#3. a bad agent is worse than no agent

[luveline]

Hotch request! Please sir, can I have a Hotch request? I'm trying to follow what you said about comfort but also Hotch being angry. So I get low blood sugars cause of my diabetes and I'd love if you wrote something about them being on a case and BAU!Reader is really busy trying to get stuff done, so she has a bad low blood sugar and sits down but one of the local officers thinks she's slacking off so she tries to keep going and Hotch comes in and defends her, making sure she has everything she needs and doesn't faint. Love you <3

ty for requesting!! hope this is okay <3 fem, 1.3k

���I understand.” You frown, phone pressed to your ear hard. “I totally understand, but it’s really important that I get to talk to her.” 

“She’s on heavy medication,” the nurse replies, unimpressed by your asking, “she wouldn’t be much use anyhow.” 

“I understand, but–”

“Listen, I’m sorry, but we have a lot to do here. I’m sorry we can’t help. Bye.” 

You groan in frustration, bringing your phone from your ear to see the Call Disconnected notification flash across your screen. How are you and the team ever supposed to get answers if nobody wants to help? Your head rushes. You kid yourself into believing it’s annoyance like a hot flash, you’ve been sweaty for ages, but then reality cuts through. What usually makes you sweaty and dizzy?

“Where’s my test kit?” you murmur to yourself. 

The door opens while you’re looking through your bag. 

“Agent,” Officer Debs greets, a stout, sturdy woman with sharp eyes, “any news from Georgetown Psychiatric?” 

You rummage frustratedly through your things. You should know better than to misplace your test kit. Doesn’t matter. You’ll just have to eat something quickly before you get any worse. “Uh, no, nothing they could help me with.” 

“Did you call them?” 

Your eyelids are getting heavier. You sit down on impulse, worried you’re gonna fall if you stay standing. “Yeah, I called them.” You’ve had diabetes for long enough to know what to do, but it’s always harder than it felt the last time when your blood sugar drops. It can be so sudden. 

Realising you might need help, you clear your throat, about to ask Officer Debs if she can get the glucose tablets from your bag. You should’ve grabbed them —your thoughts are starting to thicken like someone’s poured cornflour into your skull. 

“Is now the best time for a break?” Officer Debs asks. 

You focus very hard on bringing your attention into the present. “No, sorry,” you say, standing up. You open your phone and direct to the contacts page, clicking your favourite contact at the very top. 

Don’t know m where test kit is, you text clumsily. Hotch should still be in the precinct. Do u have it ? 

“I hope you’re texting someone about the case,” Officer Debs says sternly. 

You shove your phone into your pocket. “Um,” you say, getting confused now, and not wanting to be shouted at. You grab for the page of phone numbers you’d been making your way through, can’t get your hands to work. “I wasn’t. But I’m getting to it.” 

“We really don’t have time to waste.” 

“I know, but my blood sugar–”

She talks over you. “What’s the point in all our officers working day and night when you FBI agents can’t be bothered to put in the same effort?” Her voice rises. “It’s ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous, we’re trying our best just like you are.”

“Clearly not!” 

“My blood sugar,” you say, more insistently. “Stop shouting at me.” 

The door opens quickly, creaking hard on its hinge. Hotch doesn’t slam it open, he never slams anything, but he doesn’t hesitate either. “I have it, you left it in the car after you tested this morning,” he says, your kit in his hand. He gives Officer Debs a surprised up and down. “Who’s shouting?” he asks, unimpressed. 

You wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. “Hotch, I need a tablet.” 

If he’s shocked at your lethargy, he doesn’t say. He ignores the officer from that point on. “Yes, I think so, too.” 

Hotch is more efficient than you were, grabbing your tube of glucose tablets and shaking one out into his hand. “Can you take it yourself?” 

“You want to chew it for me?” you ask. 

He tips it into your palm. “Very funny.” 

He opens the test kit on the desk and starts to extract the pieces. It’s quite complicated, especially for people unfamiliar with it, but you’re pretty sure Hotch learned how to use it the day he knew you had diabetes. He wipes his hands with an alcohol wipe and presses a test strip into the meter, careful not to touch the end, before wiping your finger with a new wipe, and readying the lancing stick. 

“Gonna stick you, okay?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” you hum, the glucose tablet like chalk between your teeth. 

He sticks you. Some days it feels more painful than other days, but today it’s like a pinprick in a haze. He squeezes your finger, wipes the first drop of blood with a cotton ball, and dips the test strip into the second bead of blood, careful not to jab your cut. 

In the five seconds it takes for you to get a result on the meter, he kneels down, pressing another cotton ball to your finger to stem the flow of blood. “Good,” he murmurs to you. The meter flashes on the table. “Not so good. Fifty nine, huh? How’d that happen?” 

You shake your head slowly from one side to another. “I’ve no idea.” 

“Okay. Well, that tablet’s not gonna do it, honey. Do you have any gels?” 

“No,” you say apologetically. 

“That’s fine. I’ll get you a drink.” 

Officer Debs clears her throat. You may be foggy, but her awkwardness is palpable. “I’ll get it.”

“It has to be full sugar. Coke, if you can,” Hotch says. She nods in understanding and leaves in record time. Hotch turns back to you, his severity melting away. “She was shouting at you?”

“Tried to tell her about my blood sugar. She told me we’re not here to waste time.” You close your mouth, licking the glucose off of your teeth.

“How did you get so low?” he asks.

“Must have done something wrong this morning. Am I okay?” 

“We’ll see. I think you’ll be alright.” 

“Don’t usually get so dizzy.” 

“When was the last time you were below seventy?” 

“Don’t know,” you mumble. 

Hotch peels the cotton ball from your finger and packs your things away cleanly. “Let’s see how you feel in ten minutes. After your coke. Now… what did the Officer say to you?” 

He’s getting his facts straight. Again, you wouldn’t like to be on his bad side. You relay your conversation, Officer Debs hadn’t even been that bad, just uppity, stuck on her own assumptions rather than willing to listen when you’d needed a hand. Her lack of empathy could’ve really affected you. Low blood sugar is no joke. 

You tell him, savouring in the warmth of his hand on your leg, how uncaring he is to be kneeling in front of you on the precinct floor. He frowns at you long and hard. 

By the time Officer Debs returns, he’s on his feet again. “A word?” he asks her. 

You don’t hear all of what he’s saying through the door as you sip your coke. He doesn’t shout, but he defends you with a heavy gravity. Officer Debs speaks up and he cuts her down, something about understanding, and then a more clear telling off, “I don’t want to hear about Agent L/N’s performance from you again. She’s my agent, and if she needs a break, she’ll take one. It’s none of your concern.” 

“I understand.” 

You feel much peppier when he comes back in, though he appears less so. “You’re nasty,” you say, smiling, happy to be defended, and happier to know you’re not gonna pass out.

He crosses the room. Still frowning, he takes your face into his hands, and he leans down inch by inch, until he’s pressing a soft, soft kiss to your lips. You barely have time to close your eyes before he’s pulling away, thumb pressed into your soft cheek. “Nobody gets to shout at you. Especially over your blood sugar.” 

“It’s usually you telling me off for letting it get low,” you mumble. 

He stands up straight, leaving you wanting for another kiss you won’t get, hands stolen back from your cheeks. “You’re ageing me prematurely. Drink some more coke, please, sweetheart.” 

“What do I get in return?” 

He touches your face briefly, as much of a promise as you’re going to get. 

[vaaaaaiolet]

Here, we happen upon a specimen of Homo sapiens in a most vulnerable state. He appears to be utterly besotted with his wife at the risk of his livelihood. Distracted, exhausted, and borderline hallucinating, he's left open to attack from every angle. Including that of the object of his affections, it seems.

In which Leon nearly naps through a debrief and you give him a run for his money.

mdni [insert tiktok GET OUT audio]. married f / m smut feat. the same agent au from mbotcd. a dash of plot w your porn if you please. whipped leon pov where his bamf wife pounces on him LMAO. bjs, jerking him off, and no refractory period yay!!! slight cumplay + dacryphilia?? cavity-inducing p in v à la missionary. banter and praise bordering on body worship. 1 sec of overstim. corny plot twist. honestly just marriage kink. i hate myself too. also you wear a necklace + bracelet cause u cute like that :3

a/n: “vivi wtf you keep writing the sam-” let’s get this straight. i #needthat. i’ve been #needingthat. this is a month’s worth of thirst condensed into a GROSS FUCKING FIC that i’m actually so embarrassed about please don’t look at me. i want this man's dick so bad it makes me ill. and dicks are scary ok. nevertheless, i persevere in my journey to suck leon off with mixed results. enjoy the ride <3 + many many kisses to the most kickass writer i know @comatosebunny09 for inspiring bamf reader :,) leon nation has MISSED YOU LMFAOOO

word count: 3.2k (WE BEAT THE 2.9K TRENCHES Y'ALL!!) // read on ao3

It’s only after you finally shoo your guests out the front door that Leon can plunge into the living room loveseat and let out a sigh akin to that of a sinking ship’s. Or at least shooing is the way he’d have done it – his darling’s too perfect a hostess to dream of doing that.

Goddamn. Leon pulls a hand down his face hard enough to resemble Munch’s Scream painting. He thought they’d never leave: the eye-twitchingly pedantic DSO busybodies who had no business interrupting the sanctity of his home on a Friday afternoon, and an unbearably sleepy one at that. 

Sunshine had dripped down the living room windows slower than molasses while two analysts blabbered on and on about some stupid recon intel from his last mission. One cookie after the other had disappeared from a tray laid out with Leon’s secret stash. And to make things worse, an hour in, you’d started glaring daggers his way when his head started bobbing. It made for a scene dangerously reminiscent of Sunday service as a kid.

So what if this Sensitive Compartmented Blah Blah Blah needed to be discussed at the DSO’s earliest convenience? What about Leon’s convenience? He’d handled confidential business before. He checks his email on time. Most of the time. 

But the hard part’s over now, thank the Lord. Leon can peel off the imaginary Scotch tape from his eyelids and instead appreciate the magnificent view his wife makes walking back from the foyer in her company best. 

Now that’s something he wouldn’t mind discussing at length over tea. 

Crimson silk whispers down the length of your legs when you throw yourself over the arm of the couch opposite him. Leon snickers; kicks up his feet on his own loveseat in solidarity. Falling onto the cushions, you let out a gutted yawn that couldn’t possibly befit the gracious lady of the house who was just insisting your guests stay for dinner. 

He can’t not tease you about it. 

You remind him that he’s lucky his ass didn’t snooze himself out of a job. The threat cuts less considering how funny you sound, muffled from the sherpa throw you’ve planted your face into. You were at it for hours, holding down the fort while your husband zoned out. One more word out of him and you’ll conveniently lose the files he needs for his upcoming assignment.  

Oof. Leon knows not to negotiate unarmed.

Anyway, he’s not too keen on arguing with Sleeping Beauty. Can’t help but chuckle when you tuck your hands flat under your cheek like a Precious Moments figurine. He crosses his arms, watches you curl up your legs and declare to nobody in particular that you’re only resting your eyes before figuring out dinner, and knowing all too well what’s to follow, Leon waits. 

Three…two…one. 

Out like a light. He could’ve snapped on it. 

They tuckered his baby right out. Picture of an angel, fast asleep as sunlight streams onto the carpet and the houseplants don’t notice a thing. Lashes flashing gold in the rays, fluttering with each soft breath you take. You look as if you could sleep for a thousand years.   

With his own head heavy with the five o’clock sun, Leon’s inclined to share the sentiment. He’s close to dozing off too. It’s just…he’s having a little trouble shutting his eyes now that those pests from work are gone and he’s free to stare unabashedly at what actually held his attention all afternoon.

You shift in your sleep – innocent as a lamb, were it not for the bare leg you kick out right then. 

Leon stifles a punched-out groan by the skin of his teeth. 

Your dress rides up just high enough for him to peek at the pretty thighs hiding underneath. Leon might have to call over company more often if it meant you’d wear that again, damn his cookie stash. A lean forward and shit, he’s seeing lace. Lace he wants between his teeth.

The rational part of his brain chides, she’s exhausted. Don’t even think about it.

Leon rebels. He can’t help his hungry eyes from devouring upwards from there. Right over the enticing plush of your hips, the curve of your stomach. Up to your darling face with a few pit stops along the way. 

Do you have any idea how cute you pout when you’re trying to squeeze the sunlight out of your eyes? Or that you finger your favorite necklace, lulling yourself to sleep? It rests over the slope of your breasts, a privilege he’s always nursed a smattering of jealousy about, and Leon isn’t saying he meant to stare for as long as he does at the pendant playing peek-a-boo between the valley of your- 

Fuck it. Yeah, he’s looking. Perving over the prettiest angel he ever did see. He won’t be calling God and returning you to heaven anytime soon. No hard feelings, big guy. 

Said necklace glitters in the fading radiance of the afternoon sun as Leon huffs this particular thought to himself, readjusting his jeans. And then he frowns. Maybe it’s his sleep-addled brain, but he could swear the necklace winks at him.

It’s then that a pair of beautiful eyes – who should very much be closed – flutter open. 

Fantastic. You woke her up. 

It takes you a second. Slumber still weighs heavy on your poor neck. You stretch out your arms, yawning into the back of your hand. Leon’s already workshopping an apology by the time you wipe your mouth to taste the fleeting remnants of your five-minute nap. 

It must’ve been all that moaning and groaning of his, goddamn it. Subtlety’s never been his strong suit. Leon should say sorry. Apologize to the fawn in the woodland clearing for tearing into her dreams like the great, lumbering bear he is. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” He drops his voice to a rueful whisper, ducking slightly to meet your line of sight. “Did I wake you up?”

Your gaze doesn’t lift. “...wasn’t sleeping.”

He has the tact to hold back his snort this time. Right, you were resting your eyes. How about he gets you to bed? He hears they’re practically made for eye resting. Or something along those lines.

“Don’t wanna.”

He literally watched you pass out on the couch. You want a crick in your neck that bad?

“I’ll tell you what I want,” comes your defiant grumble, and with a toss of your gorgeous head, Leon’s heart skips. 

You kick out your other leg. Your feet touch the ground with a determined click of your heels. That hip-hugging dress doesn’t do a damn thing to slow you down. A few strides later, you’ve suddenly got the upper hand, towering over his slumped form on the loveseat. Sporting a wicked, wide-awake gleam in your eyes if he wasn’t seeing things. Was he?

You drop to a crouch next to his befuddled head, pivot one-eighty; gather your hair over one bare shoulder. Press the sash of your dress into his palm, deceptively coy. 

“Want you to help with this,” you purr. 

Honeypot voice.

He blinks. 

If Leon knows what’s good for him, he ought to run for the hills. He hasn’t heard you talk like that since Santorini 2016. Something’s off here. Either he’s done something very, very wrong, or something very right. That mission ended with the barrel of your Sentinel Nine jabbed into a handsy thug’s ribs. Years of failed attempts at breakfast in bed flash through Leon’s memories to remind him that you don’t take being woken up lightly. The sash cinching your waist is stoplight red. Likely for a reason. 

So Leon pulls it. 

You try holding still when a smokeshow orders you to strip her, for God’s sake.

The dress falls apart like a dream. Leon’s mouth goes dry watching you slip off a matching set of skimpy underthings. Wearing nothing but that delicate chain that dangles over your décolletage and a tennis bracelet on your wrist – an anniversary present bought to mirror your strength – that sparkles in the sun, you cock a hand on your bare hip. 

Leon sits bolt upright. He’s loaded with a million and one questions, but you’re moving like you’re trying to outrun those Greek thugs again. You don’t give him a chance. When you clamber onto the couch and settle yourself right between the stunned spread of his legs, all he can do is sputter like a rusty engine. His belt falls apart in merry, metallic clinks at your clever fingers. Your dress drops into a forgotten puddle on the floor next to his melted brain. 

“Woah, woah, woah.” Leon grips onto your forearms when you dig your nails into the waistband of his jeans. Wide blue eyes peer into yours, a dumbfounded grin tugging at your husband’s mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’re you- what’re you doing?”

You huff, tugging harder at his waistband. “Want these off, duh.”

“But what’s with the sudden-”

“I don’t entertain for free. This,” your hand darts to cup the bulge he’s been wrangling with for a while now, “is what I want in return for sitting through that boring-ass debrief with you nodding off the whole time instead of listening to anything they were saying. And I know you're going to forget and ask me about the intel later.”

Point taken. He did need to work on his subtlety. 

“Actually, if I’d done this earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten bored.” You hum as if this were a mildly interesting work conversation. “Nothing crazy like sucking you off under the coffee table. I could’ve needed your help getting a file out of the garage, and then...or is that too cliché?”

What kind of porno plot is this? 

“Bold claim to make, doll.” Leon fumbles to take off his jeans in poorly concealed excitement at what that could mean. His denim gets thrown off the couch, courtesy of your ever-so-helpful hands. 

“What, you think I’d put you to sleep instead?” you giggle. 

By sucking out his soul? Maybe. 

You perch yourself on his bare thigh. 

Straddling is great. Comfortable even. Your thighs press all plushy on either side of his leg and that’s fine and dandy, but right now, Leon’s scared shitless that you might slide clean off him – you’re that fucking wet. When did you let it get this bad? You’d squelch moving an inch, for fuck’s sake. Look at you, talking big when your head was just as elsewhere as his.

Leon wraps a steadying arm around your hips with his heart beating out of his chest. It’s only when you lean over his chest to steady yourself that he can let out a shudder of relief. A brief one, of course. Apparently you’ve made it your mission so that he never knows peace a day in his life.

Your bracelet-adorned hand slips into his boxers, curling around the base of his cock with a playful squeeze of his balls. Testing, testing, is this thing on? 

Leon’s throaty groan is your go-ahead to fish out his length. 

The soft O of your cupped hand starts to pump him, slow at first. A gentle up-and-down that has him tipping his neck backwards over the armrest. Leon doesn’t need to look to feel himself standing prouder with each slickening pass of your palm, but he does anyway to see the flash of your wedding ring while you work. Pretends the sight doesn’t make his dick jump. And hell, if you don’t flash him that pretty smile of yours when you notice, squeezing harder. Didn’t know he married himself a succubus.

“God…” he breathes. Cards a hand through your hair with a tenderness that makes your clamped knees buckle. 

Leon hasn’t got much time left. You’ve figured that out too, dropping a kiss to his rosy tip when the blurts of precome start running down the back of your hand. You quickly swipe a thumb over the mess; leave a trail down his leg, scooching down and gasping at the friction on your clit. You pop your lips over the head of his cock like it’s a fruit punch sucker. 

Fuck. Has he ever told you how much he loves your mouth? All spit-slick when you’re blinking more please? 

You inch his length down your throat, soft little gags bubbling past your lips. Doe eyes glossy from the stretch. You’ve got to stop giving him that angel stare before he starts straight-up fucking your face to watch your tears roll. Leon settles for sweeping your hair into a ponytail instead, barely resisting the urge to roll his hips into the wet heat engulfing him. Maybe it’s for the best. He’d get off too quick otherwise and he needs the time to pick between painting your pretty face or your pretty tits white. Decisions, decisions. 

“So good for me, baby.” Leon pants over the soft suckling sounds of you speeding up at the gesture. “Oh, fuck. Wait, sweetheart, I-” 

His breathing turns shallow in seconds. His lower stomach twitches, shitshitshit – he’s coming. Face flushed and mouth moaning wide open when he spills down your throat. 

You pull off his twitching cock, smiling like the cat that got the cream with some dribbling down the corner of your mouth to boot. Then you go ahead and fucking blow on him like you want bubbles from a Blow Pop. His lingering sensitivity makes him shake like a leaf. You’d planned this, hadn’t you?

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” Leon chuckles softly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe your lips clean. “Happy?”

You answer with a satisfied flutter of your cum-pearled lashes. Cute.

“Good. Cause now it’s my turn.”

Didn’t think you could get away with him making a mess of himself alone, did you? You’d been squirming on his leg the whole time. Poor baby let her mission get in the way of her needs again. So to return the favor, Leon flips you over. Climbs on top.

You turn starry-eyed with your back to the cushions, beaming when he pushes your thighs apart. You’re fussy just the way he likes you when you plead pleasepleaseplease. All riled up just from sucking him off, huh? This won’t take long.

The scent of your arousal is heady. Earthy like sugary petrichor. Makes his head spin. He’s picking up on it more than ever after that orgasm cleared his head like a gunshot. He runs two fingers down your dewy folds to rediscover just how much you taste like linen sheet trysts with a Do Not Disturb sign permanently stuck to your hotel room door.

“I gotcha, honey,” Leon soothes your breathy whimpers. Kisses you slow, easing into your weeping entrance. “I’m right here. Oh, I know.”

First is the initial head-under-water feeling of sinking into you. So good it hurts. Then comes the caramel stretch of you wrapping around him. He’s gotta make sure of the fit, you know? Leon lines a teasing finger around the stretched lips of your cunt struggling to take him whole. 

You anchor your hands into his hair in response. Good enough.

Your gasps ghost over the hollow of his throat, your breath slowing to match the languid pace of his starting thrusts. The ache Leon rocks into your hips takes out the one in his back, he swears. He wants to die just like this. Buried inside you if he can help it.

“Close, close-” You’re keening before you know it. That telltale squeeze of silken muscle Leon knows so well follows your squeak of, “Oh!” 

“Go on, sweet girl,” he coos, “come for me.”

You milk him, petal soft. And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You’re a mewling mess underneath him, trying and failing to not dig your nails into his scar-strewn shoulders. Don’t you know it never hurts when it’s you? 

Leon rolls his hips into yours to lengthen the euphoria of your velvet walls clenching him so tight. By some miracle, he’s still keyed up from earlier. He’s got this nasty vision in his head of thumbing his spend back into you, of liquid pearls sliding down your gaping slit and slowly puddling onto the couch. You won’t waste a drop. You never do. Fuck, he’s throwing off his rhythm just thinking about it. 

A quiet sob of his name interrupts his train of thought. Shit, Leon had forgotten you just came. He must be toeing overstim territory by now. 

“Just a little more, you take it so well, just-”

Leon’s vision fizzes and pops at the edges. He drops his head down to see your eyes all scrunched up, clutching his forearm with one hand and your necklace with the other, anything to tide you over the assault on your oversensitive cunt. Breaking his heart, but Leon’s almost there, he’s so sorry, angel, it’ll be over soon, and- there it is, that eye-rolling whip of pleasure in his gut-

“Leon?” 

His eyes fly open.

“Are you okay?!” 

When had he closed them?

Leon blinks back stars. The living room’s plunged in dying daylight. He’s laid out on the couch with his back feeling stiffer than a sarcophagus. You’re kneeling next to him with a palm pressed to his forehead and worry souring your expression. But the scariest part of the entire scene might be the fact that you’re still fully dressed, the pendant nestled between your breasts glinting as if mocking him. What. 

“You started scrunching up your face and kicking around,” you frown, smoothing back his sweaty bangs. “I thought you were kidding about falling asleep after they left. ”

Leon claps a palm over his face.

“Were you having a nightmare?” 

More like he woke up to one. 

“Gosh, it sounded like you were having a real nice dream before that. You were all smiley in your sleep, babe.”

He coughs weakly. “Something like that.” 

“Hm. Well,” you clap your hands cheerily, “I think something to eat might make you feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out that nap really helped me figure out dinner. I ordered pizza a little bit ago, actually. I was just taking the boxes into the kitchen when I heard you in here.”

Heard. Damn. He wasn’t even going to ask about that. Leon nods, stuck in a dismal, nebulous haze of disappointment. He’ll be right there.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “And maybe changing out of these,” you glance at his legs, “might help too.” 

Your hand lifts from Leon’s forehead to drag down his chest. Innocent and light at first, just smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and then down, down, down over his stomach to rest over the rather conspicuous patch of soaked denim at the crotch of his jeans. And if that wasn’t enough for Leon’s eyes to bulge out of his head, you give the spot a very déjà vu squeeze before walking off.

You can barely hide your giggle on the way out. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

Leon swings his legs over the edge of the couch. Claps his hands to his knees before he catches your contagious smile. 

Sure, he can. He’s been meaning to buy a centerpiece for the kitchen island for the longest time. Y’know, pretty the place up for when guests come over. 

He might just have to start with you.

psst, find more of my work here!

likes kill fics :( comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and ily!

[tmpestuous]

someone to stay

summary: bucky offers you solace as your mental fatigue rears its head.

pairing: boyfriend!bucky x reader

warnings: angst, reader anxiety/depression, fluff, non-sexual nudity, a comforting buck <3

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this was inspired by my own issues right now because i definitely need it at the moment :’) 

Getting out of bed was always the most difficult part of your day. Even when you were feeling okay, even when nothing was immediately wrong. You would wake up and stare into the void, blankets smothering your body and eyelids still heavy from the bit of sleep you’d managed to get.

There wasn’t anything pressing your anxiety, but having been out of your routine for a few weeks always left you feeling unmotivated. After having been sidelined from missions for a multitude of reasons—injuries, mental stability, and a dwindling success rate—you had nothing to do. None of your side hobbies entertained you long enough to keep you busy, so you fell into the same cycle. You sometimes wished you could sleep all day or even just stay stagnant in bed, but you knew it’d only make the fatigue worse.

Today, however, was not one of those days where you pushed yourself out of bed. Not bothered to check the time, you closed your eyes again. It was raining outside anyways, the perfect weather to stay cuddled in bed for. Soon enough, you found some sleep again, even if you’d regret it later.

Bucky, who was not sidelined from missions, had just come back from one, more than eager to see you. He was back earlier than expected, so he only figured you wouldn’t be in your usual spot waiting for him in the hangar of the compound. It was a bit past noon, so he assumed you were keeping busy elsewhere.

After a quick debrief, he made it to your shared room, only to be led to confusion at the curtains still drawn and all of the lights off. He knew how much you hated sleeping in too late, only ever sleeping past 9 if you were really exhausted and/or hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Even then, you never let it get past 11 before you were up and out of bed.

Bucky knew you were taking your suspension a bit rougher than expected. He hated seeing you upset and he was even willing to skip out on a few missions to stay with you, but you’d insisted otherwise, saying “the bad guys don’t take breaks.” 

He never liked leaving you. Most of your missions had the two of you together, SHIELD thinking you worked well together even outside of your relationship. Going on missions without you meant he was always stuck with some reckless, inexperienced agent who wasn’t half as skilled as you a lot of the time. It was why he only liked the ones where he was with Sam or Steve, at least not having to stress about saving anyone.

He missed you on every single one. Your quips, how satisfying it was to see you kick people’s asses, and how swiftly you did just about everything. But Bucky also knew you needed a break. Your anxiety was more rampant lately, and it was affecting all of your skills on the field. The decision to bench you didn’t come easy to anyone, but especially not you.

You honestly had little to no idea what had you so anxious to start with, but anything else that triggered your anxiety only amplified it. Bucky was so reluctant to let Steve suspend you, but after you got seriously injured on a mission for lack of attention, he couldn’t argue against it anymore.

“You can’t be serious,” you said to Steve, tears in your eyes. “I’ve been injured so many times, why does that even matter?”

“It’s not just the injury,” Steve countered. “You’ve been off your game. I can’t risk losing one of our best members because you’re distracted.”

“I’m not dis—”

“You being distracted is how you ended up with a broken arm and a head injury,” he cut you off, making you look away from him. “You’re gonna end up dead if you keep on like this. I can’t deal with that loss, and neither can Bucky.”

Snapping your gaze back at Steve, you scoffed.

“So this is about Bucky?”

“This is about you, Y/n,” Steve said, his tone slightly more irritated. “He begged me not to bench you, said you just needed some time but even he knows putting you on the field again is risking your life.”

Wiping your tears away, you said nothing in response. You knew he was right, but the last thing you needed was to give in. It’d make you crumble, it’d make this whole situation real and you knew where you’d end up. 

Your conversation ended when Bucky walked in the room.

It was the right decision after all. However, Bucky’s chest ached knowing how low you were feeling. Knowing that you were doing everything just to get by, yet nothing at all. He hadn’t seen you in a melancholy state for years, but it always scared him. He barely made it out of his own episodes sometimes, panic manifesting through his bones. His worry only worsened at the thought of not being able to pull you from the darkness, the way you’d done so for him many times. 

Seeing you under the sheets, sound asleep past noon didn’t settle Bucky’s own anxiety. He was out on this mission for eight days, but you’d sounded okay when you spoke to him over the phone every night. 

Were you not getting any sleep? Were you falling asleep really late? Or was your current funk really getting to you?

Bucky set his duffel bag on the floor, shutting the door behind him. He decided against opening the curtains until you were awake, sitting on the edge of the bed next to your sleeping body, placing his flesh hand on your cheek gently.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning down and kissing your forehead a few times. “Let me see those pretty eyes, doll.”

Furrowing your eyebrows before peeling your eyes open, you were greeted with your favorite super soldier, a smile creeping on your face.

“Hi,” you said groggily, Bucky kissing your forehead again. “You’re back early.”

“Got the job done quickly,” he fed your curiosity. “What are you still doing asleep, doll? Are you okay?”

“What time is it?” You said, still unmotivated to get up from your lying position. 

“Almost 1,” Bucky answered before your eyes widened and you sat up, frantic about how the morning got away from you. “Hey, hey,” Bucky placed his hands on your shoulder, easing the tension a bit. “It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with oversleeping once in a while.”

You shook your head, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as you rubbed your eyes. “I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, then pulled your hands away from your eyes. The bags under them didn’t go without notice, Bucky getting more worried than earlier. He knew you weren’t sleeping well, and him not being here to soothe you must have made it worse.

“Is everything okay?” He asked again, never getting an answer from you.

You sighed. “I don’t really know, I’m just- I’m always tired and don’t wanna do anything even though I know I shouldn’t just stay in bed. I was gonna wake up early today to see if I could get moving but then I barely slept and thought a few more hours could be useful but now—”

“Shh,” Bucky said, pulling you into his embrace, rubbing your back softly. “There is still a lot of time left in the day, but I don’t mind sleeping this Sunday away with you after the mission I just had.” He kissed the top of your head a few times. “We can shower then eat and then rest. Sounds good?”

You nodded, with a muffled ‘okay’ into his chest before pulling away, Bucky standing and grasping your hand in his to head to the bathroom. 

Bucky turned the shower on, letting it run to get warm before turning back to you. After you helped Bucky take his tac suit off, he helped you shed your pajamas. The both of you took your underwear off, Bucky checking the water before you stepped in. 

You always enjoyed showering with Bucky, most after a mission when you were both tired. Though this was different since you weren’t the one coming home, the sentiment of being tired remained the same.

Bucky could tell you were tense, that something was still bothering you. He never wanted to pry, so he massaged the tension out of your shoulders, getting you to relax your posture a bit. You both worked your way around lathering each other with soap, your eyes doing their usual routine of scanning Bucky’s body for any cuts and bruises. Bucky decided to wash your hair, finding any means of making you feel relaxed. You sighed under his touch, leaning your head forward to rest against his chest as he rinsed your hair.

“Steve mentioned you going back on the field again,” Bucky eased into the conversation. “You feeling up for it?” Much to Bucky’s surprise, you shook your head, prompting him to lift your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You know you can talk to me.”

Sighing again, you leaned into his touch. “I’m not ready.”

“I thought you wanted to get back,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“I do,” you nodded. “But I just feel so… out of it. Like my mind is out of fuel and it’s putting my body on pause. I have no energy lately, I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky looked at you, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He’d been there, where his body was craving one thing but his mind just never allowed him to satisfy any of his desires. Depression didn’t always look the same, but he could tell when it was starting to consume you.

The restless nights, the fatigue, the lack of energy and motivation. It was a stark contrast to your usual, productive self. Sometimes Bucky would have to slow you down for doing too many things at once, so it pained him to see you not want to do anything at all. 

He decided right then and there he’d take a pause from any missions until you were okay. Until he could see the spark in your eye again, the pep in your step. The energy being revitalized.

“It happens, baby,” he reassured. “You’ve helped me through some of my funks, so let me help you out of yours, hm?”

“You don’t have to, Bucky,” you shook your head, but he shushed you, a chaste kiss placed on your lips. “I’m serious, you don’t have to pause your life for me. People still need help and I’ll get out of my fatigue stint eventually, so—”

“You know you’re not gonna convince me otherwise, right?” He shut you up again, offering you a smirk and another peck to the lips. “I would drop everything for you. At any time, on any day, at any given moment. You are my world, doll. If you’re not okay, then my world isn’t okay.”

“But what if they really need you—”

“They won’t,” Bucky grabbed the comb to detangle your hair. “Now come on, let me help you ease your mind, hm?”

Knowing you couldn’t say no to him, you turned so your back was facing him, Bucky smoothly getting any knots out of your hair. 

He knew how much you loved it when he did your hair, knowing the process was super long and you didn’t want to do it half of the time. When he first heard you complain about having to do it, he made you teach him your whole routine for whenever you were feeling unmotivated to. It was one of many things he eagerly learned for you, always wanting to pamper you. 

Feeling a bit overwhelmed over the fact that you had him back, here with you as he did everything in his power to clear your head from the anxious thoughts, you couldn’t help but tear up. 

When he finished detangling your hair, holding it up with a clip, he saw you crying, quickly pulling you in his arms, kissing you everywhere he could. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once he let you return the favor of washing his hair, you made him sit on the built-in bench in the shower so you wouldn’t have to reach up the whole time. 

Bucky loved touching you, but he swore to everything that he loved your touch even more. Your hands were so soft and gentle, with each lather and rinse of his head.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” you said, running your fingers through Bucky’s brown locks, the length now passing his ear. “Are you gonna cut it?”

Bucky shrugged, his hands finding comfort in your waist as you stood in front of him. He placed a kiss on each of your hips then your stomach before looking up at you.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered before standing, kissing your lips again. He knew how much you liked his short hair when he first cut it, but deep down you loved his long hair too. You just never forced him to keep one or the other, knowing how many memories his hair held.

Bucky loved how well you knew him, how well you understood him. It was the main reason why he took his time to do the same for you.

Once you were both out of the shower and dressed, Bucky picked up his phone to order some food. You’d told him you were craving Chinese the night before on your phone call while he was away, so he ordered all of your favorites as you finished drying your hair in the bathroom.

After eating dinner, Bucky slid under the covers of your shared bed, extending his metal arm for you to grab as you slid in next to him. Your head found its usual spot on his chest, both of his arms encasing you in the pressure you sought so many times, your left leg over his right one. 

“Thank you,” you said softly as Bucky rubbed your back just the way you liked it. “For never judging me.”

“I would never plan to,” he said, using his right hand to lift your chin up. “We’re human. We have our moments where we need a break, a reset. You taught me that when I needed to hear it. Don’t think that it excludes you, my love.”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss that said more than enough. 

Pulling away, you looked into those blue eyes that meant the world to you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Force yourself to do your hair routine every week,” Bucky joked, making you roll your eyes playfully with a smirk.

You pressed a kiss on his chest before laying your head on it again. “I love you.”

“I love you more, doll,” he said, massaging your scalp to soothe you until you fell asleep.

Bucky could watch you be this peaceful forever, vowing to spend the rest of his days making sure you were okay. He always knew you’d return the favor, enjoying every moment spent with you like this, comforted best in his arms.

[valeisaslut]

Undercover desire

clic to read pt.2!

⚢ pairing: Secret agent!Ellie Williams x Secret agent!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: you and Ellie are two agents that can’t stand each other—but now you're stuck on a mission together. Between dodging bullets, sneaking through secret tunnels, and coming up with ridiculous escape plans, things get… complicated. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 3.7k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: tried to do an enemies-to-lovers, VERY suggestive, absurd amount of sexual tension and banter, blood, swearing, guns, bombs, blablabla, some morally questionable decisions, ending that’ll leave you screaming at the wall. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ : Hey! BE READY FOR THIS ONEEEE. I noticed how much i wanted to write a agent movie style enemies to lovers so i gave it a try. If i see ya'll like this one, ill be happy to make a spicy pt.2 !!!!. This is one of my fist fics and english isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first rule of an undercover mission was simple: trust no one.

The government gave your agency a clear order: infiltrate a secret base near the Russian border, the only goal being extracting information about an experiment they suspected was monstrous.

It was a suicide mission, meant only for the best. When you received the summons, you saw it as the greatest honor. You thought it would be yours—and yours alone.

Until they told you that you wouldn’t be doing it alone.

They assigned you a partner. A stranger. Not even from your team. From the very first moment, you knew this wouldn’t end well.

The only thing worse than infiltrating enemy territory was doing it with someone you didn’t know.

And the only thing worse than an enemy, was an enemy that made you feel things you shouldn’t.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The building reeked of stale tobacco and old coffee, and the flickering fluorescent light made the meeting room feel even colder and desolate. You were alone, but the air felt heavy, dense, as if the room carried the invisible echo of forgotten conversations. The only sound was your leather boot tapping impatiently against the floor.

You never liked working in pairs, much less having partners forced on you. Most were a nuisance, dead weight that only slowed down the mission. So when you were informed that you’d have support on this operation, you were already in a bad mood before even meeting the person.

Sitting at the edge of the table, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the open file your boss had left before stepping out, you gave it a glance without picking it up.

AGENT 086 - Active since June 2020. Birth: 23/04/04. Sex: Female. Place of birth: Boston, Massachusetts. Family: Unknown. Background: Unknown.

Her entire past and origins are unknown? God. Mysterious complex.

You rolled your eyes and kept reading the rest of the protocol data—physical characteristics, skills, expertise, and it only went on and on.

You quickly skimmed to the list of missions she had participated in. Quite a few. Advanced complexity for someone with so little time as an agent. However, you stopped reading by the third one. Your attention had shifted to the photo in the corner of the document.

Agency pictures were never flattering—yours wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. But Agent 086’s… you examined it carefully. Cold expression, pale skin with slight freckles, short auburn hair in a half updo, deep green eyes, photogenic… with pretty features…

The sharp sound of the door snapping shut pulled you from your thoughts.

You looked up. In person, she was even more intimidating—and attractive—than in the photo. Dressed entirely in black, she radiated a firm presence, devoid of any cordiality.

She walked in without hesitation, shutting the door with a sharp motion. No greeting, just a cutting glance scanning you head to toe.

“_____ ______.” You broke the silence, revealing your real name. Calling each other by numbers was tedious.

“Ellie Williams.”

What a voice.

Deep, sharp, cold—it sent a subtle shiver down your spine. But besides her voice, her height surprised you.

“You’re shorter than I expected.”

She raised her gaze, locking onto your eyes. Looks like she’s a fan of eye contact. Lucky me.

“And you talk more than I expected.”

You smirked. Well, at least she wasn’t boring.

“Let me guess. They forced you to work with me on this mission.”

Silence lingered for a few seconds as she stepped closer, scrutinizing you.

“I had a choice.”

That definitely caught your attention.

“And you chose me? What an honor.” You murmured with sarcasm, narrowing your eyes.

“No. I chose the mission. You just came with it.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something inside you tensed.

Fine. So this is how it’s gonna be. If we’re working together, we better know exactly where we stand.

You snapped the file shut with a flick of your wrist, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Ellie muttered, equally sarcastic.

“I’m not here to entertain you.” you replied in a neutral tone, standing up and grabbing your coat.

“What a relief. I thought we’d have to sing campfire songs together.” She let out a low chuckle. “Meeting point. Don’t be late.”

You ignored her and headed for the door. She watched as you left, your silhouette disappearing behind the door, not even glancing back at her.

“How charming,” she muttered under her breath.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The air was cold and dry, carrying a faint scent of frozen earth and rusted metal. You adjusted the hood of your coat as you moved through the underbrush, your boots sinking into the snow with a muffled crunch. The meeting point was close, right at the edge of a clearing.

Ellie was already there.

Of course she was.

Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, rifle secured on her back—she looked like a statue carved in ice. She didn’t say anything when you arrived, just glanced up briefly to assess you before returning her gaze to the map in her hands.

“Late.” she muttered.

“One minute doesn’t count.”

“Everything counts.”

You huffed, dropping onto a nearby rock as you pulled your own map from your jacket.

“If you’re gonna correct me every second, this is going to be unbearable.”

“Then don’t talk.”

Silence.

The wind rustled through the trees, carrying the distant echo of patrols moving nearby. You were close to the base. Too close.

You glanced at Ellie from the corner of your eye. Her posture was perfect—straight back, relaxed shoulders, fingers light over the paper, as if she could absorb every detail with a single touch.

Efficient. Precise. For some reason, you found it irritating.

And very attractive.

But mostly irritating.

“We should start moving in ten minutes.” you said without looking up.

“And who exactly put you in charge?”

You lifted your gaze, locking onto her dark green eyes. You couldn’t let her set the pace without fighting back—especially not let her treat you like some rookie.

“You’re not special, Williams. This isn’t about you. So if you want to live, you’ll do as I say.”

Ellie didn’t even flinch. Instead, a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Something about her expression put you on edge, but before you could react, she dropped her next words with calculated insolence.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

…Princess?

A chill ran down your spine. Not from the cold.

You moved through the forest, your steps sinking into the snow. The silence between you wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was dense. The moonlight barely managed to slip through the tree canopy, casting jagged shadows around you.

“You don’t seem like the team-player type.” you remarked, breaking the quiet. She was walking slightly ahead, but she didn’t turn around.

“I’m not. But this time I got stuck with you as punishment.”

You frowned, mildly offended.

She thinks she’s all that. Arrogant.

“Stuck with me as a punishment? I’m one of the best agents in the division.”

Still, after a few seconds, curiosity got the better of you.

“So…what did you do?”

Ellie let out a low, almost amused chuckle.

“Punched someone in a previous mission.”

“A target?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

That was when she finally turned to look at you, walking backwards with her hands in her pockets. Her expression remained cold, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, one that immediately put you on alert.

“Worried you’ll be the next?”

You tilted your head slightly, feigning confidence without breaking your stride.

“Worried? About you? Please, you have no idea wha—”

But you didn’t finish the sentence.

With a move as swift as it was precise, she lifted her leg and swept the ground with her foot. The treacherous loss of balance under your boots sent your body tilting dangerously forward. Only pure instinct kept you from landing face-first in the snow.

Ellie turned on her heels with satisfaction and resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

“One point for me.”

You clenched your jaw, shaking off the mild humiliation with a slow exhale.

“You’re a fucking headache.”

“What did you expect? A friendly partner?” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, a barely-there smirk playing on her lips. “Sorry, no refunds.”

You huffed, but you couldn't stop the corner of your lips from curving up—just a little. You couldn’t make it that easy for her.

Unfortunately, the brief moments of peace didn’t last long.

A few meters ahead, the sound of branches snapping shattered the forest’s stillness. Both of you froze instantly. Your muscles tensed, and your hand instinctively reached for your weapon.

Ellie raised a finger, signaling for silence, her eyes locked in the direction of the noise. Without a sound, she moved through the trees with precise, effortless movements, as if the cold and snow didn’t affect her at all. You followed closely, adrenaline seeping into your veins, sharpening your senses.

A few more steps.

A shadow slipped through the undergrowth.

Your grip on your weapon tightened, ready to fire. But before you could react, Ellie vanished from your sight.

"What the…?!"

The gasp barely left your throat before you felt a sharp tug on your arm. In the blink of an eye, you were pulled back, your back pressed against her body. The warm breath of the agent brushed against your ear as she whispered.

"If you're gonna scream, at least do it for something more interesting."

Your lower stomach clenched in response. And not from fear.

The feeling of her body, the firm grip on your shoulders keeping you still, the subtle press of her leg against yours… everything felt too intense, too fast. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to ignore the sudden heat creeping in your core.

"I’m going to kill you." you whispered, your voice sharp as a blade.

"So mean."

The sound in the undergrowth returned. Both of you fell silent, the tension in the air shifting immediately. Ellie tilted her head, listening more closely. Slowly, she slid her hand to her rifle, her grip firm yet relaxed, like someone who has done this far too many times.

The shadow moved again. A couple of seconds of absolute tension and then…

A small deer emerged from the bushes, its hooves sinking into the snow as it sniffed the ground in search of food.

You exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

"Did you just hold me over a deer?"

"Shut up." Ellie secured her rifle with the soft whisper of metal sliding into place.

"I'm starting to think you just wanted an excuse to get close to me." You murmured with a sly smile, trying to regain some control over the situation.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped back just enough to look at you, her gaze traveling slowly over your face. When she spoke, her tone was teasing, but her voice was lower, more personal.

"Says the one whose face is all red."

You frowned, cursing her internally for pointing it out what you both knew was obvious.

Before you could respond, she was already back in mission mode, moving forwards with silent steps toward your next objective.

You shook your head, quickly pulling yourself together. There was no time for distractions. The enemy base was less than a kilometer away, and both of you had work to do.

Thirty minutes later, you reached the perimeter. The base loomed between the snow like an impenetrable fortress, its metallic structure illuminated by the sporadic flicker of security lights. You moved through the darkness like shadows, slipping through the undergrowth with absolute stealth.

From your position, you could see the patrols. Two guards at the main entrance, three more patrolling the fence. They moved in methodical patterns, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light.

Beside you, Ellie scanned the structure with her sharp gaze. She climbed slightly up the stairway, her eyes assessing every possible access point.

"The entrance is too exposed." you whispered, eyes fixed on the guards.

"Good job, Sherlock." she murmured sarcastically. "Theres another option. The ventilation ducts at the back, but it’ll be tight."

You sighed, already anticipating the discomfort.

"I guess we’ll both fit."

She turned slightly, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah…." Her gaze drifted down your body, a flicker of amusement crossed her eyes. "I’ll disable the cameras. Get ready."

She didn’t wait for a response. While she slid towards a hidden electrical panel on the ground, you advanced towards the back of the base.

The duct was even tighter than you had imagined.

The cold metal pressed against your jacket as you crawled forwards, barely enough space to move. But the worst part wasn’t the claustrophobia—it was her.

Ellie was right behind you, her body practically flush against yours in the cramped space. Her breath matched your rhythm, and every tiny movement caused her to brush against you.

"Stop pushing." you whispered in a threatening tone.

"Stop going so slow." she retorted in the same tone.

You barely allowed yourself to let out a silent sigh before you felt Ellie’s breath ghost the skin of your neck.

"If I wasn’t so focused on the mission, I’d say you get nervous when I’m this close."

You closed your eyes for a second.

Patience. Patience. Control yourself.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her in the dim light of the duct, meeting her arrogant smirk.

"If I wasn't in an enemy base, I’d make you swallow that smirk."

Ellie tilted her head, amused.

"Promises, promises..." she murmured playfully.

"Shut up!" you hissed, feeling the heat burning your skin.

No more words were exchanged. Minutes later, you both managed to slide out of the duct, landing gracefully in an empty hallway.

The red glow of alarm lights flickered on the walls, casting intermittent flashes over the concrete floor. The air smelled of metal and electricity. Remembering the map, this had to be the restricted zone.

"We have ten minutes before they check this corridor." you whispered.

"You keep watch. I’ll access the system."

Ellie moved quickly, pulling out her hacking device. You pressed against the wall, weapon raised, your senses sharp for any movement.

But you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting towards her.

The glow of the screen illuminated her focused expression, loose strands of auburn hair falling around her cheeks. Her breathing was steady, her fingers moving with surgical precision over the keyboard.

Efficient. Precise.

Incredibly attractive.

CONTROL YOURSELF.

"Stop looking at me like that." she murmured without looking up.

"Like what?" you smirked slightly, tilting your head.

Ellie turned just enough to capture you with her green eyed gaze.

"Like you can’t decide whether to kiss me or shoot me."

A low laugh slipped past your lips.

"Depends."

Her eyes narrowed, her expression hovering between mockery and provocation.

"If we survive, we can discuss that."

But the flirtation was cut short when a silent alarm flashed on the screen.

"Fuck." Ellie muttered.

"What?"

"They found us." she said, and the sound of hurried boots filled the corridor.

"Move!" you shouted, and both of you bolted just as gunfire erupted behind you.

The sound of shots ricocheted off the metal walls, deafening you as you ran through the narrow corridors. The echo of bullets striking made the ground tremble beneath your feet, and the acrid scent of burnt gunpowder was beginning to fill the air.

The red alarm light flickered frantically on the walls, casting distorted shadows that pulsed in sync with your desperate sprint. You felt the adrenaline burning through your veins, every muscle in your body tense and ready to react.

The rifle in your right hand felt even lighter than usual, as if it was an extension of yourself—a survival tool as natural as your own breath. Behind you, Ellie moved with the precision of a predator, her breathing steady, her gaze locked onto the enemies' movements.

Then, they appeared.

A group of guards stormed into the hallway, blocking the only exit. Their rifles were raised in seconds, ready to fire.

Both of you lunged towards the right wall, sliding in perfect synchronization. You turned and fired without hesitation. One of your bullets struck a soldier's leg, the second hit his shoulder. The man fell to the ground with a muffled cry, his rifle slipping from his hands.

Before you could aim again, a shadow moved beside you. Ellie, fast as lightning, threw a small pocket knife. The blade cut through the air and sank into the second guard’s throat before he could even react.

A wet gurgle. Blood splattered onto the floor, dark under the flashing lights.

No time to think about that.

"To the left!" you ordered, pushing her to a side door.

Ellie didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, she pulled a small explosive from her jacket and tossed it down the hallway without looking back.

The explosion roared through the air, a wave of heat slamming into your backs as you slipped into the adjacent room. The blast echoed off the walls, and thick smoke began seeping through the half-open door, clouding the vision of the approaching soldiers.

"We don’t have much time." you whispered, frowning.

The room was small, an improvised storage area with metal shelves and boxes stacked to the ceiling. The air smelled of dust and aging plastic. At first glance, there was no exit except for a single ventilation duct in the ceiling. Not a viable option.

"Any ideas?" she murmured, running her tongue over her dry lips.

You didn’t respond immediately. Your eyes scanned the room quickly, assessing every object, every possibility. Your mind illuminated a crucial detail, and your gaze locked onto her with determination.

"Do you trust me?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"What a shame."

You didn’t give her time to react. Grabbing her wrist, you dragged her quickly to the back of the storage room, where a large metal shelf leaned against the wall. With calculated effort, you pushed it aside, revealing a hidden opening.

A passage. She blinked in surprise.

"Since when did you know this was here?"

You shrugged indifferently.

"Wouldn’t be a secret mission without a few surprises."

You saw it on the map. You just wanted to add a little drama.

The voices and hurried footsteps on the other side of the door reminded you that there was no time for questions. Both of you slipped into the passage just as the storage room door burst open.

The tunnel was narrow and cramped, probably a maintenance passage used to discreetly move supplies. The air inside was heavy, thick with the scent of dampness and rusted metal. The floor creaked slightly beneath your boots, and every step seemed amplified in the silence.

The corridor stretched on for a few meters until, suddenly, you both stopped short.

A group of armed men patrolled the area just ahead. Your heartbeat pounded in your temples. There was no time to turn back, and you couldn’t engage them without being discovered.

Then, without a warning, Ellie leaned in and whispered in your ear.

"Just go along with it."

You barely had time to react before she pushed you against the wall, trapping you between her body and the cold metal surface. Before you could protest, her hand slid up to your face, dangerously close.

"If they find us, we're dead," she murmured, a barely visible smirk playing on her lips. "So… let’s give ‘em something else to think about."

The footsteps approached.

You felt the warmth of her body against yours, the way her breathing slowed, controlled. The guards turned the corner, their flashlights illuminating the passage.

Ellie was quick. In one fluid motion, she dragged her lips along your neck, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. Her fingers tightened at your waist, pressing just the right amount to make your body appear relaxed–even though inside everything in you screamed the opposite of relaxed.

The closest guard frowned at the sight of you both, but instead of raising his weapon, he scoffed in annoyance.

"Seriously?" he said in Russian. "Fucking underground workers..."

Another guard chuckled.

"Let them have their fun."

With a disinterested wave, the men kept walking, leaving the two of you trapped in the same position. Several seconds passed before the echo of their footsteps faded.

But Ellie didn’t move.

And neither did you.

There was something charged in the air between you, something not even the imminent danger could dispel.

Finally, she tilted her head until her lips were mere inches from yours.

"I got a little into the role" she murmured with a smirk, her voice laced with feigned innocence.

Your pulse was still racing in your chest, adrenaline mingling with something darker, something more dangerous. But you weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to stay composed.

"You should win an oscar for your performance." you replied with feigned indifference, keeping your gaze locked forward.

But she didn’t step away immediately. She stayed there, close—too close—as if savoring every second of your discomfort. Her eyes traced your face with a mischievous glint, her smirk barely curving at the edges of her lips. Then, finally, she stepped back, like a predator choosing to delay its attack.

"Maybe we should practice more often, princess." she murmured, her tone dripping with provocation.

You let out a sigh, pretending to be exasperated, even though the truth was that every cell in your body still burned with the sensation of her touch.

"Shut up and keep walking."

You moved forward, forcing yourself to focus on the mission. But it was useless. Her presence lingered on your skin like an invisible tattoo—the pressure of her fingers, the warmth of her breath, the electric tension in the brush of your bodies.

And the worst part was knowing that if you dared to turn around, you’d find her watching you with that damn smug smile.

This mission was going to kill you.

Or worse… make you wish it never ends.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

DAYUMMMM I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS, PLEASE LMK IF YOU WANT A PT.2 AND I'LL HAPILLY WRITE IT

Hope ya'll enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistake)

[greg-montgomery]

sleepover - dbf!hotch x reader

for @hotchnerholic who requested: your dad went out of town so you’re staying at aaron’s place because you don’t like being alone <3

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Honey?” a warm voice whispered in your ear, and a hand shook your shoulder softly.

Your eyes were way too heavy for you to care, so you buried your head further in the sofa cushions and tried to fall back asleep.

The voice insisted. “Sweetie? Let me take you to bed.”

“Let me take you to bed.”

The Aaron Hotchner just offered to take you to bed and you were sleeping?

Using your hand to cover up a yawn, you opened your eyes and found his beautiful brown ones already looking at you. You blinked at him slowly as if you were a cat trying to communicate that you loved him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping the side of your face. “Your back is gonna hurt in the morning if you spend the night on the couch.”

“Yeah…I…I fell asleep watching TV.”

“It’s admiring that you managed to fall asleep while a thriller is playing,” he joked, and offered you a pretty smile.

You turned your head towards the TV, and caught a glimpse of a guy in a mask sharpening a knife. “Now that is exactly the reason why I didn’t wanna stay home alone.”

Aaron chuckled and placed his hand on top of yours. “You’re safe here.”

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he was this close to you, so you tried to change the subject.

“I fell asleep while watching Shrek. I guess the thriller started after that.”

“Hm…You wanna watch it with me? Or do you wanna go to bed?”

Yes to the bed option, but only if it’s with you, you thought. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen so watching a movie with him was the next best thing.

“Sure, let’s watch it.” You smiled, and he smiled back. “Only, I’m warning you, I get scared very easily.”

“You don’t say.”

“Don’t make fun.” You pointed at his face.

“I would never,” he said, and leaned back on the couch stretching out his arm.

The space next to him looked so inviting. You could just curl up in his arms and not worry about anything else.

The fact that you were staying at his house was heavenly in the first place. But watching a movie with him? That was beyond your wildest dreams. You expected him to be gone all day at work. This? This felt like staying over at your boyfriend’s house and having a movie night with him.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “I have popcorn.”

“Oh…yes please!”

You followed him to the kitchen, and observed him while he was filling a big bowl with popcorn.

His jacket and tie were off, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough for his forearms to drive you crazy. A man his age shouldn’t get this type of reactions from you, but he did anyway. As your father’s best friend he was forbidden fruit, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to want him in secret.

“How was work?”

“Could’ve been better,” he sighed. And then he looked at you with a grin that made him more irresistible than you could’ve ever imagined. “But I have you here so it’s not too bad.”

What was breathing? “Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Thank you for trusting me to keep you safe,” he said, and signaled you with a head movement to follow him back to the living room.

“I mean…you’re an FBI agent. Who would have been better for the job?”

“Right,” he laughed.

The movie had started for a while now, so it was hard to follow the plot. Not that you necessarily cared about it – the only thing that was occupying your head the entire time was Aaron sitting next to you, his cologne, and how your fingers brushed a couple of times while you were getting popcorn.

Zoned out as you were, a loud sound coming from the movie made your heart almost stop and you hid behind your hands with a squeal. “Shit!”

Things only got worse, as the killer on the screen seemed to be unstoppable, chasing one character after the other. You curled up in the corner of the couch, grabbing a cushion to protect yourself.

“Hey…” Aaron said, looking certainly amused. “Come here.”

Careful not to look too eager, you went close to him and let yourself into his embrace. His arm rested around your shoulders, and he pulled you in close enough for your head to rest against his.

“Better now?”

“Mhm…” you could only say, as your heart was ready to jump out of your chest.

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear. “I won’t let him get to you.”

“Promise?” you whispered back and looked up at him.

“Promise,” he said and kissed your forehead.

part 2

[spectral-phases]

The Night Blüdhaven Exploded

I don't see enough people talking about what the Chemo attack on Blüdhaven must have done, as just everything was going wrong for Bruce and his boys that night.

For starters, Bruce is already fighting his dead/ressurected son who came back as a crime-lord villain who has been blowing up so, so many goons/criminals in Gotham for a while.

Then he sees Blüdhaven explode in front of his very eyes, and Jason then taunts Bruce, saying that Dick must be dead and insists on forcing Bruce to choose between killing Jason and killing the Joker not 2 minutes later. Bruce, as we all know, refuses to allow either, and stops Jason with a Batarang to the neck/shoulder, depending on your angst factor (or possibly aiming for Joker, but Joker moves and gets it to hit Jason on purpose/by accident ymmv).

(Batman 1940 #650)

And then, after all of that, the Joker sets off some explosives, surely killing Jason/the Joker (This makes the second explosion the Joker is going to no-clip his way out of, and Jason's learned that skill this time as well)

(Batman 1940 #650)

But wait! There's more! I know in the Batman comic they only mention Bruce being concerned for Dick, but Tim was living in Blüdhaven at the time too! Tim was fresh off of his father/girlfriend dying and didn't want to be adopted by Bruce, so he invented a fake Uncle Eddie (hiring an actor to play the role) and moved to Blüdhaven, where his comatose step-mother was being treated. Tim is only out of the city at the time of the explosion because the Titans came and said something was wrong with Conner, so they needed to leave to help save him. On their way out of the city in their jet, they only get far enough to avoid the blast, but not far enough that they avoid the resulting shockwaves as it renders their navigational systems offline, and likely their comms too. So not far enough that Bruce, who has been chasing Jason and Black Mask all night, could reasonably be aware of this fact.

(Robin 1993 #147)

So Dick and Tim very well could have been in that explosion and then Jason gets exploded! Amazing! That's 3 for 3 remaining Robins possibly killed in an explosion in one single hour.

We have no idea where Jason gets to, but we'll assume that he is unable to find the body because of the new no-clipping into the backrooms skill Jason must have (Jason was meant to die here, again. In another explosion set off by the Joker, so Bruce will have to assume Jason is dead even if he turns up alive later. How? Who the fuck knows).

Speaking of ol' Richard "Dick" Grayson, aka Nightwing, how is old boy wonder doing? Well, he's been having a rough go of it the past six months, between Blockbuster targeting him and destroying everything he cares about, Tarantula killing Blockbuster after successfully convincing him to just let her kill Blockbuster (while he walks away and has a panic attack...and...other things happen...TW: SA if you look it up), and then basically playing "suicide by cop" through the job following that and being a double agent of the group that just nuked Blüdhaven, uh...he is straight-up not having a good time by the time Chemo blows up Blüdhaven, and he's only getting worse. He tries to go to the center of the explosion, and Superman, fortunately, arrives on the scene to save Nightwing and put him up on the shelf to avoid dying (I love how Superman keeps trying to save Nightwing from himself in this era and Nightwing is just...no, thank you).

(Nightwing 1996 #116)

Unfortunately, this is the "Flying Grayson" himself, so no shelf is high enough to prevent Dick from going in there, and his mental state is so bad that certain death while saving others is probably more tempting to him at the moment than a deterrent. He "Duly Noted"s his way back into Blüdhaven, helps get the police to control the panicking crowds of survivors towards an escape route, saves the few remaining friends Blockbuster didn't kill recently, and goes directly into the most radioactive area of Blüdhaven to try and save some rouge who might have been there. We see Superman fighting Chemo's core in the background throughout his rescue attempts, so Dick's close the entire time to this heavy radiation. Dick notes that this is the first time he's able to breathe easy in months, saving people from the ruins. He's eventually taken out as a door explodes with the Chemo green gasses while trying to locate the rogue while reflecting on his recent failures.

(Nightwing 1996 #116)

I do think the appearance of Batman as Dick passes out isn't real, Bruce was in Gotham, either reeling from the explosion or looking for Jason or something. There's no way he got to Blüdhaven already, and the legs of Batman are hazy, blending into the smoke.

I also think after Chemo is stopped that Bruce probably still hasn't heard anything about Nightwing, because I don't imagine he took the time and resources to call the Veteran in a communications blackout (who has been historically trying to poach Batman's Robins, and nearly got Tim killed trying to convince Tim to leave Batman and join up his forces. Batman and the Veteran are not on good terms, is what I'm saying) just for Tim's step-mother and fake uncle.

(Robin 1993 #147)

By this time, he is talking about Tim as if he's alive, so he's probably gotten something from the Titans base confirming that Tim's alright, so he's gotta be taking the time and effort to call the Veteran for Dick.

Bruce, being Bruce, gets into a fight with Dick as soon as Dick is brought back to the Batcave and wakes up, while Dick is being treated for severe radiation poisoning/burns. I am willing to forgive this because he's had a time of it, even if he's being hostile and pissy and unsupportive. Definitely not winning the Father of the Year award for this, I'm afraid (Worst Father of the Year award is going to Deathstroke, for embedding a known radioactive carcingenic material into his daughter's eye, but Bruce is in the running for this and Jason).

(Nightwing 1996 #117)

I am awarding this to Bruce for trying to reassure Dick.

But. Anyway. Yeah.

Rough night for everyone involved. Absolutely everything going wrong all at once.

[writingmeraki]

kiss the shit out of you — k.mg drabble.

❝ in which you thought there'd never be a time when you would experience first-hand jealousy but turns out you aren't an exception to this emotion.

( or in which your boss seungcheol loves to find new ways to push your buttons. and push you towards mingyu too. you might just punch him or thank him. )

pairing: secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, established stage. genre : fluff, angstish. warnings : jealousy, mentions of bars and drinks, death threats, no actual kissing guys im sorry

a/n : pri comeback with another secret agent mingyu drabble. who cheered. not a full on comeback but hey i picked this up from my abandoned clusters of wips and welp this is how it turned out, let me know what you think !! also urm if the writing is a lil yk wonky pls bare w me it's been a long while <3 also the summary probs sucks my bad g again it's been aaa whileee :DDDDDD

word count : 1.8k

“I want to kill you.” 

You glared at Cheol as you clenched your fist to your side resisting the urge to punch the shit-eating grin off his face. 

Not an ideal sentence to tell your boss but the situation he’d kept you in was going the way he predicted and not how you thought it would. 

It started earlier in the day when he called Mingyu and you along with Chan and Seokmin in to do a mission which would require disguises and putting on an act. It was simple really he said, you all had to attend a gala, which had the member of a gang you’d been trying to catch attending as well. 

Butter him up, a few drinks later and he’d let the information you seeked slip out with ease. This particular member was one who caused a lot of mishaps, knowingly or unknowingly, he was hard to track but this was a sure tip as his name was also on the guest list.

It all seemed okay until he told you the twist. You would be the servers along with Chan and Seokmin. You looked at him in confusion wondering if he forgot Mingyu was also called in and was right beside you also wondering something similar. 

“What about him?”

“Oh right. He’s going to be attending as a couple with Yura.” He said it nonchalantly while looked towards you,

“It shouldn’t be a bother to you right? Considering it’s just a few hours and most importantly for the job.” He had a smug look on his face to which you slowly narrowed your eyes at him. Mingyu was going to oppose, but you shushed him. 

“It’s for the job Gyu, it wouldn’t matter to me.” You knew he had more to say but he just frowned and nodded at your words.

You knew what card he had been playing, you could remember him asking you that what if there came a time your partner would have to act as a couple with someone else would you have gotten jealous and you also remember you scoffing at him saying, it would be for a mission only anyways, why would you be? He protested saying it was natural to feel jealous but you told him that then you would need to get a grip instead of being unprofessional. 

Now you could feel your words bite you back as you tried not to glare at the way she seemed more than excited to be with ‘the most sought out’ agent.

You scoffed at yourself, feeling an even worse guilt at being jealous. The kind where you trusted him, but you couldn’t help the ugly emotion to rise up and as time went it seemed to rile up.

It was going to be one of the rookies, her first big assignment being this. Her name was Yura, from what you recalled. 

Your relationship with Mingyu was not exactly public. Again it was your idea. It seemed all your ideas were eventually coming to bite you in the back. Maybe this was your karma for something.

Eventually looking away from the couple, you sighed as you sat down by the bar.

“Oye, you aren’t supposed to sit, you’re the server here.” Before he could speak further, Chan elbowed your boss to which he glared at him but eventually gulped a little when he saw the look on your face. 

Now, Choi Seungcheol was no coward. But he knew better than to already fuel a fire that might just burn him alive. Quite literally. He thinks he’s spoken enough when he sees your stare harden.

“Haha, or not, yeah um…continue to sit as you wish, besides we’re just back up here…I’ll uh, I’ll go finish the um…cleaning the glasses.” 

“Get me a drink. Strong.”  

And as your pretend bartender colleague made you an actual whisky on the rocks — training required prior days to mission — your eyes automatically once again drifted off to him. 

Your partner, your boyfriend, highlighting the your factor harshly in your thoughts as you looked at the pretend couple. 

Jealousy, you learnt that day, is an ugly emotion but a fascinating one too. It might slowly chip away at your self esteem and build on a pile of undeserving guilt but it somehow helps in emphasising just how much one means to the other. 

It was a horrible pit at the bottom of your stomach but an unflattering brush in the depth of your heart. Both making you more confused and therefore, anger being the only emotion that would make sense. 

You could hear her giggles as she leaned in closer to his side, her arm practically cushioned between his and you clenched your molars in the assumed anger. 

It was as if he could sense your gaze. He always could, since a long time actually. As though his mind seemed to embed you, your presence right into his unconscious to the point he could practically feel your gazes on him. 

Maybe an exaggeration but he thinks when it comes to you, it all seemed to fall less.  

His eyes flickered to see where you were directing yours at, and immediately he had to put in his all to not just move away. He was trying his all honestly, the reason he accepted was because he was sure you were also okay with it. 

Professionally. Of course.

Emotionally? Personally? 

You may have just been on the edge of punching someone. Seungcheol, you wish. 

The way you were looking seemed nonchalant but this was the man that loved – loves you. Of course he knew when you were anything but. 

Before you could even move your attention to him from where it had darted to – Yura subtly moved her hand above Mingyu’s. It was so subtle but you were very observant, unfortunately in this case, hand clenching around the now almost empty glass of alcohol. 

It seemed in a flash, he abruptly pulled away, murmuring an excuse of getting another drink and you rolled your eyes at the pet names that smoothly rolled out of Yura’s tongues for him. You could feel your sanity level drop at that point. 

Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself as you shut your eyes for a second, that this was a mission. A job. You couldn’t, shouldn’t fuck this up because you can’t keep your newly acquired emotions in check—

A hand on top of yours was the next thing you felt. And even before you opened your eyes to face the owner of the hand, you already knew. 

“Hey.” Minyu softly whispered, facing affront while you turned your head in his direction. He was close but not enough to seem suspicious, hand being hidden from the view of the others at the table. 

Even though it was just a small touch, he kept it there as he spoke out to Chan. Mumblings of the drinks, a few details about the information he managed to get. 

Yet all you could focus on was the warmth that radiated from his hand above yours. The way his hair was styled, the way his longer strands stood out perfectly, the way his pinkish lips moved as he spoke, eyes briefly shifting to yours when he did and it seemed he noticed your blatant checking out as one corner of his lip rose up. 

Dammnit, his suits were always your weakness. 

“Hi” He tried again, briefly shifting his head in your direction which seemed to snap you out of your daze as you blinked a few times.

“Hey.” You turned your hand that was facing down, and he briefly looked over and intertwined his fingers through yours.

Chan hastily looked over as he made the drinks, deciding he could probably slow down making the few drinks, and not like he was an expert at being fast anyway.

“Be careful.” He whispered to your pair, to which you looked at him and rolled your eyes but gave a short nod. 

“Are you alright?” As Mingyu asked, you froze up for a moment, wondering if your obvious discomfort was already known to him. 

Gulping, you nodded because it seemed easier to nod than to let your words out in fear of stumbling over reasons for your discomfort. 

Jealousy, was again, odd. It made you ashamed, a lump in the throat due to feeling like perhaps you were just overthinking it all.

You didn’t even realise you were blatantly showing your nervousness, eyes looking at anywhere but his and mulling your bottom lip. 

“You don’t need to worry over anything, ‘s going fine okay?”

“I can see that.” 

The words came out sharply than intended, and he blinked owlishly, eyebrow raising at you with an emotion that seemed familiar to both confusion and wonder in his eyes. 

“You don’t seem okay though.” He bit the bullet and told you his actual thoughts. He would have even said his assumptions but he did not want to tread too far. 

“I’ll be fine, stop worrying about me. Your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that.” 

Aha. There it was.

He scanned your face. The scoff was prominent as you narrowed your eyes ahead.

“You know you're the only one that matters to me right?” And even though he was tempted to tease you at the moment, he figured he'd save it for later. 

His hand squeezed yours, as if to amplify his words, their meaning to you. How much he truly meant them, he hoped that it would somehow reach to you through the simple motion of squeezing your hand tighter.

And somehow, he knows it did when the crease between your brow slowly disappeared, when the scowl on your face dropped and a seemingly exhausted sigh escaped you.

Jealousy was…tiring.

“Yes, I know.”

Without thinking, he leaned in closer to you, mouth grazing your ear as he spoke, the sudden warmness of his breathing so close making you shudder slightly.

“Tell you what baby? You can simply kiss the out of me when we get back. You know, remove all your anger, I heard it's a great exercise.”

The abruptness of the statement made you pull away and you couldn't help but giggle at his words, feeling a lot lighter than previously. A warm feeling spreads on your cheeks at the thought of his pink lips captivating yours. 

And of course, no one in this world could surprise you the way Kim Mingyu does. 

Well two could play at this.

Leaning in closer, your eyes gleamed with an equally mischievous flair to his, you whispered, only for his ears.

“As if I need permission to kiss the shit out of you, I hope you know I can and will do it anytime, anywhere.” 

His smile turned into a smirk as he glanced back at the table, seeing how his colleague was occupying the others, knowing he could go off for a few.

Looking at you determinedly, he stood up, pushing his hand forward,

“Bathroom break?” 

And of course, anywhere Kim Mingyu would go, you'd too. 

Placing your head in his, you nodded with a chuckle at how unserious this was getting,

“Sure.”

Lucky for the both of you, it seemed you were good at keeping your words. And kissing of course. 

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin ; @cherrylovescheol ; @stagefrjghts

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all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

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[system-to-the-madness]

Next Time - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: James Buchanan ‘Bucky‘ Barnes x fem!Reader AU: StarkTower!AU Genre: fluff Word Count: 3 149 Warnings: mentions of food, mentions of injury (neither Bucky nor reader), implied sexism (against Reader, not by Bucky), no use of “y/n”, Bucky calls Reader “doll”, flirty!Bucky (that’s a warning) Summary: Working at a career fair was somewhat ruining your day, until Bucky showed up A/N: First half is me ranting about my part-time job, second half is (obviously) me daydreaming about getting saved from my part-time job (no, the coworker isn’t this bad irl. he’s worse)

You weren't entirely sure what annoyed you more: your aching feet, the constant scratch in your throat or the dull, thrumming pain in your head.

Working career fairs was brutal, unexpectedly so. Especially because you had no idea why you of all people had been sent here, feeling like you were lacking social skills more than most other agents currently employed at Stark Industries. What made things somewhat worse was that while you were an agent, you were still expected to dress in a tight skirt, white blouse and a blazer that made the whole outfit a few levels too warm for the overheating exposition hall.

Worst of all were the shoes though. Where you were used to comfortable sneakers or heavy military boots on missions, you now were forced to wear a pair of cute heels that felt like they were several numbers too small for you. But they, just like the other clothes, were part of the uniform you had been given by the PR department of Stark Industries for this fair, so you wore them. But you'd make sure to complain to Tony personally afterwards. And to Steve, even though he was not involved at all. And to Bucky, of course. 

For a moment you stumbled over the phrase you were in the middle of reciting, the thought of Bucky interrupting the flow of words you were repeating for the at least 100th time since yesterday morning.

The young woman before you opened her mouth as if to say something, making you interrupt yourself and raise your eyebrows questioningly.

"Yes," you asked, inviting her to ask the question that obviously seemed to have risen to the top of her mind.

"Actually, would I get to work with Steve Rodgers?" 

She was far from the first person to ask you this since you had begun supervising the stand at the fair, and you were certain she wouldn't be the last inquiring about work with the Avengers themselves. You had made sure to avoid mentioning that you personally joined them on missions regularly, worried they thought by following the same path as you, they’d get into the same position.

Truth was, there were hundreds of agents just like yourself working at Stark Industries, which had become the non-corrupt replacement for SHIELD, but hardly any of them ever got to work with the Avengers. The only reason you were, was because you had been (un-)lucky enough to be in the training room the one time one of the training dummies had malfunctioned while Tony was working out, and if it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, your knowledge of mechanics and your fighting skill, Bucky might not be the only Avenger with an arm prosthesis now. After that, Tony had decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep you around, and now you were the Avengers’ backup. 

Of course, you had known you would get asked about how people could start working together with the Avengers when you had - albeit reluctantly - agreed to work on the career fair, but what was annoying was that people didn’t ask outright. They always told you all kinds of stories, mostly revealing in these stories already that they wouldn’t make it very far in Stark Industries, before they finally pulled out the “Would I get to work with (insert Name of Avenger) in combat?”. 

By now you had found a decent mixture between heartfelt-seeming regret and professional distance, a voice you had, today alone, used at least a dozen times. 

“Mr. Rogers is currently working on establishing a brand-new rehabilitation clinic for veterans and low-income households, so we are uncertain when he will return to combat,” you informed the young woman before you.

Looking at her, you should have seen it coming, really, especially the question for Steve specifically. Her hair was curled in a way that reminded you of the movies of the ‘40s, her lipstick an unusually bright red. She had clearly dressed up as if she were to meet Steve here personally.

“If you are interested in working with Mr. Rogers,” you continued, pulling a leaflet from one of the stands on the small table you were standing at, “I can recommend you looking into our social program, where we make top quality health-care available for those people who otherwise could not afford it on their own. It’s a program Mr. Rodgers and Mr. Sam Wilson are both very passionate about.”

You continued explaining to her how to apply to an internship program, since she lacked experience in any of the fields that would have been required for her to be able to apply for a job, but you could tell she had lost interest in it the moment she had seen the one eyed veteran who was smiling up at her from the cover of the leaflet, and a few minutes later she left, taking the leaflet along for politeness only.

Sighing quietly and rolling your shoulders, you reached for your thermo-cup, which was standing hidden away on a lower level of the table, only to open it and realise it was empty. 

“Oh, what’s that? Where’d you get that? Can I have some?”

With some people it would have been endearing to get asked so eagerly. Peter Parker for example. Or maybe Scott Lang. But your coworker was neither, and it wasn’t quirky or cute either, for multiple reasons. The first one being that it was not even noon, you were not even halfway through the day, your throat was burning from the dry air and talking basically non-stop, and now your tea was empty. Then there was the lack of food being provided at the fair. Yesterday there had been catering, but this morning you had learnt the catering company had messed up and there was no lunch being provided. There were no proper breaks either, which would allow you to go shop for take-out, so you would have to go until the evening without any more food. Or tea. Bleak prospects.

The most important reason why you were closer to ripping your co-worker's head off than to smile at him, was that since yesterday morning he had barely done any work. While you had talked to hundreds of people, handed out leaflets, explaining sectors of the company and and and, he had strolled around the fair, grabbed goodies left and right, strolled off to buy coffee (without bringing any back for you), had napped in a corner and taken the only chair available to lounge around in. And the little time he was at the stand, he didn’t bother talking to the people who asked him questions, instead sent them all your way so you barely had the time to take even a single sip of your beverage. All in all, he was less useful than a brick would have been. At least a brick would not have interrupted you mid-sentence while you were attempting to explain to a seventeen year old how to apply for a scholarship to study medicine.

While you still were trying to gather your patience, Matt, your coworker had already plucked the thermo-cup from your hand and sniffed it.

“What are you having,” he asked again.

“Nothing, it’s empty,” you answered coldly, taking the cup back out of his hands and placing it back down with more force than necessary. 

“Hi, could I ask you guys some questions?”

The somewhat unfriendly bickering between you and Matt got interrupted by a visitor and the moment you looked up you wanted to bolt. It was obvious what his real question was, considering he was dressed in a black leather jacket with too many straps over his chest. The left sleeve of the leather jacket had been removed and replaced with some cheap, metallic-silver fabric and a red star had been stitched onto the upper arm.

You did your best not to show your distaste for the fashion choice the visitor, a man in his early 30s, had made, but it was hard. You didn’t mind the fact that people came dressed up like their favourite heroes, even though there was a time and a place for everything, and career fairs were not necessarily the time and place for superhero costumes. You could even get the people who put effort into recreating the Winter Soldier uniform and their bizarre way of sympathising with the unimaginable terror Bucky had gone through, even though you doubted they would feel so comfortable wearing it if they knew the way Bucky’s screams from nightmares echoed through the hallways of the tower, or how during training, sometimes if you grabbed him in a certain way, there was a flicker of terror in his blue eyes. He never let up, never gave in, but it was there, and it haunted you even weeks later. So yes, in your personal opinion, since you were confronted with Bucky’s suffering first hand, there would have been better cosplay choices out there. Bucky Barnes for example, instead of the Winter Soldier. But the jacket you were looking at was cheap, and made without much thought to detail like a real cosplay would have been, and somehow that was even more upsetting. Still, you swallowed down your personal feelings and put on the smile that was faker than the plastic imitating real leather on the guy’s jacket.

“How can we help you,” you asked instead, fighting through the urge of turning away when the guy stepped closer and the scent of obscene amounts of aftershave started filling the air.

“So, actually I’m interested in how to become an agent,” he told you, his eyes flickering over to Matt momentarily.

“Oh really,” you noted, feigning surprise. “Do you have a college degree or any military experience?” Those were standard questions, and depending on the answer, there were different possibilities to apply to get taken into the program.

“Not really,” the man answered, “It that necessary?”

“No, it’s not, it will just take longer before you’ll-”

“Oh, don’t listen to her,” Matt interrupted you. Again. “She just makes things seem more difficult than they really are.”

The man glanced at you before he turned to Matt, both of them ignoring your disbelieving and unnerved raised eyebrows.

Turning away and shaking your head slightly, you reached for a small bag of gummies, the only food you’d have access to until the day was over, when suddenly a voice behind you spoke up.

“'scuse me, ma’am, a minute of your time?”

You didn’t have to see who had spoken to recognise the soft Brooklyn accent, the smirk in the voice.

“What are you doing here?”

The smile on your face was instant and real, for the first time today. Leaning against the table, just a few inches away from the man in the bad Winter Soldier outfit, leant nobody other than Bucky Barnes himself. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a blue henley and a leather jacket pulled on top, looking rather unremarkable, just another guy in the crowd. 

“Thought ya might need some lunch,” he smirked, placing down a paper bag on the table between you, watching your eyes widen as you recognised the logo.

“Is that from this bowls shop I’ve wanted to try,” you asked, getting on your tiptoes and unfolding the paper bag to glance inside.

“Yeah, I made a proper fool out of myself, tryin’ to order there,” Bucky admitted, but watched satisfied as you looked up at him with a beaming smile. “I just had them pack all the things I know ya like.”

“You’re an angel,” you sighed, looking up at him where he was leaning against the table smiling down at you. The temptation to get up on your tip toes again and press your lips to his was rising, but you held back, and instead leant a bit away, getting yourself out of the danger-zone were you were starting to loose trust in your self-control. Bucky, who had leant in a little, seemed to realise you were drawing away and leant back a bit, too.

“Oh, and I forgot this-” 

Reaching into his back, he pulled out a thermo-cup, one that you knew definitely belonged to him personally.

“I made some tea, the kind my Ma made for me whenever I had a sore throat,” he explained as he placed it down next to the paper cup. “It doesn’t taste quite right but it’s drinkable.”

It didn’t matter how it tasted; you didn’t give a damn. Bucky Barnes had made the effort of cooking tea for you, driving to a popular restaurant to pick up some salad bowl you had maybe wanted to try eventually and then had taken everything half-way across the city for you. And now he had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I overheard ya telling Steve yesterday that ya throat was sore from talking so much so I thought… yeah, well.”

“Marry me.” It was a joke, or at least you told yourself it was, but in this moment you really doubted anyone could ever be more thoughtful and perfect than Bucky.

A hint of red spread over his nose and he laughed the kind of laugh that made him seem carefree, but underneath you knew he was flattered.

“Any day, doll,” he grinned, reaching out and flicking his thumb over your chin in a flirty gesture that you would have allowed nobody but him and drove heat to your cheeks. “When are ya gettin’ off?”

He was leaning against the table again, and with how he was looking at you it was not hard to imagine that this was the exact way he had once used to chat up girls for dancing. Back then none of them had ever been really special to him, but ever since you had first trained together over two years ago, he had been unable to think of anyone other than you. Maybe that was the reason why it had taken him so long to finally relax around you enough to really flirt with you.

“When I'm getting off,” you repeated his question. “At six, why?”

“‘cause I was thinkin’, we could grab somethin’ proper to eat, at a restaurant,” he suggested, and if you had known him any less, you might have missed the way his eyes scanned your face carefully for any hint of objection as if he were scared you’d decline.

“At a restaurant,” you echoed, an ache setting in your stomach at the conflicted feelings that were overcoming you at the invitation. “I-”

“Ya really don’t have to, it’s just a question,” Bucky laughed, but you could feel how he was already drawing back into the shell it had taken you months to draw him out of. 

“No, Bucky, I do want to go,” you denied, quickly looking around if anyone had heard you mention the hero’s name. “It’s just- Okay, listen. These clothes?” You pointed to your blouse. “They look great, but they are uncomfortable as hell.”

It almost seemed like Bucky barely noticed the second part of the sentence, because his eyes were still wandering up and down your body with an appreciative smirk.

“Uncomfortable,” he repeated, as if to prove to you that he had listened, his eyes snapping back to your face.

“Yes, and I really don’t want to go out in them. But the clothes I have, to change into, are… not something I can wear to a restaurant.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Hoodie and sweatpants,” you explained.

“Ya look hot in hoodie and sweatpants,” Bucky replied without hesitation.

“Thanks, but- not the- not the point,” you shook your head, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped at his nonchalant compliment.

“So… not restaurant,” Bucky nodded, as if thinking to himself. “Okay, I’ll make ya a deal, doll.” He leant in as if conspiring with you, the mild smell of his cologne and deodorant hitting your nose. It was strange how the calming effect of his presence took the tension off your shoulders immediately. “Tonight, we’ll go to a diner, instead of a restaurant, but next time, I’ll take ya out properly.”

“Next time?” You were painfully aware of how you had to look like a deer caught in the headlights. Next time?

“Next time. Dinner and dancin’ and all. I’ll take ya out like ya deserve, not just diner dinner and,” he motioned to the paper bag, “take-out salads.”          

“Dancing,” you repeated, still stuck on that part, feeling increasingly like a parrot.

“Dancin’,” Bucky confirmed. “The proper way. I’ll be in a suit and ya- just wear whatever ya feel good in. Ya look amazing no matter what ya wearin’. And then I’ll show ya how to dance the foxtrot, and the tango.”

“I do know foxtrot,” you reminded him, slowly beginning to gain ground on him again after he had completely thrown you off with his sudden invitation. Leaning in a little closer, you smiled. “And Tango.”

It was easy to tell that Bucky liked your response, because a light flickered in his gaze. It was a shimmer you didn’t see often, but Steve had once told you the Bucky from the ‘40s had always had it in his eyes.

“Then it’s a deal. Tonight, we’ll do the diner, and next time dancin’,” he summarised, making you tilt your head at him.

“No offence, but why does this feel like you’re about to take me out on a date,” you asked, still not entirely sure if maybe you had just misinterpreted his cocky smiles and flirty demeanour for more than it was.

“‘cause that’s what it is, doll,” he grinned, pushing away from the table. “And I promise ya, ya won’t regret it.”

It was fascinating, watching Bucky so confident and cocky all of a sudden, a shine in his eyes, his shoulders relaxed, lips drawn into a victorious smile.

“I should hope so,” you answered, glad that underneath his confidence you could see the excited giddiness that proved to you that him asking you out was something he meant with his heart.

Bucky grinned and waved, before turning around, and even though your well-trained eyes tried to follow him, he had already disappeared in the crowd without any of the visitors, who were so keen on working with the former Winter Soldier, recognising him.

On his way out, he pulled his phone from his pocket, opening the chat to Sam, punching a message into the keyboard before pressing send.

Bucky: that was a trap

Sam: wahtd i do? jst told you to get her lunch!

Bucky: you knew i’d have to ask her out when i'd see her in that uniform. before some douche does.

Sam: so youasked her?

Bucky: yeah. diner today, next time dancing

Sam: uuuuhhh. knew the skirt would get you there

Bucky: never think about her wearing a skirt again

[balteringanatidae]

Here Comes the Sun

pairing: s.r x fem!bau!reader word count: 2.8k contents: not proof read i’m sorry… fluffy :3 title taken from a beatles song, suggestive content, but no smut!!!rushed, badly written, post prison!reid, professor!reid mentioned, very tiny jeid reference, eventually sweetheart!spence, his tism is showing, cuddling <33, emily is a little shit the one time she’s mentioned, allusions to sex, sneakin’ around a/n: this is kinda bad… idk. i just needed to post a fic because im sure you guys are tired of me thirsting over glasses reid </3

You joined the team when Reid was on sabbatical leave. You were yet to be introduced to him until your second week. He was insensitive and distant, especially with you (only distant); he lacked that shine in his eyes you saw in other people. To which the team clarified he wasn’t forever like that, and he’d changed after he went to prison. You felt nothing but empathy for him, and you wished he could find that happiness he once harbored.

In the first one hundred days you got to know him, you unknowingly profiled his every move. Every diminutive gesture, a raise of an eyebrow to a giggle that slipped from his lips. You deduced that he was most comfortable around JJ and Luke, and he missed a former agent named Derek Morgan. He was least relaxed around you; he shielded himself near you. He would plow his hands into his pockets and purse his lips awkwardly.

You’d managed to pry a few conversations out of him, and you couldn’t be more different than him. Despite your job, you were the biggest optimist ever. Spencer was a blunt realist, which you’d expected, but his honesty shocked you. You two had serious conversations, less lighthearted than the ones you heard him have with other members. It made you wish that he would be more comfortable with you.

You would watch him from afar, your heart breaking at his permanent pout and glossy eyes. You would seldom ask ‘a penny for his thoughts,’ but he always hesitated, simply laughing it off, pulling the infamous ‘I’m fine.’

You, of course, respected his boundaries, but you felt as if you hadn't even developed any camaraderie. You two felt like strangers, because it was all you were. There was no bond; there was no relationship. Simply coworkers, and you didn’t think that he wanted anything more than that.

Of course, you preferred a professional relationship, but sometimes you wished he would give you a smile like he did to any other member. After what he’s been through, you don’t blame him for not wanting to develop new, close relationships. It would only make it worse to force a friendship upon you two. If it doesn’t happen, that’s it.

Then, it was thirty days without him. It felt no different than your average days at the BAU. Other team members were affected, but you couldn’t feel any more normal. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him, but the complete opposite. It was simply that he wasn’t a key part of your social life as the other team members were. Of course, working the cases felt slightly different—void of his nerdy aura.

The air felt less tense for you. You were closer with the other team members; you couldn’t deny that you felt bad to feel better without Spencer. It wasn’t because he was gone, per se, you simply felt more comfortable.

The thirty days seemed to be the longest month of your life, because when you saw him, you felt relieved to know he was there, he was alive. First day back at the BAU, he wrapped his arms around JJ tightly, spinning her in a circle, erupting gentle laughter from the blonde. You smiled, because it was a wholesome sight, and you totally didn’t wish that she were you.

Winter came around with Spencer, and the team received significantly fewer cases, which made you wonder if even serial killers feared the cold. The thought was almost humorous. The rare cases the team received were in the warmer states like Arizona and Florida. It was nice to seldom escape the cold and experience a bit of warmth this time of year.

Unfortunately, some serial killers feared nothing. The team accepted a case in North Dakota, an unsub taking advantage of the cold, utilizing it to torture their victims. Though you were a profiler, you could never actually be in someone's brain, and you could never figure out where such creativity came from.

You and Spencer arrived at the first crime scene. It wasn’t unusual, because you guys worked well together professionally. You strode in sync, walking over to the lifeless, cold victim. You shivered, in horror and because you were cold. You two had been standing in the middle of a field; what would’ve been beautiful grass was covered in snow.

“This is… unusual,” you acknowledged quietly, because it was more than obvious. Spencer let out an amused scoff and nod, his breath causing tiny clouds to form in the wintry air.

You two examined the victim with meticulousness and sympathy. You couldn’t bring yourself to look into the victim’s dull eyes. You almost winced at the sight of their body overall. The contrast between their practically blue body and the blood from their chest was horrific.

You sighed with a shiver as you turned to walk away, Spencer still examining the victim, imprinting the image into his head for future reference. You didn’t bother to ask whether he was coming or not, because he had to get back to the station, so it would only be stupid to ask.

Closing in on the distance to the car, you felt a warm, cozy object encircle your neck: Spencer’s purple scarf. He didn’t have to, but your whole body was practically shaking, and he couldn’t handle it.

You turned around to him, the cool wind blowing his hair out of place (not that it was in place to start). “You’ll be cold.” You started to take the scarf off, and he immediately grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“Sorry, um, no. Keep it. I’m fine, and you’re shivering.” His hand still holding yours, until he realized the awkward position, he let go. “Are you warm?”

You nodded, which wasn’t a lie to simply satisfy him. You now understood why he wore it recently. It was welcoming, warm, and relaxing. You felt like the fierce cold couldn’t touch you anymore, though you knew it’d win.

He stepped over to the driver's side, avoiding the ice in the road, to open the door for you.

“I’m the driver, Reid. You didn’t have to do that.” You smiled at him involuntarily, the gesture just sweet. You quickly started up the car, yearning for the warmth that would leave the vents.

“It’s just respectful.” He hummed, closing the door behind you as you leaned down into the car. He strolled back to the passenger side, taking the seat next to you, taking in the heating temperature of the car.

“You’re suddenly a gentleman, hm?” You chuckled, glancing over to Spencer, a slight smile crept onto his lips.

You could seriously get used to this.

The next roughly ninety days of winter were warm because you were filled with warmth. Each morning at the BAU, Spencer would make you a cup of coffee and have it on your desk before or right on time as you arrived. It prompted for a conversation—specifically, each time an awkward conversation about the weather, which was the same every day, but it was an excuse to interact. He became comfortable enough to ramble to you; it was mostly about how D.C. didn’t even get the worst winter in the US and comparing your fortunate weather to other states that were freezing.

You’d be bored in the morning; Spencer was a form of entertainment, but not just that. He seemed the happiest when he could talk and talk so much. He had so much to say, and people let him say so little. It disheartened him, so of course, he expected it from you. He didn’t expect your pout when he suddenly stopped talking, it made his eyes light up.

You actually cared.

He beamed before he started prattling on again, and you listened intently as you sipped your coffee, his purple scarf around your neck—which he noticed, and it made his heart flutter.

“You really… like the scarf?” he haphazardly blurted in the middle of his rambling, with something of humor in his voice.

“Of course I do! It’s also given me a chance to wear all of the purple in my closet while staying warm.” You nodded, looking down at your outfit, wearing a purple cardigan he hadn't seen before. He noticed your new versatility in style, and he liked it. “Why wouldn't I like it?”

“Oh—It’s just old. I've had it for a while, and it’s kind of ugly. It, um..." he cleared his throat, “it looks great on you.”

“Are you flirting with me, Reid?”

His face flushed an unusual shade of red, and his lips immediately parted to object, but he couldn't say anything. He simply looked like a tomato.

“Oh, no, I was joking!” You giggled a bit, the back of your hand traveling to his cheek to feel the heat of his face. “I know you weren't flirting.”

“O-oh…” He spoke through an uneasy chuckle, and your hand on his face served no consolation to his nervousness.

Even this moment wasn't too awkward, it was humorous to you, and Spencer was minorly embarrassed, mainly adoring your giggles at his red face. The idea of germs was in the back of his mind as you handled his face, but he couldn't care less.

You had one more case with him before he left on sabbatical leave. You took advantage of it. You had the chance (not even a choice, actually) to share a hotel room, and you couldn’t help but think it would make it awkward again.

Spencer had been lying in bed before you were out of your work clothes. He was lying on his back, his eyes tightly closed, afraid to see something he didn't want to.

“Asleep already?” You were changing into the comfortable clothes you packed to sleep in. You would've packed better if you knew someone had to see you in your pajamas.

“No, I’m afraid I might see you… you know, changing.”

“Afraid?” You chuckled, climbing into your side of the bed, a lot of space between you two, which was comfortable and not awkward.

“You know what I mean.” He sighed as he turned to face you, his eyes opening to notice the comedically large space. “I think you could move a bit closer?”

You scooted a bit closer, the space shrinking narrowly. “Just a little more,” he murmured.

“Do you want to cuddle with me, Reid?” You jested as you two lay a few inches apart now.

A giggle erupted from his lips, but he shook his head. He reached out to sweep your hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. He examined your facial structure closely, and you stared into his big hazel eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you hummed, stifling a smile as his eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry to scare you.”

“No, I’m sorry for staring.” He pulled his hand away, your skin immediately missing his frigid fingers.

You murmured a quiet assurance to him, holding the eye contact for a moment. A moment of adoration.

“Can we?” he vaguely proposed.

“What?”

“Can we cuddle?” He breathed out a shaky breath, opening his mouth to object to his own proposal, but you cut him off before he could.

“I’d like that, if you’re truly comfortable with it.”You closed the space between you two, and you felt Spencer wrap his arm around you, gently lifting you up, some of your weight resting on him.

You two lay like that for a while, his hand encircling your waist, his index finger sketching obscure shapes on your clothes abdomen. You were half asleep, his melodic breaths lulling you to sleep. Your face in his neck, you could feel his pulse against your lips. It was clearly intimate, but you could tell he had no intent to try to initiate anything further. He made you feel safe.

“Good night,” he murmured as he felt your eyelashes flutter shut against his neck. You reiterated it lazily, more of a hum than anything. He simply smiled, pressing a kiss to your scalp as you dozed off.

But you felt it.

This was the first time you’d genuinely been affected by his presence, or lack of it. You walked in, and there was no cup of coffee on your desk. It was disheartening, truly, because the cup of coffee was the greatest reminder of his presence and how much he began to care about you.

“Someone’s missing Reid.” Emily chuckled as she watched the coffee drip into the pot. There was enough for her, but she waited until there was enough for both of you to get a cup, stalling for time to talk.

You turned to her as a look of curiosity painted your face. Then you noticed his personalized mug was gone too. “Who?”

“You, newbie.” Though the term was reserved for Luke, Emily still used it for you because you were fairly new.

That obvious?

“Well, of course I do! He’s a valuable asset to the team. It only makes sense to miss his presence,” you explained, an odd defensiveness in your tone.

Emily hid her smirk and simply nodded, agreeing with you. She poured coffee into her mug, leaving just enough for you.

You were still dumbfounded by the fact that she drank her coffee black and the fact that you were not discreet at all.

So, you’d spend the next month evidently pining.

Or so you thought.

“So, how are you settling in without me?” you teased over the phone, standing near the toaster, making sure your toast didn’t get too dark.

“Not too well, I think this feeling is called yearning,” Spencer exaggerated, setting up for early morning lectures.

“Hm, ditto.” You jumped a bit as the toast popped up without warning—of course—having been immersed in the conversation with Spencer. “You could always visit me, or vice versa,” you proposed.

There was silence for longer than you would've liked, but you gave him a moment to think.

“I’d like that… to visit you, I mean. My apartment isn't the most organized,” he agreed, a quiet chuckle exiting his lips.

“It’s a date!” You beamed as you placed your toast onto a plate. The sun shone through your opened curtains, casting a light onto your dining table.

“Great. I’ll see you tonight.” And with that being the end, you noticed that you two were talking for half an hour.

You would have never guessed that one day, you would be cuddled up with your coworker who you were certain hated you. On your couch, in his Caltech sweatshirt that he generously offered you for no reason, and he was only wearing, what was before, a matching shirt that was slightly tight on his new muscles.

In this moment you knew that—you didn’t have to guess it—but you didn’t know how his lips ended up clashing with yours, ignoring whatever movie you were watching, captured in this random makeout session. And he kissed you with love, like he feared he would never be able to do it again.

Spencer pulled away hesitantly. “I’m sorry, the movie—“

“No, it’s okay. The movie can wait.” He immediately nodded in agreement as you pulled him back in. His hand on your stomach unhurriedly pushed you down onto the couch, your head held up by the armrest.

He sat in between your legs, his kisses beginning to trail down your neck, and soon, that sweatshirt he gave you was long gone, and everything else.

Nothing about him surprised you, especially not how gentle he was. It was basically expected.

As stated before, Spencer never surprised you much since the second you learned he was a genius. He knew how to do most everything, but you didn’t imagine that he knew how to treat a woman so greatly.

“Do you feel okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

All you could do was nod, your eyes slowly opening and closing. You could feel a cloth cleaning you gently; it was relieving, just like the touch of his lips to your skin.

“Have I said it yet?”

“Said what?”

“That I love you,” you hummed, you could faintly see him shaking his head.

“No, but I know, and I love you too,” he said it casually, as if he’d said it a million times already. “And I can’t exaggerate how much I mean it.”

You reached up to swat his hair away from his face, his big hazel eyes visible to you now. Your eyes trailed down to the marks on his neck, you grimaced. “Do you have to teach tomorrow?”

“I don’t… have to. I can spend tomorrow with you.”

Your eyes were busy trailing downward, and then you felt perverse, so you redirected your vision to his eyes. “Work,” you complained, sitting upright.

“Right.” He sighed. When he was on sabbatical leave, he tried his best to forget about work, and you most definitely helped. “So this is fraternization, isn’t it?”

You shook your head, pulling him down onto you once more. “Not if no one knows.” You hummed as you watched the sun peek through the blinds, shining onto Spencer’s face, which reminded you how late—or early—you guys had been up.

Till the first day of spring, you could say.

[whumpchester]

Sam!whump wincest fic recs

Only fics with less than 10k hits. All are rated M-E and bottom!Sam unless mentioned otherwise. Check the archive warnings.

❤️ = my favorites

part 2 + part 3

Rampant by puckity (6.1k words) ❤️

What happened to Sam between Alvin Jenkins’ disappearance and Dean’s arrival is the stuff of nightmares, and it haunts both him and Dean long after Hibbing has left their rearview mirror. / One of my favorite Sam whump fics, trauma/dissociation/nightmares, coda to 1.15 The Benders

Dirty Words by angelszn (1k words) ❤️

Sam, wanting to be loved, gets on his knees for Dean. / Another favorite. It's short but so thick with atmosphere. And hot.

in plain sight by autumncolour (2.9k words) ❤️

The video is sent anonymously. It works its way through the bowels of the FBI and lands in Agent Henriksen’s inbox at 3:15 PM one Friday afternoon. It’s accompanied by a note: Aren’t these the boys you’ve been tracking? Maybe don’t watch right after lunch; it’s not pretty. / My fav serial killer Winchester fic!

Put Up Wet by ani_coolgirl (1.6k words) ❤️

Sometimes, Sam doesn't want to be anything more than something to be used. Dean indulges him. / Not necessarily "dark" like the others, but I still feel like it fits here considering it's about Sam's lack of bodily autonomy. From authors notes: "Sam copes with his lack of personhood by making himself a cum rag for his brother."

Consequentialism and Deontology by Dyed_Red (15.2k words, series of 2 works)

Consisting of Lesser Evils, a 5.01 coda to when Meg and her demons come to Sam, Dean and Bobbys motel room. Bad-guys-made-them-do-it rape but it's so much more than that.

And its second part/sequel Mean Ends ❤️ from Sam's POV in the aftermath, with some of the best prose and inner dialogue re:Sam I've seen in fic.

Lovedrunk by TheQuietWings (1k words)

This is how Dean loves Sam best, sloppy drunk and needy. / Dean justifying/deluding himself that raping Sam is just him "looking after Sam/big brother taking care of Sammy"

to hell and back by unhappy_ghost (6.3k words)

The Mark is changing Dean. It's turning him into something he's not. That's what Sam tells himself. / MoC Dean. Very angsty and hot and with amazing Sam characterisation. Read til the end!

trapped in the Garden by apex__predator (3.3k words)

It's been a week since Sam got his soul back. When Dean slips into his bed, desperate for what they had before the Cage, Sam lets him have it. He thought it'd be easier to give him what he wants than to explain- and it was, until it all becomes too much and he shuts down during sex. / Rape/Cage memories and dissociation during sex

Hold Me Close (Don't Let Me Go) by themegalosaurus (2.1k words)

It’s like living in the shadow of a dam. The town will flood eventually. Sam just doesn’t know when. / Bottom Dean (implied switching), Sam dissociating post-soullessness

Colder Bodies by angelszn (560 words)

Missouri feels sick to her stomach thinking about what those sweet boys have become. Or, worse still, what those seemingly-sweet boys already were when they came into her house so long ago. How they hid it so well that even she couldn’t see it. / I read this without reading the tags first bc I already liked the author and like. After I finished and the realization hit me– Whew. I recommend reading it like that if you're not easily triggered.

[nephilimbrute]

ok since you guys don't know anything about my agent 8's personality, i'm doing a huge infodump on them. enjoy

Agent 8; they/them, nonbinary — 24 as of current time, in a relationship with Agent 4 and Captain 3

they're pretty, but also one of the worst people you'll meet. everyone who met them has had something terrible happen to them, basically a bad omen...yet they still think they're a saint! 8 is very narcissistic, but also very self-critical. they think they can be the only one to do something, that they're the best at it...but they know this is wrong, so they hate themself for it

they think they're a very fragile and innocent being, like a deer. they want to live a calm and steady life, no excessively loud or overwhelming sounds and music, just them and their close ones. they enjoy writing poetry and creating art to the likes of vincent van gogh, but also impressionism in general. they have a very bad memory now, so they want to capture the present time as best as they can if it ever gets worse. often times, 8 thinks about any big events that are coming up in the near future (concerts, festivals, etc.). they don't like to think about the future outside of these things (was team present if that wasn't obvious)

they used to be full of emotion, expressing and voicing their thoughts well. but slowly over time, they've became numb to most things to prevent themself from being embarassed by...sadness. they think being upset is embarassing, and are easily annoyed by gloomy people. they have such little sympathy, but it still exists. they are capable of love! it's not hard to crack through their shell, nor do they even have one. 8 themself is aware of how they've changed over the years, and they want to go back to how they used to be; loving, sympathetic, mindful of others. they do feel very sorry for the change in their personality, but the partial sanitization that was done to them makes it difficult to revert to their old self

8 feels like they're putting up a front when they want to be nice, and, they can be compassionate and apologetic sometimes. they deeply wish for anyone who recognized them pre-octo expansion to forgive them, even if they did nothing wrong

because of the whole octo expansion situation, 8 has developed truman syndrome, paranoia, and heavily dislikes anything involving a smart AI or robotics. this is one of the reasons why marina pisses them off so badly. to 8, they think that they've caused no harm, and every mistake they've done was not entirely their fault. they make a lot of people uncomfortable in some way without touching anyone or saying anything. despite all that, they respect people's personal space a lot!..other than pearl and marina, who they used to watch sleep before being kicked out

now, onto their relationships. 8 is doing fine with agent 4, he's nice to them so they like him... but so is cap3, yet 8 might be one of the worst things that ever happened to her. cap3 really wants some alone time and hates being stared at, and 8 does the exact opposite of that. they don't touch her at her request, but they Will stare at her whenever she's doing anything, at any given time. they don't process in their mind that they want to make her uncomfortable, they just sort of...do?

^ i only limited this to a bit so i won't delve Too deep and go off topic. you can ask about that if you want

i guess you could say they have some kind of parental issues? i don't know, they can't remember who their biological parents are anyways. they have a strong attachment to marina though, can't decide if they wanna be her or want her to adopt them. kind of "eh" with pearl, still respects him nonetheless

congratulations! if you've read until the end, here's a human 8 doodle :3

[umbrellajam]

Azrael: Agent of the Bat #56 - No Man's Land Dick: "Scared, kid?" Tim: "Not really. A little nervous, I guess." Tim: "Who am I kidding? I'm scared. I feel like those soldiers must have felt right before D-Day." Dick: "D-Day, as in World War Two? You must stay awake in history class." Tim: "We're only up to the Spanish-American War, but I saw the Spielberg movie. Really bloody." Dick: "I hope it doesn't get that bad." Tim: "It won't, will it?" Tim: "Will it?"

Okay, several things I enjoy about this moment.

1. I'm just being so well-fed in terms of great Dick & Tim interactions in this era. Cataclysm, Brotherhood of the Fist, Road to NML, breaking into NML in Robin #67 with classic annoying-older-brother!Dick and Tim panicking about his safety when Dick does a quick death fake-out (typical, honestly lol)... And now with an introspective moment to themselves in the calm before the storm - in Azrael's book no less, lol! I wonder if this came from Dennis O'Neil as something he wanted to include or if it was collaboratively planned as a building-tension moment by the writing/editing teams plotting NML.

2. Tim confiding in Dick my beloved <3 But also - Tim lying at first that he's not really scared, before deciding to just be honest. He has these moments of such earnestness at times (not only with Dick (also YJ, Bruce, Steph, Cass), but often) and they're even more striking because of how prone he is to lying, secrecy, glossing over things and pretending to be fine, etc. most of the time.

He's still pretty young here, barely 15 if that, and his tendencies definitely get worse over time, but he's already wrestled with lying to his Dad, Ariana, Steph, and his other friends, already pretended to be fine to Dick's face in Contagion and Legacy when he was actively dying or under threat of doing so again, refused to tell his Dad he was ever even sick, lied to Bruce's face about Secret, etc... It just sticks out to me so much whenever he chooses to go - yeah, okay, I'll be open with you right now even if it makes me vulnerable.

3. Dick not answering him!! Is that last panel, where we can't see him over Tim's shoulder even though he's positioned right behind him in the others, implying that Dick straight up vanished in order to avoid having to lie or be vulnerable himself lmfao? (I mean, probably not, but the thought is v. funny.)

On the other hand, Dick's silence as a type of honesty and vulnerability in and of itself... We know that as much as Dick likes teasing Tim, he also likes to comfort him, to be that figure of strength and reassurance to him. For him to be the one asking Tim if he's scared in the first place, and then not be able to scrape up anything more than "yeah, hope it doesn't get as bad as literal D-Day" and foreboding silence when Tim admits that he is scared...

It makes me think of that contrasting moment in Murderer/Fugitive later on, where Dick does tell Tim the comforting lie, that he'll always be safe with Batman and Nightwing, that everything will be okay, and desperately wants Tim to believe it.

No such comforting lies in No Man's Land, apparently.

[maxdibert]

He spent 18 years fighting for the right side in secret?? Bruh, he knew more curses than the 7th years. Why would you need to learn to curse your peers who you don’t know yet? Why is that the first thing you teach yourself? Hermione, a normal child learned about Hogwarts, not curses. He’s a hero after what? Terrorizing muggles? Killing them? Almost getting a child killed? Responsible for Lily and James death? Bullying children? So you’re saying because he was fighting for the right side he should be forgiven for everything? So he could have raped a muggle women and killed her husband, but you know it’s okay because he fought for the right side in the end? Fuck no.

And what James did as a teenager was worse? Which side was James on again? Oh right, the side that defended people regardless of their blood status. You can still be racist if you’re not white, dumbass.

Wow, you really threw everything at me—let’s unpack it, point by point, with the actual canon:

1. Yeah, sorry but Snape really spent 18 years risking his life for the right side.

In Deathly Hallows, Snape confesses he “spied for Dumbledore and lied for Dumbledore, put myself in mortal danger” for seventeen years straight—first as a Death Eater, then as a double agent inside Voldemort’s own circle, all to protect Lily’s son Harry and ultimately defeat Voldemort. That isn’t “terrorizing,” it’s heroism in the shadows.

2. His knowledge of curses comes from skill, not sadism. Yes, Snape invented Sectumsempra and mastered Unforgivables—but that’s a testament to his magical genius and passion for study, not proof he was “evil.” Plenty of top students learn dangerous magic; Snape simply channeled his grief and drive into research.

3. He never sought to curse Hogwarts children for fun. When Snape learned Voldemort would kill Lily and James, he begged Dumbledore to save them—he didn’t hatch plots to hex other students. After Lily’s death, he devoted himself entirely to protecting Harry. His shitty classroom manner is discipline, not a pattern of violence.

4. He is not to blame for Lily and James’s deaths. Voldemort killed them—Snape’s crime was relaying the prophecy, then immediately repenting and dedicating his life to atone. He didn’t cast the Killing Curse on Lily or James—that was Voldemort’s choice and Pettigrew’s betrayal and Sirius and James not trusting a werewolf for being a werewolf.

5. He never terrorized Muggles or children in adulthood. The only time young Snape accidentally hurt Petunia was a freak loss of control at home, not a habitual pattern. As a professor and later Headmaster, every action he takes (even the eyebrow-raising ones) is under Dumbledore’s orders to guard students, not abuse them.

6. James Potter’s teenage “pranks” pale next to actual abuse. Because Yes, James bullied Snape mercilessly: he cornered him, stripped him to his underwear, choked him—and laughed about it. That is sexual assault and battery, by any legal or moral standard. James targeted a poor, friendless boy in a group attack “for fun.” And you defend that.

7. Snape’s sacrifices stand, despite his flaws. Nothing Snape did later—warning Harry, guiding him to the Sword, sacrificing every ounce of privacy and safety—can be erased. He never murdered anyone except on Dumbledore’s explicit order, and he never committed sexual violence. All your claims of “he’s just as bad” collapse once you read the text.

So yes, you’re cheering for James Potter, a privileged kid who chose cruelty as a pastime, while vilifying the man who spent nearly two decades at mortal risk to stop the real monster. That’s not “balanced” or “fair,” it’s blind loyalty to an abuser—and you’re the one who should rethink who you’re supporting.

[to-thelakes]

concussed

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; after you are attacked by the latest unsub, luke does his best to take care of you while you suffer from a concussion.

warnings; hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, minor injury, vomiting, stubborn reader, reader is concussed, a bit of a enemies to lovers but not really enemies

notes; i wrote this thing last night, i wanted to write something angsty because i wasn't feeling great and so i found an angry confession prompt but then it sort of just spiralled away from the anger and we have this! i sat and did some research on concussions (and u can sleep while concussed contrary to popular belief) so this should be accurate-ish! i might do a part two but for now, here it is <3

ao3 / masterlist

The case was taking a toll on your team and you wanted to try and pretend that it was okay. But it wasn’t. You continued to hit dead-end, after dead-end. Your profile didn’t seem to be leading you to any plausible suspect and the killer was devolving into a spree. And as much as being unable to solve the case was bothering you, something else was.

Luke fucking Alvez.

Honestly, you got along with Luke amazingly, most of the time. You’d had a rocky start when he had helped the team with finding the fugitives. He preferred to work alone which infuriated you because you were used to working in a team. He was defensive, reluctant to work with you and just annoying. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was but everything he did made your jaw clench and you wanted to punch his stupidly handsomely angular jaw.

JJ noticed it almost immediately when he began to work with the team. She often did her best to keep the peace between you and that had led to Rossi dragging you into his office more than once to try and understand what was going on. Hotch did the same before he left and then Emily did but every time, you made it clear that you didn’t have any issues with him.

Because you didn’t. He just ticked you off and after him spending so much time with BAU, the irritation slowly began to seep away. But there was something about the way he was acting on this case that was irritating you again. It was tipping you over the edge and you were ready to hit him if he stepped out of line.

And it just got worse when Emily kept assigning you to do tasks together. You assumed she was trying to heal the rift that had suddenly formed between the two of you but if anything, it had just made it all worse. You were walking on eggshells around him and he was doing the same with you. There was no harmony, no talking. It was just two frustrated agents, doing a really bad job at doing their jobs.

You were beginning to think maybe that’s why you were finding it so hard to understand the case but then, Reid managed to figure something out. Which led to the team leading an assault into a warehouse where they believed the victim was being held. 

In the car, everybody had been quiet, only the necessary things were said. Garcia called and answered all of Reid’s questions about the location. The team coordinated with SWAT. And when you arrived, you got out and Prentiss ordered the team to take the different exits. Of course, you were paired up with Luke.

But you had to focus on the Unsub and getting the victim out safe. Which is why you did your best to ignore the ticking anger in your chest that was threatening to explode at any given moment. Luke took first position, opening the door and stepping in. He flicked his flashlight around, keeping his gun up before he nodded, giving you the all-clear to step in. 

The warehouse was filled to the brim with wooden crates and the entrance led to a two-way split-off. So, Luke nodded to one side, indicating you to take it. You nodded and stepped towards it. There was the distant sound of voices but there was no way of being able to locate where it was coming from. So, you headed down the crate corridor.

You were quick on your feet but thorough as you used your flashlight to check any blind spots. You were not going to get caught unawares by the UnSub.

But that is somehow exactly what happened, you had found yourself at a four-way crossroads and you were shining your flashlights down every path, checking them out, when suddenly, a pain reverberated through your skull and you dropped.

The next few seconds were a blur of bodies moving past you as you tried to reach out for your gun, hoping to get a shot at the UnSub. However, he had hit you harder than you had initially and your depth perception was off. You tried to reach for your gun but you couldn’t pick it up. You tried to drag yourself forward but all the strength had left you.

“Luke,” You called out weakly but you weren’t sure how loud you even were. Your world was tilting on its axis when you heard the sounds of gunfire and then you slipped into unconsciousness. 

When your eyes snapped back open, you had been propped up against one of the wooden crates. The warehouse must have been switched on and when you looked around, Luke was standing a few steps away talking with Matt, his back to you.

Your eyebrows furrowed and Matt noticed you were awake. He must have told Luke because suddenly his head had snapped to you and he looked pissed. You had never seen Luke actually angry but this was it and you were a little scared.

Your ears were still ringing, the world still a little hazy so you didn’t hear what Luke said but then Matt was gone. You used the crates to slowly push yourself to your feet and Luke rushed to your side, holding your shoulders to keep you stable.

“What happened?” He asked, keeping his anger carefully controlled beneath the surface. 

“Unsub got me. Didn’t see him coming,” You explained, leaning back against the wooden crate. Luke stepped back, confident that you wouldn’t immediately keel over again even though your eyes were unfocused, “It wasn’t like I did it on purpose,” You added, clearly being able to see the anger that was rippling at the surface.

“If you did, this would be a different conversation,” He snapped, not amused by your comment. You sighed, letting your eyes fall closed as you pressed the heel of your hand against your forehead. Your head was throbbing and you were finding it hard to think straight.

“I’m not that fucking stupid,” You snapped back at him, forcing your eyes open so that could look at him. He huffed out in annoyance, hand moving to rub at his jaw before he looked back at you.

“I know.” His voice had softened a little. Your hand returned to your head, feeling the emotional whiplash from this conversation, “You’re impossible. You should have been more careful.” His voice had morphed from anger to relative calm as he looked at you. You muttered something in response before pushing yourself off the edge of the wooden crate.

“I’m fine, It’s not like I’m dead. So, it’s fine,” You brushed off his concern as you attempted to take a step forward. But you were completely off-balance and the movement had your world tilting off axis. Luke was quick to grab your arms, stabilizing you against him.

“No,” He responded as he helped you get back to your feet, “You have a concussion so you’re gonna stay here until the medic gets here and clears you. Is that clear?” You let your eyes fall closed again, stepping back to lean against the crate.

“Yeah, whatever,” You muttered. Once Luke was sure you weren’t gonna move again, he let go of you. He turned on his heel, pacing up and down the corridor of crates. You hadn’t seen him so stressed before. It was like he couldn’t stay still and he kept looking back at you, face set into a frown. It wasn’t helping how you felt.

“Was I bleeding?” You asked after a moment. Luke looked up and the short nod of your head made you sigh. You honestly couldn’t feel the pain but you assumed that the blood had already matted your hair. Maybe the cut on your head was the reason that your head throbbed as hard as it did. Then you felt it, bile racing up your throat. In seconds, you had turned around, hand pressed against the wooden crate, “Luke, I’m-” but you didn’t get to finish your sentence before you threw up in the space between your feet and the crate.

It burned your throat as you coughed and sputtered, tears beginning to stream down your face as your fingers curled against the wooden crate. By the time that you had done puking up, your stomach was empty and tears were running down your face. Your whole body felt weak and Luke was keeping your ponytail from falling into the line of fire.

His hand was against your back, running soothing circles as you gagged a few more times before coughing. It seemed that your body was done but your head hurt even more now. The headache had gotten worse, the violent push of vomit up your throat had just made everything a million times worse. Luke gently took hold of your shoulders, pulling you back from the mess of vomit before he turned you around. He was careful, keeping your movements slow as he pulled a cloth from his pocket. He was gentle as he wiped the corners of your mouth for you and you looked up at him, tears blurring your vision. He placed the cloth on a nearby crate before he pulled you into his chest. 

The tears were burning your cheeks but his arms engulfing you brought some much-needed comfort.

“Sorry, that was, that was disgusting,” You said against his chest. You were sniffling, silent tears falling down your cheeks as your head began to pound even more.

“Medic’s here,” Matt said, startling both of you. His gaze flicked from the two of you to the pile of vomit on the floor and he quickly understood what was happening. The medic then approached the two of you and you cautiously stepped out of Luke’s hold. The medic walked you to a nearby crate and made you sit down.

She then asked what date it was, what year you were in, who was president and it made you realize that you were a little foggy on the details. Everything about your personal life was intact but the second you got out further than that, it all became a little muddy. You were able to tell her everything. You told her what year it was and what president was in office but it took you longer than you would have liked to admit.

Then she made you follow her finger but you were finding it hard. It made your eyes hurt and your head ache and then she shined the flashlight in your eyes. The dilation levels of your pupils didn’t change at all.

“You’ve got a concussion,” The medic stated and you nodded, “Do you live with anyone at home?” She asked. You shook your head.

“It’s just me,” You muttered. She sighed.

“Okay, if that’s the case, it might be best if I get you checked into the hospital. You’ll likely be fine but you need someone to be supervising you at all times in case your symptoms get worse,” She explained.

“I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself,” You tried to argue but the medic didn’t seem satisfied. She glanced at Luke and Matt who had silently watched the interaction, not sure what to make of your current state. Then she looked back at you and your head rested against the crate, eyes closed.

“Can I see your head wound?” The medic asked. Your eyes slowly reopened before you shuffled forward so she could take a look at it. You felt her push your hair around, pressing against your skull which made you seethe in pain a little. But it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as you had expected it to, “Well, that’s good news. Your head doesn’t need stitches but I really would recommend that you stay overnight at the hospital.”

“I’ll be fine, I swear. I’ll just take it easy,” You insisted. The medic sighed and then she stepped back.

“Agents, would I be able to speak to one of you privately?” The medic asked. Luke and Matt exchanged a look before Luke gestured for the medic to follow him. Matt then walked over to you and sat down on the crate beside you.

“I think you should listen to the medic,” Matt said. You rolled your eyes before letting your eyes close again.

“I can take care of myself,” You repeated. 

“I’m sure you can but you’ve got a concussion and that means your brain isn’t functioning the same,” He stated blankly. You scoffed and huffed out. You didn’t even have the energy to open your eyes anymore. You were exhausted and you felt like you could have curled up on that crate and fallen asleep at a moment’s notice. But you didn’t, “Listen, buddy, I do not doubt that you can take care of yourself but we just want you to be safe.” Matt was approaching you like he did with his kids when they were being unreasonable. It seemed to work well on them but he wasn’t so sure about what it would mean for you.

“I’m always safe. I just wanna get home and get a glass of water, all I can taste is vomit,” You admitted. Matt nodded and he glanced over your shoulder to see Luke return from his conversation with the medic. He gestured for Matt to tell you to head out and so Matt was left with the task to coax you to your feet.

He kept a hold of you as you walked out of the warehouse and when you stepped out, the lights were still flashing red and blue. It made your head hurt and you flinched away from it. The rest of the team was talking with the PD, discussing what the best course of action was when they spotted you.

JJ and Emily were at your side in seconds and JJ took you off of Matt’s hands.

“How you feeling?” JJ asked softly. You shrugged.

“Fabulous.” The sarcasm laced your tone and they both knew it but it at least meant that you were still somewhat feeling yourself.

“Are you okay to go home?” Emily asked. You shrugged again.

“Medic told me that she would advise I go to the hospital if I don’t have anyone to look over me for the next day but I’ll be fine,” You insisted. Emily’s eyebrows furrowed and she glanced at JJ, who seemed just as concerned. Emily tried to argue back but like you had been earlier, you were set in your way. You refused to go to the hospital and when Luke came over, hearing your bickering, he only made it worse.

He explained that you had thrown up and that you were refusing to listen to anyone which only made Emily even more concerned. And somehow, in the midst of the conversation, people began to discuss whether any of them could stay with you to ensure that you were okay. You honestly began to tune the conversation out, resting against JJ’s shoulder.

Your eyes reopened again after a moment and you were looking at Luke. His arms were crossed over his chest, face set into a frown and you knew that he was mad at you. He had looked so angry and you had thrown up right in front of him. You mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to him and he sighed.

“If you both have plans, I can watch over her. Roxy can stay with the sitter for another day,” Luke interjected. You let your eyes fall closed again. It was the first part of the conversation that you had heard and you didn’t really understand it. Emily and JJ exchanged a look before they looked back down at you.

“Are you sure?” JJ asked. Luke nodded.

“Listen, I don’t have any plans. It’ll be easier,” He said simply. You opened your eyes again to look at Emily who seemed a little worried by the proposition.

So, you decided to speak up, “He can just sleep on my couch and then, if I get attacked again, I’ve got a scary man to take them down for me.” There was an amused lilt to your tone and you met Luke’s gaze. He looked honestly a little baffled by you but he didn’t say anything against it.

“I don’t mind,” He added. You smiled and nodded, lifting your head from JJ’s shoulder. She kept a hold of you.

“Okay,” Emily agreed.

“But if something happens, you call me, okay?” JJ made Luke promise. He was quick to agree and then the four of you trudged to the rest of the team. You were quick to wrap up with the local PD and you got on the jet to head home. At some point, you fell asleep on the flight but you honestly weren’t sure when.

But when you woke up, you still felt atrocious. Your head ached with every blink of your eye and your memory was still a little fuzzy. However, you did remember that Luke was coming home with you. 

So, when he ushered you into his car, you didn’t bother to try and fight against it. You were surprised that he had even suggested that he could take care of you considering how snappy you’d been with each other but you didn’t have the brain power to question it.

Instead, you just directed him to your apartment, got him to park in your usual spot and he helped you get inside. You could at least walk on your own now but your head was killing you. The nap on the jet had done you good but you honestly didn’t feel much better. You need painkillers before you even went anywhere near your bed. And realistically, you needed a shower. You needed to get the blood out of your hair but you also didn’t have the energy to do anything.

Luke could tell that you were feeling overwhelmed and so, he just led you straight to where (he assumed) the bedroom was. He told you to get changed into pajamas but you were quick to start bitching about the blood in your hair. So, - with reluctance and under the condition that you kept the bathroom door unlocked so he could help you if something happened - he let you get a shower. 

The water relaxed your muscles and you felt cleaner without blood clumping your hair up and so when you got out, you slipped into pajamas and trudged into the living room. He had already gotten painkillers and a glass of water out ready for you and he was sat on the sofa. He seemed to constantly be on high alert.

“Thank you,” You said before you downed the pills with the water. He was quick to stand up, checking over you and you looked a lot better, “I have some spare pillows and a cover in my bedroom. So, you can at least sleep comfortably on the sofa. Can you get the ice pack out of my freezer while I do it?” You asked. He nodded and was quick to cross over to the kitchen while you went into your bedroom.

You pulled the spare sheets from the top of your wardrobe and began to put the covers over the pillows and duvet. However, the movements were making you dizzy. You were over-exerting yourself and you had to steady yourself on the edge of your bed. That was not good but you finished the job and returned to Luke.

You dropped the duvet and pillow on the sofa before you walked over to the kitchen. Luke was wrapping the ice pack in a towel just as you came up beside him. He offered it out once he was done and you placed it against where the pain was pulsating from.

“Will you be okay on the sofa?” You asked after a moment. He nodded and you sent him a smile, “Thank you for helping me. I haven’t really given you a reason to but I appreciate it,” You explained. It was probably the most vulnerable you had been with Luke in a while and he seemed to recognise that.

“Thank you for trusting me to be here,” He said. You shrugged, adjusting the hold on the ice pack to keep it more stable, “I was worried about you. I found you in a patch of blood and I thought I had lost you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” You weren’t sure if it was the concussion or reality but there was something akin to love in the way he spoke about you. You looked at him for a moment before you let your shoulders drop.

“I should have been more careful,” You responded. He shook his head.

“You had no way of knowing he had been there.” Luke was quick to shut you down. Everything he had said was out of frustration and worry for you but he didn’t know how to explain that. He just couldn’t have you beating yourself up over it.

“I would have if I’d just been paying attention. Instead, I was thinking about you and how angry I was at you. It would have been different if my head had been in it. But it wasn’t. We were both distracted by each other,” You said. Your voice had softened and you felt like there was a weight off your shoulders now that you had admitted that to him.

“Yeah,” He said and the silence spread between the two of you for a moment before he cleared his throat. He then suggested that you both head to bed and you thought it was probably best to call it a night. You said that Luke could change in the bathroom, and get a shower if he wanted to before you headed into your bedroom.

You curled up under the covers, thoughts of Luke lingering in your mind.

-

Your eyes snapped open, sweat dripping down your back as you looked around your dark bedroom. You were half-pushed up on the bed, the paranoia from your dream lingering. You could remember someone coming at you, something had come to find you but then it went completely blank. But you were safe. Nobody was trying to get you in here and so, you settled back down on the bed. It was uncommon for you to get nightmares after particularly difficult cases but it had been a while and you felt a little shaken.

Your head wasn’t hurting as much as it had a few hours ago but you didn’t feel any better than you had earlier in the day. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you kicked the covers back. You let your eyes fall closed when you heard the bedroom door open. You tilted your head to the side and Luke popped his head in.

He was surprised to see you staring back at him and he smiled, a little awkwardly.

“Please tell me you remember your name,” He said. You chuckled softly at his words before nodding your head. You repeated your name back to him and he nodded.

“Have you been checking on me since I fell asleep?” You asked. He nodded his head and you sighed, pushing yourself to sit up.

“The medic told me to check on you every hour or so,” He explained. He then stepped into the room a little bit and you rubbed your eyes with your hands. You were exhausted, you could feel it in every bone of your body. And if Luke hadn’t fallen asleep yet, you couldn’t imagine he felt much better. You wrapped your arm around yourself.

“Please tell me you fell asleep,” You muttered. He shook his head and you sighed. Your head fell forward slightly and you seemed to remember that you had gone to sleep with an icepack. Your eyebrows furrowed and you looked around. It seemed that you had dropped it but you weren’t entirely sure where.

“You looking for the pack?” He asked and you nodded. The pain was beginning to bloom in your temple again, “It’s back in the freezer.” That was a relief. You settled back on the bed but your body was still rigid, “What woke you?” He asked. Your head fell back against the headboard and you let out a hiss of pain.

“Had a weird dream,” You explained. He let out a soft ‘ah’ and you nodded, “Guess a head injury does weird things to your brain,” You muttered. He nodded. He was still leaning against the door frame and you just wanted him to get into the bed, if you were honest with yourself.

“You should try and get some sleep,” He said and you shrugged. You didn’t even want to think about trying to go back to sleep. You just wanted to stay up and talk to him for a little while. You knew that it would make you feel better but he also needed to sleep.

“You need it more than me,” You retorted. He shrugged and you sighed, “If you need to keep an eye on me, just lay in bed with me. It’ll be easier and you might be able to get some sleep.” You were blunt, exhaustion stabbing behind your eyes and your body was aching. You were so sick of the pretense.

“The couch is fine,” He quickly attempted to rebuke but you slipped off the edge of the bed and trudged over to him. 

“Drop the gentleman shit. Just lie in bed with me,” You said, grabbing his wrist and gently tugging him towards it. He sighed but gave in and the two of you slipped under the covers. You lay on your side, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on the injured side of your head. Luke lay across from you, facing you. Your eyes fell closed, “What did he hit me with?” You asked after a moment of silence. Everything was a bit of a blur and you could only really remember the shadowy figure of the Unsub walking away.

“Baseball bat. Aluminum.” Your jaw dropped at his words and he nodded his head, “I took him down and he had it on him. I thought the blood was the vic’s but then I found you,” He explained. You could only imagine how Luke had felt at that moment. It was a baseball bat. And the Unsub had hit you pretty fucking hard. You weren’t sure how you were alive but you were glad that you were even if your head hurt.

“I tried to shoot him but I couldn’t reach my gun,” You admitted. He adjusted his position so he was a little closer to you.

“I got him. The vic is fine. We did our job,” He attempted to soothe you. You nodded but it didn’t make you feel all that much better. In fact, you just felt worse. You should have got him but it was fine. You closed your eyes, hoping that you could just fall asleep. But you couldn’t. You sighed and looked up at Luke.

“Can you hold me?” You asked after a beat. His eyebrows furrowed but he simply nodded, shuffling closer to you. He then pulled you against him and you buried your face against his chest. Your eyes fell closed and he slowly began to run his hands soothing along your back.

“We can talk in the morning, get some sleep,” He whispered softly. You nodded and you felt the tension release from your shoulders before you slipped into sleep.

<3

[bugslaststraw]

Ugh I explained this to Nat before but that was a vm and now I have to try to put it into text lol. Bear with me. Spoilers for Sonic 3 below...

So like Okay, original game Robotnik has that "machines are better than people and I love them and I hate people" thing going on. And movie universe Jimbotnik does the same thing right. Except his reasons for preferring machines are a little weird? To say the least.

When most people aspire to the perfection of the blessed machine they tend to focus on how machines are perfect because they aren't saddled with those pathetic human emotions, and how they're stronger and smarter and more perfect and all that. And like. There are elements of that with movie Robotnik don't get me wrong, he bullies Sonic for loving his friends, but we all know that's bullshit because his actual personality complex trauma thing stems entirely from being hurt that people don't like him? and nobody's ever genuinely cared about him enough to not betray/leave him, as we learned in movie 3. Daddy issues, et cetera.

The actual first reason he gives for why he prefers his robots, in movie 1, is that they do what they're told and they never need time off to go do stuff other than what they're told. What's worse is that he outright ignores the part about machines that don't line up with what he is. Machines are cold unfeeling things right? And Robotnik is a madman, just complete ditz entirely controlled by his emotions. He's all over the place. So obviously that isn't why he actually likes them. Nor does it seem to be because they're smarter or stronger.

Now all this wouldn't quite have clicked in my head and started forming a pattern, if I hadn't spent half a day getting ahold of reading the movie novelizations lol, they're not good exactly but they aren't bad either (not exactly) and they have this really interesting. Detail. Take. Choice, even, that stood out to me. In the novels we get exactly zero scenes written from Agent Stone's perspective. So he's entirely filtered through Robotnik as we see him. And, like. Robotnik ascribes? Robotic traits to him? That he straight up doesn't have?

This being the most infamous example... But it happens again at least once, which is a lot for the novels cus they're short as hell, where (from Botnik's pov) Stone takes on this more mechanical tone when talking to him or being around him, that he seems to like or prefer/speak positively of. Okay. Weird, homoerotic, but not entirely out of character.

It did make me think though. If Robotnik is kind of loose about why he actually likes machines. But is still adamant that they're good and humans are bad... And what he actually likes about them seems to be that they're... Loyal? I think. And they do what they're told. And they don't need time off to see their families and get laid and leave him alone I'm so sorry then. Well.

Those are traits a human being could very well have. For example, his actual human assistant, who's standing right fucking there as he says it. Right? Stone is still all that, he's loyal and he actually likes + is nice to him and he does what he's told and that's why he actually likes him, as we find out in movie 3, right? So.

What I'm saying is when. In the third movie when he says you were the only person who ever blah blah right. And, like, of course he was. Who would want to be loyal to? This dickhead who mostly wants to achieve world domination? Why would you want to do what a villain says? But Robotnik doesn't care about that, he likes being a villain and above that he's just hurt, right, by it all, and doesn't gaf if his own actions affect others so.

So he ascribes robotic traits to Stone not because they're actually there (Stone is professional when talking to others, but far from emotionless, and it is in fact his emotional connection to the dear doctor that makes him as loyal as he is) but. Rather because in his mind, Stone is on the same level as a robot, because he has the same traits that Robotnik actually. Likes about his robots. That mainly being loyalty, I think.

And, well. In the third movie granpappy Geralt hacks those robots of his and makes them stop obeying him, doesn't he. Not even they were entirely loyal by the end, much like Geralt himself, right?

You can't hack a human being, though.

Anyway. Keep your heads up, okay? I'm like. 99% sure Robotnik is fine (fight me in the comments I guess) and I tend to be good at predicting this stuff so he'll be back one way or another. Jim Carrey officially un-retired, the space station time travel thing is still an active theory, and they can't just fucking kill Eggman guys, come on. Cheers!🥂

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hopping around ffs, okay Soo I had a teen! Hotchner/son! Reader thought where the reader is visibly punk and is active with activism around to a point where he's not afraid to get dirty and loud to get the point across or to defend someone.

Request; I wanna know, what do you think Hotch thinks about it or responds to it? What about his team when/if they get to meet the Reader (I'd bargain that Hotch has told them about Reader and what shenanigans he's gotten into.)

And as always, please feel free to deny my request if you feel like it, don't feel pressured. Have a nice day/night and thank you in advance regardless of what you decide to do. :3

— Mutt anon

Hiya, hope this is okay! Also to clarify anon says 'hopping around ffs' because they sent a few other asks (which I'm excited to write aha)

Warnings: bullying mentions, homophobia, some (not a lot) bad language

"What happened this time?" Aaron sighed as he approached you. You kept the tissue pressed firmly under your nose. Despite the tissue covering the majority of your mouth, Aaron knows your smirking. You look a little worse for wear, a small amount of blood smeared along the lower side of your face, eye slightly red. Your hair - which was dyed a bright pink - was no longer in it's neat Mohawk, but rather a little... askew.

"Some dickheads." You give a small shrug, a glint in your eyes.

"First off, language." Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose for a second. "And what were these... individuals doing?"

"Turns out, they've been bullying a gay kid two grades below us."

"Okay, and what exactly happened today?"

"I saw them, told them to leave him alone. They told me to get fucked, shoved him, so I stuck up for him." You summarised, finishing your explanation with a shrug.

"Did you try a peaceful negotiation first?"

"Obviously." You scoffed, "I have my morals."

Aaron really couldn't argue with that. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yeah." Aaron sighed, "I'm assuming the principal wants to speak to me again?"

"You guessed it."

The principal wasted no time ushering the pair of you in. You didn't bother to wait for an invitation to sit down - you had been here often enough to skip the pleasantries.

"Agent Hotchner."

"Principal Williams."

"Please, take a seat." You rolled your eyes as your dad sat next to you, the principal sitting back in his desk chair. "I wanted to know what you will be doing at home, to reinforce that this type of behaviour is not acceptable."

"What do you mean?"

"What will the consequences be at home for (Y/N)?"

"I'm not going to punish him."

"He needs to understand that this type of reoccurring behaviour is not acceptable."

"That's an opinion." Your dad's voice is clipped and you have to duck your head to hide your smirk.

"Excuse me?"

"He's defending other students. Each and every time you have called me in here, telling me my son is being disruptive, when he is protecting others. Not to mention that violence is always a last resort when protecting another student - which, I believe, is your job?" Aaron phrases the last part as a question, and it takes all of your might not to laugh. "Perhaps it would be best if your time and energy went on preventing bullies, rather than punishing my son for standing up to them."

The team were going to absolutely love hearing about this.

"Now, if you excuse us, I'm going to be taking my son home." Aaron said, standing up. You followed suit, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.

"You're so cool." You mumbled as you both left the office. "Can I get my lip pierced?"

"I'm not that cool."