#ssa morgan

[readytoreid]

Morgan, picking up the phone while not looking: Hey baby girl, tell me something I wanna hear.

Hotch, deadpan: There’s been another homicide, chocolate thunder.

[beandraws]

Give him a kiss Shemar 😐

[spncrscasey]

watching criminal minds and realizing how much shit hotch has to explain in his reports😭😭 morgan kicking down doors, rossi insulting local pd, garcia hacking sites she’s not supposed to, the reason gideon insulted unsubs- like give this man a break .

this is excluding all the times reid gets kidnapped, shot, injured, taken hostage, sent to jail etc like that’s a whole other hassle LOL

[vhyunjinverse]

Pink

poc f!reader x Derek Morgan (18+)

summary: frantically looking for a specific pair of panties, you stumble upon them in a way you didn’t expect

warnings: masturbation, oral (male receiving)

“Derek have you seen my panties? The pink ones?” You groan, searching through the drawer of lace underwear. You and Derek were going out later and knowing yourself and time..you started getting ready two hours early. The shower was running, you were mid skin-care routine, walking around your apartment in nothing but one of Derek’s shirts you found lying on the floor.

“Baby?” You call out. Silence. You huff and stand up, closing the drawer with your foot. You walk past your clothes on the bed, making sure everything was there. Everything but the underwear. It was stupid- you knew, getting so worked up over panties you’d take off eventually that same night. Still, it was part of your outfit choice and you were pretty stubborn and wouldn’t get dressed until you’re dressed down the way you wanted to. Plus they were Derek’s favorite pair.

“Fuck man.” You groan and go back to the bathroom, you had no time to waste or you wouldn’t go at all. You didn’t have time to look for Derek, who was somewhere in the living space. It frustrated you, truthfully. You always seem to have a crisis before leaving to go anywhere. He knew this. Derek was well aware. “Fuck..”

He grunted softly. The thin material in his hand while he stroked his cock..such a large one too. He moans, brows furrowing while he listened to you call for him. Sweat beaded his forehead, he could barely open his eyes it felt so good. They smelled like you too. One of many of his favorite parts of you. How wet you’d get while his tongue ran over your clit. How you’d take his juicy cock with ease in such a slutty hole fit only for him. “That’s it..good girl.” His voice trembled, feeling his cock twitch.

“Really?” You stand in the doorway of the laundry room, watching Derek moan and cum on the panties. You watch that cocky smirk of his, rubbing the material over his now sensitive tip. He glances up at you, scanning you over. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Bullshit.” You walk over, taking the panties from his hand and putting them in the clothes bin. You get on your knees, looking up at your lover. He reaches down to rub his thumb on your cheek. “Think we’ll make it in time?”

“Don’t start with me.” You roll your eyes, taking the thick cock in your mouth.

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 6. ain't like home

burn the bridges in our town till the point where we drown, as it all comes down. - Dotan, Home

S E P T E M B E R   1 7 T H   2 0 1 1

Coming back to Kansas City stirred up a storm of feelings inside me, pulling memories from the depths where they'd been hiding for so long. Walking down those streets again, it felt like a tug-of-war between wanting to be here and wishing I were anywhere else.

It had been ages since I'd been in this city, and part of me questioned if I even wanted to be back. But duty called, reminding me why I'd returned—Maile needed me, and that was reason enough.

"Alex."

The sound of my name, spoken with such gravity, cut through the air, snapping me back to reality. I turned to see my brother coming towards me, a reminder of the family ties that bind us, whether we liked it or not.

Inhaling deeply to steady my nerves, I acknowledged him with a nod, my greeting carrying a mix of composure and underlying tension. "Scott," I said, my tone carefully neutral, though hints of apprehension lingered beneath the surface.

Despite the warmth of the sun casting its golden glow over the city streets, an intangible chill seemed to permeate the air, casting a shadow over our interaction.

His question hung between us, weighted with skepticism and perhaps a touch of judgment. "What brings you back here?" he queried, his voice betraying a hint of doubt.

Meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve, I made my intentions clear. "I'm here for Maile," I asserted firmly, my words leaving no room for misinterpretation.

An incredulous scoff escaped him, accompanied by a dismissive roll of his eyes. "You're kidding, right?" he retorted, frustration lacing his voice. "I thought you were done with all of that, you finally moved on."

Though his words stung, I refused to let them shake my determination. "Maile's gone missing, Scott," I explained, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in my tone. "I couldn't just ignore that."

His uncertainty was clear, etched in the lines of his face and the cautious tone in his voice. "I thought you and her weren't on speaking terms," he remarked, his curiosity evident.

I met his gaze squarely, my determination unwavering despite the skepticism in his eyes. "There's more to it than that," I replied, my voice steady.

His skepticism persisted as he leaned forward, pressing for more information. "How can you be so sure she's missing?" he probed further.

In response, I reached across the table, laying out the collection of poems in front of him. His brow furrowed as he examined the pages, his skepticism growing. "What's the deal with these?" he questioned, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Poems," I stated plainly, my voice calm but resolute. Despite his doubts, I knew these verses held the key to understanding Maile's disappearance, and I was determined to make him understand their significance. "She wrote them."

He delicately lifted the first poem from the table, his fingers moving with a mix of caution and curiosity, as though each line held a hidden message waiting to be deciphered. With furrowed brows, he scanned the verses, his gaze lingering on certain words, perhaps searching for clues that eluded even the most discerning eye.

After a moment, he set the first poem down and reached for the second, his demeanor shifting to one of deeper concentration. His eyes darted across the page, absorbing each word with intent scrutiny, as if trying to unravel the secrets woven within the lines. Finally, with a thoughtful exhale, he placed the second poem beside the first, his expression a blend of contemplation and skepticism.

Turning his attention back to me, he voiced his doubts, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "What makes you so certain she wrote these?" he questioned, his skepticism challenging the notion that these poems were Maile's handiwork.

I felt a pang of frustration at my inability to provide concrete evidence, my conviction resting solely on intuition and the haunting familiarity of Maile's writing style. How could I convey the depth of my certainty when I lacked tangible proof?

Sensing my inner turmoil, Hotch interjected with a calm authority, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Let me point something out," he began, his tone measured yet authoritative. "In the first poem, the word 'Smiles' is capitalized and circled in what we believe to be her blood. And as you might know, your sister used to call her-"

My brother's expression softened slightly as Hotch's words sank in, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. "Smiles," he echoed, the word carrying a weight of memories and shared experiences. Yet, despite this moment of recognition, skepticism still lingered as he voiced his doubts. "You know, Alex, this is a stretch to say the least. We need more than just circumstantial evidence to make such claims."

With determination in my voice, I faced him squarely, my patience wearing thin like an old rug. "You don't need to help us, Scott," I shot back, frustration seeping into my tone. "We've been given a place on your turf. If you want to join our investigation, feel free to do so. If you don't, stay the hell out of my way."

Turning sharply on my heel, I exited the room, leaving behind a lingering cloud of tension thicker than molasses. Despite my departure, the echo of conversation between my brother and my team members still reached my ears.

Morgan's words hung in the air like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. "This means a great deal to her," his voice carried, tinged with concern. "You might want to take it seriously."

But my brother's response sliced through the atmosphere like a sharp knife, his tone rigid and unwavering. "I can't," he snapped back tersely. "I can't take anything seriously that has to do with that Crane girl. Alex's always been crazy about that girl, something I never understood. That girl is insane, and makes Alex look like a pedophile. I... Alex can't think straight when it comes to that girl."

As his words sank into my thoughts, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbled up within me. How could he casually dismiss the seriousness of our situation, shrugging off the urgency of our investigation like it was nothing? But it was clear that changing his mind wouldn't be easy.

"Is it really that hard to ease her mind?" Hotch's question hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a palpable tension over the room as everyone waited for my brother's response. When he stayed quiet, Hotch pushed forward, his voice steady but firm.

"If you don't trust Blake," Hotch started, his words deliberate, "that's okay. But then help us by proving that Maile Crane has nothing to do with this. We need to know everything about her. And everything about her connection with your sister."

As I observed him from behind the partially open blinds of the office, I could sense the weight of his frustration in the way his hands grasped at his hair. His voice, tinged with a mix of nostalgia and unease, filled the room as he began to recount memories from our past.

"We used to live right across from the Crane family," he started, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "There was Everett Crane, Josephine, and Maile. They were always a bit peculiar." His words hung in the air, carrying a mix of uncertainty and intrigue.

"He was a friendly guy, everyone in the neighborhood loved him," he continued, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. "Josephine kept to herself mostly, didn't socialize much. Alex, though, she really took a shine to her. I think Alex was probably the only person Josephine ever really talked to around here."

Listening to his memories, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences with our former neighbors. Josephine held a special place in my heart; she was like a second mother to me. Despite the description, I remembered her as gentle and nurturing, always there with a kind word or a story to share. She had taught me how to read, passing on a gift that I later shared with her daughter, Maile.

As he delved further into his memories, each word seemed to stir up a whirlwind of emotions inside me. His voice, lacking any emotion, cut through the air, yet his words sparked a fiery anger within me.

"I guess I never really got to know her," he continued, his tone distant. "But she... she was always just wandering around, observing everything. And whenever someone tried to talk to her, she'd bolt and run away." His words painted a picture of Maile, but it clashed with the lively, spirited girl I remembered.

"Nobody really got close to her, except for Alex," he added. At the mention of my name, a flood of memories rushed back—times spent with Maile, secrets shared under the moonlight.

"My sister was crazy about that girl, more than she was about her own family," he admitted, bitterness dripping from his words. "She'd make decisions, big ones, based on what would be good for Maile." His revelation filled the room, highlighting the sacrifices made for love.

"People in the neighborhood thought she was obsessed with that girl. They wondered if she'd had a 'thing' for Maile," he continued, his tone heavy with resentment. "They started to keep a distance. It really put a strain on our family." The weight of his confession lingered, casting a shadow over our past.

Leaving the building, weighed down by my brother's revelations, I sought refuge in the calmness of the precinct's benches outside. The breeze offered a soothing touch against my skin, a brief respite from the storm raging within.

Soon, my team joined me, their presence a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. Morgan's question broke the silence, delving straight to the heart of the matter.

"Did Maile always have to watch out for people?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, memories of the Crane household flooding back vividly. "Yeah, he beat that into her. Same with Josephine," I confessed, the gravity of my words hanging in the air. "They lived in constant fear of everyone."

Anxiety gripped me tightly as I spoke, a sense of urgency pushing my words forward. "I want to make something clear. I wasn't in love with Maile. I loved- still love her, but I promise..."

Hotch's hand gently rested on my shoulder, offering a momentary sense of reassurance. His eyes conveyed understanding as he spoke softly. "We know, Blake," he reassured me, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of my turmoil. "But we also recognize that circumstances change."

I turned to him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. "What do you mean?" I inquired, my voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

His expression softened, a mixture of sympathy and resolve evident in his gaze. "What I mean is, Maile holds a special place in your heart," he explained gently but firmly. "No matter how much time passes or how hard you try to deny it, she's deeply ingrained in your soul. The way you talk about her, the way you care for her—you have given her your heart and you're not gonna get it back. Blake. And that's something you can't change. She is the love of your life."

His words struck a chord deep inside me, reminding me of something I had tried to ignore. Thinking back on my life, I couldn't deny the strong feelings I always had for Maile. No matter what, she was the most important person to me.

I tried to find happiness with other people, getting into relationships and even getting married. But nothing compared to what I felt for Maile. Even when she wasn't around, I couldn't forget about her. She was always on my mind, guiding me like a bright light in the dark.

In my life story, Maile was like the string that held everything together. Even though I tried to move on, she was always there, shaping my decisions and influencing my path.

With a heavy heart, I accepted the undeniable truth: Maile was more than just a friend; she was the love of my life, the one who held the key to my heart, even when she was absent from it.

"So where are we going next?" Morgan asked.

Raising my gaze to meet Morgan's inquisitive eyes, I felt a surge of determination coursing through me, mingling with the memories that flooded my mind. "We're going to 'the house across the street'."

[thejeidhater]

derek when spencer started working at the bau

[hazelhearts]

Hotch: Kids, stop arguing or I'll turn this car around!

Rossi, stepping on the pedal: STOP TALKING OR I'LL CRASH THIS CAR INTO A FUCKING WALL

Spencer, JJ, Derek, and Emily: *screaming*

[theinternetphantom]

Morgan: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be?

JJ: Maybe a bit tipsy?

Emily: Drunk.

Rossi: Wasted.

Reid: Dead.