#pentagon soft hours

[rynbutt]

safe. | spencer reid.

You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.

my masterlist!

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3

now playing... Fare Well by Hozier

This was really starting to piss you off.

You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.

Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.

Because you swore this baby had it out for you.

You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore. 

You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.

“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.

“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”

“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.

Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly. 

Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.

“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.

“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.

“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”

Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”

“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”

“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.

“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were. 

“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.

“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.

“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman. 

“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.

“...How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.

“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.

You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”

“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom. 

You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.

You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.

“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.

“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile. 

“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”

“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”

“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand. 

You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour. 

Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.

“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.

The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.

“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos. 

“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”

“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.

“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.

Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”

“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.

“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied. 

“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around. 

You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team. 

“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”

“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh. 

“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone. 

“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat. 

Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”

Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”

Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.

You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.

“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.

“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.

“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”

“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”

“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth. 

“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”

“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.

“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”

“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”

You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”

“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again. 

“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”

“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”

“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.

You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”

Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”

You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.

The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house. 

You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.

You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–

“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.

“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”

You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”

“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.

Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”

Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”

“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.

“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”

“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”

“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.

You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”

He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”

“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.

“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.

“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.

“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.

“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard. 

“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”

“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.

“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”

“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”

“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.

“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”

“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”

Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”

“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house. 

Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”

“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car. 

Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child. 

You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this. 

“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”

You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”

“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.

“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that. 

Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.

“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.

“Yes?”

“Is your son Peter here?”

“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.

“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.

It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.

You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers. 

“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.

“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.

“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.

“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him. 

“It was an accident,” you replied softly.

“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.

“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”

“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”

David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”

“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.

“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.

“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.

“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator. 

“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”

“We’re going to get an ambulance–”

“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned. 

Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”

Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.

Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.

Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.

“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”

“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.

“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.

“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression. 

Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.

Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”

Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.” 

Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.

Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.

A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.

“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway. 

You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”

Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”

“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”

“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly. 

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.

Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.

“I’m sorry–”

“You don’t need to–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile. 

“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.

“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”

Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.

You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.

“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.

“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.

“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.

“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.

He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”

“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”

a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!

[ujunxverse]

do it like that soty i don't make the rules

[miley1442111]

transfer- s.reid

______________________________________________________________

a/n: intended for fem reader, but as always imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: how your sudden transfer forces certain feelings to the surface

pairing: spencer reid x bau! reader

warnings: none

______________________________________________________________

“It’s an executive decision Y/n, they are not asking,” Hotch sighed and you felt bile rise in your throat as the team stared in horror. You were being transferred to the Pentagon. “I know this will be an emotional time for all of us-”

“It’s not emotional, it’s a horrible idea,” Spencer said, his voice calm despite the storm raging in his mind. He wouldn’t be able to see you everyday? Bullshit. “She’s a crucial member of this team-”

“Spencer, they aren’t asking. Strauss expects her to be back in DC within the next hour,” he explained and exited the room. Everyone fell silent and Spencer raised his eyes to meet yours. You looked terrified and angry, he hadn’t seen you this angry ever.  

Not only were you one of the most vital members of the team, you were the thing that made all this shit just that small bit easier to deal with. What would he do now without your teasing jokes? How would he even want to go to work when he knew he wouldn’t see your tired smiles in the mornings? When would he remember to rest if you weren’t reminding him? 

And how would he be able to tell you he was in love with you when he didn’t see you everyday?

“I-I’ll… I’ll go get my bag,” You sighed, accepting your fate and leaving the room, Spencer trailing behind you. 

“Y/n!” He called after you. “Wait, I-I’ll come with you to grab your things,” He internally kicked himself for not thinking of something better to say. When he caught up with you outside the building, he could see the tears falling from your eyes, even in the darkness of the night. 

“I don’t want to leave,” You sniffled. “I told them I didn’t want a new position, I told them that I was h-happy here, that I want to be h-here.”

Spencer took you in his arms, letting you cry into the side of his neck. Had the circumstances been different, he would’ve over thought about the fact that you were so close to him. So close that he could smell your hair, so close that he could feel your soft skin on his, so close that he was very much enjoying the way you clung to him. 

“I mean… I don’t have any say? T-there’s so much more I wanted to do… I- I had this whole plan-”

“It’s ok,” he soothed. “You’ll do great things at the pentagon-”

“Fuck the pentagon!” You exclaimed, pushing him off of you. “I wanted to… I wanted to tell you for so long, a-and then the moment never seemed right, a-and I just assumed I-I’d lost m-my chance and I’m was sure you were already s-seeing someone so it didn’t even matter but then we g-got even closer a-and-”

Spencer’s heart was beating out of his chest, were you trying to say what he thought you were? “What are you trying to say?!” He shouted over your rambling, stopping the pacing you were doing in front of him. 

“I’m in love with you!” You shouted back. Spencer stood there, stunned, as you anxiously waited for an answer. You got one in the form of the grin on Spencer’s face. One of his hands reached out and grabbed your waist, while the other cupped your cheek, pulling you in to kiss him. His lips against yours were electric. You were relieved that he felt the same way and you were ecstatic that he kissed you.

“I’m in love with you too,” he whispered against your lips, pulling away. Your hands rooted themselves in his hair as he kissed you again, only pulling away when the rest of the team cheered from the door. 

You two were met with congratulations and cheers, happy that the two of you had finally told each other how you felt. 

You walked onto the airstrip, Spencer’s hand in yours, not even scared for your new role. 

You had Spencer, what else did you need?

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, obx+)

[tojjist]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘁 - 𝗝. 𝗘𝗴𝗼

jinpachi ego x f! reader

tags: pwp, unintentional exhibitionism, semi-public sex, ego being an asshole, degradation, reverse cowgirl (kinda), mentions of masturbation (third person(s)), dacryphilia if you squint, marking/bruising, humiliation, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, slight objectification of reader.

note: this is my first ever fully-written smut so uh yeah forgive my lack of description and experience. also kinda rushed write it at like 3am in maybe an hour. Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! minors, ageless & blank blogs dni

“ego-san! eguhh—!”

your hips thrust; up, down. up, down. moving against his length. ego’s long fingers were digging into the soft skin of your hips, forcing harsher movement as your walls swallowed him whole.

“such a fucking slut,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “taking my cock like a champ, that’s how you like it, huh? wanna get fucked ‘til ya can’t see?”

you don’t respond to his harsh words, too focused on the pleasure. your hips kept thrusting but you weren’t doing all the work; ego knew you wouldn’t be able to move on your own when he’s balls deep inside you.

but, jinpachi ego doesn’t take well to being ignored. if he asks you a question he expects you to respond.

one of his hands curls in your hair, harshly fisting it as he stops helping you move. naturally, your movements become sloppy and sleazy over his cock, still attempting to enjoy his length despite the way he’s gripping your hair and turning your face, forcing you to look at him.

“answer, sweerheart. wanna hear my little doll’s response, hm? don’t leave me waiting, whore.”

it was so astonishing how easily his vocabulary swapped. to him you were but a little fucktoy for him to enjoy. he didn’t have to make you feel good, which he did. you at least owe him an answer.

“y-yes, egoh-san,” you blabbered, barely able to keep your sanity together.

it is embarrassing; you’re a strong woman of a high position, yet the highest position you can get with this man is riding his cock like a slut. how he knew all your weaknesses you don’t know. jinpachi ego is a wonder and as much as you’d like to explore him, it’s clear he’s the only one getting any exploring here. you’re only there to serve, to drool and moan as he fucks you stupid.

but unbeknownst to either of you, it is broadcasted all over the blue lock.

you knew having sex right in front of the the controls was a bad idea. god, you begged him so much to just drop it and have sex somewhere else.

but ego insisted to do something he’s seen in some porno, sitting on his chair while you’re on top of him. the leather chair was whining under you two as you moved. you would have been worried about it breaking if you weren’t too busy getting fucked.

and now you’re both paying for ego’s selfishness. it was you, huffing and moaning, your breasts jiggling up and down as he had lifted the shirt off them. one every screen of every room. everyone was watching now.

and the boys? oh, they were devouring the broadcast. how could they not when your soft begs echo through almost every room of the pentagon shaped building?

seriously, these controls should be more complicated. yet one wrong move is all it took you and now 300 young men are watching you sob.

“ego-san—! ‘m close! close!!”

your tears weren’t many, but the ones that fell were fat, blurring your eyesight and arousing jinpachi oh so much.

“feels good-“ he groaned slightly at the way your hips move faster, teeth clenching agaist each other. “feels good, slut? ya like my c-cock in you— fuck-“

the way your face reddened and your moans became even more pitched was definitely the finishing line for most of the boys, watching as one of ego’s fingers rubbed at your pretty nipple, squeezing your breast then pinching the darker skin in the middle.

with a final sob, a final thrust, and a final breath, your release came. your head jerked back as your spine arched, moaning especially loud now. ego groaned as your gummy walls tightened around him, teeth clamping against the plush skin of your neck. he made sure to leave his mark on you; dark bruises on your neck as he bites so hard it almost draws blood.

one would be a fool to think that jinpachi was helping you ride out your orgasm. his name is ego. no one matters, not even you. he was only chasing his own release, wearing you out until his cock twitched under the pleasureful pressure, shooting white paint across the walls of your tight cunt. the lewd noises of skin slapping against each other remained loud, echoing across the monitor room as jinpachi rocked your hips back and forth until he couldn’t anymore.

“get up.”

“what?” you squeak innocently ant his harsh demand. you were barely just catching your breath.

“ya heard me, don’t make me say it again. get up.”

if there is one thing you learnt from being ego’s personal stress reliever, it’s to obey. no questions asked. he demands, you answer.

and you are one good lap dog. you allow him to mush and shape you however he likes because, for some reason, it felt so fucking good.

you didn’t have to be told another time, twice is a lot. you stand up without question, back facing jinpachi as you wait. was it anticipation or dread pooling in your stomach? you weren’t sure.

“bend over.”

his words were absolute. but this time you went rigid, not moving an inch.

“did you not hear me?” “ego-san..”

ego stands up, hand finding your head roughly as he begins to push it down. “when i tell you to bend over you fucking-“

he noticed it too.

there was a small red light, coming on and off, indicating that this is in fact getting recorded.

“shit…”

[melrodrigo]

Lovesick - W.A.

Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Wednesday are polar opposites. Do they really attract?

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Request from ages ago, I didn’t proofread this. Please excuse any mistakes. Happy reading! <3

Wednesday had a problem.

When Wednesday had first transferred to Nevermore, and gotten the infamous Enid welcome and introduction, she couldn't have cared less about you.

"That is Bianca Barklay, the closest thing to Nevermore royalty they'll ever be."

Then Enid pointed to a girl sitting next to Bianca, staring at the bubbles in the water fountain with intrigue.

"And that, is YN. She's the school heartthrob. It's just impossible to not love her, you'll see."

"She looks like a mushroom." Wednesday replied dryly, swiftly turning on her heel and heading back to her dorm.

"She's a sweetheart. Everyone likes her. You'll find out what I mean. I'm always right!" Enid shouted out, before quickly catching up and walking side by side with the goth.

Enid had warned that this would happen. God, how was Enid right?

Wednesday's frown only grew deeper as she thought back to the moments you've shared over the past year.

-

"Hey, you must be Wednesday right? New girl?"

All you got in return was a curt nod.

"Allllright, I get it, you don't wanna talk. Trust me I get it, I was so silent the first week here, some people thought I was mute!"

Silence.

You frown a bit but redirect your focus to the teacher emerging from the door.

-

"Enid I do not understand why I have to suffer not only with you, but her. I was content just sitting down in the dorm and practicing my cello."

The werewolf had recently gotten three free passes to Jericho, and decided to drag both you and Wednesday out for a cup of coffee.

"I hate to agree with her Enid, but I really have a lot of biology homework to do." You mused from behind, still sore from fencing class you had that day.

"Oh come on! It's good for you two to bond. My two besties, we're gonna be so cool together!" Enid makes an excited sound, "We should come up with a group name!"

When Wednesday quips back that she'd rather die in a long long torturous death (which she'd probably enjoy) instead of have a group name, you can't help but snort in agreement.

You shoot Wednesday a look, small smile playing on your lips.

-

Ever since that first day at Jericho, Enid had you guys connected by the hip. Unwillingly.

But as the days went on, Wednesday found out you weren't so bad.

She was particularly late to lunch today, catching up with updates on the hyde case.

In fact, she was debating skipping lunch all together. But as she glanced over to the pentagon, a hand shot up along with a shout.

"Wednesday! Over here!" You were waving your hand wildly, gesturing for her to walk over.

Wednesday bit back a sigh as she moved towards you, and to her surprise, there was one empty seat opposite of you, plate full, apple on the side.

"I got some lunch for you. Oh and a plain granola bar, I see you always like eating them." You tell her absentmindedly, munching on a sloppy joe.

Wednesday hesitates, before saying a quiet thank you.

"It's my pleasure Wends. So, how's the hyde case going?"

You both don't mention the fact you used a nickname to address her. She sighs, she supposed it was nice of you to get her lunch, so she tells you about the case.

"It's going well YN, I've just had a breakthrough......"

-

"Come on Wends, pleaseee? I really really really wanna go to The Weathervane."

You stare at Wednesday with your famous puppy eyes, and see Wednesday's glare soften just the slightest bit.

"I....suppose we can go in a few hours. After I've finished my writing hour, I have hyde business to do there anyway." She says, even though she'd already taken care of the issue already.

"Could you help me study for midterms? I do not understand anything for the life of me." You whine and throw the book back on her bed. Flopping onto the soft fabric dramatically.

"Bring it with you to the Weathervane." Wednesday says sharply, and returns back to her typewriter.

-

"Sucky Birthday to you Wednesday! Come, follow me." You squeal excitedly, reaching for the goth and pulling her by the wrist.

Physical touch has come sort of, natural to you with Wednesday. You were a naturally touchy person anyway, but when you were around Wednesday everything felt very...heightened.

Hm, I wonder what that is.

Wednesday was constantly complaining about your intense need to be touching her at all times, but she never actually pulled away when you did; and you're well aware she could if she wanted to.

"Where are we going?" She asks, tone somewhat annoyed.

You turn to her and smile; so bright Wednesday swears light shone through your teeth.

"Grave digging!"

Wednesday's eyebrows twitches in amusement, a small but noticeable movement. You've become sort of professional in her mannerisms over the past few months.

"I knew you'd like it. Come on." You say, practically sprinting to your destination. It's not a smart move, and you stumble over your own feet; arms still connected with Wednesday's.

You fall flat on your back into the soft grass, Wednesday on top of you.

She looks so good, the moonlight shining on her face. You steal a glance at her lips.

She's staring at you with wide eyes, arms on both sides of your face. Her braids frame your head a little.

She coughs awkwardly, then gets up and looks the other way.

You follow suit, trying to calm down your racing heart.

"Ooookay. Let's- let's get grave digging now." You say finally, watch as Wednesday walks toward you but avoids your eye.

She's grateful it's dark out, or else you would've seen the red coating her ears. And when you reach for her wrist she pulls back, afraid you'll be able to feel her racing heart.

-

It's parent's day. The long awaited dreadful day where Wednesday has to talk to her parents.

They'll be able to tell right away, she has no doubt. She's lovesick.

They’d see right through her. They're like magic love wizards in that way.

"You ready Wends?" You muse from behind her, take her hand in yours. You were currently situated in her dorm room, the two of you alone; waiting for your parents to come.

"No." She replies, but not in a sarcastic or dry way. She sounds kind of...scared.

You poke her cheek and watch as she tries and swat your hand away.

"You look a little on edge." You observe, staring at the hairs on the back of her neck.

She's a little afraid if she tells you why she's nervous for this specific meeting she'll let it slip that she might've accidentally caught feelings for you.

Ugh. Feelings.

It's come to the point where she can actually say she has feelings for you. It’s pathetic, and quite frankly sickening.

"I'm fine. Let's just get this over with." She grumbles, and bursts through the door; leaving you standing dumbly in her room.

"Wednesday, darling how have you been?" Her mother drawls, smile on her lips as she speaks.

"I've been good mother. Apart from the gigantic monster that's trying to kill me. Actually, I think I'm having lots of fun." Wednesday says, looking over her moms shoulder to spy on you.

Just a little bit.

You look lively, and happy. It makes her feel weird in her tummy.

"My little storm cloud, what are you looking at?" Her father asks, watching Wednesday with keen eyes. It wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Addams were very observatrice people, and he could tell straight away when Wednesday has lost focus.

He follows his daughters gaze to a certain werewolf. He has to blink one more time to make sure he's not seeing things.

“Oh," He smiles, soft. "I see what's going on."

Wednesday turns sharply, face impassive.

"You don't see anything." She says hotly. Too fast for her normal speech.

Her mom smirks, catching on quick.

"Oh sweetie, we think it's cute. Our little storm cloud is in love." They coo, leaning forward to whisper with Wednesday.

The black hair girl scoffs, and folds her arms in front of her chest.

"I am not in love. I do not know what you are talking about." She replies.

"Sure you don't." Pugley adds, peeping in between his parents.

Wednesday suddenly feels hot underneath their gaze. She gets up abruptly, tilts her face up in hopes for some high ground.

"You all annoy me. This is why I don't write to you." She says before turning on her heel and heading over to you.

You stare at her with curious eyes as she walks toward you. Stops in front of you, hands stiff like a soldier.

"Hey? Whatcha doing?" You ask, pat the seat next to you. She ignores the feeling of something fluttering in her stomach when you accidentally touch fingertips.

"I would like to stay here with you. If you do not mind. My parents are being...unreasonable." She says, picking her words carefully.

You chuckle, smile softly.

"Of course you can stay here Wednesday. Come, come meet my family."

Wednesday’s heart almost jumps out her chest. She's really not one to be scared easily, but this was easily one of the most intense moments of her life.

She usually didn't care if anyone didn't like her, but there was an underlying nagging feeling that told her this was important. Your family was an essential part of you, and if she wanted to win you over; she had to win over your family too.

"I can't wait."

[batarella]

Bruce's Bathtime - Batfamily Sitcom

Bruce's mistake was thinking he could have a peaceful night in the bath on his day off when his manor is full of kids who share one brain.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED BUT I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SWEET FOR YOU TO ENJOY. THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY "BATH" BY SAM AND MICKEY ON YOUTUBE.

WORDS: 1.7K

WARNINGS: NONE. IT'S WHOLESOME AND SWEET.

MASTERLIST

——-

Crime rates were always at an all-time low in time for the Superbowl.

Which meant Batman gets a day off. Duke was the only one on patrol that night. Alfred spent half an hour convincing him not to spend the night at the cave.

“Master Bruce, the bath has been drawn and I’ve taken the liberty of using the expensive lavender bath salts so you would not like to waste it.”

“You’re right, Alfred. I’m a billionaire and I find the fifty-dollar lavender salts a waste to not use.”

“Just get in the bath, Master Wayne. Just thirty minutes of quiet shall do you good. I’ve set an alarm.”

Since when did Bruce start working for him?

He did as told anyway. Bruce closed the bathroom door and stripped off his clothes to get in the tub. There were so many callouses in his body, he barely felt just how burning the temperature was.

It was just a minute in there when the first knock woke him from drifting off.

“Bruce?”

What the hell is Dick doing out of Bludhaven? “What?”

“Is the music room haunted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I heard something inside.”

“Instruments tend to do that.”

“I did a headcount of everyone in the manor and everyone is accounted for except Duke who you sent out for patrol so I doubt it’s anyone but a ghost,” Dick said.

“Get out.”

“But I’m not even inside the bathroom.”

“Go away.”

“What if it’s not a ghost? What if it’s a spy?”

“The manor has more advanced security systems than the Pentagon, Dick.”

“That’s not a good point of comparison.”

Bruce closed his eyes and let the steam slow his rising blood pleasure.

“Just check the room. Could have been the wind.”

“I’m too scared.”

This man was almost thirty and was still giving Bruce the same amount of aneurysms as when he was eight.

“Ask Alfred to check for you.”

“Okay.”

He heard fading footsteps and let them lull him into sleep. He set his large arms onto the sides of the tub, sinking his mouth under the water.

“Father,” a voice said from out the door followed by three soft knocks by a small hand.

“What, Damian?”

“I need you to sign this letter from the school headmaster.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He doubted that.

“It’s for a parent-teacher conference.”

Bruce let the silence answer for him until Damian gave in.

“Someone attacked me in class.”

“Damian-“

“Okay, I threw the first punch but he taunted me first about how I was small for my age but I said that I’m of perfect size for my age and that I’m simply too smart to be crowded into elementary school children when my intellect belongs to that of a senior and then he asked what I was doing here and not in 5th grade and I said what was he doing here and not in 5th grade and he spat at me and now his nose is broken and they want you to cover the medical bills.”

Christ.

“Maybe you don’t have to pay it. You can call them yourself. You’re Bruce Wayne. You can get away with anything.”

“I can, but you’re not Bruce Wayne, so you have to deal with it.”

“Can you just sign this, Father?”

“Fine.”

Damian walked in, fanning the steam off his face and covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own father naked, then handed him the letter to sign it.

“Make sure your handwriting is the same as when I forged it.”

His eyes could not have rolled further back into his skull.

The boy walked out, just two seconds before the next set of voices made him wish the gunman shot him in the head four decades ago and not just his parents.

“Bruce, could you tell Jason he’s not the only one who died and come back to life and that his robin costume doesn’t deserve to have to top display in the Batcave anymore especially since he’s here?” Tim said.

Jason’s voice was even more obnoxious. “I died first, asshole and no one else would have died if it weren’t for me so clearly, you should thank me. And my rebranding was better. You’re still technically a robin since, you know, it’s the other half of your name, so you don’t deserve to be memorialized.”

“You don’t deserve to be memorialized at all when you’re alive and not a memory. You’re not even the first robin.”

“You’re not the first anything.”

“I’m the first at a lot of things.”

“Replacement.”

“Glorified zombie.”

Bruce grabbed the cucumbers Alfred had laid out on the table next to him just so his eyes wouldn’t burst out in blood at how much he wanted to scream.

“Ask Alfred what to do,” Bruce said.

“Alfred is with Dick in the music room to look for ghosts. We need an answer now.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

“Tim threw my robin costume piled up with all their robin costumes when clearly, it should be in the display case,” Jason said. “And Tim wants to move my motorbike out of the cave.”

“You have so many motorbikes, would it hurt you to move just one?”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce counted to ten. “No.”

“No to what?”

“Everything.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

“I could not care any less.”

“Can we please come in?”

“No, I’m naked.”

“We’ve seen you naked.”

“Not on purpose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get glass cases for both of you and we’ll pretend it’s a shrine as if you’re still dead. Happy?”

“Not from dying but sure,” said Tim.

“What about the motorbikes?”

“Put it outside,” said Bruce.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“Do whatever. Throw out the T-Rex in the cave for all I care.”

“Also, I need access to the batcomputers,” Jason said.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has access except me.”

“That’s for a reason, Jason.”

“Pretty please.”

“Get out.”

It took another five minutes of the two yapping at the other side of the door before it finally quieted down.

Then his phone started ringing. Duke.

That was when his blood pressure really started to spike.

“Duke? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.

“Me?” said Duke. “Oh yeah everything’s great! Not much crime when everyone’s watching the halftime show.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Can I use the batmobile?”

Fuck a duck. “For what?”

“The streets are empty and you said I could drive it when there isn’t traffic.”

He hung up and threw the phone into the water before Duke could say anything else.

He had five minutes of quiet this time. Then Steph was at the door. “Bruce!”

An aneurysm. One of these days, he might actually have one.

“What now?”

“Can I change rooms?”

“Why?”

“Dick said there’s a ghost in the music room and my room is like five feet away and I don’t think I can sleep there anymore.”

“You slept there last night and everything is fine.”

“Ghosts can be quiet, Bruce, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. And you’ve made a lot of enemies, so I won’t be surprised if anyone’s settled in to haunt you.”

You’d think he wasn’t in a house full of vigilantes who fight the city’s most dangerous criminals.

“I haven’t killed anyone, Stephanie. I keep all my enemies alive.”

“What if it’s not your enemy? They don’t have to hate you to haunt you. Can I please just change rooms?”

“Move wherever you want. I don’t care.”

“Can I move to the bedroom at the west wing?”

“That’s mine,” Bruce said.

“You have a bedroom? I thought you never slept.”

“Fine. Take it. Just get out.”

“Really?” Steph squealed. “The master bedroom. Sweet!”

It took less than five seconds before the next reason for his headache started pounding at the door.

“Bruce! Jason is trying to hack into the batcomputer!”

“I did not!”

“He did!”

“The World’s Greatest Detective is just mad I guessed his password on the second try.”

Bruce sank into the water, drowning their yapping until it had blurred out. He held his breath for seven minutes straight. He could die. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just when it was finally quiet, again, Bruce rose up and found Damian sitting on the toilet.

He continued to look unbothered even when he looked at Bruce straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?”

“I’d like to use this toilet.”

“There’s fifteen bathrooms in the manor, Damian.”

“I like this one.”

“I understand I have not spent as much time with you, but this is not what your tutors mean by father-son bonding.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I don’t mean to bond with you. I just like this toilet.”

“Fine. Please. Take your time.”

He did take his time. Damian sat there for a whole five minutes and pulled out a book.

“I wasn’t being serious. Get out of here.”

“Relax, father. It’s your day off.”

Bruce eyelids fluttered closed and he refused to open them until his son left the bathroom.

The next knock made a blood vessel pop. “Bruce. It’s me Barb. So sorry to bother you but I found another group of conspiracy theorists on the TikTok who made a list of billionaires who have never been seen in the same room as Batman and you’re the front liner of that list. I know you told me to never engage with these things but it’s at fifty million views right now and they’re making edits of you as Batman.”

“Make more bot accounts and pin it on Elon.”

“On it,” said Barbara. “So sorry to have disturbed you!”

He’s going to have a talk with Alfred to block off the whole floor the next time he draws these baths.

“Bruce?” It was Cass. “I hope it’s alright if I take Steph’s room. I took the liberty of putting a speaker in the music room so Dick would tell everyone there was a ghost in the manor and Steph would move out.”

The alarm went off. His thirty minutes were up.

 One of these days, Bruce might finally break his no-kill rule, and it won’t be for the Joker.

---

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES AND I HOPE THIS WON'T BE THE LAST

TAGLIST

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[hella1975]

HELLA HOW DID YOU LIKE UNREAL UNEARTH?? FAVORITES??

finally finally FINALLY listening to this album im literally sat here laptop open finger on the play button genius page up ready to just spew out any thought i have in real time. let's go!

de selby pt1 - i forgot how much i fucking love hozier's lyricism. he just gets it. he's a master at his craft it's truly an honour to exist in the same time as him. this song is so calm but in a haunting way, like the stillness of fog on a lake in the morning. your reflection cant offer a word to the bliss of not knowing yourself. okay!!! OMG THE IRISH!! absolutely adore how vocal hozier is about his culture and even just how much his accent comes through on this album compared to earlier tracks. also love how the intensity builds in this part of the song this whole thing is stunning

de selby pt2 - THE WAY IT SLIDES RIGHT INTO PART 2! LOVE LOVE LOVE! very different vibe but it works. i love how there's always so many layers to hozier songs. like de selby alone has the actual song meaning AND the references to the third policeman AND its relevance to the circles of hell that we keep throughout the album. as far as media consumption goes hozier has never once failed to deliver an entire banquet. also love the whole 'becoming each other' of it all with de selby. ouroboros love. hannah have u seen this

first time - this feels like he's singing in a pub somewhere u love to see it. the liffey would have been softer on my stomach all the same! unearth without a name! some part of me must have died the first time you called me baby! this is v classic hozier imo just the most gorgeous love song u ever heard. also i love the themes of light/dark he's weaving into all these songs. girls when there are themes and symbolism <333

francesca - YEAHHHHHH i could talk about this song for HOURS there's so much going on it is so far my fave of the album ID TELL THEM PUT ME BACK IN IT! insanity. if a man sang about me this way id throw up blood

i, carrion (icarian) - insane song name. hello. what the fuck. is this about icarus. did hozier himself actually write a song about icarus. one sec. OH MY GOD HE DID WHAT THE FUCKKKK. "this song has tried to imagine that he was so enamored and so breathless and so ecstatic in the moment that he felt the air rushing by him, that he never knew he died" THEY HIT THE FUCKING PENTAGON. beautiful gorgeous im inconsolable cheers for that

eat your young - LETS GOOOOOO. cuntism off the charts. i listen to this at least once a day

damage gets done - circle of greed time! 'we had nowhere to go and every desire for going there' 'being blamed for a world we had no power in' god :')) the HARMONIES!!!! this is exactlyyy what being young is like good and bad. this is such a car song

who we are - I JUST HELD IT TIGHT SO SOMEONE WITH YOUR EYES MIGHT COME IN TIME TO HOLD ME LIKE WATER OR CHRIST HOLD ME LIKE A KNIFE WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK NO ONE FUCKING TALK TO ME. the uncertainty of growing up that he tackles in this, finding purpose, grappling with the fact there isn't always one. the last verse going soft and gentle. what was the NEED for this

son of nyx - another mythology reference! im crawling up the wall. ohhh it's instrumental! just looked at the meaning behind this and wow. this is beautiful

all things end - ADORE this song and the message of it. literally if there was anyone to ever get through this life with their heart still intact they didn't do it right!!!!!! and all things end!! and we begin again!!!! i just know zukka nation is going to go crazy with the parenthesis titles after this one

to someone from a warm climate - this is such a cool idea for a love song. like being from somewhere cold so you know how to stay warm, and saying to someone from a warm climate that it's okay if they don't know those things because you'll do it for them. the domestic, casual affection of that. it's not a bold declaration it's just confirmation that i'll keep the bed warm for you. that's all there is. that's all there needs to be

butchered tongue - ive already read some stuff about this one and ive been really itching to listen to it. the way he alternates between singing about the violence of the english against the irish (particularly the wexford rebellion) and the loss of culture there to how it relates to violence and loss of culture experienced by natives of countries on the complete other side of the world, how he's able to identify with that while still acknowledging that his language at least has a written history that can be recovered, while many native cultures dont even have that. there's no translator left to sound a butchered tongue still singing here above the ground. this whole thing is just. haunting and the fact such a big singer like hozier is taking so much time and care to talk about and spread awareness about ireland is very very cool to see

anything but - VIBE CHANGE! THIS MAKES ME WANT TO DANCE OMG! more water themes too omg i love this 'if i had his job you'd live forever' DAMN 😭 me personally i wouldnt have that. also the repetition of all the things he wants to be sooo true that's the human condition baby!

abstract (psychopomp) - ive been thinking about making a post for TIME about like. the desensitisation to death that you get from growing up in a rural area so listening to this is sooooo. like yeah. you remember the first animal you saw die don't you. you know the smell. the look in its eyes. see how it shines. see how it shines. this is an insane thing to write a song about. and to tie it to love? humanity? and the ongoing undercurrent of the circles of hell? CRAZYYYYY. this song is religious. to me. it's also very coldplay sounding actually? which is only ever a good thing

unknown/nth - HELLOOOOOO YOU KNOW THE DISTANCE NEVER MADE A DIFFERENCE TO ME!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW I COULD BREAK BENEATH THE WEIGHT OF THE GOODNESS LOVE I STILL CARRY FOR YOU???? THAT ID WALK SO FAR JUST TO TAKE THE INJURY OF FINALLY KNOWING YOU?????? lyrics of all time. caving my own skull. top 3 songs on the album

first light - light themes again!!! dante surfacing from hell!!! the end of a journey quite literally!!! he can't keep getting away with this!! i love how... heavy? this gets in places. like it's got all the instruments and backing vocals all going at once with his voice overarching everything it's amazing. this is a perfect end song <3

[eddysocs]

Borrowed Warmth — Jethro Gibbs x OC

Summary: Leah is dealing with a cold when she comes to work, but she’s going to power through with just a little bit of added comfort.

Word Count: 681

Warnings: None

The bullpen was quieter than usual that morning, the normal hum of activity dulled by the absence of their lead agent. Gibbs was out, having been called to a meeting at the Pentagon early that morning, and the team was taking advantage of the rare lull to catch up on paperwork and enjoy a slightly more relaxed atmosphere.

Leah, however, was not having a very easy day. She'd woken up feeling the onset of a cold but had decided to tough it out. She’d been at NCIS long enough to know that taking a sick day wasn’t an option unless you were practically on your deathbed. So, she’d bundled up, armed herself with tissues and cold medicine, and headed into the office.

Upon arrival, she'd immediately felt the chill in the air, her desk positioned under one of the notoriously cold air vents. Shivering, she’d glanced around the bullpen, her eyes falling on Gibbs' desk. There it was, the familiar, worn grey company hoodie he often had draped over his chair this time of year. A quick look around confirmed what she already knew. Gibbs wasn’t in yet. Without a second thought, she grabbed the hoodie and pulled it over her head, the soft, well worn fabric immediately providing a comforting warmth.

Settling back at her desk, Leah tried to focus on the files in front of her, but her head was pounding, and the words seemed to blur together. She blew her nose for what felt like the hundredth time and sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Hey, Massey,” Tony’s voice broke through her fog. She looked up to see him standing by her desk, a curious look on his face. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just a cold,” she replied, trying to sound more energetic than she felt.

Tony’s eyes drifted to the hoodie she was wearing, and he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nice hoodie.”

Leah felt her cheeks heat up. “It was cold in here,” she mumbled, knowing full well that Tony recognized Gibbs’ hoodie.

Tony opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, McGee appeared behind him, holding a coffee cup. “You want some coffee, Massey? Might help you feel better.”

“Thanks, McGee,” Leah said, gratefully accepting the cup. She took a sip, the warmth spreading through her, and gave him a small smile.

McGee’s eyes also lingered on the hoodie, but he wisely chose not to comment. Instead, he returned to his desk, leaving Leah to her work.

Ziva passed by a few minutes later, her keen eyes immediately noticing the oversized hoodie. She gave Leah a knowing look but didn’t say anything, just nodded in acknowledgment before settling into her own work.

The morning passed in a blur of tissues and paperwork, Leah’s head aching more with each passing hour. By lunchtime, she was ready to collapse, but she stubbornly stayed at her desk, determined to make it through the day.

Around two in the afternoon, Gibbs finally returned, immediately taking in the scene of his team, hard at work, or hardly working, as the case could be. He walked over to Leah’s desk, his expression unreadable. “Hey there, Massey.”

She looked up, trying to muster a smile. “Hey, Gibbs.”

He studied her for a moment, then reached over and gently tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie. “Cold?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was—”

He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Keep it,” he said simply, before turning and heading to his own desk.

Leah blinked in surprise, watching him go. She glanced over at Tony, who gave her a wink, and McGee, who just smiled. Even Ziva looked amused.

For the rest of the day, no one mentioned the hoodie, and Leah was grateful for the silent support of her team. As the day came to a close, she finally allowed herself to relax, feeling a little better despite her cold.

When she left that evening, she made sure to drape Gibbs’ hoodie carefully over his chair, a silent thank you for his unspoken kindness.

For @sicktember

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @kenjioharashotspot

Leah Massey: @nathan-ocs

[jessybarnes]

Title: Canvas of Love

Pairing: Scott Huffman x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4,168

Tags: SMUT, angst, fluff, unprotected sex, fingering (female receiving), oral (female receiving), biting, marking, age gap, praise kink, maybe a slight itty bitty hint of dom/sub, dirty talk, crying, forced confession of feelings, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and I think I’ve covered everything, but if you see something I should add please let me know!

Written For: @sebastianstanbingo, @kinktober2022, and @anyfandomangstbingo

Squares Filled: Drawing a Crush for Sebastian Stan Bingo // Age Gap for Kinktober // G1 - Boss/Employee for AFG Angst Bingo

Beta(s): T. Thompson and A. DiLorenza 

Title Card: Yours Truly 

A/N: Since this one shot features an Age Gap, I want to make clear that Scott Huffman is 37 and the reader is 18.  I couldn't find what the character's actual age was, so I just went off of how old Sebastian was when the movie was released.

"Excuse me, Mr. Huffman?" You knock on your boss's door and wait a couple of seconds before peeking your head in. "You have a call on line two." 

Scott looks up; his light blue eyes that were reading one of the many articles on his desk are now trained on you. They're kind as he offers you a soft smile, and you feel your cheeks heat up. 

"Thank you, Y/N. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Scott?" 

He gives you a look that seems almost dominant, but that can't be right. He wouldn't ever see you that way. Your gaze moves to your chipped nail polish. Even though he looks almost the same age as you, your boss is nearly twenty years your senior. 

Normally, it's unheard of for a woman your age to get a job as an assistant to one of the most respected men working at the Pentagon, but you were lucky enough to know the right people. 

To your friends, it's no secret that you harbor feelings for Scott. He's extremely kind, understanding, respectful, and very, very handsome. Of course, he has no idea how you feel … well, at least you hope he doesn't. It won't bode well for your office relationship, not to mention your career if he finds out. 

You realize he's waiting on you to respond, and you nervously return his smile, answering him the same way you always do. "At least once more, Mr. Huffman." 

Your eyes close, and you let out a long breath as you carefully shut his door. Honestly, it's a miracle that he hasn't figured out your crush on him. You catch yourself staring all the time, and if he knew what was in your sketchbook locked in your bottom desk drawer? There's no way he'd be able to look at that and not know you have feelings for him. 

The folders on your desk catch your eye, and you sigh. If you want to leave at a decent time this afternoon, then you need to get through all of the case file notes from the past week.

You sit down and smooth out your pencil skirt before grabbing the top file from the stack. There are several different things that you're tasked to do for Scott, but this one is by far the most time-consuming. 

Transferring the handwritten case notes into the computer system is a bit tedious, but you know what a big opportunity this job is, and you're more than happy to do it. 

A couple of hours go by, and you've made it about halfway through the pile. You're munching on a carrot stick when Carlton Stanton, one of Scott's colleagues, taps on the top of your desk impatiently. 

"Hey! Do you know where Scott is? I've been looking for him for an hour." 

Even though he gives you bad vibes and is rather rude, you still give him a warm smile. 

"Mr. Huffman has been in his office all morning to my knowledge, Mr. Stanton. I can let him know you're waiting for him if you'd li-" 

He waves you off dismissively, "no, thanks. I can let him know myself." 

You frown and watch as he barges into Scott's personal space like a bull in a china shop. He shuts the door rather harshly, and you can hear them having a heated conversation. 

Moments later, a seemingly annoyed Scott emerges with Carl. He gives you a tight-lipped smile and stops in front of you. "Hold all of my calls for the rest of the afternoon, please. And can you also reschedule my four o'clock for tomorrow?" 

Your eyes meet his and you nod, "of course, Mr. Huffman. I'll do that right away, sir." You watch them leave and can only hope he isn't angry with you.

Even though he's gone for the rest of your shift, Scott is still fresh in your mind. He always is. As embarrassing as it is, you often conjure up scenarios of the two of you in your head. 

A picnic in the park, both of you sitting on a blanket as you share a nice meal. And afterward, Scott holds you with your back to his chest while the shade of the trees shelters you from the harsh sun. 

Another time, it was you and him snuggling on his couch or what you picture as his couch since you have no idea what it looks like. There's a bowl of popcorn between the two of you, and the latest action movie plays on the TV. 

The latest one, however, was the both of you laying in the bed of his truck watching the stars. The crisp, cool air nips at your skin, but Scott has his arm around you, so you stay warm. The moonlight makes his eyes sparkle as he looks at you, and it's the most intimate moment you've experienced. 

Well, not really… more like it's the most intimate moment your inner conscience has experienced. 

You blink and refocus; the last folder is open, revealing the final notes you need to copy over. The thought of leaving them for tomorrow crosses your mind, but the hard worker in you outweighs it, and you begin typing. 

By the time you're done, you're the last one in the office. After making sure you've secured the files and locked everything up, you head home to finish out the remainder of your night. 

Once again, you try to think about something other than your boss and your unwavering feelings for him, and once again, you fail. You begin to fall asleep and remember how Scott always looks at you when you refer to him as Mr. Huffman. His piercing, blue eyes are the last thing you see before sleep takes you.

The next morning, you wake up ten minutes before your scheduled alarm, so you decide to go ahead and shut it off. You couldn’t go back to sleep even if you tried. Wednesdays are your new favorite day. Not because it’s the middle of the week, but because Scott and you have lunch together. He makes sure to take the time to do that with you once a week just to ensure you’re not having any issues.  

A bright red and white sundress from your closet catches your eye, and you pair it with some white flats before styling your hair. A bit of light makeup finishes your look, and you’re happy to see that you have enough time to stop and grab Scott and yourself some coffee. Of course, you’ve memorized the way he takes it because why wouldn’t you? You loved seeing him smile, and you’ll take advantage of being the cause of it every chance you get.

You’re running about fifteen minutes late once you pull into the staff parking lot, but hopefully, the coffee gesture qualifies as a get-out-of-jail-free card. By the time you make it to the hallway that your office is in, you can hear Carl talking and you try not to let the fact that he’s already probably starting his usual shit sour your mood. What you weren’t prepared for was him sitting behind your desk, flipping through your sketchbook, and about ready to show every single one of your drawings to Scott. 

You freeze in the doorway, unable to even breathe as you listen to what he says. They haven’t seen you yet, and you’re hoping that they won’t. “I told you that little girl’s got a thing for you, man. Just look at what I found inside her bottom desk drawer.”

Scott whips around, venom laced in his tone as he fires back at his colleague. “First of all, Y/N isn’t a little kid. She’s eighteen, and she does amazing work for me that I would never be able to accomplish without her. Second of all, leave her things alo-” He stops, words dying on his tongue as he takes in what he’s seeing.

Drawings.

Multiple pages of drawings and they’re of him.

It’s then that they both look up and see you standing there with humiliation and sheer terror all over your face. You still haven’t taken a breath, and you pray that the floor opens up and swallows you whole. 

Carl sneers, “see that? Just look at her. She was too scared to tell you how she felt, and now that her dirty little secret’s out, she still can’t own up to how inappropriate this is.” 

You finally suck in a breath, but your throat still feels like it’s closing up. Tears sting your eyes, and you begin to shake as the coffee falls from your hands and spills all over the carpet. Scott shoots Carl a death glare and starts towards you, but before he can get close, you turn on your heel and take off running. 

“Y/N, wait!” Scott calls after you, but it’s no use. He’s lost sight of you in the sea of people still coming in to start their morning shifts. That’s it. He’s had enough of the way Carl bullies everyone, and he’s especially had it with the way he treats you. He storms back into your portion of the office and snatches the sketchbook out of his hands.

“Get. Out.”

Carl chuckles, “aw come on. I was just teasing her.”

Scott grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him against the wall, his eyes narrowed to thin, perilous slits. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t fucking funny, Stanton. Y/N is a wonderful woman and an even harder worker that I go out of my way to make feel welcomed and valued here. I’m sure she already catches shit for how young she is, but that doesn’t mean she needs to get it from you, too. You’re a fucking bully, and I never want to see so much as one of your goddamn toes step foot in this office again. Get. The. Fuck. Out!” 

Once Carl’s gone, Scott grabs his suit jacket and makes sure to lock up the office before going to find where you’d gone. He finally finds you crying in your car and gently taps on the glass, 

“Y/N”?

You wipe your eyes and roll down your window, “if you’ve come to mock me or tell me that I’m fired, save it. I just want to leave with what’s left of my dignity.”

He frowns, “what? You’re not fired, and I’m not going to mock you. I’m flattered that you’d take the time to draw me of all things.” He opens your door and holds his hand out. “Can we go talk? It is Wednesday, and you know I always treat you to lunch.” 

Everything inside of you wants to refuse, but you also don’t want to disappoint him, so you reluctantly take his hand and let him pull you to your feet. 

You're close, more so than you've ever been, and even though his face is blurry from the tears in your eyes, you can see the concern in his. Scott tries wiping your tear-stained cheeks with his thumbs, but fresh ones immediately take their place. It's so hard being in this moment with him, knowing that he's just going to let you down easy. Why would he, a thirty-seven-year-old man, want anything romantically to do with you, an eighteen-year-old woman?

“I wish I knew how to get you to stop crying,” Scott says softly. “Would you want to go sit at one of the picnic tables around back instead of going somewhere more public?”

You nod because you don’t quite trust yourself to talk yet and walk with him toward the side of the building. The two of you stay quiet, other than your occasional sniffle, and eventually take a seat at a table in the shade. He’s watching you, studying your demeanor, but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable. You’re still too nervous to look him in the eyes, so you pick at the varnish on your nails instead. 

A few minutes pass before he sighs, “I’m sorry about Carl. He’s an ass and had no right to treat you that way. I want you to know that I made him leave, and he won’t bother us again if he knows what’s good for him.” He hesitantly reaches across the table and gently grabs your hand. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you blush furiously.

He called you, sweetheart!

You lick your dry lips and wipe your eyes with your free hand before looking up at him. It’s hard not to get your hopes up when he’s looking at you like this. “Well, I…there’s um…there’s a lot on my mind right now. For starters, you’re now fully aware of my feelings for you. How are you okay with this? I mean, no offense, but you’re technically old enough to be my father. Not that you look it. If I’m being honest, you look my age. I just find it hard to believe that someone like you could ever be interested in someone like me.”

Scott scoffs, “seriously? Do you truly believe that I wouldn’t be interested in someone as smart and as talented as you? Not to mention beautiful.” He leans across the table, and his free hand cups your cheek, so you stay looking at him. “Just like your drawings, you too are very beautiful, Y/N. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and yet, I’m the lucky one you chose to have feelings for.” 

His eyes move to your lips, “can I kiss you?” 

You swallow thickly, suddenly aware that anyone could see you two like this. He doesn’t seem to mind, so you throw caution to the wind and nod, “yes.”

His lips press to yours, slow and tentative, and you’re half expecting him to change his mind. He doesn’t though. He sighs and deepens the kiss, his other hand threading softly through your hair as he tilts his head to the side to gain better access. He kisses you like he wants to like he’s longed to be able to, and it makes your core throb at the thought of him wanting to do more with you. 

Scott pulls away, but he doesn’t go too far. His lip curls up in a slight smirk as his thumb grazes your lower lip. “Do you wanna get outta here?”

You stare at him with wide, unsure eyes. “What about work? Won’t we get into trouble for leaving after only being here part of the morning?”

He laughs and shakes his head, “honey, I’m your boss. You’d only get in trouble with me, and well,” he bites his lip, “I don’t plan on reprimanding you…yet.” 

“And what about you?” The concerned look on your face is the polar opposite of how your body reacts to his previous comment. If he only knew how your panties were soaked through at the thought of him choking you…spanking you… possibly even restraining you. Scott doesn’t seem like the type to be into such things, but you’ve always been told that it’s the sweet and quiet ones that are the most dominant in the bedroom.

“I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.” He stands and holds out his hand to you for the second time that day. “Shall we?”

Scott strives for your comfort; of that much you’re sure. You fully believe that he would have offered to take you back to his place, but instead, he drives to yours, and you’re thankful that you took the time to clean up. 

It’s weird seeing your boss standing in the middle of your living room. He’s taking everything in, smiling at all of the artwork on your wall, and it’s then that you remember the piece you’ve been working on the nights that you couldn’t sleep. 

“I’ve um… I have something for you. I just finished it last night.” He follows you to your desk, and you watch as he carefully picks up the canvas. “I hope you don’t mind that I made you my official muse. I just… drawing you comes so easily to me and not to mention you’re really beautiful and I-” 

Scott slips his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of his gaze renders you speechless. “I love it, Y/N. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.” 

He kisses you again; only this time, it’s more passionate, and you can sense his urgency as his mouth moves with yours. Scott blindly sets the artwork down and backs you up until your legs hit the foot of your bed. 

“Is this okay?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and searches your eyes for any uncertainty.

“Yes, it’s more than okay.”

Scott captures your lips once more and gently lays you down. It amazes you how, at this moment, he looks even more beautiful, towering over you with the look of pure, unaltered desire in his eyes, and it’s all for you. 

His gaze rakes over you, taking in the way your sundress is bunched up around your hips, the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe heavily, but mostly it’s how you’re looking up at him. There’s so much adoration, so much trust that he’ll take care of you, and that, combined with the little bit of innocence in your eyes, is his undoing.

"God, you look so damn gorgeous, baby."

You reach for his belt to get it undone and he chuckles at your haste. “You don’t have to rush this, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A needy whine leaves your lips just as you get his zipper down, “But I want you.”

“And you have me, Y/N.” Scott pushes his dress pants down and kicks them off and his shirt joins them on the floor a moment later. Then he’s on you again, his teeth nipping the skin on your neck while his right hand pulls your panties to the side for better access. 

“You’re already so wet for me. I can’t wait to hear you scream for me while I make you cum on my cock, baby. I bet you’ll sound so pretty. 

Hearing him talk to you like this shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you’ve thrown caution to the wind at this point. The way he’s grinding himself against your thigh makes it clear that he wants you just as bad anyway. 

“Scott, please…”

He moves down your body, leaving a chaste kiss in the valley of your breasts. His big hands hike up the bottom of your dress over the swell of your ass and he finally rests on his stomach between your spread legs. 

“I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”

Scott’s fingertips hook around the waistband of your panties and he slowly slides them down your legs. He tosses them somewhere behind him and grabs you by the hips, pulling you toward him. Starting at your ankle, he leaves a trail of open-mouth kisses, each one a claim that leaves you more breathless the closer he gets to where you want him most. 

One of his hands holds you in place while the two middle fingers on his other one move slowly through your soaked folds. He pushes them in just as his lips close around your clit and you swear you’ve died and gone to heaven. 

“Scott! Oh, my god!”

He flicks your bundle of nerves with his tongue and moves his fingers slightly faster. “Mmm, you taste so fuckin’ good, baby. God, I could eat this pretty, little pussy all day. I swear.” He’s taking his time with you and although it feels sinfully good, you want more. You want to come undone on his tongue.

His movements are precise and calculated as if he’s trying to map out every place that makes you cry out for him. Scott’s grip tightens, his thumb slotting in the divot of your hip to allow for better leverage as he devours your pussy. 

Your hands tangle in his short, dark locks, desperately trying to pull him closer to your core as you grind against his mouth. The sensation of the way his tongue rolls across your clit is unlike anything you’ve ever felt and when he curls his fingers to rub the rough patch inside of you, it makes your eyes roll back. 

“Oh, my fucking god! Scott! Baby, please!”

His eyes lock with yours and he groans, the vibrations making your legs start to shake. The determination to make you fall apart for him is unmistakable. His pupils nearly cover all of the blues of his irises, and the way he’s looking at you makes you clench around him. 

“Oh, fuck… fuck you’re gonna…I’m gonna…”

Scott adds a third finger and you arch your back. You feel your walls begin to flutter and with one careful drag of his teeth, you shatter into a million pieces. He works you through it, slowly pumping his fingers while the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple over you in waves. Finally, he pulls off of you and you smile blissfully at him, the feral look on his face telling you that he’s not even close to being done with you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you full of my cum, babydoll.”  

He moves up so he can kiss you, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you whimper as he lines his cock up to your entrance. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you, pretty girl.”

The stretch to accommodate him is a pleasure you’ve never known. He begins to move and you wrap your legs around his waist so he’s flush against you every time he slides home. He leans on his forearm so he can kiss you while the slow drag of his cock makes you moan his name like a prayer. 

“Scott! Oh, god, baby, you feel so good…”

“Yeah? Do you like that, Y/N? You’re bein’ so good for me, honey.” He peppers kisses along the column of your throat before sucking a reddish, purple mark in the same spot. “Fuck, your pussy’s so good…taking me so well. None of those boys your age know how to make you feel this way, do they baby? Come on, tell me. Tell me who fucks you this good.”

You cry out, the kindling of your second orgasm sparking into a red, hot flame. “You do! Fuck, baby, only you do!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only I can make you feel this good.”

Scott said he was going to ruin you, and he’s done just that. No one you’ve ever been with before has fucked you like this, and you’re convinced that no one else ever will. It doesn’t matter anyway because you can’t imagine wanting anyone else. You knew you were attracted to him from the beginning, but it took you until now to realize that you belong to him.

“Scott! Oh, god, please! Please, I want you to make me cum! I wanna be a good girl and cum for you again!”

His eyes gleam with lust as he looks down at you. “My sweet girl,” he coos. “You’re so polite. Asking me for permission and wanting to be my good little girl. Is that what you need? Do you need to cum all over my cock, baby?” 

You only nod, because it’s all you can do. He’s fucking you harder, the flared head of his dick hitting your spot at an angle that makes your vision go white. 

“That’s it, Y/N. Come on, honey. Let go for me.”

And so you do. You scream his name and nearly sob as pure bliss flows through your body like a tidal wave. Scott isn’t far behind, his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder as he paints your walls with his cum. 

You’re still shaking in his arms and you plant a soft his into his sweaty hair. He sighs and turns his head to the side so he can look up at you. 

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but I swear you’re even more beautiful.” 

You blush and shake your head, “Thank you, but you’re the beautiful one.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re stunning.”

You smile, but it doesn’t meet your eyes and Scott frowns. “What do I have to do to prove it to you, pretty girl?”

You smile and lightly stroke his arm, “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

He closes his eyes and feels himself begin to drift off. He’d already decided the moment he realized you felt the same way he did. No matter what it takes, he’ll make sure you always know how much he cares for you. His reply comes easily, and even though it’s barely audible he knows you hear him. 

“I promise to tell you at least once a day for the rest of our lives.”

[possiblylisle]

Uncommon Face: Part 5

The shakes and rapid glances were gone. She was back with Dau, and they’d survived the monorail ride. Long gone was the rocky desert filled with scattered settlements of people she had thought hated her. In the desert’s place were the sharp, shrub-dotted mountains of the region’s capital. The buildings carpeted the land all around the range’s base, with some even climbing onto the scrubby foothills.

Xuxu. That was what Dau had called the city hours before when she watched the landscape slip by in a blur from the carriage’s window. It was supposed to be beautiful, filled with life, happiness, and faces that were not only Toxe. For the most part, he was right.

The two of them strolled along the wide, cobbled streets. Dau had once again strapped his goggles over his eyes and Cody had dropped the hood of her cloak. She expected stares and nervous muttering like all the other settlements before, but there was almost none of that here. The Toxe of Xuxu chattered and laughed while they walked or carried out the small tasks of a simple life. And when they did see Cody’s uncommon face amongst their crowds, they did not stop their joy. They saluted to her and continued chattering, some even called greetings from the balconies of the neighborhood’s habitats.

“They are all so nice,” she said, returning a friendly salute to a passing Toxe.

“Yes, most people are, but many seem to let prejudice cloud that reality.” Dau rubbed the sweat from his tall forehead and saluted to an older Toxe who sat in the shade of a store’s awning. “Plenty of us are good people, some just have a harder time expressing it in an obvious way.”

“I’m sure it would be a little different if you weren’t here with me. Having one of their own by my side must have some effect.”

“Perhaps, but the effect isn’t as great as you think. Take her for example,” Dau nodded toward the figure of a massive alien that was neither human nor Toxe. “She is not Toxe either and she does not have one of us with her, yet they all treat just as well.”

Cody squinted, catching the details of the other alien. She was tall, taller than the Toxe that already towered over Cody. Her skin was a glittering copper decorated with tiny green and gray plates that overlapped like scales over the backs of her six-fingered hands and arms. Her head had no hair but did have a crown of tiny horns. She was Vu’dar, an ally of the Toxe.

“True, but she may not be a great example.” Dau inquisitively cocked his head to the side and Cody continued. “She’s Vu’dar, a long-standing ally of the Federation. As much as you may or may not deny it, there is going to be a bias for how your people treat her. They are going to like her from the start because the Federation has made it a point for centuries to make sure that all Toxe know the Vu’dar are an ally.”

Dau was quiet and Cody knew he was thinking hard from the way he tottered his head back and forth while drumming his wide index finger against the cloth of his pants. Then, he stopped and pulled Cody away from the foot traffic and into a building’s shade.

“Let’s do an experiment then. Tell me, how confident are you in your ability to make idle conversation and make a small purchase.”

Skeptically, she replied. “Somewhat. I’ve been able to talk to others besides you without much difficulty.”

“Good, take this-“ he unclasped the credit pouch on his belt and reached into it, handing Cody four of the small, blue metal pentagons that the Federation used as currency – “and go purchase something from the market over there. I will not be going with you. When you are done, come back here and tell me what you thought of how the others treated you.”

She squeezed the credits in her hand, feeling their corners digging into the soft skin of her palm. Looking over her shoulder at the entrance to the neighborhood market she could feel the shaking start to return.

“I promise, you will be fine. I will be watching from a distance just in case.” With that, he pushed her toward the market and disappeared into the crowd.

Willing her feet to move was incredibly hard. It was a scary thought. Being on her own again in the crowd of a Toxe-dominated space. But she still pushed her first foot forward and strode into the square.

It was busy, as she had expected for a marketplace in the middle of the day, and it reminded her of the market she’d visited weeks before. This one was bigger, she noted, and was much more diverse, not only in the different Toxe but also in the different species that milled about. She saw more Vu’dar and even a few Shaza.

Hearing the sounds of the market and smelling its delightful smells, she quickly decided what she wanted to buy. The first purchase was easy, a little bit of food from a kind old Toxe who was not put off by Cody’s human face but instead was curious about Cody’s clothing. The fashion talk, and the food stall owner, pushed her to her next destination in the market, a clothing stall.

“Oh, hello there,” the stall owner greeted, startling Cody as she perused the racks of cloth that sat beside the stall. “Hello,” Cody started, nervously saluting a greeting. “I would like to purchase some new clothing. It has been a while since I’ve worn something other than this.” She indicated to the dirtied cloak, tunic, and trousers that she’d been wearing since Dau had found her.

“That should be simple enough. I have found from recent events that humans can fit into clothing for juveniles. Have you any preferences of color?”

“No. Anything is fine.” The Toxe quickly rushed through the racks and procured new trousers and a tunic, handing them off to Cody. “Oh, thank you. But, um, when you said recent events, what did you mean?”

“Well, you’re not the first human to pass through here of course. We get visitors occasionally. But it seems that lately, we have had more and more of you coming through looking worn out and beat up.”

Her heart quickened and she felt her hands sweat. She wasn’t the first human to pass through here. She wasn’t the first survivor. Others survived. Other pods made it off the ship.

“Tell me, where did these humans go? And were there any aliens with them? I mean big aliens. Really big, with hair all over their bodies, and they lean on their giant arms when they walk around?”

“I’ve seen some like that too, yes. One just passed through yesterday actually; asked me for directions to the spaceport—” before the vendor could finish, Cody slapped her remaining credits on the counter, scooped up her new clothing, and sprinted out of the market. Her eyes darted over the road signs, needing no time to translate or extrapolate what they said as she followed their pointers toward the city’s one and only spaceport.

TAG LIST:

@capnmachete @leahnardo-da-veggie @tamiveldura @lorifragolina @liminalgoddessworld

@humbleartspawn

[juhaknyeonies]

introduction;

about me!!:

this is a secondary blog: @jungwoos-luvr

i dont write nsfw (personal preference plus im bad at writing n e ways)*

i write for svt, tbz and nct*

my library (fic rec blog): @jungwoos-luvr

my name is erie

i’m 19 years old

i’m a gemini and an istp

my ult biases: jungwoo, haknyeon, yangyang, chenle, seungcheol, wonyoung and eunha

my ult groups: ive, fromis_9, the boyz, nct, seventeen and yukika

some groups/soloists i listen to: zerobaseone, monsta x, ateez, pentagon, exo, billlie, kep1er, viviz, aespa, twice, red velvet, jo yuri, yena, younha, kwon eunbi, gfriend, iz*one, loona (boycott)

Masterlist;

written works

seventeen:

the recordings of you - choi seungcheol; smau

sleepy head - choi seungcheol; drabble

luv - lee chan; oneshot

nct:

nct dream

incarnation - lee jeno (ft na jaemin); oneshot

random bf! texts - jisung park; smau oneshot

random bf! texts - na jaemin; smau oneshot

nct 127

random bf! texts - lee mark; smau oneshot

cat cafe (meow) - lee taeyong; drabble

wayv

random bf! texts - liu yangyang; smau oneshot

the boyz:

soft tofu stew - choi chanhee; drabble

saying “i love you” for the first time - maknae line; smau oneshot

moodboards

seventeen:

choi seungcheol: fire

choi seungcheol: happy s.coups day

wen junhui: i don’t understand but i luv you

nct

nct dream

na jaemin: poison

na jaemin: happy jaemin day

nct 127

mark lee: golden hour

ive

jang wonyoung: mine

[the-ragingenby]

I saw your post about requests - could you write something Reid x Morgan where Reid trusts Morgan enough to be vulnerable around him? Maybe involving anxiety or autism?

I’m not quite certain what possessed me to write this in a few hours, but tada. Also, this isn’t beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes (I really need to find a beta reader :’))

Edit: Cross posted to my AO3, if you prefer to read it there.

Spoilers for: Season 6 and 7 of Criminal Minds. 

Triggers: Mentions of schizophrenia, brief mention of prior substance abuse.

Infinitesimal 

“Reid? Are you…okay?” Reid jerked himself out of his thoughts at Morgan’s soft voice. He couldn’t find the energy to reply, so he just nodded. “Reid, I know losing JJ to the Pentagon was tough, but the team needs your brilliant mind to be at its best. If you want to take a few days off or…” 

“I don’t need any time off.” Reid felt himself growing irritated, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because Morgan couldn’t understand how he truly felt, nor could he bring himself to explain. My feelings are not his problem. “I’m fine. Yeah. I’m good,” Reid drew in a shaky breath, willing himself to relax. “Just tired.” 

Morgan frowned, but Reid had no will to bother continuing this particular charade. “Conference room in five.” Hotchner called, shuffling through files in his hands. Reid took the opportunity to duck away from Morgan’s attention and slide into the conference room, readying himself to listen to the case, with or without JJ. 

Though he sat in silence, the room couldn’t have felt more loud. Now, Reid wasn’t one for taking metaphors literally, but he truly felt trapped in his own head. JJ was willing to listen to Reid, even when he was complaining about Morgan and his constant shenanigans, which came up more often than he’d liked.

But she was willing to listen. And that’s what mattered to him.

“Reid.” Reid was dragged out of his thoughts once more, this time by Hotchner. 

“R-right, um, arsonists are typically white males between 17 and 25 who can't stay away from fire. And they target dwellings, not people.” Reid explained. He was acutely aware of the concerned glance from Morgan, but willed himself to ignore it in favor of continuing to build the profile.

His feelings could wait to be dealt with another day. But for now, he needed to help his team track down this unsub. 

~

The case ended up being simpler than expected, and with no undue bloodshed. Meaning that he and his team were able to bring the unsub into custody alive. Which was a nice change of pace, even for this job. But barely being able to stop the unsub from setting an entire house ablaze, all from jealousy and desperation did nothing to calm Reid’s nerves.

Now, anxiety is nothing to sniff at, Reid knew that better than anyone. But he also knew he couldn’t trust anyone else. After JJ left, he couldn’t bring himself to confide in anyone. Not even Morgan. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Reid felt something for Morgan. Maybe he’d admit he even felt a sliver of affection for the man, if his thoughts caught him off guard. And that was exactly why he couldn’t talk to Morgan about his problems. Anyone he cared for ended up leaving, or getting hurt or worse. He didn’t want that for Morgan. I’m protecting him. I’m doing him a favor. It’s better off this way, really. 

Though he thought these things, in his heart, he couldn’t really believe them to be true. 

Reid felt worked to the bone, and when he arrived at his apartment, it was just past three in the morning. He didn’t quite feel like taking the subway, instead opting the walk all the way home. Maybe it was impractical, but he needed the fresh air. One way or another, he needed to clear his head before it started affecting his work life. 

He froze when he walked up the flight of stairs to his apartment. Morgan, Derek Morgan, sat hunched over beside the door, idly scrolling through his phone. At Reid’s approach, Morgan looked up. “Pretty boy.” He murmured. “You look like a wreck.” Reid’s mouth twitched with what he felt was a mixture of amusement and annoyance. 

“What are you doing here, Morgan?” Reid asked with a sigh, stepping past the agent to unlock the door. As much as he usually enjoyed Morgan’s teasing, he was really not in the mood. 

“Answering with a question, huh? I’ll have to make a note of that.” Morgan chuckled to himself, inviting himself inside and locking the door behind Reid. His expression lost its seriousness, instead showing soft concern. 

“Did Hotch put you up to this or something? Because I’m fine. Really. Losing JJ isn’t something that’s going to send me spiraling into using dilaudid again. I learned my lesson and am fighting that battle every day. But its gotten easier with time, so you can go and tell Hotch that, word for word.” Reid noted that he probably could have been more tactful with his words, but he’d already said them, so what could he do? 

Morgan frowned again, then awkwardly cleared his throat. “I actually came here of my own volition, Reid.” He moved to sit on the couch, patting the space beside him. Reid stifled a sigh and sat next to Morgan, keeping a reasonable distance between them. “We’re worried about you, Spence. I’m worried. I know how close you and JJ were. I know that I’m not her, but if you need someone to talk to that isn’t, y’know, our boss, I’m here.”

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, Reid wanted to believe him. But his thoughts caught up with him. What if he’s just saying that, so he can leave you too? Once you confide in him, the rest of the team will be sure to know within days. Can he really keep a secret? Reid shook his head at Morgan’s sentiments. “I’m alright, Morgan. I’ll be much better tomorrow. Promise.” Reid winced as he heard the rasp in his voice, and swallowed hard. 

“Reid.” Just from Morgan’s tone, Reid could tell that he didn’t believe his half-hearted reply. But really, what was he expecting? “I’m a profiler, same as you. If you want to lie, you’re going to have to do a better job than that.” Reid almost managed a laugh, but instead it came out as a dry huff. 

“Morgan, I’m really sorry, but I’m exhausted and I just need to rest. I’ll be fine in the morning.” Morgan raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the clock on the wall before letting out a defeated sigh. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Sorry for keeping you up, pretty boy. Sleep well, okay?” Morgan pushed himself off the couch and headed for the door. Reid, now feeling guilty, stopped him.

“Listen, it’s late and I’m assuming you drove here. If you want, and you totally don’t have to, you can spend the night here. Actually, I’d prefer it. Driving at these early hours without much sleep and driving a dark-colored vehicle is just a disaster waiting to happen-” 

“Reid,” Morgan cut him off before he could continue. “I know you’re right. So long as you don’t mind, and if it’ll make you feel a little better, then I know I’m doing my job right.” Morgan lifts his go-bag, which Reid didn’t even register when Morgan had walked into the apartment. “I’ll change in the morning. Now, really, get some rest, Spence.” 

Reid had to will himself from pestering Morgan any further and disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Morgan to fend for himself on the couch. He probably should’ve offered a blanket or pillow or something, but Morgan’s been here before, so he could find anything he really needed. A wave of exhaustion rolled over Reid, lulling him to sleep before he could even think to take off his shoes. 

The next morning, Morgan gives Reid a ride to work and their uneventful night together was not brought up again. 

~

“We believe our unsub is a white male paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucinations.” Hotcher said, briefing the Portland Police Department on their newest unsub. “Since schizophrenic breaks usually occur in your early 20s, we believe he's around this age and that he lives nearby.We think this unsub is hypervigilant, and in this condition, he's unable to travel very far from his home.” 

Reid sat on an unused desk as he listened, trying very hard to avoid Morgan’s almost insistent attempts at eye contact. Everyone on the team knows how he feels about schizophrenia, considering he is genetically inclined to have it, and especially because his mother has it. It makes him nervous, even just thinking about it. And yet, he’s sitting here and listening as a serial killer is a possible schizophrenic. Could that happen to me? Am I just a few years away from experiencing what this man is going through? I…I don’t want that.

No matter what kind of logical spin Reid tried to put on things, his mind just wouldn’t accept it. He was so lost in his own head, and avoiding Morgan’s gaze, that he almost missed his queue to speak. But instead, it was Morgan, covering for him. He, of all people, knows how he feels about the subject, and Reid couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, though he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was letting the team down with these stupid feelings. 

The second they were finished, Reid stood and disappeared to the bathroom. He didn’t need to use it, per say, but maybe if he washed his face and just took a few moments to himself, he could get his head back in the game.

As he dried his face, he noticed Morgan walking in behind him, his expression a mixture of worry and something else that Reid couldn’t quite make out. Affection, maybe? Or was it pity. Surely, it was the latter. It was the only thing that made any sense. “You know, that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing.” Reid said flatly, eyeing Morgan.

“That’s not what we said at all, Reid.” Morgan murmured. Though it was defensive, he wasn’t angry or annoyed, he was just trying to understand. At least, that's how he sounded. How could Reid be sure if he really meant it at all, or if he was just playing him for a fool. 

“You know, my mom has schizophrenia. There are many different types.” Reid continued, not quite sure where he was going with this. 

“I know.” Morgan replied, as patient as ever. Which was something else that Reid found odd. Even when he was going on and on about something that no one else would have interest in, Morgan found it in himself to listen and put up with it all. 

“Catatonic, disorganized…” Reid paused for a moment to draw in a shaky breath. “Just because someone suffers from inability to organize their thoughts or they can't bathe or dress themselves, it doesn't mean they'd stab someone in the chest 30 times postmortem.

“Alright, Reid. What’s really going on?” Morgan asked softly, carefully. As though just one wrong word would send Reid crashing down into the bottomless pit of his thoughts. 

“Our unsub's hallucinations aren't fractured like a typical schizophrenic. They're vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we're missing an important variable. Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is.” Reid felt himself speaking faster. If they were making a mistake, then maybe they could change the profile and save their unsub before anything else happened. Hell, it’d make Reid feel better. At least, he hoped so. 

“Ok, listen to me.” Morgan raised his hand to Reid’s face, forcing the profiler to look up at him from where he leaned against the bathroom sink. “I know this is a scary age for you. It's when schizophrenic breaks happen. Have you talked to anybody about this?”

Reid froze, unsure of whether to lean into Morgan’s touch or duck away. In his indecision, Morgan pulled his hand away, perhaps suddenly aware of what he’d done, and simply waited on Reid’s reply. “Uh, Emily.” That much was true. He was speaking to Prentiss about his issues on occasion. She was the last agent Reid would expect to suddenly drop out of nowhere. Even so, he’s kept most of his concerns to himself. It really wasn’t right to dump all his problems onto her. 

But then, she was gone. JJ had come back for a bit, sure, but now both she and Prentiss were gone, with the latter gone forever. The funeral was rough, and Reid felt like he’ll never truly recover from losing two teammates in such a short time. “Have you seen a doctor?” Morgan asked, pulling Reid from his thoughts once again. 

“They all say I’m fine.” Reid replied, softly. Morgan hesitantly raises his hand again, this time letting his fingers card through Reid’s now short hair. 

“Then why don’t you believe them?” Morgan murmured, pulling the profiler ever so slightly closer. 

“Because predicting one's chances of developing a genetic condition are like finding a penny in an ocean. I have terrible headaches. I can't sleep at night. I can't focus on our cases. I only read 5 books last week.” Reid finally gave in, gently leaning into Morgan’s soothing touch, allowing himself to relax for the first time in weeks.

“Come on, Spence, you gotta cut yourself some slack. You're also depressed about Prentiss, and I get it…we all are. Reid, I miss her every day. But if your mind was splitting, do you really think you'd be able to figure out that this team is missing a variable?” Morgan sounded impressed. Even through his heartache, maybe Reid was useful after all. But he couldn’t let himself get too carried away. 

“I’m just speculating that we are. I need to prove it.” Reid resolved, pulling away from Morgan and leaning up from the bathroom sink.

“Ok, then you do that.” Morgan’s serious let’s-get-down-to-business expression dissipated once more, the softness that Reid had grown so fond of returning with full force. “The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that's when I'll be concerned about you. Come on, pretty boy. Let's get to work.” 

Even at times like these, Morgan still found it in him to tease Reid. And right now, there’s nothing he appreciates more. 

~

As it turns out, Reid was right. When they caught up with the unsub, despite his apprehension, Reid went into the building to speak with him, while ensuring he had backup. He needed to save those kids, no matter what. They were innocent. 

Reid’s attempt to talk the unsub down seemed to be effective at first, but then he charged at Reid with a knife clutched in his hand. At that moment, Reid froze, unsure of whether to dive off to the side or try to wrestle with the unsub or-

His thoughts were disrupted by a gunshot and the unsub fell to the floor. With wide eyes, Reid met Morgan’s steady gaze. Morgan yelled for a medic into his mic and rushed over to the unsub, whilst holstering his gun. 

Morgan saved Reid once again. Reid felt overwhelming gratitude, but the feeling of uselessness only deepened. Sure, he was right about the missing variable, but he couldn’t even talk down the unsub to avoid getting him hurt. 

On the plane, Reid’s mind still drifted back to the unsub. With all his heart, he hoped he would make it through the night. He wanted this unsub, Ben, to make a full recovery. Even after everything he did, Reid still felt that Ben deserved another shot at life. “You were amazing in there, Reid.” Morgan whispered, leaning into Reid’s space and resting his head on Reid’s shoulder. 

“I could’ve died, if it wasn’t for you, Morgan.” Reid sighed, not at all opposed to the touch. Maybe it should have made him a little nervous, but he felt at ease. Just the feeling of Morgan’s presence was enough to quiet down his thoughts enough to be able to listen to that logical side of himself, which was often silenced in exchange for overthinking every single little thing. 

“But you didn’t, sweetheart. You did so good. And I’m proud of you.” Morgan insisted. Reid wanted to argue, but maybe, just maybe, Morgan was right. And maybe Reid could be proud of himself too. 

~

Prentiss was in fact not dead. And JJ decided to return to the team. Reid’s mind could not keep up with these revelations, so much so that he decided to take a few days off of work. If he couldn’t keep himself from bursting into tears (of either frustration or sadness, depending on his mood) every time he saw either of them, how was he supposed to be of any help on cases?

To his relief, Hotchner did not question him about his request for time off, insisting that, “You are more than entitled to a few days off, Reid. If there’s anything at all I can do for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.” 

And that was it. Reid was now lounging at home, his thoughts threatening to overwhelm him with what-if scenarios and the anger he felt that neither Prentiss nor JJ felt that they could let him in on what was going on behind the scenes. After everything he trusted the both of them with, it felt like an ultimate betrayal. 

Later that evening, he receives texts from every member of the team, except Morgan. Which in and of itself was worrying. After everything Morgan’s said and done over the last few weeks, it had seemed to Reid that maybe there was the slimmest of slim chances that Morgan wanted more to do with Reid than he let on. 

But then again, maybe Reid was just reading too far into things, as per usual. Instead of focusing on that, he decided to read over the texts, just to be certain they weren’t important. 

JJ: Reid, I’m really sorry about everything that happened, but I had to do it to protect Prentiss. I know it hurt you, and I’m sorry. Please, write back when you can. 

Prentiss: Look, Spencer, I’m really sorry about all of this and I’ll try my best to make it up to you, I promise.

Hotch: If there’s anyone you should be upset with, it’s me. Please try not to be too upset with Emily or JJ. They were just doing what they had to. 

Rossi: I heard you took some time off. Take care of yourself, kid, and let us know if you need anything. 

Garcia: heya boy wonder. hopefully youre okay and all that. if you ever wanna talk youre best friend and pal garcia is always here for you. and i also totally didnt send morgan over to check on you haha.

Now that last one was jarring. Morgan at his apartment? Again? Reid wasn’t sure his heart could take it, especially after all these signals that Morgan might be sending and Reid just couldn’t read them right. Just as he was contemplating escaping to the bookstore, there was a knock at his door. “Reid, Spence, open up. Please.” 

Reid thought about ignoring the door and leaving Morgan out there. But he knew that Morgan would just break down the door, especially if he knew Reid was home. Sometimes, there was really no escaping the man. Begrudgingly, Reid trudged to the door and unlocked, letting Morgan in without a greeting and flopping back onto the couch where he had laid, sulking. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day, pretty boy?” Morgan chuckled, closing the door behind himself and settling onto the couch as though he lived there. Reid grunted and rolled over, not wanting to look Morgan in the eyes. If he were to do that, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself from crying. Morgan leaned over and gently maneuvered Reid’s head into his lap, petting soothingly at his hair. “I know that…you don’t want to confide in me too much because you’re afraid I’ll just disappear too. Isn’t that right?” 

Reid swallowed hard. He supposed he wasn’t doing a great job of hiding it, but it was easier this way, wasn’t it? “I-” Reid began, but he choked on a sob before he could continue. “I was just so afraid of losing all of you, and then it actually happened and I didn’t know what to do and I just felt like everyone I turned to was ripped away from me in the worst way possible and I cared about you the most and if you were to leave I don’t know what I would’ve done. Because…I think I love you and if I had to let that go too, I don’t think it would be easy for me to love again…or trust anyone again…if I ever bothered to even do those things.” Reid trailed off, leaning up to wipe his tears.

“Oh, pretty boy. Sweetheart.” Morgan pulled Reid into a tight hug, rubbing his back slowly, drawing meaningless patterns against his skin. “God, shit, can I be honest with you? I think it's something you need to hear.” Reid felt his heart clench with fear, but nodded anyway. “I’ve loved you since I met you, pretty boy. You and your brilliant mind. I love how you always have an answer, even when it's a snippy retort. I like those best, actually. I could listen to you talk for hours on end. Your voice is just so…so nice.”

“You…don’t actually mean all that, right?” Reid finally laughed, pulling away and drying his tears with his sleeve. “I mean, you’re you. And I’m just…me.” As much as Reid wanted Morgan’s words to be true, he couldn’t just accept it like that. After all, maybe he was just saying those things to make him feel better. 

At that, Morgan took Reid’s face in his hands and gently squeezed his cheeks. “You are so stubborn, baby.” But Morgan’s voice was full of affection and adoration, none of the annoyance that Reid had thought he’d heard all those months ago. Morgan wanted Reid for himself, and that was that. He was special to Morgan. He was important. And he mattered. That was much more than Reid could have ever asked, or even hoped for. 

They sat like that for a while, Reid squishing himself into Morgan’s space, cuddling him tightly as though he were going to disintegrate were he to let go. “Are you ready to talk to me now?” Morgan asked softly, not at all pushy. But Reid was ready now. All this time, Morgan had wanted Reid to confide in him, but he kept pushing Morgan away. Not anymore. Morgan wanted to hear how Reid felt, and really cared about it. So Reid explained.

He told Morgan everything, from the first time he realized his feelings all those years ago and had pushed them down, not knowing what to do with them. How Reid felt when he confided in JJ and Prentiss, and they both left then returned as though nothing had happened. And how he was scared for his future, afraid of whether he may end up like his mother or Ben, but Morgan gave him the confidence he needed to overcome these fears and face situations as they come. 

~

Later that evening, the team gets a group text from Rossi inviting them over for an impromptu cooking lesson. Reid glances at Morgan, who was dozing lightly on the couch. “Did, uh, Garcia send you here? And Rossi is inviting us all over for a cooking lesson. So I assume that’s got something to do with me too.” Morgan smiled gently and planted a soft kiss on Reid’s head, running his fingers through Reid’s hair once more. 

“I chose to come here. Garcia, she helped me figure some things out about myself, which only added to my haste to get here. I didn’t want to keep these feelings to myself any longer, and I figured you needed to know. And maybe I’d get you to let me understand what goes on in that brain of yours.” Morgan teasingly poked at Reid’s forehead, earning himself a playful glare from Reid. “As for Rossi, we were all worried about you, especially JJ and Prentiss. We just want you to know that you are not alone. Especially me. Because I love you, Dr. Spencer Reid, just as you are. The team wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Reid couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. It was a foreign feeling, he felt like he hadn’t smiled, like really truly smiled, for ages. And of course it was Morgan that coaxed this feeling out of him. The peaceful, blissful, content, happiness. He always knew it had to be Morgan, but his thoughts just wouldn’t let him admit it. “Then, do you want to go together? Assuming you drove here again.” Reid asked, though he felt that he already knew the answer. 

Morgan smiled sweetly, burying his face into Reid’s soft hair for a moment before pulling away. “Of course, pretty boy.”

As they headed to Rossi’s place, Reid finally came to this realization: fighting these battles alone would never result in satisfactory victories, but knowing for certain that he had at least one person in his corner, Morgan, gave him the strength and courage to keep fighting, no matter what. 

[yuthoe]

Fatigued (PENTAGON: Hui)

after a quick look at my last fic post, i realized that it's been a little more than a year since i last posted any original thing from me lmaooo

i still have an unfinished vampire!wonho fic but i keep getting stuck cuz writing smut is haaaard. so since i have downtime from our workshop i decided to finish this, so i'm sorry if it seems like the ending is rushed. this one is still super tame compared to the others i have mapped out (as far as angst goes, this is not the heaviest one lol) so i hope y'all look out for those

PAIRING: Hui (Lee Hoetaek) x gn!reader. GENRE: fic, general, angst. WARNINGS: vampire!au—contains mentions of blood. WORD COUNT: 1,697.

---

Hoetaek closes the door to his apartment quietly, slinging the strap of his crossbody off his shoulder and carefully setting it on the floor of the entryway before toeing off his shoes. In his other hand he holds a rectangular insulated bag, small enough to not be conspicuous, but big enough to fit his refills if they’re packed right.

It’s the first time he’s come home to his apartment in a week, cooped up in his studio composing songs, fixing demos, struggling with lyrics. It was only the notification from his phone reminding him of his appointment at the hospital that got him to get up and fix the clutter around the room.

Now he tiredly carries the insulated bag into the kitchen, propping the fridge door open with his leg and opening the zip of the bag carefully.

The blood bags are carefully packed into the container—enough for around two weeks. Hoetaek doesn't need to feed often (he's gotten a good handle on his thirst throughout the decades), but he still regulates his feeding times so he doesn’t burn through them all in one sitting. Before he holed himself up in the studio, he made a point to stock his body up on nutrients so he didn’t have to bring any bags to clutter up the mini-fridge there.

Hoetaek sighs, blinks hard a few times to clear the daze out of his eyes so he can store the bags properly at the back of the fridge, but giving up quickly. He’s dizzy, sleepy, bone-tired, and frankly a little smelly from working non-stop these past few days. Before he passes out from exhaustion, he decides to just dump the refills onto the only empty space near the front of the fridge. A nice, hot shower and a soak in the bath is in order.

He dumps the now empty bag on the countertop and makes a quick stop to the bedroom to fetch his towel, before heading to the bathroom. Along the way, he taps on his phone with one hand, typing out a quick text to you. 

Hey, honey. I'm back at the apartment. Gonna take a quick shower, but you can come in anytime. 

Hoetaek leaves his phone on the counter top, and inch by inch relaxes as he settles into his bath time routine.

—

The bath is steamy when he finishes an hour later, refreshed and ready to take a much-deserved break. He whistles as he pads barefoot to the bedroom to change into the soft and comfy pajamas you gave him recently. When he finally finishes dressing and doing his minimal skincare routine, he steps out to the living area and sees you seated on the small couch.

“Oh, hi, babe! Didn’t hear you come in.” A lie. He heard it loud and clear when his phone buzzed on the counter midway through his shower; heard the quiet thud of the door and the lock fastening on the latch when you came in; heard the shuffling of your feet as you walked around the apartment in your house slippers; heard you rifling through the kitchen and the fridge looking for food or something to make a light meal with because he knows you like cooking for him after he’s had a tough day at work.

Cat’s out of the bag, as far as Hoetaek is concerned—you definitely saw the blood bags in the refrigerator. He is just delaying the inevitable at this point, refusing to acknowledge that he knows about your discovery and the worried and suspicious look on your face as you sit in silence.

“Yeah, I got in around fifteen minutes ago,” you say. He notes the way you twiddle your thumbs in your lap, looking away quickly to make a beeline to the kitchenette. It’s clean, just the way he left it an hour before, with no signs of anyone attempting to cook anything. Hoetaek figures you were too shaken by what you saw and gave up trying to whip something up and pretend everything is fine.

It is with a quiet resignation that he reaches into a cupboard for an opaque mug and rummages in the fridge for a blood bag, keeping his back towards you to hide him unscrewing the stopper and squeezing out the thick liquid into the mug. “Are you hungry? We can get something delivered,” he calls out, drowning out the sloshing sounds of the blood pouring out from the bag. Once he’s filled the mug almost to the rim, he screws the cap back on with practiced ease, licking his fingertips clean before stowing it back in the fridge, just on top of the pile.

Hoetaek hears you stand and pad all the way to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area as he looks for a reusable straw in one of the drawers, plopping it in the mug. “No, I’m good,” you say. The sweet taste of A-positive soaks his tongue as he takes a sip and he sighs in relief. He takes another drag through the straw before turning to face you, that worried look still on your pretty face. “Just…”

Your nails nervously tap on the faux-marble countertop. “Are you okay, Hoetaek? Are you sick or something?”

He holds the cooling mug tightly in both hands, shrugs. “What do you mean?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I… I saw blood bags. In the fridge.” And then you start rambling. “I was just looking for something to cook for you because I know you’ve been at the studio working the whole week and figured you might want a salad or noodles or something. I didn’t mean to see—they were just there and I thought it was a pile of, I don’t know berry flavored jelly, I guess? But then I flipped one over and realized it’s blood and it had the label and everything, so I freaked out because how did you get that much blood and what are you gonna use all of it for?? Now, I’m concerned and worried and just a little bit freaked out about this whole thing.” Your fingers continued tapping a staccato rhythm as you talked, and finally still when you stop to catch a breath.

The mug almost falls out of Hoetaek’s hands as he regards you with shining eyes. He’d been lying to you, keeping such a big part of himself a secret from you for years. He can tell himself that he did it to protect you, to keep you away from the uglier side of him, but that’s not the whole truth. The fact of the matter is, Hoetaek is just scared; he is scared that you’ll just run off when the truth comes to light and he doesn’t think he can handle that.

The vampire sets the mug down on the counter next to the refrigerator, the contents well out of your sight, before standing in front of you. He lets the marble island between you act as a barrier, even as he takes both your hands in his. His thumbs smooth across your skin, teeth biting at his lip as he tries to find the right words.

“Babe… Thank you for worrying,” he finally starts. “But you didn’t need to. I’m not sick, although I know you get concerned that I’m too pale sometimes, but that’s just because I’m cooped up in the studio a lot.” He chuckles, and sees a corner of your mouth twitch upwards. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve been together for almost three years. And considering that I plan to get on your nerves for the foreseeable future, I suppose I need to be straight with you.

“I’m…” He takes a deep breath. “Well, to put it simply, I’m not human. I’m a vampire and I drink blood. I was born in the late 1890s, but I’ve been 30 for around eighty years or so.” He watches your face, looking for any sign of disgust or apprehension in the lines on your forehead. “I know this is a lot, and I’m not expecting you to stay after finding out about all this. If you need a break—from me—I completely understand.”

Hoetaek squeezes your hands and is about to release them, but you tighten your grip.

“You…” Hui’s brows knit as he watches you struggle to find words. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replies quickly. “Take all the time you need.”

“No, it’s… I’m okay with it, I think?” You keep his hands in yours as you round the corner of the island to stand beside him. “I don’t mind that you’re a vampire, at least. I know I have questions, but I just don’t know how to word them properly, I guess?” The heat of your palms travels up as you drag them along his arms, across his shoulders, and stop to gently hold his cheeks. “I still love you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you say. “I have no reason to stop loving you, Hoetaek.”

He squeezes your hands, knuckles white. “But…,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I’m not like you, I’m not human—I’m different… Does that not scare you?”

You look square in his eyes, searching for something in them, and then you slowly shake your head. “No. You’re you, and as far as I’m concerned, the only different thing here is that you apparently drink blood straight out of the bag. You don’t feel different, you don’t look or sound different. So you’re still my Hoetaek, right?”

Hoetaek thinks he could cry. It never crossed his mind that you would turn him away after baring himself—you have no bad bone in your body. But hearing you say so confidently that you still love him, that he’s still yours… made his long dormant heart almost beat again.

He surges forward and wraps his arms around your waist, buries his nose into your neck. (He is definitely not crying.) “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

Hoetaek feels your head rest against his, your arms embracing him so gently, so carefully. “I love you, too. Always.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒 (Gareth)

I Can't Get Enough of You Baby || Accepting

When he first mentioned that he would need a hostess for the incredibly boring work reception and supper he had to host, she'd almost thought nothing of it, except for the small flutter in her belly at the idea of someone else on his arm. Acting as if she belonged there, smiling at his guests, making small talk, moving around his house with a confidence Beth herself lacks. It isn't unreasonable. He serves at Her Majesty's pleasure, and she knows enough to recognise the words Home Office, but beyond that...politics and governmental operation are not her forte. Yes, the Admiral has made a name for himself as one of the Joint Chiefs, looking to eventually become the next president but all Beth had ever done was serve as his personal mannequin. She does know better than to ask questions or to bother extrapolating the day to day things that hang on his shoulders like weights. The Ministry of Defence, she assumes, is a lot like the Pentagon.

And that's why she tries so hard to be the exact opposite of that; a place of refuge from banality, from keeping him mired in work, to give him room to breathe. It takes almost an hour before his fingers creep across the table and brush the back of her wrist before she realises why it was he brings it up. And he mentions the little black dress of hers ~*~ Once the evening ends, Beth begins to clean up. It's ingrained habit and she thinks nothing of it, until Gareth manages to catch her at the corner of his desk. It comes with a mousy little squeak from her, the surprise. The smoothness of the wood behind her, the warmth of him before her. By now she's used to Gareth towering over her, and maybe enjoys it a little too much. Nerves and hesitation had given way to some innate courtesy, given way to his fingers once again brushing her own, removing the glass held there in. When she looks up, green clashes against arresting blue, with the little gold flecks in them. Heterochromia a trait they share in common.

She doesn't quite know how to navigate the way he's looking at her but she feels the flicker in her belly again, just for different reasons. And in recognising that, Beth happens to miss what he said, beyond the caressing tone of his voice. The tip of her nose brushes his jaw and she breathes in the faint hint of soap and aftershave that skims his smooth surface. Her eyes half close but not before she makes note of just how thick and long his lashes naturally are. How soft the idea of his lips become. But before the kiss can come alive, she seems utterly intent on self-sabotage. "A-are you...sure?"

[yourfavoriteweirdo19]

Chapter 2

(⚠ warning ⚠ mentions of SH) idk any other warnings but this is just mainly fluff😅)

(Y/N Pov)

"Yes, you shall show me around the school Principal Weems" I said as I saw Weems mouth turn into a small smile "Alright, Y/N let go" Weems said as she turned around and showed me where all the classes where at, We were now in the what they called a Quad "Here's the Quad" Weems said as I looked around "It's a pentagon" I said "I know, but students have been calling it Quad, anyways there are many different type of out-cast here the main four is Fangs,Furs,Stoners, And scales" Weems said with a smile as I got lost in her blue ocean eyes for a little bit "Those are fangs, known as vampires" She said as she pointed at the Vampires "That bunch of knuckleheads are furs, Also known as Werewolf you might want soundproof headphones when it's either a blood moon or full moon Darling" she said as she chuckled a little bit god it was adorable, and also I was very stunned as she call me Darling the name made me blush all the way to my ears and neck "I'm assuming that scales are sirens?"I said as I finally was able to talk with out messing up my words "Yes, You catch on pretty quick Y/N" Weems said with a smile it made her very cute, "And there's the stoners, They are very clueless if I say so myself" she said I laughed a little bit "Did Y/N Y/L/N just laughed!?" She said with a huge smile as she looked at me "I- well call not laugh ever" I said Weems just chuckled as a response

(A hour later)

I started to head back to Weems office to pick up my uniform and my schedule, As I was heading to Weems office I had my head down so I couldn't see who was in front of me I than bumped into a blond hair girl with pink and blue dye at the end of her head, " Oh sorry I didn't see you there" she said with an apologize look on her face "It's fine don't worry about I should be the one saying sorry cause I bumped into you" I said "Anyways, I'm Enid the gossip girl" she said as she smiled "Y/N Y/L/N" I said with no expression on my face "Anyways cya later" she said as she walked away I continued on my way going to Weems till I felt myself smile at the thought of her, Am I actually falling for this woman I wonder to myself, I finally got there after like 5 minutes I knocked on the door twice "Come in" Weems said with her beautiful voice that she have I nearly fainted to the sound of her voice so soothing so soft I open the door wide enough for me to slid in, Weems looked up from her laptop and when she saw me she smiled and pointed a seat next her on the couch (A/N: Yes she was working on the couch) I gladly sat next to her, "I came here to collect my uniform and schedule Miss Weems" I said in a formal voice trying not to sound like I like being very close to her "Oh yeah, I may have forgotten about that, Darling" she said with a slight worry expression but I just gotten even more red when she called me Darling "Anyways, They are over there at my desk I was supposed to take it to you, But it seems like I've been so caught up with work I seem to forget about giving it to you" Weems said "It's fine Miss Weems it happens to the best of us" I said with a slight smile "Oh please you can call me Larissa when school hour is over" Larissa said with a soft warming smile that I could literally faint to, Jesus why did I have to be into older women, I could already feel heat spread across my cheeks all the way to the top of my ears, "Alright, Larissa" I finally said her name repeated in my mind after I said her name it felt so good to say her name I love it, I walked over to her desk to grab my uniform "Y/N before you leave you have a therapy session tomorrow it starts at 10:30Am, So can you wake up at least at 9:30Am?" Larissa asked more like a command "Mhm" I hummed aa a respond at her words "Maybe if you don't escape your therapy session we might go get some hot chocolate at a very cute Cafe, I think you might just like it" Larissa said with a very soothing voice Jesus she would be the death of me "Alright" I responded to her offer I left the office and made my way to my dorm, after the long stairways up to my dorm, I finally got there I opened up my dorm, And turned on the lights while I had my schedule and uniform still in my hand I walked over to my desk, That I had in there, I placed my stuff on top of the desk, I walked over to the light switch and turned it off ot wasn't too dark the moon was shining though my window, So I was able to find my bed I rolled on to my side and fell asleep while the words that Larissa had said to me that night.

(10:00Am)

I woke up to the sound of knocking on my door I just had realized that I slept through my alarm that was supposed to wake me up at 9:30Am "Oh fuck" I whisper yell to myself I opened the door to find a slightly disappointed Larissa. You haven't realize what you were wearing for PJs

(The PJs Y/N were wearing)

(Y/N hair pretend that it's your hair color unless you like the color of it😅)

You had saw Larissa looking up and down at me, so I look down and saw what I was wearing, my scars were visible now my outfit have showed so many of your scars I looked back at Larissa "Sorry I slept through my alarm Miss Weems I promise it won't ever happen again!!" I said with a worry expression while looking up at her "Oh my dove, who have broken your wings my dove?, Here let's rebandage your arms, my little dove" She said with a soft expression as touched my arm softly, worrying that I will break like glass if she touched you with a normal touch, so she touch me lightly, and guild me to your bathroom she had taken off my old bandages, And replaced them with newer bandages she had saw all of the newer ones I created days before you arrived at Nevermore (*A little bit of your past* I've been bullied and laughed at called a freak and other name very harsh names that's why you tend to always escape your past school but you haven't been bullied since you've started at Nevermore so I didn't really cut yourself anymore you've only stop because you didn't want to lose Larissa) "There my sweet dove you should be good to go, Now let get you dress in your uniform, I will wait outside, Alright?" Larissa said as you nodded, did this woman really actually cared for me, I softly smile at the thought that she actually cares about me, She had walked herself out of my dorm, shutting my door behind her, as she waited next to the door, I got dressed into my uniform and walked over to the door, And opened the door and saw Larissa next to the door "I'm done getting dress, Miss Weems" I said to her, She took hold of my hand, And guild me to her car, "You don't have to go to the therapy session if you not comfortable about it we could just go to the cafe, And maybe just draw and drink hot chocolate" Larissa say with a soft smile, I nodded, Larissa took that as a hint that you didn't want to go to the therapy session, so she pull up to a cafe as she parked into in parking lot, She got out and slight jogged to the my door, She opened the door and held up a hand for you to take as soon as you unbuckle yourself, I took her hand, And she close the car door behind me as I hoped out, now you were walking up to the cafe in comfortable silence, when we got in we walked over to the worker there "Hello we would like 2 large hot chocolate please and also with 2 chocolate croissant please" she said in a very soft warming voice "Y/N, you can go find a spot for us to set down, okay" Larissa said, I let go of her hand, And found a spot next to a window, She walked over to the booth I had found she sat on the opposite side of me, my leg had started to slightly shake, Larissa had noticed that I was shaking my leg, So she put a hand on top of mine to help me calm down a little bit at least, I calm down and the shaking had stop as the worker walked over to us with the drinks in their hands she handed me my hot chocolate first and handed the other one to larissa, They than walked back over to the counter and picked up the chocolate croissant in their hands, and they walked back to our booth, I started drinking my hot chocolate, as they handed both of our chocolate croissant, We ate in comfortable silence there wasn't really anything to talk about, "Are you ready to leave, Darling?" Larissa asked I nodded I was about to pull out my wallet until she swat my hand away and paid for it instead "Thank you for paying" I said with a soft slightest smile on my face, looking up at Larissa, had she always been this tall?, I thought to myself, " It's no problem, Darling" Larissa said as she held onto my hand and guild me to her car, she opened my side of the car "What a gentlewoman" I said as me and Larissa chuckled lightly as she reached my buckle to buckle my seatbelt in even tho I could do that by myself, but I let her do what she wanted to do.

(A/N welp)

[bllsbailey]

Fixing the Military Requires a Dying Art Called 'Leadership'

On this Independence Day, we all know our military has been shattered into fragments of what it was back in the early 1990s, when it was the undisputed most lethal force on earth and certainly one of the greatest armies in human history. America’s victory in Desert Storm, nearly forgotten by a force now more concerned with the strategic threat allegedly posed by warm weather and with catering to the gender-delusional, was on par with the victories of Hannibal, Alexander, and Caesar. That’s no exaggeration. A Cold War military that spent decades ready to hold the Fulda Gap against the red hordes annihilated a nation’s entire military in 100 hours and barely broke a sweat. But today, our military is a disaster. It can’t win wars and it can’t even convince normal Americans to join or stay very long if they do. This disaster has to be undone, and only a Trump victory can do that. Another Biden term and it’s over, but after President Golem botched the debate we have a good chance of getting Trump 2.0 and a shot at rescuing our men and women in uniform from the Perfumed Princes of the Pentagon.

So, how do you go about fixing the Pentagon? 

You start with leadership. Not just shinier stuff. Not smarter policies. Not better plans. Good, solid, old-fashioned leadership. That’s the key.

Yes, we have terrible procurement problems. Our equipment is aging, and we cannot seem to buy effective new gear for a reasonable price within a reasonable timeframe. And yes, we are a strategic mess, with a senior officer corps that has failed to grapple with our real enemies and instead focuses on the trendy boogeymen that terrify leftist civilian poobahs, like “extremism” and the climate hoax. But the most pressing issue our military faces is cultural. Without morale, and without a laser-focus on winning, you will fail. Our military today is less a military than a huge, woke HR department that occasionally drops bombs. 

War is a people business. Our people are alienated. They feel abused and betrayed because they have been. They sense our strategic drift. They do not trust our uniformed leaders, and not unreasonably. The generals’ and admirals’ grotesque betrayal of the troops during COVID was a disaster, but that was only one of many failures. Getting our troops killed in Kabul – with no accountability for the people in charge might I add – was another. Whoever put our magnificent warriors at Abbey Gate under those conditions should be making big rocks into little rocks at Leavenworth, not enjoying a cush retirement gig on the board of some outfit like Boeing.

But heaven forbid a trooper misplace his M4 – now that’s a real crisis!

We need real military leadership again, starting at the top. We need a new commander-in-chief, but we also need a new Secretary of Defense, one who leads our military instead of managing it. He cannot be a bureaucrat cloistered in a fancy office in the Pentagon and hope to fix this mess. The Secretary of Defense, though a civilian, is in the chain of command, so he should command. He must get his intent out there in no uncertain terms. He must expect that his orders reforming the military be swiftly and efficiently carried out. And he must nuke any resistance he gets without hesitation or mercy.

A commander who doesn’t command is no commander. He’s a joke, a clown, a Vindman. We’ve had far too many of them in the officer corps for far too long.

The next Secretary of Defense must be a veteran, someone who has commanded soldiers in uniform. Certainly, the task facing the next Trump SecDef is a bit more complex than that of a new company or battalion commander taking command, but the principles of leadership are the same. You take “command.” You don’t take “suggestion.” You don’t take “go along, get along.” You take command.

You get one chance to set the tone. Go in soft, and ramping up is nearly impossible when you find people are not doing what you direct. Go in hard. Firm. Clear. Not jerky, not obnoxious. Too often bad leaders mistake angry and mean for clear and firm. The troops want a commander who takes charge and sets out a clear and commonsense intent to accomplish the mission. He must give the orders – not suggestions – to move the military toward his objective, a lethal combat-oriented force. The new SecDef needs to do that on Day One.

How does this work in practice? What does it look like at the Pentagon on Day One of the Second Trump administration? 

He must immediately re-establish that the United States Armed Forces is a military organization and will function as such. This is a resource-tight environment – there’s no time or money for fluff or nonsense. Anything that does not go toward deterring or destroying America’s enemies must go. That’s the guiding principle, and he must take steps to implement that by making unequivocal changes to the current regime.

First, get rid of DEI. It’s done, over, gone. No more “X Month,” not more babble about how “diversity is our strength.” Our strength is our strength, meaning our ability to kill the enemy. The diversity pap posters come down, the civilian DEI personnel are terminated as excess, and any uniformed personnel in DEI slots are reassigned to real jobs. This will be accomplished in seven days; each joint chief will report personally to the SecDef that it has been done. When asked if his order has been carried out, the only acceptable answer is “Yes, sir.”

Some of those joint chiefs will be new because some are getting retired on Day One. They are lucky – in the future, fired generals and admirals will not be allowed to retire at their current rank. Relieved officers will be retired at the rank at which they last served satisfactorily, and that’s never the rank they held when they were fired. This innovative personnel management policy will work wonders to focus the attention and action of our senior military leaders.

Second, the priority is fighting and the skills that go along with fighting. No more climate hoax nonsense, no more babble about green tanks, no more non-military military education—the military academies and war colleges have lost their way. Their job is to turn out killers. Too often, they turn out woke losers. Fire the heads of all the service schools and replace them with new leaders who get that their mission is to churn out fighters, not schmoozers.

Third, rebuild the trust the military lost because of its COVID policies and the pandemic of toxic leaders at the unit level. Focus on unit-level leadership. Make it clear that the noncommissioned officer corps is the backbone of the military – it’s what made our military work back when it did work. There is such thing as “NCO business” that officers should have no part of – officers don’t know how to conduct sergeant’s business, and when they try, they not only screw up but they tell their NCOs that they don’t trust them. The SecDef’s choice – he must make it his choice – for the senior enlisted advisor to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (SEAC) is a critical one. The SecDef should snag the SEAC from the chairman and keep him close by his side as his personal sanity tester and bullSchiff detector.

He must rebuild the officer corps. Too often, our troops see not warfighters but timeservers and ticket-punchers in command who chose their careers over taking care of their troops. That needs to end. Not everyone is fit to be a commander even if they hold the required rank – the formal board system to assign officers to command slots has failed. The new SecDef must take a hands-on approach to pick aggressive, capable future leaders within the force as George Marshall did with his legendary notebook of officers to watch. Scrap the boards and have the SecDef and his designees manage the officer corps directly. Personnel is policy. The SecDef must pick his team down to the O5 (lieutenant colonel and Navy commander) level. Some will call subjective assignments unfair; what’s unfair is saddling our troops with commanders who look good on paper but can’t lead or fight.

The bureaucracy will attempt to bury the SecDef in the bowels of the Pentagon so it can co-opt him using the mushroom treatment – keep him in the dark and feed him manure. He must physically break out of there and reserve blocks of time to visit the field. He should start Day One by walking the Pentagon halls and dropping in on his troops – it’s called “leadership by walking around,” and it works. 

He needs to make short-notice trips to see what’s really happening elsewhere. “Ladies and gentlemen, this afternoon I am flying to – let’s see – how about Newport News to look at ships? I want a helicopter on the pad in an hour. Don’t tell the base commander. It’ll be a surprise.” And then he needs to go, along with some Navy subject matter expert straphangers, and ask questions like, “Admiral, why is that destroyer covered in rust instead of gleaming? Wait, let me ask your second-in-command because he’s now in charge since you are relieved.”

The SecDef cannot be everywhere, so he needs personal representatives outside of Pentagon channels to visit bases to find out the ground truth in the field and reinforce the SecDef’s intent. They should be pairs of retired senior officers and senior noncommissioned officers. Having NCO participation is critical. Private Jones knows the real story but he won’t tell some retired colonel. He will tell a retired first sergeant. These Special Representatives of the Secretary of Defense will be his independent eyes and ears. They need a travel budget and the credentials that make clear that they are present on the SecDef’s personal behalf. After the first general who tells the SecDef’s reps they can’t come onto his airbase gets relieved, that will be the end of the overt resistance.

But there will be covert resistance to the SecDef’s reforms. That’s why he must trim the Pentagon’s bloated civilian staff starting Day One. There is a lot of talk about how you cannot fire civil service personnel. That’s not so – you just have to do it right. And you don’t necessarily need to fire them – you can solve the problem by transferring them. Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska will get a bunch of new civilian workers. But mostly you have to work the system. Fire them or move them and then let them fight it. By the time their case is resolved, the SecDef will be retired and the lazy civil servant will be old.

There are many specific things the new SecDef must do, but a single general one. He must lead. This next Secretary of Defense cannot be a bureaucrat and hope to fix the primary problem with our military – the fact that it has stopped functioning like a military. This is why we fail to win wars. This is why our enlistees and junior officers leave the service. This is why vets dissuade young people from joining. We definitely cannot have another failure like Robert McNamara or Mark Esper. But we also do not necessarily need a George Patton or a Douglas MacArthur. Another George Marshall or Dwight Eisenhower, commanders who commanded without fanfare, would be great. Regardless, we need a real leader in the Pentagon. And starting Day One of Trump 2.0, he needs to lead.

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