fact of the case…by leading us to an assumption.”

The path of the blood was illuminated. There wasn't a lot of it, all things considered, a few drops here and there. Aside from a few stray other drops, most of it seemed to be concentrated–as Athena followed the path– between the front driver side of the first car– all the way around to the passenger side of the second car.

“...it’s a trail from the first car to the second.” She traced, pacing along the line of drops and smears.. “...someone wanted to hide the fact the body was moved…. from the passenger side of the second car, to the driver side of the first.”

"So then presumably the apparent 'driver' of the first car is, in actuality, our second agent after all," Simon observed. "Who did the first car belong to, and why conceal it?"

Athena nodded at him. “exactly…and why conceal it.” She walked up to the first car with a furrow of her brow and a frown. “...it could have belonged to the killer. The person they were tailing from the airport. As for why…”

Kelso wandered back over, stepping over the luminol soaked bloodstain to lean towards the cars with a casual ‘hum’.

“That doesn’t make much sense to me. Why’d the enemy agent bother?” 

Halblicht, meanwhile, was following the blood trail back and forth with a look of consternation written carefully on his face. He turned toward them. "Ms. Cykes, Prosecutor Blackquill…"

Athena tilted her head up at him with a concerned furrow of her brow, her growing quiet concern pulsing within her.

“Yeah, Detective Halblicht?” 

"I found something a little curious. There's more blood concentrated here at the back of the second car. Not a lot, but more than you might expect. Plus ah… did you notice there are a few drops that just sort of go off in a random direction?"

Simon looked between Halblicht and Athena. "Hmm, show me."

Halblicht saluted eagerly. "Yes sir! Right here…" he pointed, and Athena did notice that there were a few drops that went off away from the two wrecks. And then here, there's almost two fingers worth blood, which is more than the rest of the trail.

The glow of the luminol at the back of the truck was the largest in the trail.

"Perhaps the killer lingered here for a moment?" Simon mused. "Hauling a body around can be difficult."

Athena felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she walked over “....or they paused here for a long moment for some other reason…”

She traced the projected drip from the trunk to the ground with her fingers as she visualized the scene.

“At the trunk. Lingering.” her eyes fell on Simon and Robert with a grim smile. “if it wasn’t exhaustion, why would someone linger by a trunk instead of taking a shorter path around? Especially holding something so heavy as the deadweight of a corpse?”

Ema made a hissing sound through her teeth. “ah…shit.” 

Halblicht smiled carefully at Athena and nodded, then he asked; "Ms. Skye– do you think you could get the trunk here open for us?"

“I’ll get on it.” Ema broke out her tools with a grim set of her jaw. “gonna take me a minute…lock’s probably fucking melted shut.”

Athena nodded to Halblicht.

Why obscure the crime scene? Why drag the bodies around and wipe the blood? Why put a victim in a car they didn’t own, and linger with the weight of a bleeding body by the trunk of a car?

The questions hovered on Widget’s screen, the web between each piece of data entwining them together under her steady finger.

“I don’t think we’ll like what we find.” she mused softly.

Kelso wandered over to put a hand against Halblicht’s arm, as if to steady herself as she watched Ema work the trunk. 

“Got any theories, pretty?” she asked towards Athena with a tired half smile. 

Athena noticed Halblicht jolt very slightly as he was touched, and he put on a brilliant, goofy smile and adjusted his tie, as if flattered. "Oh, a few, miss agent!"

Athena was almost sure that he'd intercepted the question from her, rather than been genuinely confused who it was directed at.

Kelso laughed, glancing sidelong at him with an amused little smile. 

“Alright, pretty. Lay ‘em on me. Because I’m stumped.”

Athena’s fingers hovered delicately near the tab for the mood matrix as she watched Ema work through the pale blue of her screen. She gave Halblicht a thankful smile, before tapping over to the matrix.

December 25, 9:30 am

Gumshoe's eyes were getting tired, that was for sure. He, Mr. Edgeworth, and Mr. Wright had been reviewing the security footage for the better part of an hour already. There was a lot to go through, but admittedly, it had already yielded results that they'd called into Lang– they'd watched the two agents drive off in the parking lot after an unmarked car.

“Oof. Dunno how the lab boys do it, sir.” Gumshoe grumbled, “the light off these damn screens is turnin’ my brain to jelly.” 

Miles rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I hate to say it, but mine as well. Perhaps we need a break– a moment to discuss what we've learned and see how the facts bear out and what our next move should be."

Phoenix, however, was still hunched over the video controls, running a segment back and forth.

“Whatcha got there, Nicky?” Gumshoe leaned heavily over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. 

"It might be nothing," he murmured, squinting at the screen "But…"

Miles came in and leaned over him from the other side. "But what, Wright? Is it another one of your famous turnabouts?"

Phoenix flushed and chuckled a little, rubbing his chin. "I don't know about that but… didn't you tell me that Agent Kelso wasn't able to follow the target and the other agents out of the airport?"

“Yeah, that’s why we weren’t sure about the uhhh…” he waved his hand, “number of cars the agents left in, right? She missed the actual departure and caught up in a delay.” 

Phoenix pointed at the screen, at a small figure in the bottom while the agents' car was pulling out of the lot.

"That's what I thought. So uh, am I crazy, or is that Agent Kelso there, getting in her car?"

Miles narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Phoenix hit play on the recording, and– though the quality of the video left much to be desired, Gumshoe saw it too. Agent Kelso getting in a car, which then pulled out of the lot.

“....yeah, that sure does.” Gumshoe squinted at the car as it pulled away. “....looks a lot like Agent Kelso getting in the car. Not many people dressed like that in the area…face matches too.”

Phoenix turned to Miles and slowly asked. "Why wouldn't Agent Kelso have reported it if she followed the agents and the target?"

"A very good question, Mr. Wright. A very good question indeed."

[the-berf]

Dates held no importance to Carmy. His birthday? Just another random day in the year. Holiday season? You mean ball-bustingly busy season. Which was why Carmy taking a day off out of the blue didn't have anyone asking questions. Mostly, the crew were relieved that he was actually taking time away from The Bear. It had been too long since he'd taken a break, near enough working himself into an early grave.

The day started off as usual, except there was no Carmy. Things were a bit more relaxed without his ever watchful presence. There were more cock-ups and laughter but customers were still happy when they came in. Unusually, Richie was rather somber, mouth ticked down in a thin pressed line. It was only when Ebra squeezed his shoulder in a quiet moment and they shared a sad look that the others began to question what was going on. Nobody needed to be a genius to figure it out.

While Carmy didn't care much about celebrating days, over the course of the last year he'd grown to regret not going to Mikey's funeral. It wasn't something to celebrate but it was closure he didn't have. Though, if given the chance, he still wouldn't have gone on the day. Facing his family was bad enough, but when it was something as emotional as his brother's funeral, Carmy couldn't do it.

The kitchen was filled with stories of Mikey. He had been the one to bring them all together, had given them all a chance. Even if he wasn't there to see through the fruit of his hard work, most of the crew was there because of him. In a way it was easier not having Carmy there, he wasn't part of their stories. But at the same time they all missed him, wished they could share the memories they had of his brother. Collectively, they agreed that after service they'd go to the cemetery, pay their respects.

It was late by the time The Bear was locked up. Tired from another long but satisfying service, the crew filtered into cars to get lifts. Nobody expected the text from Natalie.

[Has anyone seen Carmy today?]

Unlike expectation, Carmy hadn't taken the day to spend time with his family. When Nat had tried to visit him, needing her brother on the anniversary of their other brother's death, he was nowhere to be found. In an attempt to be respectful of his space, Nat had left him be. But fear had clawed its way through her chest, especially when she realised Carmy had taken the day off.

After some frantic messages, most of the crew was left at the cemetery while Richie and Nat left, heading towards a certain bridge with dread.

The night was late enough for there to be little in the way of traffic and pedestrians, which made it all that much more to spot Carmy. He was leaning against the railing, looking out over the water and fidgeting with something in his hand. Nat had a hand over he mouth but her gasp was still loud in the car.

Heedless of traffic rules, they pulled over and were stumbling out of the car in a mad rush.

"Carm?" Nat called, along with Richie's not so subtle yell of "Yo! Cousin!" at least had Carmy turn his head to look at them. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed but it wasn't exactly a surprise.

The smile sent their way was wobbly and small, as was the hoarse "hey". At least Carmy was talking to them and turned towards them as the approached. Clutched in his hand was a small bunch of spaghetti.

"This is where he did it, isn't it?"

As Nat hugged him tight, Richie ruffled his hair. "Don't scare us like that, moron."

Puzzled, Carmy looked between the two. "How did I scare you?"

"Think, idiot." Now that the fear was gone, anger was the next emotion Richie could muster. "You take the day off, go to where Mikey offed himself, nobody hears from you. What did you think we'd assume?"

"I just-" Carmy shrugged and sniffed. "I- The Bear was as much his as mine. He should have been there."

"Instead you weren't there either," Nat chastised.

"Couldn't face it. Not today. I haven't even been to his grave."

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, Richie steered Carmy towards the car. On Carmy's other side, Nat had a hand on his elbow.

"We'll go now. Everyone else is gathered there already."

Not resisting, Carmy let himself be ushered into the car. The drive was silent save for the noise of the spaghetti shifting in Carmy's grip. None of the pieces broke though.

At the cemetery, Carmy got out, a little lost and wide eyed. Syd was the first to beckon him over, giving him a tight hug. Together, they walked to the small grave, one among the many.

"He always made spaghetti," Carmy rumbled as a few questioning looks were sent to the pasta in his hand. He laid it like a bunch of flowers on the grave. The middle had slightly softened where he'd been gripping it in a sweaty palm for so long.

"That he did," Marcus agreed easily. "It was pretty damn good too."

"Except the time he tried to spice it up." Tina picked up the thread with a smile. All too soon, stories of Mikey were filling the air, even if he wasn't there in person, his memory was still a big part of them all.

[ruiination]

@darknessxcursed said: you are out of your mind, man. out of your fuckin' mind. (darknessxcursed) for scratch.

TIME IS A FLAT CIRCLE | Accepting

ISN'T THAT WHAT EVERYONE SAYS?

Few can wrap their heads around GENIUS. A killer and an artist. Are they not SO SIMILAR? After all, as a author, how many people die in novels just for shock value? Fiction becomes reality. HE was real. More real than that author trapped away in that NIGHTMARE. A nightmare they shared.

For a brief moment, he almost laughs. But it doesn't happen. He had been trapped for too long after being PULLED UNDER by Wake. Escape to reality. Make his TRUTH, his FICTION, real. That was all that mattered now.

Did she think he was the Writer? Her statement could go in either direction. After all, they shared the same MADNESS. He was just better at it than the writer. More honest. More fun.

"There's a thin line between GENIUS and INSANE. Isn't that a saying? Are you really surprised?"

How long would it be before he lost his patience? He could already feel aggravation buzzing beneath his skin like STATIC. Darkness came to life in him. Always there, swirling beneath the surface.

[unreone]

MORE OF THESE???

Happy Tree Friends

Somber Wood Foes/Fiends

Personalities and motivations inverted

Like fokem look at thisss????? Supposed to be opposite splendid but huhhhh???? Why this gaster walmart freak is my idea for opposite splndid and splendont@??@@??@I have no excuse for my lazy flank Ill definitely scrap this idea out from the revamped opposite au. I will keep the fact that (Since Toothy and Sniffles are biggest Fan Bois of Splendid) Tiffy and Sclutzy are biggest Haters

Insipid (Opposite Splendid) is a villain that accidentally good heroic deeds. Once i start doing the animatics, ill definitely use that ProZD audio

Intrepid (Opposite Splendont) is there to remind Splendid how to be actually villainous.

Omgggg Lucent!!! Lucent meant bright and thats the name i used for opposite Lumpy. Although he doesn't think outside the box, he is prepared for anything and everything. The chaotic variables (Sclutzy) are harder to prepare for though.

Natty for opposite Nutty. Onfg did ye know the word natty means smart looking and fashionable- He's just the rehab Nutty we have met at False Alarm ep. Hes also a dietician who promotes eating veggies and fruits and detest candies ajodod

Sclutzy was a gifted kid snapped. There's a thin line between madness and genius and Sclutzy snorted that line. Inspired by that Dexter's Laboratory episode where Deedee brings out the manic technology destroying monster inside her brother.

ONFG I REMBER HOW AN AMINO USER REQUESTS THESE BITS- Discord Ursid? DiscUrsid?? Discursive????? <<< autocorrect According to my archived notes, he's just so awkward it's awfully embarrassing???? YOUNG ME SPEAK CLEARLY WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT- but ye get flustered a lot, he never tried getting into disco music industry despite wanting to, big sadge

Of course Of course this right here is Luna and Sir Prickly. The pickle was the escapegoat this time. Luna be goin around slaughtering and then everyone blamed the pickle because he shouldnt exists and his presence is "demonic"

(ahhahaahhaaahhaa i clearly remember I just based off Sir Prickly to Will Cipher from Reverse Falls aaaaaaa ORIGINALITY DOESNT EXISTSSSSSS IN MY DICCTIONARYRYYYRYY)

[callmemana]

Arms May Be Wide Open, But The Brain Cells Aren’t There: #5

Whiskey: hey what’s the password to Ice’s computer?

Dragon: fuck you whiskey.

Whiskey: hey!

Dragon: no you misunderstood, the password is ‘fuckyouwhiskey’ all lower case, no spaces.

Whiskey: oh no numbers? Not very safe.

Slider: we must respect all women, hangman.

Hangman: if she breathes she’s a thot.

Slider: ALL WOMEN ARE QUEENS, HANGY!

Payback: *to mouse* Omaha has an insufferable crush on you, he told me to keep it a secret but it’s just so infuriating, and I have to tell someone-

Mouse: I know. He kisses me ‘as a form of greeting,’ but it’s just because he likes me.

Rooster: I am clearly not cut out to help people make life choices.

Spicy: oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. You helped me choose you.

Rooster: okay, that time I was a genius.

Phoenix: tell me something I don’t know about you.

Bob: I like Birdie.

Phoenix: are you for real? I said something I didn’t know! You can’t just tell me something literally every single person knows-

Bob: WHAT! Birdie hasn’t said anything to me about it though!

Phoenix: oh no, everyone except for her. She’s just as oblivious as you are apparently.

Rooster & Hangman: *racing, come to a stop just before Whiskey* Quick! Who’s your favorite?

Whiskey: *looking bored* Fanboy.

Fanboy: *in the background* AW YEA-

Whiskey: hold on, I change my mind. It’s Dragon.

Dragon: *quietly* suck on that, fuckers.

Iceman: I’m not mad, I just want to know why you two would need a fake ID?

Mouse: *incoherent mumbling*

Iceman: I’m sorry, what?

Birdie: you need to be over 18 at PetCo to hold the puppies.

Hangman: *trips over himself and falls while opening a door for Cinco*

Lucky: Hangman, you dropped something.

Hangman: what?

Lucky: your dignity.

Slider: are you crying?

Whiskey: *sniffling* no it’s an allergic reaction.

Slider: *concerned* to what?

Whiskey: *sobbing making grabby hands at slider* life

Bob: it’s important to be organized when you talk.

Bob: I mean, you have to put every word at a good place.

Bob: because there’s a thin line between ‘I fucking love you’ and ‘I love fucking you.’

Birdie: …

Bob: anyway, it always fits with you babe.

Dragon’s Angels📻: @bayisdying @breadsquash @dragon-kazansky @mrsjaderogers @starlit-epiphany @gracespicybradshaw

🏷️ list: @luckyladycreator2

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[cattatonically]

Psycho - Onley James (Necessary Evils, book 2)

Synopsis

August Mulvaney has always been exceptional. As the genius son of an eccentric billionaire, his off-putting behavior is often blamed on his high IQ. They say there’s a thin line between genius and madness. August is both—a brilliant professor loved by his students and a ruthless, obsessive killer tasked with righting the wrongs of a failing justice system. And he’s just found his latest obsession: Lucas Blackwell.

Lucas Blackwell was once the golden child of the FBI, using his secret talent as a clairvoyant to help put away society’s worst. Until, with a touch, he discovers his co-worker is a killer and his life falls apart. Now, the world thinks he’s crazy and that co-worker wants him dead. He seeks refuge at a small college, hoping to rebuild his life and his reputation. But then he runs into August Mulvaney. Literally.

August is immediately intrigued with Lucas and his backstory. He doesn’t believe in psychics, but there’s no missing the terror in his eyes when they collide in the hallway. Now, August has a problem. Lucas knows his secret, and August knows he wants Lucas. And August always gets what he wants.

Can he convince Lucas that not all killers are created equal and that having a psychopath in his corner—and in his life—might be just what he needs?

Psycho is a fast-paced, thrill ride of a romance with an HEA and no cliffhangers. It features a psychopath hell-bent on romance and a disgraced FBI agent attempting to redeem himself. As always, there’s gratuitous violence, very dark humor, and scenes so hot it will melt your kindle. This is book 2 in the Necessary Evils series. Each book follows a different couple.

My Thoughts

When you’re the self-described weirdest psychopath in a house full of psychopaths, things are bound to get strange. But August never anticipated Lucas crashing – quite literally – into his life.

And Lucas is terrified. Through psychometry, he can see what August has done – that he’s a merciless killer. He should be running fast and far in the other direction. But instead, he lets August in. Allows August to see his deepest fears and insecurities. And in return, August shows him exactly who he is, too.

And with a serial killer far more sadistic and twisted than any of the Mulvaney’s hanging around their city, it’s clear that Lucas needs to be brought into the fold, and August is determined to protect him from this threat.

The deeper they look into what’s going on, they deeper they also fall into each other. With complete openness and honesty, they communicate their needs and wants with each other. Where August allows Lucas to understand him on a deep level, August wants to understand Lucas in the same exact way.

And they do learn to understand each other. To care for and protect each other. To plan a future together. Noah said in the first book, and Lucas repeated it here. The Mulvaney men are all some level of crazy. They just need a partner who’s crazy fits with theirs. And I have a feeling they’ll all do just that.

[thebridgehqs]

Welcome to 1925 – Claudia & Elizabeth Harmon !! I hope you feel right at home here in Sydney. Before you get too comfortable and see what all our city has to offer, be sure to review our CHECKLIST. We’re so glad to have you with us, Bloom !!

Look who just woke up- is that MARIS RACAL? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s CLAUDIA from THE VAMPIRE CHRONICLES / INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE. I heard she is 21 (SIXTY-FIVE) and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a TRAIL OF CHRYSANTHEMUM PETALS LINING A DARK PATH, GENTLE PERSUASION, THE DECEITFUL DELICATENESS OF A HAUNTED DOLL impression. They’re known to be quite DEVOTED, but have a tendency to be RECKLESS on their bad days. (bloom, 24, she/her, gmt-3)

Look who just woke up- is that ANYA TAYLOR-JOY? No, I must have been mistaken, that’s ELIZABETH ‘BETH’ HARMON from THE QUEEN’S GAMBIT. I heard she is 24 and stuck here just like everyone else. Even in the 20’s, they still give off a A STARING CONTEST AGAINST YOUR OWN REFLECTION, THE THIN LINE BETWEEN GENIUS AND MADNESS, DANCING IN THE DARK BY YOURSELF impression. They’re known to be quite BRILLIANT, but have a tendency to be SELF-SABOTAGING on their bad days. (bloom, 24, she/her, gmt-3)

[crownmemes]

Touching Evil (UK) Sentences

(Sentences from Touching Evil (1997-1999). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You're scaring a lot of people. You want to just calm down?"

"Oh, I know about you. I've checked you out!"

"Are you refusing to cooperate?"

"Why am I letting you do this to me?"

"What is your type? For the record."

"If you have an allergy to psychologists, I suggest you get that looked at."

"I don't like the people you're working with."

"Am I the only one with reservations about this suspect?"

"If you could prove anything, you wouldn't be here."

"What do you spend your money on?"

"I'm sorry it's so late. I didn't know where else to go."

"I think you just need to get laid."

"To my knowledge, I've never done anything to anyone!"

"The guy that we're after knows what it's like to have died and be dragged back."

"So, how's your cooking?"

"You don't fit in. You don't fit anywhere that's normal."

"I did it for you. I killed him to make you safe."

"People living in boxes end up with a lot of sharp corners."

"If you let me down, I'll kick your arse from here to kingdom come."

"Apologies for dragging you from your bed, but this is a matter of some urgency."

"I think I've lost the ability to sleep."

"I don't have enough respect for you to be scared."

"Human logic doesn't apply to me."

"You can lock me up, you can even kill me, but you can never stop me."

"They don't have words for how I feel."

"You spend so much effort shutting down your feelings that you forget how to start them up again."

"You want to go to Heaven? Then get another job."

"You don't have to lie. Not to me. I understand."

"You've got a choice. You can spend the rest of your life trying to make up for one mistake, or you can live with it and do your job. You can't do both."

"Whatever they told you, it's not true."

"I did do the right thing, didn't I?"

"If I could take the slightest bit of your pain away, I would."

"How could you possibly understand what it's like to lose everything that you've ever loved?"

"I'm sorry, I can't trust your judgement right now."

"I've got three separate medical reports that all state you're physically and mentally unfit to work."

"When you're in contact with something evil, the people closest to you are going to find that difficult."

"If I wanted to harm somebody, I'd do something to someone they care for."

"Look, I know there's a thin line between genius and madness, but do we have to show everyone which side we're on?"

"People keep telling me it wasn't my fault. I know they're just saying it to shut me up."

"Don't lurk. I hate it when you lurk."

"Insomnia is commonly thought to be a feature of a disturbed mind. I think you should go home, go to bed, and at least pretend to be a normal person."

"No one understands because you won't let anyone understand!"

[earlgreydream]

Jealous

| loki x reader | smut |

Loki ignores you and you devise a plan to make him jealous, but you’re in too deep when it backfires. 

warnings: spanking, punishment, sex (obviously)

A drink was pushed into your hand, a the fake smile on your face was dazzling. A designer gown that cost more than a car was draping your body, catching the attention of everyone in the room.

Stark’s parties were loud and long and obnoxious. The host of the party was drunk and enthusiastically telling stories of his genius success. Reporters followed around your coworkers like dogs, three of them interrogating you at the moment. You could barely find it in you to give them any attention, your eyes intently resting on your boyfriend. He was leaned against a wall in an all-black suit, drinking champagne with a harrowing scowl on his face. You had to drag him to the party, and he’d left you to stand in a quiet corner as soon as reporters had flocked to you. The public wasn’t fond of Loki, and you knew that. They were unable to forgive him for his attempted takeover, though it had been years. You hated the judgement of the public against Loki, especially when he was accused of corrupting you.

You were America’s darling, the golden girl of the avengers. A late addition to their team, you were adored by everyone for your sweet personality and generally bubbly attitude. The media was scathing when discussing your relationship with Loki, accusing him of manipulating you. They would never be able to understand the love and devotion you had for each other.

However, tonight, he was in a sour mood. You were annoyed that he had abandoned you to fend for yourself against the press, especially after he’d put up such a fight to come in the first place. Your eyes narrowed at him as you made eye contact across the party, and his gaze was hard as he lifted his glass to his lips.

You grew more and more frustrated the more time that passed. You wanted attention, you wanted him by your side, you wanted his hands on you, you wanted him.

“Y/N! How do you feel about Stark’s new weapons line? Have you used any?” A reporter captured your attention. You turned to him, flashing a smile.

“Yes, actually! Stark is a genius as always.” You laid your hand on his arm, giggling at a joke he made. You could feel Loki’s eyes on you, and you could practically feel the jealousy brewing. The reporter blushed and began to stammer, making you smile wider.

“Stark! Come tell them about your weapons!” You called as he passed. He never passed up an opportunity to talk about himself, and he wrapped an arm around your waist with an intoxicated grin. You shot Loki a challenging look, leaning your head on Tony’s shoulder and laughing at something he said.

You slipped out of his grasp, taking the opportunity to get away from the reporters. You walked to the bar, standing Bucky and ordering another cocktail.

“We can feel his jealousy radiating off of him. You’re making him angry.” Bucky warned you, referring to Loki.

“I don’t care. Maybe if he was so jealous he could at least stand by me.” You shrugged, and Bucky seemed uneasy.

“Y/N, you’re playing a dangerous game-”

“Let him be mad if he wants.” You swallowed a generous amount of my drink, and Bucky dropped it, giving up on trying to warn you.

“Dance with me.” You said to Bucky, setting your empty glass down on the bar.

“Y/N, you’re going to really piss him off-”

“You’re dating Steve, I don’t think Loki needs to worry.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Bucky to dance with you. He relaxed as he expertly moved your body along with the music, dipping you low to the ground.

“Excuse me.” You left Bucky after a couple of songs, walking to the restroom.

After drying your hands, you went to fix your hair in the mirror. A startled gasp left your lips as Loki suddenly appeared behind you, wrapping his hand around your throat.

“Loki-?” You were caught off guard, and you were dragged back and pinned to his chest, seeing his green eyes blaze with anger in the mirror.

“What are you playing at, Y/N? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Loki gave you an opportunity to confess and apologize, but you looked back at him, standing your ground.

“I’m just having fun at the party. Just because you pout in the corner doesn’t mean I can’t talk to reporters and dance with a soldier boy.” You taunted him, feeling his grip tighten around your throat.

“Why are you being a brat? Is it because you’re so fucking desperate for my attention, you’ll get it any way you can?” Loki’s voice was dangerously low, but you refused to show your anxiety.

“I can get attention from anyone.” You dug yourself deeper, and Loki bent you forward over the counter.

“Loki!” You gasped, tugging at the magic binds that held your wrists to the faucet. The cold marble was pressed against your chest, the edge of the counter digging into your hips, pushing your ass out.

“Not so bold now?” Loki mocked as you struggled.

“Have you lost your mind? Someone could walk in-”

“Let them. You wanted to flirt and whore around, so let them walk in and see you bent over the counter for me.” He snapped, and your eyes widened. As much as you hated it, the threat made arousal pool between your thighs.

You knew it was an empty threat, Loki would never let anyone see your body. You knew the door was magicked shut, but his words still made warmth spread through your belly.

“You’re mine. You’re mine alone, and I didn’t realize I would have to remind you.” He ran his hands down your sides, and you looked up at him in the mirror, your eyes widened when you saw his suit was gone, and he was standing naked behind you.

“I’m yours.” You breathed, squirming against the counter, trying to arch off the cold stone. His hands went under you, groping your breasts roughly. You squeaked as he rolled your nipples between his fingers through the thin fabric of your dress, and you rested your forehead against the countertop as heat seeped through your panties.

“Loki, I’m-- ah-- I’m sorry!” You shrieked as he pinched roughly, making your back arch. 

“I’m going to make you remember that nobody could ever touch you like me or make you feel good.” He hissed in your ear, making you moan eagerly, nodding.

“After I punish you for acting like a brat.” He finished, a yelp leaving your lips as he slapped your ass with force, pain stinging through your skin. He lifted your dress to bunch around your hips, leaving your ass exposed to him. 

“A black lace thong, hm?” He snapped it, making you jerk. Soft yelps caught in your throat as he delivered several more slaps to your ass, and you tugged pathetically, failing to free your wrists. You knew he could see your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you blinked away moisture from your eyes, trying to look at him in the mirror. 

“Loki, please!” You begged him, wanting him to ease up on your ass and fuck you like you wanted.

“Please, what, Y/N?” He taunted, knowing exactly what. He wanted to hear you say it, to further your embarrassment. He spanked you again when you didn’t answer, and you swallowed your shyness. 

“Please, fuck me!” You cried, and he tore off your thong, kicking your legs open wider. You wanted to touch him, and you yanked on your hands, but he didn’t let them go.

“You’re fucking soaked, you dirty girl. Was it from dancing with the soldier?”

“No, no, it’s from you.” Your voice was broken as you struggled to speak. 

He dragged his fingers through your folds, and you writhed as he stroked at your opening, avoiding your clit and not entering you. He was making you writhe and beg for him, completely at his mercy.

“Needy girl.” He mocked your pathetic whimpers. 

You screamed as he fully entered you in one thrust, his hips connecting with the heated skin of your ass. You choked on moans as he relentlessly snapped his hips, hitting you deep with every thrust. The roughness burned, but pleasure was coursing through your body, making it easier to ignore. You tried to grind against the edge of the counter, needing stimulation on your clit in order to cum.

“No, you will not come. You’ve been a brat and throwing yourselves at other men. So you are going to bend over and take what I give you, and you’re going to hold it.” He ordered, making you sob desperately. 

“Please, please, please!” You squealed helplessly and he held you still as he emptied his seed into you, coming inside of your tight heat. You whimpered as he pulled out, using his fingers to push his thick seed back inside of you as it dripped. You were shocked at his willingness to just leave you. 

Loki was an incredible lover, always attentive and making sure you came multiple times. The sharp contrast of his dominating roughness left you jarred and unsatisfied. 

He knelt down and pressed a kiss to your aching cunt, making you shudder as he stood back up. 

“Come on, darling. Stark’s party has another couple hours. You did want me to stand by you for interviews, didn’t you?” Loki hummed, slipping your dress to fall back down over your legs. 

“Loki, I don’t know if I can walk.” He laughed, releasing the invisible bonds on your wrists and pulling you up to stand. He held your jaw and pressed a tender kiss to your lips, leaving your head spinning.

“You’re so pretty in this dress, darling. Come on, let’s go enjoy the party.” 

You walked out of the bathroom, his hand on your lower back. He murmured affirmations in your ear, and put a drink in your hands, smiling at Bucky and Steve as they chatted with you. 

“Y/N, how is everything with your boyfriend, here?” A reporter asked you, and you leaned back into Loki’s chest. You fought off the urge to slip into subspace after the sex, and you gave the reporter a dreamy smile.

“It’s amazing. Loki is wonderful to me, as always.” You answered, looking up at the young god who smiled down at you. You were dazed as you kept up with the party, and there wasn’t a second without Loki’s hands somewhere on your body.

“Loki, please, this party is too much.” You whispered to him. You wanted to go back to the privacy of your suite, and be alone with Loki. He gave into your request, whisking you away back to your bedroom. 

“I need you, I need you to make me come. I’m sorry I was a brat.” You babbled softly, and he gently kissed you, slipping the dress off of your shoulders and helping you step out of it. 

“I’m going to take care of you darling, relax.” Loki hummed into your neck before laying you down carefully on the bed. He was attentive to the fact he’d destroyed you earlier, and he knelt down between your legs to eat you out instead of putting you through another round of fucking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I just wanted attention!” Your words came out in shaky breaths as he licked through your folds, pulling your clit between his lips.

“My darling, I know. I love you, I’m no longer upset. If you want my attention you need only ask. Now hush and let me make my gorgeous girl feel good.” He said with a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You weaved your fingers into his black hair, rocking against his face as he ate you out, bringing you to the edge within minutes. 

“Loki!” 

“Let go, darling.” He coaxed you, and the coil in your belly snapped with a scream. You throbbed as you came, and he rode you through it, licking up everything that dripped from your aching center. 

“I love you,” He said softly, pulling you to lay in his arms and lulling you to sleep.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!