#AND she kept using her brain about stuff

[termitesisagrandslam]

all these old movies just like... constantly spouting shit about women and how they are manipulative teases and nags and weak but also hold so much power over men. and the scenes they'll use to demonstrate this is like... a woman sweet talking her husband bc he's angry and wants to murder her. like never is there any acknowledgment that a woman may use her "feminine wiles" or w/e bc she has no other power and is at the mercy of the men around her. no instead it's like "wow u can never trust women, sure makes me want to rape and murder them (which im able to do w relative impunity). clearly us men are under their thumb"

[lisxdumbr]

The whole "if a person is mad at you it's their responsibility to tell you" thing just made me realize how fucked my situation is. Like just. woah

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

me after editing the aau prologue for the bajillionth time

[mako-island-moon-pool]

You want to know how bad my memory is?

I was writing last night and I just straight up forgot that Sanji exists. I have been watching this show since 2012, he was my fave Strawhat outside of Luffy pre-TS, and I FORGOT HE EXISTED.

I was like 'hm yes well the ones who would understand are Nami and Robin... W- wasn't there one more I was thinking of a moment ago? Wasn't there another one who'd Get It?????'

'it's not Chopper. Definitely not Usopp. And it's not Zoro. That's all the remaining Strawhats at this point in the story. So... Why am I convinced I'm forgetting someone? Let's go through the arcs in my head agai- OH MY GOD, I FORGOT SANJI'

[snekdood]

ngl bc of the way she treated me i kinda feel like my sister deserves all the karma shes getting rn in life.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

pt. 2

you just saw your ex boyfriend, dick grayson, for the first time since he broke up with you.

you ran into him on the street.

no, like, literally ran into him.

you were walking your mom’s dog for her, a german shepherd she got when you moved out. she’d aptly named him trouble. despite his name, trouble was usually a mellow guy, even if he was huge. walking him was just another thing you were doing to try and ignore the thoughts constantly pounding out a beat in your head.

oh, dick would think this is funny! that’s dick’s favorite color, i should buy it! dick and i should go there on our next date!

and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on and-

anyways, you were definitely trying to keep yourself busy.

any time a memory popped up in your brain of him—

laughing at your jokes, holding you close while you fell asleep, kissing your neck while he thrust into you

—you’d empty the dishwasher, paint your nails, (any color but blue) turn on reality tv, read a book, stuff your face, whatever.

anything to stop fucking thinking about him and his stupid blue eyes and his dumb smile.

you’d been been watching the news, sprawled across the couch. just the regular gotham news: don’t use main street, mr. freeze’s ray iced out the pavement. the iceberg lounge had been raided by the police for the third time this month. the justice league defeated yet another extraterrestrial threat to humanity, blah, blah, blah. you weren’t really watching. the news program ended, and the next one started. a gotham gossip show. they were doing a special segment on the wayne family.

of course they fucking were. even your tv was conspiring against you. you had to resist the urge to chuck the remote at it.

you turned it off instead, heading to your room to get ready for a run.

(running for exercise or running from your thoughts?)

your mom had asked you to take trouble right before you’d walked out the door, and so you grabbed him and his leash and headed out. you’d forgotten the bags for his poop, but you didn’t think you would be out that long, so you just kept on going.

you were wearing the leggings dick had bought you, ones he joked should be a specific blue color. you hadn’t understood then, but you more than understood now. it was warmer, and so you just had on an old sports bra on top, and some converse.

you were not the athletic type. that was dick. probably still was. you wouldn’t really know.

you hadn’t talked since it happened, like three or four weeks ago.

time had become a little fuzzy. your mom said you could stay with her as long as you needed, but you were starting to get the itch to move out.

nothing against your mom, it’s just hard to sob really loudly into a pint of ice cream when she’s there.

and she keeps trying to wash the one shirt of dick’s you still have. you know, fully well, how dumb it is, (and a little gross) but you’re still wearing his shirt every night to bed. and maybe it’s all in your head, but it still smells like him. you aren’t ready to wash it. besides, now that you’re sleeping by yourself, you’re pretty sure it’s helping you fall asleep. something that was hard to do the first few nights without your big warm boyfriend next to you in bed.

it probably isn’t good for you, to keep wearing his shirt.

you’d had your hand between your thighs more than once late at night thinking about being enveloped in his scent. your nights were haunted with thoughts of his body over yours, his phantom voice in your ear. calling you angel, asking you if this was heaven, like the last time you’d had sex.

it definitely isn’t good for you.

but neither is life without dick grayson.

you try not to dwell on the fact that dick had given you a sort of non-reason for the breakup. sure, it got lonely sometimes, or you got anxious for your masked boyfriend, so you cried. so what if your patience wore thin after a few too many “i’m sorry, angel, i can’t make it this time”-s.

you were human!

but you’d never, never once complained about his absence or his commitments to his family.

never.

he’d just assumed you were silently suffering and it really irked you if you thought about it for too long. you still weren’t sure if you were mad at him or sad, or whatever. it felt like your brain couldn’t decide on an emotion so you just got twelve at once. but what you did know for sure was that he was 110% worth it to you. you just wish he’d realize that. see that. instead of just the times you were a little emotionally strung out. your ex boyfriend was too willing to sacrifice his own mental health for the sake of yours and you were sick of it. but you didn’t know if you had the courage to say that to him. or even see him, after the way this breakup had hit you.

your friends had managed to get you out of the house, a few times now.

you’d gotten almost too drunk every time, escaping your friends and going outside to get some air. this time, you saw a guy that looked just enough like dick, and it’d all been too much. so you got out of there. you sat yourself down on the curb, looking up at the hazy rooftops. you were always looking up. always.

and since the break up, you’d noticed the vigilantes of your city more often. maybe there was more criminal activity. maybe you were just paying more attention than you used to.

you’d seen spoiler and orphan, pounding the pavement behind you to run after some seedy looking guy holding a briefcase. you think spoiler tried to high five you on the way past, but there was no way. you wrote it off as your memory embellishing things.

you were pretty sure red hood had nodded at you before disappearing down a fire escape on the other side of the building.

your mom had recently gotten a delivery of security cameras for her house. but she hadn’t ordered them. the shipping address had only the address of some warehouse on the dock, the name just, ‘R.R.’ you’d set the cameras up, but you and your mom both were still baffled about it.

and here, sitting on the curb, you were staring at what looked like a dark figure crouched on the rooftop opposite. they’d been there when you’d entered the club, too.

you squinted, trying to make out shoulders and suit colors, when they stood up, and the light bounced off his shiny cowl.

fucking batman?

you shook your head, trying to shake your drunk brain like an etch-a-sketch. there was actually no way.

a smaller figure, one you hadn’t seen behind the shape of batman (!?) pulled a weapon, a gleaming silver sword, and pointed it at you. your head spun. batman (there was no way) shook his head at robin. he sheathed his sword, throwing his hands up in what looked like annoyance. you blinked, and they were gone.

you weren’t really sure if it had happened or not. you’d been trying not to think too hard about the fact that you still hadn’t seen nightwing. you’d really been trying.

so instead, you were walking your mom’s dog.

trouble had, in fact, pooped, and you were frantically looking around for something to pick it up with. gotham was already shitty enough without the addition of, well, literal shit. the streets were busy, but not crowded, and someone down the block whistled for a cab, catching your attention. you turned, and at the same time, trouble jerked your arm, pulling you backwards into someone walking on the sidewalk. the stranger made a choked sound.

“trouble??”

your heart stopped. you held your breath, turning around.

trouble was at attention, looking up at your ex-boyfriend with his head cocked.

dick’s eyes were wide. his hair shorter than you remember. he leaned down to scratch trouble behind the ears, his biceps and shoulder muscles in hard relief. are you dreaming? you didn’t recognize the shirt he had on, but he was wearing your favorite jeans of his, and his matching converse. your mouth felt like a desert.

trouble trails around the two of you, the leash long. he loves your ex-boyfriend, you know he won’t go anywhere.

“did you cut your hair?” you take a step forward. dick does too.

“i-” he clears his throat. “i did. do you like it?” he shifts his eyes, his cheeks bright pink.

you make a show of looking it over. he turns his head so you can see it from all angles. like he always did when he got a haircut.

your chest hurts.

you nod approvingly, flashing him a weak smile.

“it looks really nice. you’re very-” your face heats as you stop yourself. “it looks very handsome.”

that’s an understatement. you would’ve climbed him like a tree the minute he’d come home looking like that. the way his biceps were bulging out of his shirt sleeves could not be good for his circulation. it was great for yours, your heart was beating a mile a minute.

dick smiles down at you, stepping forward again.

“thanks.” he looks down, taking in your outfit. “nice leggings, ang-” he’s cut off when trouble spots a squirrel and darts, barking wildly. the problem is, trouble had been walking his leashed self around you and dick.

you’re now chest to chest with your ex boyfriend in the middle of a sidewalk, tied to him by rope. you vaguely hear trouble whine at the way his collar bit into his neck from the leash pulling taut. you didn’t even have the time to process the fact that he had almost called you angel. which was probably a good thing.

you’re breathing heavily, while dick doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

he’s put his arms around you on instinct, and you hate the way you feel like you’re home. a shiver runs up your spine at the sudden closeness, and dick peers down at you through half-lids. your mouth dries up again. you suddenly feel indignant.

“you are not allowed to breakup with me and then show up and look at me like that!” you hiss at him.

you would throw up your hands in exasperation if they weren’t basically pinned to dick’s body. a smile breaks across his face, his bright blue eyes telling you everything you need to know. he stares at you, studying you. you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating.

“alfred taught me a new recipe.” he blurts, his hand clutching at your back.

he’s adorable. but you school your face and raise an eyebrow at him.

“..oookay?”

dick blushes, his face sheepish. “i could make it for you, if you wanted.”

“what i want is an apology.” you look him up and down.

your ex boyfriend grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “understandable.”

“on your hands and knees. i think this is one of those begging-for-my-forgiveness type situations, don’t you think?”

dick nods, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. his eyes flash.

“you don’t have to worry about getting me on my knees.”

one heartbeat pounds behind your ribs, the other one between your legs. you huff out a weird sort of nervous laugh.

“oh, i’m not joking.” his lips curve up in a smile, one you know very well. he obviously plans to make up on lost time.

you forgot how charming he was. you have to practically force yourself to breathe. you’d do anything to have the real thing over his old t-shirt. you give yourself a mental shake.

he can flirt all he wants, but what about your heart? you look up at him, and his face softens, his pupils huge.

“can you get us untangled?”

dick nods, whistling for trouble. he frees an arm and grabs trouble’s collar, guiding him back around so the leash falls to the sidewalk. you step back, taking a deep breath. you’re cold at the sudden loss of his body heat. it’s a harsh reminder of reality. you grab trouble’s leash, having him sit. you look at your ex boyfriend.

“thanks.” you take another deep breath. “can you promise me something, though?”

he nods, his face serious. “anything. anything at all.”

“promise you won’t break my heart again?” you hold out your pinky finger.

dick coughs, surprised at your words. he looks down, taking a shaky breath. he’s in disbelief, he’s ecstatic, he’s on top of the world, he…has a lot of apologizing to do.

when he looks back up to offer up his own pinky, his eyes are shining. the sight makes your heart melt. you take his finger in yours, beaming up at him.

he gives you a soft smile in return. “i promise.”

you take your hand back, feeling the most hopeful you have in a month.

a breeze picks up, and the whiff you get reminds you of your earlier predicament. you look down. dick looks down too.

shit. literally.

you forgot about the fact that trouble had used the sidewalk as a toilet.

“is that trouble’s?” he asks.

you nod, making a face. “i forgot the poop bags.”

“rookie mistake.” dick shakes his head, smiling. you look him up and down, and then turn, walking back the way you came.

“text me about that recipe!” you lift your hand in a wave.

“but-..uh, the shit?” he calls after you.

“that’s alllll you, baby!” you yell back, practically skipping away. you feel like you’re floating.

[cozage]

hii can i request silent treatment with sabo, law, and ace? like the one you wrote before! i love reading it sm i wanted to see how they (sabo, law, and ace) would react if they received/ gave silent treatment !

Characters: gn reader x Sabo, Law, Ace Cw: everyone involved being a bit of an orange flag Total word count: 4k

Silent Treatment

Sabo

Oh sweet sweet Sabo. He didn’t even realize his offhanded joke in the meeting had offended you. He didn’t think about how you and Koala were the only ones not laughing about the jokes the officers said. He didn’t notice how you and Koala immediately left the room fuming as soon as you could.

He had to run to catch up with you after the meeting, and you showed no sign of slowing your pace. 

“Hey!” he called out, trying to get to you. “I’m gonna go out with the guys for a bit, I’ll catch up with you soon?”

“Do whatever you want,” you shot back. “The men know best after all, right?” 

He must not have heard the sarcasm and anger laced in your voice, because he just gave you a wink and a peck on the cheek and ran off with some of the other leaders. 

Koala gave you a side smirk. “They’re clueless, I swear,” she laughed. 

“We never get the credit,” you grumbled. “I can’t do it anymore, Koala! I’m so fed up with this!”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“So many times!” you cried. “We’re treated the same professionally but socially-”

“It’s a commanders club,” she finished for you. “Maybe we should make a separate club?”

“Rule One: No talking to them until they apologize.”

Sabo was surprised to find that you weren’t waiting for him in bed when he got home. You weren’t in the spare room, either. 

He finally found a note on the kitchen that was short and to the point. “Sleeping at Koala’s.”

Confusing, but he was slightly drunk, so he opted to go to bed and figure it out in the morning. 

When morning came, he was disappointed to find that the coffee hadn't started. He went to grab his overnight oats from the fridge, but you hadn’t made that for him either, which was strange. Usually when you stayed at Koala’s, you prepped all that stuff ahead of time. But last night you hadn’t. He’d have to ask you about that before the meeting this morning. 

He arrived late to the meeting since the coffee took longer than he thought it would and he had to make breakfast. You were already sitting when he got there, you and Koala talking to each other quietly. Normally you saved a se at for him, but today all of the seats had been filled, and he was left with one at the end of the table.

He kept trying to catch your eye, but you refused to look at him. He finally caught Koala’s at one point, and mouthed “What’s wrong?” but she simply rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Dragon. 

If Koala was mad at him, that meant you were mad at him. He racked his brain the entire meeting, trying to think of what he would’ve done to make you upset. But he couldn’t think of anything. 

He tried to catch you after the meeting, but you and Koala made a beeline for the door and ignored his calls after you. 

“Just let them go, dude,” Jiron said to him. “Those two never want to hang out with us anyway.”

Shit. It all clicked together. The jokes made in the meeting yesterday, him going out with the boys without asking if you and Koala had wanted to come. 

“Maybe if you treated them with a little respect, Jiron, they would.” Sabo’s words came out in a low, threatening hiss. 

“Look, I know you’re close with them,” Jiron said. “But they’re not very nice to us either. They’re kind of…”

“Kind of what?” Sabo edged, his blood starting to boil. 

“Well…bitchy.”

Sabo wasn’t really sure what happened next. He didn’t remember doing anything, but the next moment, Jiron was on the ground holding his nose. Blood was leaking out through his fingers onto the ground. 

“Don’t use that word to describe either of them ever again. Got it?” Sabo growled the words, looking around the room. 

“What the FUCK, Sabo?” Jiron cried, but Sabo was already pacing toward the door, desperate to get to you as soon as possible. 

He caught up with you and Koala quickly and jumped between the two of you, wrapping his arms around your alls shoulders. You tensed at his touch, but once you realized it was him, you just scoffed and shrugged him off. 

“Go away, Sabo,” Koala sneered as she shoved him away.

“I’m sorry!” Sabo jumped in front of you all, trying to block your path. “Please, I’m sorry I laughed at those jokes yesterday and even made one myself. That was really shitty of me.”

“Sabo,” you sighed, shaking your head.

He fell to his knees and looked up at you, begging. “And please teach me how to use the coffee machine! And make overnight oats! I’ll make it from now on. I’m starving and I’m sorry.”

His apology made you giggle, and you took his hands and helped him to his feet. Once he was standing, you laced your fingers through his. “You’ll really make the oats?”

“If you want me to.”

“Deal.” You smiled, and gave him a soft kiss to seal his promise. “Can’t go back on it now.”

“And how are you going to make it up to me?” Koala pouted.

“Oh,” Sabo suddenly got very bashful. “I punched Jiron, I think.”

“You WHAT?!”

Law

You bounded into Law’s office, excited to tell him the news. “Law! Shachi just caught-”

“Hang on,” Law mumbled, flicking through his book. He was always looking for something. You were always interrupting him. 

After a few minutes, he looked up at you. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Shachi just caught an electric eel! A massive one!”

The moments the words left your mouth, Law was back to looking back at his book. “Interesting. Is that all?”

“Well, I just thought-”

“Hang on,” he mumbled again, already lost on another tangent in his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” You left the room before he had a chance to respond, though you doubt he even noticed your absence.

He got like this sometimes, and you tried not to get hurt by his sudden coldness. It’s just what happened when you were with the Surgeon of Death. A few hours later you had all but forgotten the encounter. There was an island coming up, and you ran to alert him.  

“Law!” You slammed his door open, ecstatic. “Law! Guess-”

“Do you mind?!” His loud and hostile voice made you take a step back. “I’m trying to do something and you keep interrupting me!”

You pushed down the lump that was in your throat, but you could feel your lip trembling, threatening to give you away. You couldn’t look weak in front of him. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, rushing out of the room.

Shachi found you first, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I told you, you’re too good for him! Maybe you should give him a taste of what it’s like to lose you.”

“Like how?”

A devious grin grew on Shachi’s face. “Silent treatment.”

“Hey captain.” Bepo peeked in the door nervously, knowing there was tension about to be caused. “We’re heading off to the island.”

Law looked up from his book, confused. “Island?” You always told him when you were about to approach an island.

“We docked about a half hour ago,” Shachi chimed in from the hallway.

Law could hear something in his voice. “Where’s Y/N? Are they going?” 

“They're going,” Shachi said, grabbing the door handle. 

“Well, can you-” Law’s words were cut off by Shachi slamming the door shut. 

That was Law’s first indication of something stirring. Shachi always took your side during squabbles, and he seemed livid today. 

Law meant to go talk to you. He wasn’t sure what he needed to apologize for, but he knew it was something. But then he found an interesting article about poisons, and he got sucked into reading. Before he knew it, the sun had set and he had to turn on a lamp to keep reading.

Shachi, on the other hand, kept your mind busy. He took you out on the town, dragging you into every clothing shop and making you try anything on that even might look good on you. He pulled you into dessert shops and trinket stores and forced you to go on a beach walk with him. He was your best friend for a reason.

“What if he doesn’t apologize?” you asked him, watching the sun sink. “Then you don’t talk to him, no matter what,” Shachi responded.

Law was still shut away in his office when you returned, and your heart felt a soft ache. He hadn’t even noticed your absence. 

“Come on,” Shachi said gently. “You can sleep in our room.”

“I should go talk to-”

“No,” Shachi said firmly. “He always does this. He needs to learn his lesson.” So you slept in the crew bunkhouse for the first time in months. Nobody asked questions, everyone just accepted it. You suspected Shachi had filled them in. 

It took Law a few minutes to realize what was wrong. He had come into his room silently and brushed his teeth in the dark before bed like always. It was quieter than usual. And when he went to lay down, the bed was still made. As he pulled the covers back, he couldn’t help but notice how unnatural it felt. But he couldn’t place why.

It was too cold, he realized. And he quickly flicked on a light in the room to find it empty. Thoughts raced through his mind. Where were you? Had you gone missing? Had the Navy or someone else captured you to turn you in for a bounty? 

He quickly walked to the shared common room, where he found Penguin and Ikkaku sitting. “Did you go to the island?” he asked, scanning the room. It was too late for you to be up, but he had to double check. 

They both nodded, and Law tried not to panic. “Did Y/N come back?”

“Yeah,” Penguin affirmed. “We had dinner with them and Shachi, and we all walked back together.” He gave Ikakku a nervous glance before continuing. “I think they’re sleeping in the shared bunkhouse.”

“What?” Law hissed. “Why?” But Ikkaku and Penguin both shrugged, and Law turned and stormed out the door, making a beeline for the bunkhouse. 

He flung the door open, searching for you. He quickly found you in the bunk below Shachi, and he walked over to where you were sleeping. 

“What are you doing?” Law said, shaking you lightly. “Come to bed.”

You groaned in your sleep and pushed him away. You never slept well in the bunkhouse. You were a light sleeper, any type of noise made you wake up. 

“Y/N,” Law said, shaking you harder. “Let’s go.” 

“Law?” Your eyes finally opened, your voice full of exhaustion and sleep. Once you realized it was him, you slapped a hand over your mouth. Silent Treatment. 

Law could see the hurt and anger in your eyes when you recognized him, and his heart constricted when you turned away from him. 

“Can we talk about what’s going on? Please?” he begged. He was trying not to disturb others, but you could hear them beginning to stir. 

You almost caved, but Shachi came to your rescue. He hopped down from his bed and put himself between you and Law. “You can talk in the morning,” Shachi said. “Y/N wants to be here, so let them sleep here.”

Law tried to look past Shachi to you. “I know you can’t stand sleeping here. Just come to bed. Please.”

“Captain.” Shachi’s voice was on the verge of dangerous defiance. “Leave.”

Law stared at him, not sure what to make of Shachi’s protectiveness over you. His gaze was almost challenging, but Shachi refused to back down. He could hear the others in the room starting to stir, and he knew he was only embarrassing you, so he conceded. “I’m coming back first thing.”

“That’s fine,” Shachi said. “If Y/N wants to talk then, you’re welcome to have a conversation.”

Law slept horribly that night. His fingers kept reaching out for you. The bed felt too big, the covers weren’t warm enough. He finally got up and started reading. He was too anxious to sleep.

So were you. You were tossing and turning every 20 minutes, trying to get comfortable. You couldn’t sleep without Law’s heartbeat thrumming in your ears. But Shachi made you promise to never admit it. 

Law was sitting in the hallway outside the door when you went to get breakfast. You almost tripped over him, and when he saw you, he immediately stood to his feet. His tired gold eyes pierced into your soul, and you could see he was in rough shape.�� “Can we talk now?” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, but you could hear it loud and clear. 

You gave a panicked look to Shachi, but he only gave you a smile and a small nod, encouraging you on. 

You gave Law a nod in agreement. You still weren’t ready to talk to him, but you could listen. 

“I did something yesterday,” Law said, closing the door to his office as you walked in. “I snapped at you when you were excited about something. I prioritized my studies over you and I’m sorry.”

You watched him closely, making sure his words were genuine. Law had a tendency to apologize when he knew you wanted to hear it, not when he actually felt bad about it. 

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he continued. “I tend to get obsessed with my work, and my relationships hurt because of it. And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need you to tell me when I’m hurting you. Because I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want. So please…tell me. Yell at me. Smack me. Just don’t…don’t disappear on me. Please.”

Your heart melted at his words. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “And you won’t get mad?”

“I promise I won’t.”

You gave him a mischievous grin. “Even if I smack you really hard?” 

“I feel like I’m going to regret saying that,” he groaned.

You giggled and gave him a soft kiss. “Too late, Captain.” You rested your head on his shoulder, his familiar scent making your eyes start to droop. “Can we go back to bed now?”

“Bed would be nice,” he mumbled into your hair, already pulling you toward his private room. 

Ace

Fifteen people in the bar, and your boyfriend had flirted with every single one. 

Friendly. That’s what he always called it. He was just being friendly. But you saw the way those commoners looked at him, the lust in their eyes. Getting with a pirate would be thrilling, they’d whisper when his back was turned. He never seemed to hear them talk about him, but he’d always be around them. Convenient. 

“You shouldn’t be bothered,” he’d always say. “You know that I’ll always choose you.”

But you were bothered. You hated the pit of jealousy that formed in your gut every time a new person walked up to him. They were always so touchy, rubbing their hands along his shoulders, and the daring ones would even venture down his chest. Like he was their plaything. But he didn’t belong to them. 

He was yours. Just not in this bar. Or any bar. 

Maybe it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. You were certain he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of you flirting with another man. 

Your eyes met an attractive man across the bar, and you decided it would be a good theory to test. 

Seeing what you were about to do, Marco grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down into the seat. “Wait,” he muttered.

“Stay out of it, Marco,” you hummed softly. Your voice was pleasant, but there was a threatening undertone to it. 

“If you want to make him jealous that will end in a fight and change nothing except the intensity of your makeup sex, go for it.” 

Your cheeks brightened at his words, and you finally broke your eye contact with the random man to look at the commander. “Marco-!”

“But if you want to make him panic and stay by your side from now on, listen.” Marco’s voice got low. “Ace looks over here at least once every five minutes. He’s checking on you. I’m guessing jealous sex is his-“

“MARCO!”

“Anyway, I guarantee if you vanish, it’ll make him sweat. Just go back to the Moby Dick, and crash in my room for the night if you want. Give him a bit of the silent treatment. Don’t lean into what he wants. Push away, and I know he’ll stop.”

“How?”

“Because he’s head over heels for you, dummy. Even right now, all he wants is your attention. Don’t give it to him and you’ll cut the bad habits.”

It was worth a shot, and you wouldn’t have to talk to any sleazy guys to test the theory. 

“You’re the best, Marco.” You flashed him a grin and stood, giving Ace one last glance. “But never talk about my sex life again.”

“Oh please,” Marco scoffed. “You have no idea what the commanders talk about during shower time, do you?”

Your eyes widened in horror, but Marco just laughed. “Relax! It was a joke!”

“It better be!” you hissed. “Or I’ll skin that boy alive.”

You gave one more glance to Ace. He was caught up in some conversation with a woman, giving her most of his attention. You rolled your eyes, jealousy panging in your chest, and slipped out the door. 

The first two times Ace glanced over at your table, he wasn’t worried about your absence. But the third time, he started to get a bad feeling. You had been gone for too long. 

He wandered back to the table, trying to appear casual and unbothered. “Hey Marco,” he said, bringing him another beer. “Where’s Y/N?”

Marco knew he was using the beer as a bribe, but took it anyway. “Not sure, they walked out about thirty minutes ago. Hasn’t been back since.”

“What?” Ace could feel himself sobering up, worried about your safety. “Where’d they go?”

“They seemed tired,” Marco said, watching Ace carefully. 

“But they always tell me when they’re going home,” Ace grumbled, looking around. “I’m gonna head back too. Kind of over this whole scene.”

Marco chuckled, reading through Ace’s words, but he didn’t say anything further. He watched Ace walk out the door and back to the ship without so much as a goodbye to anyone in the bar, and he knew his plan would work. 

Ace tried not to panic when you weren’t in his room. Sometimes you slept in other places, like the common room or the bunkhouse. Especially on drunken nights, you always seemed to find some random place to pass out. But you always told him when you were going to bed. 

He didn’t sleep well. He wandered around the ship several times, trying to appear unbothered. But he was searching every nook and cranny, desperately looking for where you had landed yourself. 

He didn’t see you again until the next morning, sitting at the breakfast table with Marco and a few others. You were completely surrounded by people, but Ace stopped by your seat on the way to the breakfast line. 

“Hey.” He touched your shoulder and you stiffened at the contact, which was odd. Normally you leaned into his touch. You always looked up at him full of love, silently begging him for a morning kiss. But this morning you didn’t even bother to look his way. “Where’d you end up last night?” he asked. 

“My room,” Marco answered for you, laughing. “That sure was a shock to walk into!”

You laughed, shoving Marco slightly. You still refused to acknowledge Ace, though it was starting to get difficult. “Hey Thornton, you left shortly before me. Where did you end up?”

“I swear I could’ve made it back to my room if I wanted to!” he bellowed, and everyone laughed. 

“Right!” you laughed. “I bet the deck all night sure was cozy!”

You were ignoring him. Ace was sure of it. Had something happened between you and Marco…no. The two of you had only ever been friends, so close you might as well have been siblings. 

He finally left you alone, his brain in overdrive trying to figure out what had made you so upset since the last time he spoke to you. 

“You flirt too much,” Marco said, joining him in line. 

Ace looked back at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re wondering why Y/N is ignoring you, right?” Ace shrugged, trying not to show that it was bothering him too much, but Marco clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Drop the act, man. You should care. And I know you do. I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears trying to figure it out.”

“I just like to talk to people,” Ace defended. “What’s the harm in that?”

“The harm is you don’t just talk. You flirt.” Marco chuckled, shaking his head. “I know what you’re doing, dude, and I don’t blame you. But you’ve got a good thing. Don’t lose it because you want to…talk.”

Ace frowned, annoyed with being called out so personally, but he thought about it while he ate his breakfast alone. He knew how much you hated the way he treated local islanders when you all went out. But he loved the jealous, possessive side of you. He loved watching you fight for him, even if you were fighting with him. 

He found you lounging on the deck, reading a magazine. He walked over to you and sat on the edge of the lounger. He saw your eyes flick up and then immediately back to the magazine, and he could’ve sworn the air temperature dropped 10 degrees. 

“Hey,” he cooed, his hands dancing up your legs, finding the spots he knew you were ticklish. 

You tried to move your legs, but there weren't many places to escape to without getting up and walking away. 

“Please talk to me,” he pouted. He leaned against you, pushing your magazine out of the way and resting his head on your chest, looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. 

You turned your head away from him, trying your best to ignore him even though he was physically on top of you, pinning you down. 

“Pleaseeeee,” Ace begged. His hands came up and playfully squished your cheeks, and you struggled to keep a straight face. He was so good at making you smile. 

“Go away,” you finally said, trying to push him off of you. It was useless, but you had to try. 

“You speak!” Ace cheered, and you rolled your eyes. You were tired of his antics. You wanted an apology. 

“I’m so lonely without you, babe,” Ace sang offkey, his fingers tracing along your shoulders. “Please come back to me, my loveeeee.”

You didn’t react, but you could feel your vision starting to get blurry. He was too stubborn, but you couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep being humiliated and forced to watch Ace live the best of both worlds. 

“I’m sorry,” Ace finally whispered when he saw your eyes starting to get watery. “I know I’m a little insane.”

You finally looked at him, still silent. Waiting for more. 

“And I’m sorry I’ve been hurting you for so long,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you. So no more flirting with random people in bars. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice breaking. 

“I promise,” he said, nuzzling into your chest and hugging you tight. He’d hold you close and never let you slip away again.

[januaryembrs]

I MIGHT JUST BE IN LOVE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [8]

GIF by fightingdragonswithwho

decription: the FIVE times they hide that they're dating + the ONE time they tell everyone

word count: 17.5k

warnings: blood, gore, usual cm stuff. FLUFF, OH GOD FLUFF. mention of sex (minors DNI in this one), no actual smut but very close to it (actual smut chapter of their first time to come soon), tiny sprinkle of angst because its ME.

author note: WE'RE BACK POOKIES. I'M SO SORRY MY BRAIN STOPPED FUNCTIONING.

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

‘oh god I’m gonna marry him, if he keeps this shit up,

I might just be in la la la la la love’

The one with the revenge.

“This is so against company policy,” Bugsy murmured, her fingers twined in Spencer’s hair as he pressed urgent kisses to her neck. 

“Only if they have evidence,”  Spencer replied, his brows furrowed as she attached her lips to his fervently. They’d held it together until this point, kept the touches minimal, left the make outs and needy hands for home when they could be themselves without exposing their best kept secret to the rest of the team. But today was different. Virginia had reached an unnaturally hot peak, and the whole team had been forced to swap out their usual professional attire with something more casual. Spencer had forgone his sweaters, which had been a mourning in itself, and instead had been rolling his sleeves to his elbows in some attempt to cool his thick veins. 

Bugsy hadn’t needed to voice her opinion of the new look. Spencer wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t blind. He saw how she looped her fingertips between his, the second they had a minute alone, how her eyes trained on his hands when he drove them home, how she would press a quick peck to the back of his hand in between moments of silence when she had little more to do with her mouth. 

“Isn’t that funny, the evidence locker doesn’t have cameras, that’s almost-” She cut herself off with a jolted moan as he kissed over her collar bone, nipping so gently that it wouldn’t leave a mark. 

“And you guys say I talk too much,” Spencer said, a hint of teasing in his voice as she looked at him with a gaping mouth, learning very quickly that Spencer was a downright menace when they were sneaking around, the boy who never broke the rules, who ironed his socks and folded his underwear almost devilish at the idea of doing something in secret.

She pinched his bottom cheekily, and he jumped slightly, only to find her giggling to which he cut her off with an even harsher kiss. 

She was addictive, which was a strong claim to be made by a man like him. Yet he found himself thinking everything about her lips was laced with a toxin he couldn’t keep away from, like he’d had a taste of fresh air and couldn’t be without or he’d begin to turn bluer than Violet Beauregarde. He’d found the golden ticket, the key to the factory. For once in his life, Spencer Reid had come out the other side and won. 

Bugsy’s hands were yanking at his locks, their lips sliding against one another, and he pushed to the back of his head that they only had about three more minutes before it became suspicious that they were gone from their desks so long. 

And as if some being up in the heavens was sat back watching with popcorn, the door handle rattled as someone entered the room, and the two of them sprung away from one another. 

David Rossi strolled in, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand as he sat through his second batch of paperwork, looking for the file from the Milwaukee case to use as source material, His shirt had been unbuttoned, the Virginia heat stifling and he was already starting to regret picking a hot drink over the cold crap that wasn’t even real espresso that Penelope liked from Starbucks, yet he thought he might take anything that would cool him down when he strolled into the back room that was known for no open windows, and the sight of two sweating agents greeted him. 

Spencer’s hair was messed from where he must have ran his hand through it a bunch of times, trying to get it off his neck, Bugsy’s shirt was tucked where she probably attempted to cool herself off in the obnoxiously stuffy four walls as they both flicked through separate files, standing about ten feet apart from one another. 

“It’s a hot one today, kids,” He said, sliding his coffee on the table and strolling past the two of them towards the ‘M’ section. 

They stole a glance at one another, knowing smiles passing between them because it felt entirely clandestine what they were doing. 

“Don’t suppose the director would mind if we pulled funds to invest in a BAU swimming pool, would they?” She chimed in, fanning her blouse out because it really was stuffy in there, she had just assumed it was the feeling she got when she kissed Spencer. 

“We fuel the jet once a week, what’s a pool between co-workers,” He shrugged, smiling when he heard her giggle. 

Spencer pulled the folder he was actually looking for off the shelf, making his way to the exit, watching her eyes shy away from him because they both knew it was entirely obvious when they looked at one another, mainly because his cheeks heated up beyond what he could excuse as being the heat wave.

Yet he was feeling brazen, and maybe a little embarrassed at the way he’d leapt up as she’d grabbed his butt, and with a quick glance back to make sure David was nose deep in the bookshelves, he reached out and gave her ass cheek a quick pinch as he waltzed passed her, hearing her yelp and drop her folder as he did so. 

He left the evidence room with a smirk, heading back to his desk and keeping a low profile though he knew she was scrambling to collect the papers off the floor in the wake of his shameless grab. 

“You okay?” Rossi asked, his brows raised and watching the girl rearrange all the papers into a neat pile, a flustered look on her face. 

“Yeah, just thought I saw a spider,” She said, her voice breezy though her heart racing was anything but. She would have her revenge for that, she swore. 

If Spencer wanted to play that game, then it was on. 

-

Two days later, she had all but strolled into work with a shit eating grin, and he knew she was plotting something then. She had been unnaturally quiet on the car ride, had tried to keep her glances at him sparse, though he caught the little smile that tugged at her lips whenever he looked at her. 

“What?” He tried, despite the fact she shook her head in refusal, her eyes already sparked with mischief, “What? What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, just concentrate on the road, Spence,” She said, though he heard her toes tapping together with delight, and she sighed dreamily as she looked at him. Though he was under no illusion that it had come from a place of endearment, no matter how much she adored him. Because of course she loved him more than anything, he had no doubt about that, yet he also knew she loved a sweet serving of revenge just as much, and it was for that reason her smile alone worried him a little.  

“Oh, nothing, really?” He said with narrowed eyes, though he felt the infectious beam spreading on his face because he loved seeing her happy even if it undoubtedly was coming at his expense, “So I shouldn’t be expecting salt in the sugar shaker, hm? Or a water balloon under my seat?” 

“No, absolutely not,” She feigned innocence, reaching over to squeeze his hand in hers with a guiltless expression, “I am much more creative than that, Spence. I’m going big or going home, honey, you should know that by now,” 

Spencer snickered, pulling her hand up for a sweet kiss to the back of her knuckles, “I don’t know why I expected otherwise,”

The look of the cat that got the cream returned, and she merely hummed along to the radio. And oddly enough, Spencer was excited to see what she had hidden up her sleeve if it meant he could make her so childishly excited. He thought about embellishing his freight when she inevitably jumped out at him or had a can of worms pop out of his desk drawer, just to have her seem fulfilled just that bit longer. 

He didn’t care how much of an idiot it made him look, he was already a fool in love. 

Spencer trailed a few paces behind her as they stepped out onto the sixth floor, and he knew she had something truly diabolical planned because she was so brazen as to lean up and press a kiss to his mouth in the elevator, pressing her body against his and letting her velvet tongue slip into his mouth tenderly. He could have slammed a hand on the emergency stop button right then and there, could have devoured her mouth and her lips and her hot kisses some more until he stumbled out of the doors drunken and idle on her intoxicating touch. 

He made a move to caress the back of her head with one of his large hands, weave his nails through her scalp to hold her tight to him, only for her to part quickly, leaving his cheeks flushed and his lungs craving more than just oxygen. 

“For good luck,” She said with a chirp, a skip to her steps as the metal doors slid open, and she danced away from him with a grin that told him his day was about to be swiftly ruined by whatever it was she had organised. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked with a mildly worried tone, not letting her get away from him too easily as he paced behind her, his lean legs weighed down and skittish by the fact his cock was quickly getting hard at the spritely woman who had him trailing her like a dog begging for a bone. He tried not to think of the irony in those words, his expression conflicted between interested and hesitant, “Bugsy?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius. It means good luck, Spence,” She teased through a wry smile as she plonked herself at her desk chair, swivelling around to face him almost immediately, looking up at him through thick, roguish lashes, “Oh! Hotch says he wants the Oregon files done today, pretty boy,”

Because it couldn't be honey or baby or the other nice names she’d taken to calling him, but she could get away with the same name the entire team had called him for over ten years. 

Taking a final glance at her face that had chaos written all over it, Spencer held his tongue, looping the strap of his satchell over his head and gently placing it on his desk, his forest hues watching as she logged onto her computer, trying to keep her excitement subtle as she grinned into her keyboard clicks. 

Spencer Reid had learned quickly never to start something with that girl that he couldn’t finish. And yet, by a stroke of boldness and lust, he had gotten caught up in the whirlwind of their excursions. He had forgotten in between the soft touches and gentle kisses and soppy exchanges just how hellish she could be when she wanted. 

Shaking off whatever that look on her face meant, he rolled his draw out of his desk, the report he’d been half way through typing up laying where he had left it last night before Hotch had told them to wrap up for the day.

Pulling the manilla folder from his desk, he swore his heart leaped into his throat as a piece of thin, lacy fabric had appeared beneath his scribbles of handwriting, laughing at the look on his face when he spotted it sitting there in his drawer. 

He’d never seen her wear the satin, red thong before, but judging by the way his mind raced like a gelding let loose to conjure images of her in them, he didn’t seem to find it difficult imagining it. The lining was a gossamer mesh, small posies decorating the front in subtle detailing, but it was the floss-like string that trailed down the back that made him stutter, because there was no way that was covering anything important even if it tried. 

He heard a small giggle, and his head shot up to the offender, only catching the back of her head as she hid into her keyboard. He knew his cheeks were already flushing with poker hot flames, he felt them as much prickling and biting with heat, and he swore the shudder that ran down his spine was involuntary when he reached out to brush the fabric with his fingertip, testing the waters to see if there were really even there. Spencer’s jaw had slacked open uselessly, and she made it a mental note to tease him that she had finally been able to render the man who could tell her Thomas Edison’s childhood pets in alphabetical order speechless. 

“You alright, Spence?” JJ asked with concern lacing her fair brows, because her heels seemed to have made no sound as she had been walking by, unless they had and he’d been entirely wrapped up in his punishment to notice.

He slammed the drawer shut, loud enough to attract the attention of Morgan who was nose deep in his own report, and Spencer nearly cursed when his thumb got caught in between the pieces of wood, choosing to smash his lips together tightly instead and nod wordlessly.

“Something the matter, pretty boy?” Bugsy asked, feigning naivety as she swivelled around in her wheely chair, and he could do nothing but look at her with terrorred eyes, because he had hugely underestimated her with the can of worms idea. Though he couldn’t help but think that’s exactly what she’d opened in showing him that underwear. 

He wondered, in between thinking of excuses to give JJ as to why he had looked so disoriented, if she had a matching set. 

“T-tired,” He managed to bleat, his thumb throbbing where the pain had surged up his arm, and it seemed his pathetic justification half worked as JJ shot him wary eyes and a small smile, one that said she would let him off with that dumb response for now. 

Bugsy blinded him with a grin entirely cheshire, and she drew her file to her chest as she stood from her seat, following in JJ’s footsteps towards her boss’s office. 

“Oh, just so you know, I have it in black too,” She said almost too casually, sticking her head over his desk with a sly pull of her lips, as if she was doing nothing more than letting him know to expect rain in an hour or so. 

And he could do nothing but stare after her, his finger still aching from his mistake, begging himself not to take another peek at the divine material sitting just inches away from him. 

Spencer knew then, if he hadn’t figured it out already in the seven years he’d wanted her, that he was fucked.

2. The one where they almost get caught on a date.

She sipped the straw with a coy smile, the whipped cream and cherry only making the thick drink sweeter to the taste as he watched her intently. 

“Good?” He asked with a cottony mouth and her lips popped off the straw, her mouth exploding with strawberry goodness. 

“Gotta admit, it’s kind of living up to the ‘best milkshakes in town’” She replied swooping in to pop the glacé cherry between her painted lips as Spencer took a sip from his own double chocolate delight, not missing the way her eyes lit up as she crunched into the fruit. Pushing her cone shaped glass onto his side of the sticky wooden table, she gestured the straw his way, “Swaps?” 

He smiled, because he loved sharing his things with her. He might have found it annoying had it been anyone else because he had always had his things and other people’s things separate. He’d always kept his things to himself, not selfishly or maliciously, merely for the fact he liked having his own things uncontaminated. But with her it was different. Spencer would give her anything she wanted, which included a sip of milkshake here and there. His whole left leg if she asked.

Spencer’s almond curls fell over his forehead as he leaned down to sip the strawberry shake, sliding his own over to her awaiting hands, the cold glass moist with precipitate under his fingers. Yet he watched her, her lips pulling into a satisfied smile as she took a gulp, the two of them staring each other down with sickly sweet, adoring glances. 

“Good?” She repeated back to him, and he nodded, a large, broad hand reaching over the table to swipe a touch of whipped cream from her cheek, her skin soft and hot as hell under his advance. 

“Delicious,” He said, and without really thinking of the consequences, licked the cream from the tip of his thumb, his pink lips making a lewd smack as he did so. 

She watched him with hawk eyes, and he had a glowing sense of smugness as she shook her head to herself. 

“You’re not being fair,” She grumbled, huffing and slumping back in the squeaky diner seat, and his hand quickly chased hers over the table, grabbing it into a loving entwine of fingers and palms. 

“What’s not fair?” He asked, though the shit eating grin told her he knew exactly what he was doing and she nudged him with her sneaker for it. 

“You. Looking like a damn porn star drinking your milkshake.” She said, and he felt his cheeks twinge with a blush as she chuckled, squeezing their fingers together to tell him she was only joking. 

“Seems I’ve moved up in the world of explicit professions. First you called me a stripper, now I’ve been bumped up to porn star,” He teased, remembering the confusion that had written on her face the day they’d met. Spencer knew it had nothing to do with his freaky memory, he’d known she was special the second that door had opened, he knew everything Bugsy was committed to memory for the fact he couldn’t forget her even if he tried. 

She shrugged, a smirk on her lips, “What can I say, you’re a sought out man. You could charge double if you got Morgan in on it,” 

He laughed, shaking his head, “Only double?”

“Maybe throw in a Valentine’s day discount for your loving girlfriend,” She added with a million watt grin, and he rolled his eyes, hating how he could do nothing but indulge her when she was like this. 

“Ofcourse, I can't have pretty girls paying for things,” Spencer said, because he was somewhat confident now about flirting with her, knowing it would have the full desired effect and more. “Just out of interest, are we still talking about Morgan being involved?” 

“Well, I was going to give him the evening off to spend with his own girlfriend, but if you’re really so insistent-” He shot her a raised brow and she giggled, leaning forward to kiss the thumb that had been slowly stroking the back of her hand, “Always just me and you, honey,”

He smiled earnestly at that, and they exchanged a look that said those five words were much more set in stone than the teasing may suggest. Just them, always. Spencer could get used to that.

She leaned over the table for a quick peck on the lips because as much as she loved him, and god did she love him, they had quickly found they were just as embarrassed by affection in public as the other. 

“I’m going to use the bathroom before food comes,” She said, slipping out of the latex red seats, his head following her as she waltzed over to the loo, the two of them looking back at one another with small smiles like lovesick children. 

She loved the rhythm they had found, albeit the secrecy. It was nights like this, when they were able to act like a normal couple, when they were able to kiss and hold hands and flirt and look at each other with such heat it should have been public indecency, that she knew she wanted him forever. Because if this was how good it felt in private, she could only wonder how good it would be to tell people she was enamoured by one very handsome, very clever, Spencer Reid. Yet she loved having something for just them. In the lives of people who examined each other for a living, having secrets were like gold dust. Let alone a secret between profilers. That was pure jackpot material. 

He smiled into his lap, because he was truly happy for the first time in years. He had everything he’d ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter. He had the girl he’d loved for nearly seven years playing footsies with him while he eyed her lips and tried to analyse just how much she would hate being one of those couples that made out over milkshakes and burgers even if it was all he wanted to do. 

Spencer Reid had drawn the winning hand, no cheats or tricks or card counting needed. Just being him, awfully, nerdy, awkwardly him. 

He leaned in to take another sip of his milkshake, because they really were the best, only for his contented face to drop the second he saw four people walk through the door all smiles and fancy suits and heels, entirely unaware of what they were stumbling on. 

Spencer had never fumbled around his pockets for his phone faster, hitting the call button on her profile picture, which happened to be her asleep on the sofa with Sergio’s feet in her face while Niko peeked out at the camera from under the blanket, because Spencer thought it was possibly his favourite photo of their little family. She answered on the first ring, and he could just see the confusion written on her face before she even spoke. 

“Spence, I love you but I’m peeing right now, did you miss me that much-”

“Garcia and Morgan just walked in,” He whisper yelled, cupping his hand over the mic, whipping a look over his shoulder where their friends were standing at the host’s desk, waiting to be served. “They brought their partners, they’re staying in, we gotta go,”

Bugsy’s face tightened, her panties down to her ankles, Brittany Spears’ If You Seek Amy blasting in the women’s bathroom and she wondered, on bated breath, if this was exactly what her life had come to. 

“...Shit,”

“I’ll pay the tab and try to distract them now, you slip out and we’ll meet in the parking lot,” Spencer rushed, his brow sweating as he saw the waitress lead Morgan and Garcia’s new beau, Sam, over his way, no doubt towards the free booth next to them.

“Alright, I love you,” She quickly rushed, and he whispered it back, before the two of them hung up and realised just what a miracle it would be if the two of them got out of this undiscovered. 

Morgan’s dark eyes lit up in recognition as they neared their seats, just as Spencer grabbed her purse and stashed it under his shirt, dragging her milkshake over to his side of the table to make it seem like he was alone. Not the most convincing of cover ups, but it was all he had. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek called, and Spencer faked shock as best he could, though his mind was entirely consumed with whether or not Bugsy’s side of the plan was working out. 

“What are you guys doing here, I thought you were taking Savannah to that fancy place on fifth,” Spencer said, his gaze trailing behind his best friend to see Savannah and Penelope too wrapped up in chatting to catch up to the boys. Savannah turned to the woman with a polite smile, excusing herself for a moment and heading towards the bathroom. 

Shit. Spencer thought for a moment, watching the stunning vermillion dress trail off to the toilets, and Spencer was convinced then and there they were done for, Shit, shit, shit. 

Derek looked a little guilty, “You know how it is, man. We got home late from the case, missed our reservation, had to bring my lady to the next best thing. Patty’s.” Derek chuckled and Spencer smiled fleetingly, though Derek could tell it was bothered, “You here with someone-”

“Pretty boy!” Garcia cut Morgan off, bouncing over in her pretty Dorothy-red heels to where their genius was shuffling out of the booth, fidgeting with his hands nervously. “Are you here with someone, are we totally destroying your street cred?” 

“No, no. I’m here on my own, I had a hankering for milkshakes,” Spencer nodded convincingly with a taut smile as Penelope and Morgan simultaneously turned their heads to the two glasses half drunk on the table, before they looked at him with raised brows as if to wordlessly question his alibi, two milkshakes for one guy, Reid? Feeling their eyes on him, he baulked, “Like I said, hankering.”

Bugsy felt like this was some sort of Greek tragedy. 

After doing her business and washing her hands in possible record time,  Bugsy cracked open the door to the bathroom just enough to stick her head out, eyes scanning the restaurant for Penelope and Derek. She caught Penny’s Barbie blonde hair almost instantly, her sing song laugh travelling straight across the room into Bugsy’s ears and it was then she realised she was with a woman. The red dress spoke for itself, her hair was luscious and silky like she’d popped straight out a shampoo advert, her skin that of a bronze goddess, and she immediately clocked that it was Savannah, Derek’s new girlfriend, which made all the more sense when she caught their hunky co-worker talking to a very flustered Spencer. 

The girls had shamelessly stalked her instagram in Penelope’s lair at lunch just that week and sweet heavens was a catch, if not for her job as a nurse then for the toned figure Bugsy was convinced was god playing favourites. She stared at the back of the woman’s head, whatever she’d said making Penelope chuckle and turn towards her, her head pointing right towards where the women’s bathrooms were.

Bugsy slammed the door shut, quickly retreating back into the loo and yanking at her hair in a flurry of white hot panic. God, she hoped Penelope hadn’t seen her, or things were about to get ten times more difficult to explain why the two of them were out for a meal on Valentine’s Day, whilst claiming they were entirely platonic ofcourse. She wished the door had a window or she had X-ray vision or something-

A window. A window. That was it. 

Head whipping around, her eyes locked in on the two windows above each lavatory, the stall walls luckily low enough that she could see they were big enough for her to slide through if she was careful enough. 

Heading back into the cubicle she had been in, she shut the door behind her, and slammed the toilet lid down to give her a step. Her chest pounded, lips pursing when she cursed Derek and Penelope for possibly the only time in her life, because their date had been going so well. And yet here she was, cracking open a window in the diner’s toilets and she wondered for a second time if this was what her life had been reduced to. But Spencer was worth it, she told herself. She’d crawl through a million diner windows if it meant she got him all to herself. 

As if the universe was laughing at her, the second she’d swung the window open far enough for her to pull herself through, the bathroom door opened and she froze. 

Flashing a guilty look over her shoulder, her eyes widened in fear as she made direct eye contact with the woman who had entered, her lucious brown hair falling like silk over her shoulder as she stopped in her tracks, seeing the girl clear as day over the top of the stall. 

Bugsy prayed, on god’s she had never believed in she prayed that Savannah didn’t recognize her, though why would she. Unless she herself was a serial stalker. Though there seemed to be no hint of recognition in her eyes, just shock horror. 

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“Terrible date,” Bugsy said, thinking quickly on her feet and Savannah’s face melted into understanding. 

“Ah,” She nodded, “Is he a Catfish or is he a pig?” 

“Both,” Bugsy nodded with a tense smile, anything to get away from the situation where Penelope could walk in on any moment and catch her in the act. And it pained her to lie, because Spencer was the furthest thing from both of those things. 

Savannah rolled her eyes, “Sorry you have a crappy date on Valentine’s day, that sucks. Need a leg up?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Bugsy said, standing on the cistern and yanking herself up, hoping she wasn’t flashing Derek’s girlfriend a nice shot of her ass. “You should try the calamari, it’s real good!” 

And with that she’d pulled herself through the window legs first, dropping onto the top of Patty’s garbage bins with a ‘urgh!’, hopping off the lid immediately and dodging a heinously large rat that eyed her up for desert and flicking Spencer a quick text to say she was by the car. 

Savannah chuckled with a shake of her head, heading to the toilet herself and hearing a loud bang and a curse from the other side of the wall.

Derek and Garcia watched him look down at his phone with a perturbed expression, “I really should be going anyways,” Spencer excused, his mind reeling at just how she’d managed to slip past the lot of them, though the text only read ‘Meet by car. Window.’ and he could only wonder just what the fuck she’d meant by that. 

“Are you sure we’re not interrupting, Spencer?” Garcia asked, and he only shook his head. 

“Nope, definitely not. The only date I’m late for is between me and Lord Tennyson,” He said, which was almost too on brand for him that they didn’t question it. Spencer nodded to her date and wished them all a good evening before rushing to the front desk, his card in hand as he asked quietly if they could get their burgers to go instead. 

Morgan’s eyes narrowed at his skittish behaviour, his fidgeting fingers that tugged at his shirt, the cufflinks his mom bought him for his graduation that he only wore on special occasions glittering under the swinging, overhead diner lights. 

“Is it just me or is boy wonder acting extra shifty just now?” Penelope muttered, her blonde brows furrowed behind her glasses as Morgan nodded in agreement, Savannah returning to their table with freshly washed hands, her lipstick spruced up in the bathroom mirror. 

“I was thinking the exact same thing, baby girl,” Derek smelled a rat as Reid took a brown paper bag from over the counter, flashing a swift nod back to them as he all but ran out of the restaurant, his long legs carrying him even faster than usual. 

He saw her dusting herself off by his car, and before he could even question what her message had been, she had turned her attention onto him with a spritely excitement and launched up to give him a hungry kiss to the lips. 

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea they were coming, they told me they were going uptown,” He said, his expression worried that their night had been ruined. He gripped their to go bag pathetically, and it was only then he realised she was laughing. 

“Spence it’s fine, it’s not your fault,” She reassured, pressing another delicate kiss to his face as if to ward off the negative thoughts, and he rested his free hand on her hip, trapping her between his body and the car. He pressed into her, letting himself enjoy the affection a little too much in the cover of nightfall, “We probably shouldn’t be-” He kissed her again, because he couldn’t help it, because it was like the adrenaline of almost being caught together had set his body on fire, “-doing this here though, maybe-”  Again, his hand shoving the bag of food onto the roof of his car so he had free reign to cup her face entirely, -”wait until we get home just incase they come looking for you,” 

He nodded dumbly, “Probably,” He agreed, though he watched her with those eyes that looked dark in the moonlight, pressed against her wanton hands that clawed at his chest, pulling him closer as an impossible oxymoron to her chaste words, because she didn’t want him to let go of her, not really. 

He kissed her again, hard, because his chest was still pounding from the close call and her fingers scraped his waist, the feeling jumping straight to his crotch that was already well aware of how close they had become. 

“I love you,” He said with a slight slur, idle from their affection and it was only then he opened his eyes to look at her. She looked impossibly more ravishing in the cloak of night, her eyes sparkling in the street lamps, her lips wet with his own spit, her gaze adoring and soppy and so in love, “I’m sorry if our Valentine’s day got ruined,”

“Ruined?” She said, slipping a hand into his back pocket to grab the car keys, leaning in to kiss his chin gently a couple times, “I get to spend the most romantic day of the year with my very hot boyfriend eating amazing burgers and making out on the couch until the sun comes up,” 

He smiled, cheeks warmer than the freshly cooked beef steaming through the paper bag, and he couldn’t resist shooting a hand out to stop her from rounding the car to the passenger side, grabbing her jaw in one fell swoop, lifting her head to attach their lips once more, ‘one for the road’ he would excuse when he let her go, and he felt her smile into his affection. They let go with a sweet smack, and the second they did her mouth watered for more. 

“That really is the best Valentine’s Day,” He agreed, swapping the car keys in her hands for the food and walking round to her side to open the door for her like a gentleman. 

And that was exactly how it went. Until making out turned into more, more kisses, more intimate, more parts of themselves bared to one another for the first time, and they sat in naked silence afterwards, enjoying each other's body heat until their eyes got heavy and they fell asleep. 

And Bugsy swore she would love Spencer Reid with every part of her he’d touched until the day she died. 

3. The one with the fake boyfriend.

Spencer was pouring kibble when she screamed. The bag was all but spilled over the kitchen tiles as his head shot up, his entire body diverting to the direction of her yell, and before he even had time to put the bag down, perhaps step over the two shadows that dived for the rogue biscuits tumbling to the floor, he heard her footsteps tearing from their room and into the kitchen. 

Because it was their room now. Not just his. 

She wore black pants and a tight, white shirt with her buttons only half fastened shut. His eyes shamelessly dropped straight to her chest, a black lace bra staring back at him and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the week before, wondering for a second if they had a spare half an hour before work. 

It had been eight days since they’d had sex for the first time, and the two of them were struggling all the more to keep it together. He was like a man starved of oxygen, she was a woman let out of a cage, craving one another more than they had ever thought possible. Because before he hadn’t been given that taste of sweet heaven, hadn’t known every inch of her the way he did now, and Spencer thought he might not be able to ever know anything more intoxicating than how she looked in his bed when she-

He was quick to put his hands over her cheeks as she panted, horror in her gaze as she held her phone in her hand, damn near shaken for words, “What? What is it?” 

“Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick,” She murmured, her eyes never tearing away from her phone screen, and he promptly took the device out from her grasp, his hazel hues roving over the bright light. 

His lips parted, and he felt his stomach flurry into life as he saw the raunchy photo she’d taken of her lingerie, their shared bathroom in the background and what looked to be a toothbrush in the top of the photo, clearly having been in the middle of brushing when she’d taken the photo in the mirror. 

His gaze went to the top of the screen, because he certainly hadn’t heard his phone buzz on the counter, nor would it have been such an issue if she had sent it to him, though he suspected he was the intended recipient anyway.

Spencer frowned, “Who’s MILF?”

Bugsy looked at him guiltily. “It’s JJ.” She said through a cottonmouth. 

“You know what that word means right?” He said, and she rolled her eyes because of course he was focusing on all the wrong things, though she guessed that was down to his tented trousers and the rouge that crawled up his neck into the apple of his cheeks because Spencer always found an excuse to cram silences with words.

“Yes, don’t worry, you’re the only one I want to ilf for real.” She said, a hand running through her hair in panic as she looked over his shoulder at the text conversation.

“Can’t you just delete it?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning the photo again because it certainly would have made his morning receiving a photo like that. 

“Not on messenger, not when- oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bugsy’s voice got louder with every with every curse, and she ripped the phone from his hand when the three little dots appeared, letting her know JJ was in fact typing. Spencer was knocked from his daze staring at the photo, realising that JJ was a profiler just like any of the rest of them, and she could very easily figure out who that photo had been meant for, “She’s typing, she’s typing!”

Spencer took a deep breath for both of them, his hands resting on her upper arms in gentle motions, “Alright, let’s just calm down, she might just be a little confused, I mean you don’t usually send her photo’s like that do you?” He said soothingly, only for her to let out a small screech, and he saw ‘incoming call from MILF’ written in bright white across the top of the screen, “Okay, I’m begging you to change that name, that is so weird thinking of JJ as-”

“SPENCER,” She barked, handing him the phone, “I can’t speak right now, I don’t know what to say, I’ll screw it all up,”

His eyes widened, ushering her hand back to her ear, “I can’t answer it, then she’ll know we’re together while you look like- like that,”

“We live together, I don’t think I’ve worn pants here once in the past five years,” She whisper yelled to him, the ringing going on only longer with every dial thrumming right to her already racing heart, “Oh god, I’m gonna answer it, I’m going to- Good morning, Jennifer, how’s the oatmeal in the Jareau-LaMontagne household?”

“Please tell me that photo was meant for a guy. Or atleast Penelope,” JJ’s voice was full of surprise, and Bugsy already knew she had her fingers rubbing her eye sockets, “Are you seeing someone?”

“Uh, y-yeah?” Bugsy stammered, exchanging a wide eyed glance with Spencer, “A guy from… a bar! I’m seeing a guy from a bar,”

“Oh, Bugsy, why didn’t you say?” JJ asked with a girlish delight, and Bugsy shrugged before she remembered JJ couldn’t see that, and she had to think on her feet for a response.

“It’s just casual- it’s new and totally casual right now,” She stammered, hoping the lie was convincing enough that JJ wouldn’t poke for more answers. But it was JJ, the same JJ who loved filling Emily’s shoes as big sister when she was away, and ‘totally casual’ seemed to not make the cut for explanations. 

“Is he cute, how old is he?” JJ rebutted as she submerged Henry’s empty cereal bowl in the sink full of soapy water, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear.

The girl’s gaze trailed over Spencer’s face, where he had gone deadly silent to listen in on their conversation. He flashed her a devilish grin at JJ’s mothering tone, and she shyly looped a finger through his belt.

“The cutest,” Bugsy replied, with a small beam, and she watched Spencer’s gaze turn doting and sweet. And that time, she hadn’t been lying.

–

“Oh come on, I want to meet this guy,” JJ said, bringing her coffee cup up to her lips. It wasn’t even that Emily had asked her to look after Bug the first time she’d left for Paris, then again when she left for London, that made her so protective. Moreso that fact Bugsy was a little sister if she’d ever had something close to one. Being the youngest herself, she knew what it was like to live in her own sister’s shadow, a feeling that had followed her around her entire life. 

If JJ was missing Emily, she knew Bug was feeling the same tenfold.

Either way, the second they’d gotten into the office all of three days ago after the incident, JJ hadn’t stopped badgering her about her new secret fling she had.

“He’s busy, super super busy,” She brushed her off and Spencer smirked into his book, his desk chair turned away from where JJ leaned against her desk. Penelope’s heels clicked against the BAU floor as she wandered over to them, a steaming mug of tea in her own hand.

“Who’s super super busy?” She asked, cutting in half way through the conversation to hear only half of the story, and Bugsy shied away into her lap. 

“Bugsy’s secret boyfriend,” JJ raised her brows at the woman who almost dropped her mug, her jaw hitting the floor as she looked at the girl incredulously.

“Did my ears just deceive me? Have you been hiding something from me, cause you know I’ll hack into your social media before you could even say Barbie Dream House,” Penelope said with an aghast expression. 

“He’s just a guy I met at a bar, it’s not a big deal,” She brushed them off, already digging the lie deeper, and she only could hope the reward would be a bigger pay out when she thought back the night after the restaurant. 

She’d tell them anything if it meant she could spend another night like that. 

“Not a big deal?” JJ said doubtfully, flicking a look at the girl, “Come on, I want to meet the guy who’s the best sex you ever had,” 

Spencer slammed his book shut, and twirled around in his office chair with just enough time to watch her groan, and bury her face in her hands. 

“What was that?” He asked, his eyes lit up with a boyish excitement as he resisted the urge to smirk at her, because he felt the glare before he’d even seen it. 

“Nothing,” She snapped at him, eyes laced with an unspoken warning for him to watch his step because they weren’t stupid enough to ignore his sudden interest in her lovelife, “Don’t you have a report due?”

He shrugged with rosy cheeks, his expression that of barely concealed delirium as he watched her flush under the pressure of his prideful grin. 

“You know me, I’ll catch up on that later, let’s talk about this new thing you have,” He brushed off, just as Rossi paced past their mother’s meeting, heading for the roundtable room. 

“We have a case, kids. Life waits for no man, no matter how juicy his gossip,” David said profoundly as ever, and the four of them rose to follow behind him like a trail of ducklings. Penelope’s heels clicked at his side, and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at where JJ was interrogating their youngest agent some more. 

“You want the 411?” She mumbled, and the old man sighed, watching the girl's floral hair ties bounce with her pigtails at every step. 

“Shoot. Wife number one ruined Real Housewives for me, I guess I need something good,” Rossi said with tired eyes, as Penelope scooched closer. 

“Bugsy has a new secret boyfriend,” The bubbly woman said in between a million watt grin.

He raised his eyebrows at her, flicking a quick look back at the girl who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole when JJ pushed her for details on their first date. 

“No kidding,” He murmured, tilting his head in consideration how he hadn’t seen the signs, he knew well enough now to know the look of a honeymoon phase. He’d had about fifty of them. 

“Still awaiting details on how he looks, but I reckon a quick deep dive in her socials will get me what I want,” Penelope added as if putting together a report on an UnSub, though the tech wizz would argue mystery man was just as much a person of interest than any of the others they went after. 

He looked at her for a moment, her chirpy tone almost a dichotomy of the invasive stalking she was revving herself up for, and he nearly stopped in his tracks for a second. 

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” He said, with a serious undertone, shaking his head, “I’d hate to be the guy on the end of your wirey maze, Garcia,”

But Spencer’s smile had yet to be wiped from his face, in fact he thought he might just get JJ to say it again into a microphone because the ego boost was set to last a lifetime. 

He promised he’d make it up to her for the annoyingly arrogant attitude he was sporting, but then any man with half a brain would if he’d been told he was the best she’d ever had, let alone one with a brain that had already engraved the sound of that into his hypothalamus. 

And Spencer knew just how he was going to say sorry. 

–

“Wait, so does this mean that your new hypothetical boyfriend is better than Sean?” Penelope said through the screen as they lounged on the jet on the way home from the case. Hotch’s head shot up from where he was reading the newspaper, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the youngest agent before he had practically thrown himself out of his seat. 

“I’m going for coffee,” He said before anyone could interject and the sight of their boss all but running down the aisle towards the kitchenette made her throw her head in her hands once more. 

“I’m begging you, never make me talk about sex infront of Hotch ever again,” She groaned, and Rossi huffed, clamping his own book shut and shuffling past them to meet where Aaron was spending almost too much time with his head in the cupboard, “Better yet, don’t make me talk about sex with his brother infront of him again,” 

“For the record, old man number two doesn’t want to hear about who jiggles your Jimmies either,” He grumbled, and Bugsy carded her fingers through her hair, too embarrassed to look at the two men that cowered in the back of the jet. 

“Jiggles your Jimmies?” Blake repeated, her brow furrowing, “At least, I’m not that old,” 

“Stop avoiding the question, Princess,” Penelope chided, and Morgan laughed as Bugsy huffed, turning her head away as if she hadn’t heard, “Is he?” 

“That’s usually what ‘the best I’ve ever had’ means, Pen,” She snipped through blazing cheeks, and she could feel the smug-shit eating grin coming from Spencer before she’d even looked at him, “Now, could we talk about literally anything else, please?”

There was a lapse of silence where Morgan exchanged a look with JJ, and the blonde picked under her nail, trying to think of anything else to say before she cracked, because it was rare that Bugsy ever sought anyone out so fondly. 

And possibly because she knew Emily would need the complete, padded out, full update when JJ inevitably called her to rinse her with details. 

“How many kids does he want?” The words fell from JJ’s mouth, not really thinking much about the way Reid’s face was claret red. He had never liked lewd conversations. 

And he wanted to blurt out three, as many as possible, as many as she wants and then another one, but he couldn’t because that would inevitably give their secret away completely. 

“Does he have a stable job?” Blake chimed in, ever the mother considering if the mystery man would be a practical partner, “Is he gentle? Angry men make for terrible fathers,”

“Is he gentle in bed?” Penelope added, her glasses glinting in the light of her computer screen, “Does he do the thing where he-”

Bugsy growled, half way between a groan and a scream, looking between her team with wide eyes, “You’re all perverted, hedonistic, gossip girls, and I beg you leave this alone before I join Hotch and Rossi in the cupboards,” 

“Cupboards are full,” Hotch barked, almost warningly because he didn’t think he could look at her until the subject of her and Sean banging was entirely out of his head. 

And they went quiet again, seeming to take the hint that Bugsy didn’t appreciate their poking. Morgan gave her an apologetic yet amused smile as he slipped his headphones on, Blake pulled out a puzzle book, JJ retired to her side of the couch for a moment of shut eye, though her brain was filled with what she guessed Emily would say about her little sister having a real life boyfriend. 

God help the kid who tries screwing that psycho over. 

Spencer smiled dopily into his book, his hands gripping the leather bound spine tightly, and it was the first time she’d looked at him the whole plane ride. His chest puffed as he met her with a cocky smile that he barely tried to hide, and he swiftly received a kick to the shin for his rare ego. 

But he didn’t care, the sting in his leg all but none existent because she hadn’t been too cruel with her chastising, and he couldn't wait to kiss the anger out of her the second they were alone. He loved her temper, loved her fire and the warmth it gave him, and he thought then there wasn’t a single thing about her that he wished to change. Even if the scowl and pout on her face didn’t exactly suit her. 

His smile was blinding the entire way home, even when they hopped into his car, and he looked at her with ill-concealed excitement, “Better than Sean?” Spencer asked, hopefully, and she tutted, swatting his thigh. 

“Spencer,” She hissed, though his eyes didn’t leave her, waiting for a response, “Fine, yes, better than Sean. Best I’ve ever had, right?” 

Spencer all but pranced up the stairs into their apartment ready to live up to his new moniker. 

4. The one where someone finds out.

“Can I borrow your deodorant?” Bugsy asked, as she slowly slipped a piping hot cup of coffee onto Penelope’s desk, making sure not to spill so much as a drop over the edge of the cute octopus mug.

“Oh, of course!  I always have something spare for my girls.” The tech wizz was quick to fish through her bag for the aerosol, handing it to the woman as she snuck a hand under her armpit to apply. “You ever need tampons, a box of cookies, or prescription painkillers, Garci is your gal. Though preferably don’t tell Hotch about that last one,” 

Bugsy smiled, “You’re an angel,” She said, as she sprayed herself quickly, “I left my stuff in, uh, secret boyfriend’s car. If you got a spare bra lying around your bag, you’d really be a life saver,”

Penelope’s eyes turned catlike as she narrowed them at the girl, “I said I’m your gal, not Mary Poppins,” She replied, looking up at Bugsy with a smug smile as she played with the fluffy end of her pen, “So, you guys hook up in his car or something?” 

Bug pressed her lips together tightly, wondering whether she could let too much slip to the woman who was known for tracking her friends’ phones like they were damn Sim characters on the loose. And despite their relationship being so top secret, it had been five months of sneaking around. Five months of keeping her smiles and butterflies and silly little notions of just how great Spencer was entirely free from girl talk. She knew the moment they told their team, there would be questions and rumours across departments. There would be prodding and interrogating and paperwork to fill out with Hotch, and they more than likely wouldn’t be allowed to be in the field together. 

Which brought her an even more worried thought. What if she was forced to move teams? 

Spencer certainly wouldn’t be the one to move, he had practically made a home in the BAU before any of them even knew she existed. And despite the fact they felt more like a family to her than the houses in every country ever had, she would leave them if it meant Spencer could stay. 

It was different with JJ and Will. They were together, yes, had been in the field together once or twice, but it wasn’t as if they were on the same team, liable to letting their relationship muddy the waters of worklife. She wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were of relationships in the team, and she knew Hotch would become suspicious almost instantly  if she asked; knew she could only lie to him for so long about this so called secret boyfriend before he became overbearingly fatherlike and weaselled his way into her head with those stern eyes and that patient law degree. 

She nodded after considering spilling her thoughts out to Penelope, because as much as she loved Spencer and loved that he was her best friend even before he was her boyfriend, she missed girl talk. The same girl talk he had no idea how to navigate, that was a complete mystery to him with its hidden politics and rules that he was convinced were purposely made up to confuse guys so they wouldn’t be able to figure out what women were talking about. She missed having someone there to hear just how Spencer would stroke her hair before they went to sleep, when her eyes were closed and her breathing was slowly evening out and he thought she was already dozing, when she would glance at him through bleary eyes because she knew he would be watching her, his eyes wide and fat with love as he looked at her like he was a kid seeing his Christmas presents lined up neatly beneath the tree. She wanted someone else to know how he managed to make her coffee perfectly, how he would wake up five minutes before her, drag himself out of bed to brush his teeth and cook her breakfast at the weekends, how she was trying harder to stay tidy for his sake because she saw the way he cleaned her messes up for her without complaints or grumbles. Bugsy wanted someone else to know that he would kiss her like she was going to be ripped away from him at any given moment, and that she melted into a puddle at his feet when he asked to shower with her just last week and they got to spend forty minutes under the relaxing hot water, just holding each other close enough to feel every breath and smile and laugh and everything else they ended up doing when they were naked. 

She loved having him all to herself, truly. Yet there was part of her that wanted to scream to the entire office the second there was a lull in conversation that she was in love with him more truly, deeply, insatiably than she had ever imagined anyone could be. 

Penelope squealed, kicking her legs and pulling her second wheely chair out for Bugsy to sit down in, “Tell me everything, were you in the back or the front? Oh my god were you in the trunk, can you imagine that? Didn’t the seat belts get in the way? What about the handbrake? And the wheel-”

Bugsy laughed with a shake of her head, but she obliged her anyway as she threw herself into the seat, if not for a spare five minutes of relaxing before she started her paperwork. 

“Slow down! I’ll give you three questions, tops, and that’s all you’re getting out of me, Garcia,” She chuckled, cracking open her Dr Pepper can and taking a sip of the cold fizz. 

“Three?” Garcia cried incredulously, “You’re like a genie in a bottle only you withhold secrets instead of granting wishes,” 

“I can make it two if you want, smartass,” Bugsy teased, and she giggled at the way Penelope glared at her, like she was ready to lay one of her perfectly manicured nails around her throat and wrangle her for the truth in a rare bout of Penelope Garcia rage.

“Okay, umm, first question,” Penelope held a finger up, pressing her peach painted lips together because she only had three magic wishes, “What was it like, your guys first time?” 

Bugsy smiled, melting inside because speaking to Spencer about how good he was in bed seemed like a little too on the nose even for her, and she’d kept it hidden for god knows how long, “It was good, but not just good in that way. Although believe me it was good in that way too,” She said with a bashful giggle, her cheeks heating on impact and Penelope squealed, “I felt safe, and he kept telling me he loved me, and when we were done he went to the store and bought me strawberry milk because I told him it was my favourite,” 

Penelope’s eyes melted into puppy dog ones, her lips pulling to reveal her pearly white smile and she quietly ‘aww’ed at the sentiment, her brows tugging together in earnest joy as she watched Bugsy flick the metal tab of the can lid to avoid eye contact. 

“What an angel, who did you pay to find you this guy?” Penelope asked and the girl’s chuckled together. She rocked side to side on her desk chair, mid thought of her very important question, “Alright, alright, next one! Have you told Spencer yet?”

Bugsy froze, flicking a look to Penelope because surely there was no way she could have guessed from that short exchange. She knew Garcia was a hotshot behind a screen, but she would have to be given a spot as a profiler if she’d managed to figure out just from that one question who it was she was trying so desperately to keep a secret.

 “What do you mean?” She said, trying to hide the way her throat had run dry, and Penny looked at her as if she had lost a few brain cells in the midst of the honeymoon phase. 

“I mean, it sounds like you guys spend a lot of time in your room. Spence surely must have crossed paths with him by now?” Garcia clarified, and Bugsy’s brows lifted in what she hoped was well concealed panic. 

“Yes- yes,” She cleared her throat, wishing the stuttering away as she scrambled to cover her tracks, “Spencer has met him, he said he’s a great guy, real baseball whizz,” 

‘Great guy’ didn’t quite cut it, she thought with a chiding voice in her head, but she was sure Spencer would forgive her with a small bat of her lashes, a sweet kiss even. She even thought of a way that would convince him just how sorry she was for limiting him to just the word great, because he was so much more than that to her; she thought of an apology, one where he would be so smitten and drunk on kisses and other things that she could tell him he was the dumbest boy alive and he wouldn’t care. 

Because she was all his, loved him far beyond ‘great’ and the idea of that alone cut his IQ from 187 to a mere 5 on a good day. 

Penelope smirked, like she knew a sudden shortcut in her system, “Remind me to interrogate Reid later about this ‘Home Run’ you’re bringing over for bang bang,” 

Bugsy snickered, making a mental note to remind Spencer where he suddenly fell in her lie, when in truth she had been thinking about the time he’d subbed for someone on Morgan’s team. She’d been thinking about how proud he looked, how he’d smiled for days after, how Morgan and Hotch picked him up and screamed with happiness at their younger agent, but she definitely hadn’t been thinking about how his hair had looked sweaty and full of curls on his neck, hadn’t at all been thinking that his face looked that extra bit kissable when he laughed. 

If it had been Emily, she might have been screwed. She swore her sister could sniff out a lie from her like a bloodhound to a body. It was why she had always been caught sneaking out, always been caught smoking blunts behind the shed, it was why Emily knew for a blatant fact whether she was really sick when she’d claimed she was too ill to go to school. If it had been Emily, she would have been six feet under for that small white lie alone, but Garcia wasn’t Emily. And so Garcia believed her. 

“Oh, third question, you guys are being like, safe right?” Penelope said, with rare concern swirling in her dark brown eyes, and Bugsy sighed with a knowing smile, because it felt like the team did nothing but mother her nowadays, “Because as much as I would love to be an aunt all over again, I don’t think the world is ready for a baby Bugsy,”

“I know what I’m doing, Pen. My IUD doesn’t run out for another couple years, we’re totally fine,” She replied, subconsciously running a thumb over the inner part of her arm where the rod lay under her skin until she felt the odd poking of the device. Spencer had insisted he wore a condom the first few times just to be extra cautious, had begun to tell her the fact sex was only safe 99 percent of the time with an IUD alone before she had kissed him to politely and lovingly tell him to stop overthinking things. However they had run out after the sixth time, and instead of stopping to go run out and get more, he’d decided perhaps they would be safe enough, or perhaps he had stopped caring the second she took her clothes off. 

Penelope grinned, pretending to wipe her brow, “Okay, phew. If you ever need anything, I’m talking condoms, lube, maybe you guys are getting it on and you realise you’re out of batteries for your-”

“Ah,” Bugsy winced, sticking her fingers in her ears and hopping out of her seat to head for the door, the feeling that Penelope was toeing the line of boundaries the way she usually did only this time she was unknowingly talking about Spencer, “Thankyou, Garcia, however I’m going to get going, breakfast is calling, and Dr Pepper is not cutting it this morning,” She said backing away towards the door, looking at the bubbly blonde who watched her go with a cunning smile. Because Penelope always meant well, even if she trampled over boundaries sometimes, or lacked the perfect words to say, she always had the best of intentions, and for a moment the guilt tugged at Bugsy’s stomach for being so abrasive in leaving. 

“As long as you’re being safe, I am happy to know you’re getting some,” The woman brushed off, whirling around her desk to log into her software, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard at the speed of light. 

Pausing with her hand on the door knob, she looked back at Penelope with softened eyes, a small dose of sentiment trickling into her tone, “Pen?” She said in a quiet voice and Garcia stopped, looking back to the youngest agent with wondering eyes, “Don’t ever change,”

And with that she left to grab herself a coffee, because the guilt of keeping secrets was too much for the early morning.

–

She saw him coming mid way through lunch, Penelope tucked behind Morgan’s desk, stirring a spoonful of peanut butter into her oatmeal pot, steam whirling from the container with a sweet scent. Morgan leaned against Bugsy’s workspace, his arms crossed over his chest as the two of them chattered, Bugsy picking at a punnet of fat, red grapes. 

Spencer came down the stairs, his eyes already trained on her the second he’d left Rossi’s office after handing some files over to the veteran agent, and he fought the small blush away from the apples of his cheeks. Because even after five months of calling her his girlfriend, just the sight of her glancing up at him with that look in her eyes had him bashful.

His hand dived into his bag before he could forget, a rare and near impossible occurrence for him only he’d found he had the tendency to get sidetracked when she was around, usually looking at her expressive face when she was talking, or getting lost in the light scent of her hair that wafted over to him, watching the way her hands fiddled with her stationary when she was thinking. Bugsy made Spencer Reid forget things, and it was for that reason he knew she wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met before, not that he needed reminding of it. 

“Here you go, you left your deodorant in my car,” Spencer exclaimed, producing a pink can from his satchell and handing it over to her with little thought to the chaos those ten words had created. 

Because Spencer had unknowingly just set off a time bomb, one that threatened five months worth of covert operations. Unintentionally, ofcourse, because those five months had been just as hard on him. He had just been excited to see her. 

Bugsy felt herself go a sickly colour, felt her stomach drop and the wind whoosh from her lungs at the sound of it and her head whipped to Garcia before she could think to be even the littlest bit subtle, because never had there been a clue about their little secret so blatant and open for the taking. 

And as if that hadn’t been the nail in the coffin, as if the small look of confusion that washed over Penelope’s face hadn’t given away the small feeling of puzzle pieces slotting together in that wonderfully big brain of hers, Spencer plonked a drink from the cafe down the street on her desk. 

It was a pink liquid, thin and sickly looking, with a whipping of fresh cream on top, and a glacé cherry to make it look extra delicious. 

“I got you a strawberry milk as well because I know you wanted one last night,” He said, a helpful smile on his face as he slid it over the table to her. It wasn’t the brand that she loved, or the Nesquik powder she kept stashes of in their cupboards, but he knew she would devour it nonetheless. 

And yet she didn’t look at him with that loving gaze like she usually did when he brought her presents. Didn’t throw him a ‘thankyou’ dipped in hidden affection, or a small squeeze of his hand that they usually could get away with because they’d always been affectionate. 

Instead, the second the words had left his mouth, her eyes went so wide he saw the whites of her sclera, saw her pupil shrink as her head jerked around to Penelope who sat in Morgan’s desk chair, the oatmeal in her hands shaking as she lifted her dirty spoon to point at the young woman. 

“Pen-” Bugsy started with a warning tone, the panic laced in her words that were quickly overtaken by Penelope’s voice yelling, her eyes equally as peeled back wide with horror.

“OH! OH! You- YOU- And the- and the milkshake- and you said- OH,” Penelope screeched flicking her porridge covered utensil like a teacher pointing at a naughty student, and she was quick to turn her attention to Reid, “AND YOU! YOU- OH GOD-” 

“Woah, woah, what’s with the yelling, baby girl?” Morgan asked earnestly, holding his hands up in surrender to the woman who had cut through the working silence of the office, some of the other agents lifting their heads from their work to see what the commotion was about. Even Hotch had shot a look to the BAU floor from his office, and judging by the annoyed look on his face as he stood up from his desk, they didn’t have a whole load of time to shut Penelope up before Hotch began demanding answers.

This was it, Bugsy told herself. This was the moment she’d been dreading, when they would be outed to the whole office, not even getting to decide when or what they told the team that could soften the blow of a cover story so huge. The moment when Hotch would likely get her to put in a transfer form by the end of the week with a slap on the wrist.

But she wasn’t ready to leave; Bugsy didn’t want to be anywhere that wasn’t with her team, even if there was a grey area in the rules about what she and Spencer could and couldn’t do in the field. 

And so she sprung towards Penelope, a hand grabbing the arms of the wheely chair Penelope sat on, looking the woman dead in the eye. 

“Hey, Pen, quick question about IT for you, I think we should head to your office, don’t you?” She said quickly, already rolling the woman back towards her lair with frantic eyes while Penelope hopped between five trains of thought, her oatmeal all but slipping from her hands, “Spence, get the door for me would you?”

“And Spencer- you said Spencer spoke to him- you said-” Garcia muttered on like she’d opened pandora’s box and peered inside to see the great wonders of the universe and returned a madwoman, her words only made more dramatic by the way she pointed in Spencer’s face as he passed by them, his own expression curved into worry as he’d quickly clicked what the tech whizz was babbling about, “BASEBALL, SPENCER- SHE SAID YOU LIKED BASEBALL-”

“Okay, am I missing something or was that an extra dose of weird and wonderful from Garcia this morning?” Blake said with narrowed eyes as the genius boy held the door open and Bugsy wheeled a yelling Garcia down the hallway to her office, the youngest agent with an oddly harsh tone as she shushed the woman. 

“Pen, I’ll explain-”

“But you- YOU!” 

“Shhh!” 

“Something’s ruffled her feathers, I can tell you that for free,” Morgan said, his eyes trailing Spencer as he strolled behind the bickering women, tucking his hair behind his ear worriedly, “That right there was a level nine Garcia freakout,” 

JJ’s brow creased, as Hotch headed down the stairs towards the trio, all too aware of the commotion Penelope’s yelling had caused while the rest of the office attempted to settle back into their reports. But it seemed everyone’s eyes trailed after the three agents heading towards Penelope’s office, watching the car crash of a moment through the freshly cleaned windows as Pen tried speaking, though yelling may be a better term for it, and Bugsy barked at her to calm down. 

“What’s level ten?” The blonde asked, her arms crossed over her chest, and Morgan shook his head.

“You don’t wanna know,”

–

“YOU TWO ARE SEXING LIKE BUNNIES AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US?” Penelope all but yelled the second Spencer shut the door behind him, and Bugsy ran a hand over her face out of embarrassment, her cheeks hot and painfully tingly. 

“Penelope, would you please keep your voice down, okay, this isn’t a big deal-” Spencer tried to interject, his palms out in a non threatening manner like level nine Garcia was an unsub they were trying to subdue. The older woman looked at him wide eyed, as if he’d just told her the sky was falling, and her mouth dropped in aghast. 

“Not a big deal- NOT A BIG DEAL? Spencer Reid, two of my best friends are screwing around in his car- your car- and you mean to tell me to calm down?” Penelope shrieked, and Spencer wondered for a moment if he was getting yelled at or she really was just that shocked, “I mean, this is groundbreaking, like more groundbreaking than the Anniston-Pitt-Joley affair, you guys are messing around right under our noses- this is like the talk of the century-” 

“W-we’re not just messing around, Garcia,” Spencer spluttered, scratching at his neck awkwardly, “I mean not that that stuff isn’t great, cause, god, of course it is,” He looked at Bugsy who smiled with an unnatural shyness, rubbing at her mouth with an anxious touch, “But it’s not just that, I really-really love her,” 

Bugsy thought she might have just melted on the spot there and then as she looked at him over her shoulder, a meek simper spreading across her face and she flicked a look back to Penelope with pleading eyes. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it's sudden,” She said quietly, and for once Penny listened, because it was like the air had shifted to accommodate the gooey feeling of love between the youngest agents, “But he’s right, it’s not just fooling around, Pen, we’re just being us. And we wanted to keep it that way a little while,”

If there was one thing about Penelope that Bugsy knew would tug on her heart strings, was that Pen, at her core, was a romantic. She gushed over the kisses in the rain, the soppy proposals, the cheesy love confessions. And judging by the way her horror seemed to have melted away, she was entirely right, because it left behind a sparkly look in her eye that flicked between the two of them, like she was a kid watching the prince get the princess for the first time all over again. 

“Wait, so you guys are like, in love love, like wedding bells and a white picket fence with kids in the yard and all that?” Bugsy grinned, feeling Spencer’s arm lay over her shoulder, pulling her close to his side, and in a rare moment of PDA, she looked up at him with the full extent of her adoring gaze. 

“I’m vetoing the white fence, but I guess so,” She said with crude humour, and he smiled down at her, raising his brows and almost instantly they’d flung back into how it was when it was just the two of them at home. 

“Vetoing the fence? How are the kids going to play in the yard, we’ll be raising a small horde of them,” He quipped back, and she laughed, burying her face in his chest as Penelope watched with fascinated interest how they fit together the same way they always had and yet now they were suddenly different. Glowing. Golden. 

“I was thinking more of a flock but okay-”

“Are you kidding me?” Pen interjected, her tone exasperated and sweet, besotted with the sight of the youngest agents poring over one another unapologetically and she felt like slapping herself silly because how had they not noticed before. “I take it back, you guys aren’t Pitt and Joley, you’re- you’re William and Kate, you’re Neeson and Richardson, you’re just,” She sighed dreamily as the two of them glanced at her with coy smiles, entirely exposed in their sickeningly loved up stupors, “Meant to be,” 

They looked at eachother, because Pen had hit the nail on the head, the fact they’d danced around one for so long that it felt like they had always been made for one another the second they’d kissed that day in her room. Bugsy couldn’t imagine a life without Spencer in it, didn’t think she started existing really until he came knocking on her door in search of a translator. Spencer never believed in god or heaven or angels, but he knew whatever it was that had sent her to him when he was ten feet below his rock bottom, was something even a man so smart as him couldn’t explain.

Bugsy grinned toothily at the tech whizz, pointing a reprimanding finger in her direction, “You can’t tell Morgan, this is top secret,” 

Penelope’s mouth dropped its smile almost instantly in moral offence, “Wait, what? But I always tell big daddy everything,” 

Spencer face scrunched in bafflement, his lips moving before he could stop them; “Big Daddy?”, whilst Bugsy brushed off the nickname almost too unsurprised at the woman’s words.

“Please, Pen, pleeeease,” She begged, her eyes round and wide with a pleading expression that made her seem ten years younger, and Penelope looked like she was ready to crack within mere seconds , “We’ll tell everyone soon, I promise, just please give us a few more weeks to figure things out,”

And Garcia showed signs of crumbling. Not that Spencer could blame her, because Bugsy could get anything she wanted from people when she really tried. He liked to think of it as her sixth sense, sometimes wondered if she had some sort of mind control over him that she hadn’t told him about because he seemed to bend and sway to her whims almost too easily, and it was almost comforting to see Garcia facing the same struggle as she huffed, turning away from the puppy eyes that stared into her soul. 

Penelope sighed, pouting a little at the fact she’d been given an explicit instruction to hide something from Morgan, the very idea of which setting her in a dampened mood. Yet she glanced back at the two agents that held onto each other like they were awaiting lottery results, their imploring eyes trained on her and patiently holding out for a response, knowing she was the only person in the whole world who had the power to put an end to their hypothetical romcom montage they’d been swept up in for months. She bet to herself for a moment that they would have some kind of cheesy seventies or eighties hit playlist running behind all of their hidden moments and secret affections, might have Cindi Lauper’s Time After Time running when they had their first kiss, She’s Always a Woman by Billy Joel when they danced in the kitchen at breakfast. 

Penelope Garcia was nothing but a hopeless romantic, and it was for that reason that she rolled her eyes with a wry smile, and Bugsy’s chest deflated with relief, her expression lighting up with joy, that Spencer was quick to replicate. 

“What would you kids ever do without me?” Garcia said with a dramatic huff, and Bugsy all but threw herself at the woman, grabbing her in a tight hug, squeezing her so hard she nearly popped a pom pom out of her hair. 

“Oh, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, I swear we’ll make it up to you, anything you want,” Bugsy said, her words flooding together with excitement as she buried her face in the woman’s blonde curls, “I swear, it’ll be a few weeks tops,” 

And with just a few more minutes of Penelope squealing over the sight of them holding hands, nearly fainting from joy when Spencer tucked Bugsy’s hair behind her ear lovingly with an adoring gaze, their secret was safe again. For a matter of a few weeks, that was. 

5. The one where he gets shot.

“We’ve got the suspect headed into El Lobito’s diner,” 

“Copy that, we’re on our way,” The sheriff reported, his radio sounding out as he approached the group where they stood around their table crammed full of suspect profiles. “We got him,” He said with a trace of relief, the preacher that had been murdering the prostitutes he pimped out finally within their grasp. 

Bugsy nodded, checking that her gun was holstered and reaching for her vest when Hotch put a hand out towards her, “Prentiss, I want you here with Rossi and I coordinating response here. Blake and Reid, you go with the sheriff to meet Morgan and JJ at the diner,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, maybe to exclaim that she was one of the best shots on the team, that there was nothing more that she could do here than if she was out in the field with the others, but Hotch’s word was always final, and she knew protesting on such a time constrained operation would only end in her unit chief giving her a timeout on the naughty step. 

So, instead, she bit the inside of her cheek, silenced whatever protest she was going to give because she knew he hated hearing her whine, and within a moment everyone seemed to jump at their orders. 

She caught Spencer’s eye as he trailed behind Blake, wishing now more than ever things could be different, because a horrible feeling settled in her gut like a rotten fruit, churning her stomach with horrid thoughts that Spencer was heading straight for the line of fire and she couldn’t so much as give him a hug without it seeming odd. 

She wished more than ever she could grab him in a kiss that Hotch would pretend to not see, that he would understand because the entire team fretted over one another when the cards were dealt and the guns were loaded, wished she could tell Spencer over and over that he needed more than anything to make it back to her safely because she wouldn’t know what to do with all the love she had for him if he wasn’t there to take it. 

Except she couldn’t. Not here. Not so public. 

So instead she flashed him a nod that said a million words and more. I love you, I love you, I love you Spencer Reid. Come back to me because I love you more than life itself, Spencer Reid.

And Spencer got the message, the exchange looking like a plain tilt of the head between coworkers, as he strolled out of the precinct, checking his gun was loaded in his holster. 

His eyes read clear back to her what his reply was, though maybe it was just their spidey sense working overtime, she could have swore she read his mind in the split second that their gaze met. 

I’ll try. I’ll try with everything to come back to you. 

–

“Copy that, two of ours, three of theirs,” Cruz said with little to no inflection as he held out the speaker phone to the middle of the room, and Bugsy felt her breath catch in her throat as she waited for Alex to go on, “Any casualties?”

“One,” She replied, and the Prentiss woman felt her head go funny at the sound of it, “Coleman. Morgan has a superficial wound to his shoulder, little winded from getting shot in the vest but Reid is..” 

Blake trailed off, her throat choking up with emotion as she watched the boy be loaded onto the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. 

“What?” Hotch pressed, and Bugsy would have to thank him later because she could have sworn words had failed her by now. 

“Reid’s been hit in the neck,” She felt her legs go numb, the world spinning around her like someone was playing a cruel joke on her, like she was falling down, down, down into the rabbit hole, down into wonderland, where Spencer was hurt, badly, and she hadn’t been there to stop it. “It’s looking… bad,” 

Hotch flicked a glance at her where they stood in the precinct, and it was only then she realised all the air had whooshed from her lungs in what she suspected had been something between a gasp and a ‘no’, though she couldn’t say for sure because her hearing had been knocked clean from her, a high pitched whine of white noise ringing in her ears, like she’d knocked the signal from a TV, like her brain had been filled with static the second Blake’s voice floated through the phone.

“Bugsy,” It sounded underwater, and suddenly it was too difficult to swallow, until she realised the feeling was that she might just throw up, and she stepped towards the precinct door in some sort of haze, rustling around her pockets for the keys to the SUV, “Bugsy, wait!” 

There was a hand on her shoulder spinning her around as she was hit in the face with cool air, and suddenly Hotch was there, his umber eyes full of concern, Rossi not too far behind him, and it took her Unit Chief all of one swipe to snatch the keys from her. 

“I- We have to go, Hotch- we have to see him,” She babbled, and she was surprised at the fact she didn’t feel like crying. She expected to feel the burn behind her eyes, the tingling and tightness in her throat, only to come up blank. Like her body had taken a back seat, her head working on autopilot because she needed to see spencer for herself, “They need to know he can’t have any narcotics- I need to make sure it’s on his sh-sheet,” 

Her teeth were chattering. It was the middle of July, why were her teeth chattering?

“I know, I know, he’s in good hands,” Hotch said, in a way that told her he wasn’t being Hotch, that right now he was Aaron. He put a hand on her shoulder, the size of it dwarfing her and he looked at her like he was explaining to Jack why he couldn’t have chocolate before bed, “I know, we’ll go tell them right now, honey. Just let me drive the car.” 

She nodded without really hearing him, and Rossi opened the front passenger seat door for her, a grandfather’s hand on her back that helped her up into the jeep, because she seemed ready to take a tumble at any point, walking like her knee caps were made from jelly. 

“Has Blake said anything else?” She said, her voice entirely childlike, and David would bet any amount of money that it was the shock. He took a look at her, the way her fingernails were picking around each other already in a bad habit he could already guess came from Emily, and Aaron hopped into the driver’s side of the car, leaning over to grab her seatbelt for her. 

“Not yet, kiddo,” Rossi replied, his eyes soft like a teddy as she nodded dejectedly, and he closed the door on her side of the vehicle, opening the back for himself, Hotch mother henning over her. 

Aaron had expected her to worry, god knows he was well aware that Spencer and Bugsy struggled to function when they weren’t close by. He chided himself for splitting them up, yet he’d thought he was doing his best keeping his team in two equal sized groups both in the field and in the precinct. With JJ’s suspicions of a mole in the police force, Hotch and Rossi needed back up just as badly as the others. And god forbid he had selfishly tried to watch over her. Not because he didn’t think she was capable, but because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened while he’d sent her after an UnSub. 

He knew it was wrong to pick favourites, and truthfully if he had to he’d say, his whole team meant something like family to him. But Bugsy was the youngest, the baby if you would, she was mellower than she liked to pretend she was, and she’d carved a small soft spot in his side that he would struggle to get rid of. 

Only now Reid was down, and with him went Bugsy. 

Hotch started the car, quickly navigating his way to the hospital where he knew his team would more than likely already be racing towards in the same state of panic. He caught the way her knee thudded on the carpeted floor, where she tapped her ankle and it took a small glance to his right to see her chewing at her cuticles silently. 

“Bug, he’s in good hands,” He repeated, and she nodded though she didn’t seem to really be listening, “He’s going to be alright,”

Yet part of Aaron felt like he was telling himself that as much as he was telling her. Because if something happened to Reid, he didn’t think any of them would be the same again.

–

Blake heard her before they saw her, the way Hurricane Bugsy usually went.

“I swear to god, you had better let me through this door right now, or I will have your superior on speed dial by the end of the week-” She snapped, her panic quickly turned vitriol anger as the desk assistant who tried blocking her way into the critical unit looked at her somewhat mortified that his job was walking along a fine line. 

Hotch and Rossi had gone straight to where Morgan sat resting in a separate ward, trying to gather more information about the shooter since Morgan had seen the UnSub first hand.

Blake’s head shot up, the wetness around her lashline stinging with guilt as she watched the youngest agent tear through the waiting room as if looking out for blood. Alex was out of her seat on shaking legs, heading towards the girl who she knew would go down in a blur of swings and insults for Spencer Reid. 

“Bug, honey, hey,” Alex’s tone was motherly, as were her soft hands that she placed on the girl’s shoulders, and it didn’t become clear that the source of distress was from a place of fear instead of anger until the girl whipped around to face the voice, and Blake saw the redness rimming her eyes where she had forced the weeping away, likely putting on a brave face and high walls to stop the real emotion swirling inside her. 

Bugsy looked at the older woman, and that was all it took for her lip to quiver. It didn’t help that Alex threw her arms around her, pulling her in for a soft hug, one she had never gotten from Elizabeth Prentiss, one she had been craving her whole childhood, a mother that held her tight and told her she was going to be okay. 

“What happened?” She said, the sob crawling up her throat, bleeding into her words and muddying them with tears, and Alex had to swallow thickly to keep down the wail that pressed tight against her tongue, “What happened?” 

“He pushed me out the way,” She said with a shaky voice, and it took everything inside herself not to cry right there with her. “UnSub was aiming right for me, Spencer grabbed me and pushed me out the way. By that point it was too late, he’d already pulled the trigger, I’m so sorry honey,” 

“Don’t be s-sorry,” She hiccuped pathetically, clinging onto Blake like she was her only lifeline, perhaps the only thing keeping her standing, “I’m glad you’re okay, I was s-so worried,” 

Alex nodded, knowing she might just start crying then and there with the youngest agent if she were to open her mouth, and instead she chose to press a delicate kiss to her temple, hoping it would have to do since the infamous Emily Prentiss wasn’t there to comfort her sister. She seemed to quieten down enough in the embrace that Alex could pull away, her hands still on the girl’s shoulders. 

“I was just doing a crossword if you wanted to join me?” Alex said, which was a half truth since she had been too bothered to get past even the first three clues, and Bugsy nodded, her mind immediately spewing a million mornings of her and Spencer fighting for space at her desk to do the daily crossword. 

She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t think of him as if he was gone. Because he wasn’t, he was simply down that hallway, in the hands of surgeons who could slash his throat if they made even the smallest of nicks wrong-

“Yeah, I would like that,” Bugsy nodded with a sniffle, wiping her cheeks with her cuff, feeling pathetic and entirely regretful for bursting into the waiting room with a million emotions and no idea which one to feel first. 

She had never been good at putting a name to how she felt, only this time, if Alex were to ask her, she knew she would say she felt guilt. Guilt for not being there to help them, for hiding things from them for almost seven months now, for not telling Spencer she loved him more, not reminding him every second of every day, guilt that everyone was hurting over Spencer taking a knock and yet she was the only one who couldn’t smush it down into a box and put on a brave face. 

Because she couldn’t even if she tried. The trojans had a horse, Rocky had Creed, and she had Spencer. She was all mouth and courage and stone faced until it came to him. He was her Achilles Heel.  

She looked over Alex’s shoulder, pointing at seven across, and sighed with the horrific irony of the clue. A feeling of deep regret and remorse. 

“Contrition” She said, slumping into the chair as Alex penned the answer in with a wobbly lip. 

It was going to be a long night. 

–

Hotch found her by the vending machine, looking between the Dr Pepper and the Full Fat Coke like one of them would be able to tell her how to feel. She knew he was waiting for her, knew they had a job to do, but she couldn’t make herself move. She felt like the hospital linoleum had claimed her as its own, like she had melted into the squeaking surface until further notice. 

He was out of surgery by now, already in his room resting. It was just a matter of waking up really, and then they would see how bad things were, though by the sounds of it the doctors had hopes for a miraculous full recovery. 

Two centimetres to the right and it would have been an entirely different story, that’s what the surgeon had said. She was two centimetres away from losing the person she loved more than she ever knew was possible, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. 

She thought for a second then, that if Spencer proposed the second he woke up she would probably say yes. Because she’d said it herself, her life had never been her life until it had him in it. 

“Bugsy,” Hotch tried, but her head had turned down, her chin pressing into her collar and it was then her shoulders began shaking, “Bug, come on, he’s going to be okay,”

She shook her head, biting down hard on her lip to stop a whimper of raw pain coming out, “I should have been there, I could have stopped it, I could have covered him,” She mewled, feeling him wrap a hand around her shoulder, and it was only then he tugged her towards him, letting her whimper into his chest as she clung onto him. 

“I know, I know it’s hard, but he’s going to make a full recovery,” He said in that cotton soft, loving tone usually reserved for Jack when he woke up from nightmares, “None of this was your fault, sweetheart, you have to know that-”

“I can’t do this without him, Hotch,” She said, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes, and it pained him more than he’d ever admit to see her look so distraught. Memories of when Emily left flooded him and he felt all over again the painful shell she’d crawled into make an appearance, “I can’t,” 

It was a beg, a plea for mercy, a cry for help, and he could do nothing but nod, because he understood. If any of his team died, his team who he loved like a family, he thought he would crumble all the same. 

Only he knew it was different. He’d always known, deep down, why it was different for them. He saw the way Spencer had always looked at her, how damaged and tormented Bugsy’s eyes were as she looked at him now. And he knew. 

“I know, honey,” He said soothingly, stroking hands over her cheeks to dry them for her, because he couldn’t stand to see her so sodden with tears, “But you know what? You’re going to pick yourself back up until Reid gets better, because we have an UnSub to catch-”

“Hotch, I can’t,” She shook her head, but Hotch only pulled her closer, his eyes boring into hers with more affection than her father had ever shown her. “I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. You know why?” He asked, and she went quiet, shaking her head with a pitiful sniff, “Because I have never once stopped believing in you, even when you hated me, even when you had a damn building dropped on you, even when you were a reckless kid running away from your own wedding, I never stopped thinking that you were the bravest person I’ve ever known. And Spencer never stopped believing in you either,”

Her throat closed up all over again, her eyes wide and threatening to wash her skin with tears all over again as she nodded timidly. 

“Okay?” Hotch said, and she nodded again. He rooted around his blazer pocket for a handkerchief, passing it off to her before he reached for the top button of her shirt. He unbuttoned it with a gentle thumb, poofing her neckline out so she could breath a little better through her dying cries, “Why don’t we get that collar loosened a little for once, huh? Get you a soda, and then we’re going to make this son of a bitch pay for what he did to Reid,” 

Bugsy nodded again, feeling a hundred percent better the second air got onto her throat, and she saw glimpses of what he was like as a dad. Part of her wished then that things would have been different, that maybe she would have had a dad like him, one that knew how to fix things. One that knew just what to say to make her smile. 

He produced a five dollar bill, holding it up for the vending machine to eat as he turned to her, “Alright, now which one are you having?” 

Bugsy thought she might just love Aaron Hotchner ten times more than she already had. 

+1. The one where they tell everyone

She swore she had never run through hospital halls so fast. 

Blake had called her to update her about Garcia shooting the UnSub who posed as a doctor to try and administer lethal doses of medicine to Spencer, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d pulled a gun on her boyfriend and her tech whizz best friend. 

And Penelope had shot him. Killed him. All to save Spencer. 

And she supposed she needed to thank Penelope soon, that she would need to get the girl her own bunch of flowers like the ones she’d quickly excused herself to grab while Hotch and Rossi went straight up into Spencer’s hospital room, even when Aaron had tried to wait for her thinking she was having another crisis of faith, she had ushered him along and told him it was bad form to show up without a card at least. 

She burst through the doors like a bat out of hell, and the sight of Spencer in the scrubs, thick gauze wrapped around his neck made whatever resolve she’d been storing dissolve immediately. Her face crumpled in a cry, and he barely had time to carefully turn his head towards the door, before she had launched herself at him, the flowers and card she had gotten him from the hospital gift shop forgotten and tossed to the floor. 

She would apologise later, because she had ruined his presents despite the sentiment being there; for now she needed to feel him, make sure he was real and breathing and alive the way she’d told herself he wouldn’t be. 

“Bug-” His voice was raspy, no doubt having been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours, or even if the doctors had told him to rest his throat so as not to affect the thin, delicate stitches. But it didn’t matter much to her, she didn’t even let him finish anyway before she threw herself at him, minding his wound as she wept onto his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist, “Bugsy, it’s okay, I’m okay,”

But she couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even tell him to stop trying to reassure her, stop trying to make her feel better because he was the one in pain. She felt like a coward; she hadn’t even pulled herself together enough to see him before, when he had still been sleeping. The sight of him on that bed, his eyes squeezed shut… she had turned tail and run before she even gave him a chance. Knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together on the case if she went into his room and pretended everything was going to be fine the way Garcia and Blake were doing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll stop-” She hiccupped, lifting her head up to look at him through distraught, reddened eyes, and she saw his face morphing into pure sorrow, his own hazel hues wide with grief because he hated seeing her in so much pain. 

And she couldn't stop herself, her hands migrated to his cheeks, steering clear of the suture. She didn’t think of the other eyes in the room, or the fact only Penelope knew, she suspected Hotch might have caught on by now anyway, she didn’t frankly care. She wanted to feel him against her, to know he was still hers. 

Bugsy kissed him like he was about to be ripped away from her at any given moment, and had she been in any other mindset she might have cared about the fact she could taste the salt of her tears, that he froze under her brazen affection, or that she surely looked a state after what the past twenty four hours had put her through. She didn’t care when she heard a gasp, or felt stares, only that Spencer kissed her back, possibly the most tender he had ever been, his hands soft and featherlike as they traced over her waist to pull her closer. He tasted like Jell-O, and she thought it might just be her favourite flavour suddenly, because it was all him. 

She pulled away with a sniffle, looking entirely sorry for herself and like a kicked puppy, and she was quickly ripped out of her delirium that allowed her to look at him without guilt or hesitation by a loud whistle. 

“Now how long have you kids been holding that out?” Morgan jeered, and Bugsy cracked a smile, wiping her face on the back of her sleeve as she looked at her team. JJ and Penelope clung to one another with ditsy smiles, like they were watching John Cusack playing the boombox over his head at the bedroom window, Rossi stood with his arms crossed, a nostalgic smile on his face as he watched the kids he’d seen grow up finally seem like they were at home. Morgan looked ready to tease some more until Blake put a hand on his shoulder, entirely motherly and chiding, and Hotch looked at her and her alone like he was looking in a mirror.

He supposed, for once, the bau had found a happy ending. 

--

@release-your-sweets s @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal l @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3

@rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @theoraekenslover r @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred @yondiii @cultish-corner @lllucere @escapismurmom @stillhere197 @hiireadstuff @amortencjja @queermaxwooo @telengraph @ivyflowers13 @estrela-rogers @green_vita @busy-buzzing @kitty-kei @universallyblizzardlove @suckstobrlaurie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @splatteredpurplepaint

[deadsetobsessions]

There’s a child wandering the streets of Crime Alley. Unfortunately, this is nothing new for the area, riddled with crime and homelessness as it is. However, Red Hood and Nightwing are vigilantes and helping lost looking children is firmly in their job description. Plus, Crime Alley is Red Hood’s. He protects what’s his. With a single shared look, the brothers swung down to the child clad in just a white dress and some thin flats completely unsuitable for Gotham’s worsening weather. Hell it’s be unsuitable for the general poor weather.

“Hey, kiddo.”

The girl’s head swung to lock gazes with the duo, eyes blinking blue- and green? Red Hood allowed his brother- he worked so hard to beat down the pit madness in order for Nightwing to even remain near- to take the lead.

“Oh. There you are.” She said, turning to face them fully. The kid’s face filled with relief.

Nightwing blinked.

“You were looking for us?” His soft voice saved for children firmed into something more serious, more concerned.

“Mmhm. I was looking for Red Hood, but you’re a good bonus.”

“And why were you looking for me, kid?” Red Hood interjects. He knows Dickolas is clocking the same things he is: the kid’s white whispy hair, pale face, and… Lazarus green eyes? It’s more solid now, that she’s looking at Jason.

Dick straightened, eyes going heavy as he looks at this wisp of a girl. He’s fiercely protective of Jason and they’re both equally wary of the League of Assassins. Still, the two of them couldn’t help but let their guard down a bit because this was still a child they’re talking to.

“Because… um. Did you know you’ve died?”

Hood stiffened, hand going towards his guns. Granted, they’re rubber bullets, but the kid clocks that immediately. She threw her hands up in the universal gesture of “I’m unarmed and mean no harm.”

“I- well, to put it frankly, you kind of… stink?”

“What.”

“Ugh, I’m totally messing this up!”

“Why don’t you start again?” Dick said, shifting into a subtler fighting stance. He kept his voice light, but Jason saw the way his hands inched towards the scrims sticks. Distantly, Jason thought it was hilarious that this tiny kid could evoke that kind of response. Looking into Lazarus green eyes though, he couldn’t find the humor anywhere. The worst thing, though, is that the pit quieted. The rage the bubbled incessantly underneath his skin calmed. Jason did not like feeling bereft of the rage, not when he didn’t know why it was gone. He had just gained control of it, minimally, and to have that control be unnecessary left the vigilantes off kilter.

“Right, okay, sorry. Um, did you, uh, die and wake up surrounded by glowing green stuff?”

Before Jason could reply ‘yes, and why the hell do you know that?’, the kid continued with, “Because me too!”

She did jazz hands as Jason’s and Dick’s brains short circuited. Jason thought he even heard a little “yay!”

“What.” Jason sputtered out. His stomach and heart clenched as he thought about how young the kid looked. Fuck.

“Yeah. So, anyways-”

“Don’t speed past that like you didn’t say what you just said!” Dick interrupted, hand tugging at his hair in distress. His body language slipped from battle ready to extremely distressed. “You died?”

“You were- you were dipped in the Lazarus pits?!” Jason felt the need to address that specific point.

“I mean, it’s not that important? The important thing is- wait, what’s a Lazarus pit?”

Jason froze again. She didn’t know what they were?

“It’s… the glowing green stuff.” Dick answered her.

“Oh. Is that what you were dipped in?” She tilted her head at Jason. He nodded, wariness climbing. “Oh. Well, I mean, that’s not we call it. But the stuff you were dipped in, it’s rank. Contaminated.”

Jason thinks back to the burning, drowning green. The agony he felt as it slipped into his mouth and nose and his very being.

“It was bubbling.” He said. The girl grimaced. Jason had no idea why he was being so honest with this kid.

“Gross. Anyways, I can, like, help you with that?”

“With what?” Dick asked, eyes darting from the girl to Jason.

The girl groaned. “Okay, so I guess you guys are kind of new. Uh, the contaminated green stuff,” she points at Jason’s chest. “That’s making you angry, right? Leaving you in the backseat of your head as your body breaks whatever got you angry to begin with and you have no control over it?”

“…The pit madness.” Jason mumbled, feeling numb. “Yeah.”

“…Right. I can help you clear that out,” she pauses, fidgeting. “If… If you help me talk to Batman? It’s kind of… urgent.”

“Batman?”

“Why?”

“Uh. There’s kind of… a whole mad scientist thing going on and like… experimentation and dissections… you know?” The kid waved her arms around, distressed.

Dick and Jason unfortunately did know.

“Cave?” Jason grumbled.

“Cave.”

“Okay, we’ll bring you to the cave. Then you tell us everything.”

“Really?”

She looked up at them hopefully, and Jason could see the moment Dickolas melted. Not that Jason could say anything, since he was already taking off his jacket and bundling the kid in it.

“Um.”

“Who the hell let you walk around Gotham like that?” He scowled down at her, not that she could see it with the red helmet in the way. Dick looked at him carefully, eyes roving over the oddly relaxed state his little wing was in.

The kid shrugged. Jason sighs.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked. Scooping her up, the blue and black clad raised his free arm to grapple away. Jason follows him, heading towards the motorcycles they’ve got parked nearby.

“Dani. With an I.”

“Nice to meet you, Dani. I’m Nightwing. This is my… this is Red Hood.”

“Okay. Cool.”



[spiderwcd]

sense | c.b.

pairing: colby brock x medium ! f ! reader

summary: colby meets a new medium for their video, but he didn't expect to have a crush on her 

w.c.: 5.4k

warning(s): talk about paranormal, creepy activity, a lil steamy moment

a/n:  like sleep tight, the hauntings are made up and the story line does not exist. i do want to add that, i suck at writing a lot of like investigative stories so please don’t judge me. also I had requests for this type of story, ironically I was already working on it so hope you guys enjoy it

images from pinterest !

"Is anyone gonna join us?" Colby asked, packing his camera into his bag. 

"Actually, yeah, some girl that Celina referred from the home town," Sam replied. "She's supposed to be a medium." He added. 

The two guys finally we're going to investigate the infamous orphanage that is supposedly haunted by the spirits of the children that died. They had finally done the research and were ready to go investigate. 

"Cool, what's this girl's name?" Colby inquired. 

"Uhm, I think it's y/n?" Sam stopped to think, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, I texted her this morning letting her know we're going to catch a flight there, she's our ride." Sam chuckled, putting away his phone into his pocket. 

Colby let the name sit in his brain for a little, hoping to remember it later. It wasn't long before they were on their flight there. It was quite a while, editing and looking over their notes. 

When they landed, Sam kept searching for her face and Colby totally lost who they were supposed to look for. Sam's eyes soon lit up, recognizing her in the crowd. He waved at her, bringing her attention towards them. 

Colby finally noticed who they looked for, catching a glimpse of her. He felt his body heat up, flustered at her beauty. She was gorgeous, her hair running down her shoulders and her smile radiating through the crowds of people passing, he was surprised he didn't notice her earlier. She'd look like your typical medium, having a great style in all black, wearing an oversized band shirt, black sleeves underneath that hung over her jeans. 

"Hey guys!" Y/n greeted them, hugging Sam then moving over to Colby.

Colby felt his heart flutter and couldn't help but take her scent in, practically intoxicating. As she pulled away from her embrace, Colby couldn't help but feel disappointed. She offered them a smile and a hand with their luggage, but they declined the help. 

They moved their things into her car, ready for the trip over to their hotel. On the way there, she played music that practically matched Colby's taste. He felt as if he found his soulmate then and there. 

Sam kept asking her about herself and getting to know her. 

"So tell me, what type of medium are you?" Sam wondered. "If you don't mind me asking, of course." 

"It's okay, I like answering these, well, it's weird but I sorta have different types of abilities," Y/n began, steering the wheel. "I can let spirits communicate through me, so I'll channel them into my consciousness, letting them talk." She answered. 

"Other abilities? like what?" Colby asked, curious as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Well, I'm sure you have other mediums with my ability to see beyond what you guys can see," Y/n chuckled, amused at their curiosity. "I sort of have a heightened sense and I can see actual spirits walking around and hear whispers." 

"You know, I think you're the only medium we met who can just surrender themselves to let spirits talk through them." Sam chuckled. 

"Oh well I don't do it often, only with spirits I trust." Y/n added. 

As she finished her sentence, they had finally made their way to their hotel. It didn't take long before the three of them were inside the room, talking about random stuff. Colby couldn't help but watch her as she laughed and moved around the room. 

"What's so interesting about Nebraska?" Sam joked, starting a conversation. 

"If i'm being honest," Y/n sighed. "Nothing." She laughed. 

"Oh, that's great," Sam laughed back. "I don't want to get into the video already, but tell me, why is Nebraska so significant with orphanages?" He continued, pulling out his camera and beginning to record. 

"Well, do you guys know about the Orphan Train Movement?" She asked, leaning back on the bed she sat on. 

"No, never really heard of it." Colby replied, shaking his head. 

"Well, Nebraska is like the center of all the railways, so in the 1850's all the way until the 1920's, people would send orphans on the train from like the crowded East Coast cities into the midwest, mostly Nebraska," Y/n explained. "So, we used to have a lot of orphanages just like Haven Orphanage." She continued. 

"Really? that's really interesting." Sam commented, facing the camera towards her. 

"Yeah, again I don't really have much knowledge about it but that's what I know," Y/n corrected. "Hopefully the guide will explain it better." 

Y/n decided it's best if she lets them settle in, letting her also collect herself and prepare for their investigation. she said her goodbyes before leaving. She had to admit, she had a crush on Colby for a while. But she didn't want to feed her delusions and say he felt the same, telling herself he was probably being friendly. 

When she had left, Sam turned over to colby. 

"You so have a crush on her." Sam laughed. 

Colby turned red, covering his face, "Shut up." He muttered. 

"Hey, I just never seen you so quiet around a girl," Sam admitted. "Come on, you gonna make a move?" Sam enticed him.

Colby sighed for a second, looking at his best friend, "I-i don't know, she's only being nice, I don't want to embarrass myself and get rejected." 

"Really? Colby Brock getting rejected? Haven't seen that happen yet." Sam teased. 

Colby rolled his eyes, playfully. "Whatever, let’s just focus on this investigation for now." he averted the subject. 

Sam just gave him a look, as if it wasn't over just yet. He agreed to his friend's idea, pulling out his notes and taking more notes. 

Six o'clock came a lot earlier than they hoped, making their way to the orphanage. As they pulled into the building, they noticed y/n already waiting out front for them. Colby felt his heart beat a bit faster seeing her there. He examined her outfit and her demeanor, admiring her. 

They began making their way up towards the front doors, seeing the guide also there. It didn't take long for y/n to turn around and notice them, putting a smile on her face and her heart to melt a bit seeing colby. 

"What's up guys?" Y/n offered them a smile. "I was just talking to Morgan here about the building." She pointed towards the other woman. 

They greeted their guide, offering a warm greeting. They all introduced themselves, joking and laughing a bit. 

"Well, are you guys ready for the tour?" Morgan asked them. 

"Yeah, for sure lead the way." Sam nodded, following her. 

"Well this building was built in 1863, it was originally an orphanage named Haven Orphanage for Moved or Unwanted children," Morgan started, pointing towards the building. "It's said to be haunted, due to cruel conditions like overcrowding and shortage of supplies. The government didn't really want to pay for any orphanages, unfortunately causing it to be absolute hell for the children and staff." She continued, clasping her hands together. 

"Yeah, off the bat I already feel like some negative energy," Y/n motioned with her hands towards the building. "Like I feel a negative spirit lurking." 

"Yeah, so that you're feeling is Ruby," Morgan clarified. "She was one of the staff, she was very cruel to the children and it's rumored she sold her soul to the devil for the place to keep standing, but unfortunately she passed away from unknown causes." She continued. 

Everyone looked around, widened eyes painted on their faces. 

"Wow, okay so more demons." Sam chuckled.

"Well, it's not all bad energy," Morgan stopped him. "There's a lot of children spirits in here, they're rather playful and kind. But they do like to mess with you so don't get too scared from it." She added. 

"Wait, why am I kinda excited," y/n replied, covering her smile. "I never talked to children's spirits before." She admitted. 

"Well, it'll be a new experience for everyone then." Morgan chuckled, "Shall we start the tour then?" She suggested. 

The group agreed, making their way into the building. Immediately everyone looked around the place, noticing the different decor and admiring the ceilings. 

"So, as you can see, the building has a lot of character to it," Morgan pointed out. "But don't be fooled, there are a lot of dark corners of this building." 

Aas they went deeper into the hallway, they looked around seeing the admission office and different classrooms. 

"This was the classrooms, they would attend school here but the staff wasn't very kind," Morgan began. "A lot of the staff would use punishments that were unorthodox, like paddling which was spanking with a wooden paddle." She added. 

Colby looked over to Sam, "Maybe I should be punished." He whispered, causing y/n and Sam to laugh a bit. 

They soon wandered up the stairs, examining the stained glass on their way up. Y/n smiled as her eyes traveled around the beautiful structure, while Colby couldn’t help but watch her move and how beautiful she was. 

When they made their way up, they noticed the many bedrooms with bunk beds. As y/n began following the guide, she heard a loud metallic thump in one of the rooms. She jumped a bit, surprised by the sound. Unexpectedly, she jumped back into Colby's arms, causing her to become embarrassed. 

Colby's hands were wrapped around her for a moment before y/n, releasing her when she cleared her throat and looked down flustered. “Sorry, that just scared the shit out of me.” She muttered, placing a hand on her chest. 

“That's probably Billy,” Morgan mentioned, pointing towards one of the darkened rooms. “He likes to mess with tourists, he’s a prankster but he’s harmless.” She added. 

Y/n couldn't help but notice a small figure move out of her eyeline, causing her to swing her head towards the room. The guys followed her swift movements, examining the dark room. 

"Did you see something?" Colby asked her, looking back at her. 

Y/n tried focusing her eyes into the darkness, but nothing came up, "Could've sworn I saw something..." She whispered. 

As Sam pointed the camera towards the darkness, he zoomed into the room. "Well we definitely have to come back here for something," he commented. 

As they continued making their way further into the building, Colby couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was beautiful at every angle, he wanted to protect her from anything and everything. Y/n noticed his gaze, being a medium and all, and turned to him. Colby quickly averted his gaze off her, flustered yet again and awkwardly kept walking. 

Y/n blushes as well, trying to rationalize. She cleared her throat as she began making her way towards one of the bedrooms. 

"This was one of the girls' rooms," Morgan explained, pointing towards the different bedsheets of muted pinks and purples. "This doesn't have much activity besides a little girl who likes to sing from time to time, she's a rather sweet ghost." 

"Sam, this one should be your favorite," Colby teases, mentioning the Sallie house. 

Sam laughs, facing his friend, "I think I'm okay without another attachment." 

They all exchanged laughs as they averted their attention towards the sudden faint sounds of footsteps, followed by the rocking chair in the corner slowly creaking as it rocked back and forth. 

They went silent, looking at each other and back at the scene. But the chair just ceases its movements. 

"Okay, what the actual fuck." Colby whispered, covering his mouth in shock. 

Y/n felt a cold touch travel down her arm, as if someone swiped her arm. She looked around, trying to find the source. She felt a faint whisper in her ear, a name. 

"That was the little girl, her name is Beth if you would like to talk to her." Morgan suggested.

Y/n's jaw flew down, realizing what the name was. "You're kidding," she gasped. "I literally heard like a whisper or something with that name." She announced, crossing her arms as she felt the cold begin to engulf her. 

Sam and Colby turned to her, eyes widened in surprise. 

"Oh my god, maybe Beth wants to talk or something?" Sam considered, pointing the camera towards her direction. 

Y/n nodding, agreeing. She had experiences like this, but never this strong. She felt like her body was vibrating and buzzing with the constant movements and voices. 

"Are you okay?" Colby asked, furrowing his brows as he noticed her body shake. 

Y/n nodded slightly, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. "Yeah just there's so much happening right now, I keep hearing different types of voices and seeing figures around the corner of my eye." She mentioned. 

Colby's eyes washed over with concern, having the need to protect her. "Did you want to take a break or anything?" He asked her, worry coated in his voice. 

Y/n smiled at his empathy, "I'll be okay, just my body is buzzing a bit, but thank you." She breathed out, flustered at his concern. 

Before they knew it, they had made their way to the darkest part of the building. The basement was where supposedly a lot of the children died from cruel punishments, creating a lot of angry spirits. 

"Okay, so before we make our way around," Morgan began, turning back to the group of people. "There is a lot of negative energy here, they will try to hurt you. People always leave here with scratches and even have been pushed off the stairs going to the basement." She warned. 

The group felt tense, nervous about what comes next. When they entered the dimly lit room, they could barely navigate through the dark basement as they stayed close to each other. 

Y/n heard something fall, causing her to jump forward and instinctively grab the person's hand. That person being Colby. She blushed as she realized who it was, clearing her throat and mumbling an apology. 

"It's okay," Colby assured, smiling but she couldn't see it. "You can hold my hand if you want, I'm sorta shitting bricks right now too." He chuckled, stretching out his hand to her. 

She felt her heart skip a beat, hesitantly reaching for his hand. As she grabbed onto his hand, she felt her body rush with electricity. Y/n was glad that the room was too dark to see her flustered face. 

"Alright guys," Morgan sighed, stopping under a lightbulb. "This was where most of the children actually died." She mentioned. 

Y/n felt a wave of sadness coarse through her body, her lip beginning to quiver. Colby looked over to her, seeing the glisten of her tears. 

"Hey, you okay?" He asked her, his brows furrowed with worry. 

"Y-Yeah, I just felt this wave of sadness," she sniffled in response. "like I feel them telling me something so horrible happened to them." She added. 

Colby felt sad to see her cry, wanting to wipe her tears away. Instead he gripped onto her hand firmly, reassuring her. 

Morgan nodded at her comment, "It was actually gruesome," she began. "The kids would be punished here, starved, even beaten. A lot of that resulted in death." 

Everyone in the group frowned, so much remorse for the poor children's lives that were lost. 

"But," Morgan cut in. "Like I mentioned before, there is an adult spirit who haunts here, Ruby. It's rumored she was murdered down here or the other theory was she was pushed out of one of the windows." 

They thought for a moment, feeling a cold chill rush through them causing them to shiver for a bit. 

"Did you guys feel that?" Sam asked, pointing the camera towards them, ignoring their grasp on each other. 

The two nodded, their eyes darting throughout the basement. 

"Man, I don't like the vibe I'm getting here." Y/n whispered, trying to inch closer to Colby. 

Colby agreed, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her closer to his body. He felt so protective of her, wanting her to be safe. 

"Yeah, we don't want to be down here for too long," Morgan began making her way back to the exit. "People get seriously hurt here." She added, sternly. 

Y/n's eyes widened, looking up at Colby. He looked back once he noticed her glance and smiled as he guided her towards the exit. 

Once they exited the creepy basement, y/n let go as she thought Colby wouldn't want Sam to see their hold, causing Colby to become disappointed. 

Morgan led the group towards the front of the building, Y/n walking alongside with her as Sam and Colby hung behind them. 

"Dude, I saw you guys down there," Sam smirked, grabbing Colby's attention. "You know, holding hands," He teased. 

Colby rolled his eyes as he flustered at his best friend's teasing, "So what?" He murmured. 

"Admit it, you like her, don't you?" Sam asked, wiggling his brows slightly. 

This only caused Colby to get more embarrassed, looking away from his best friend. 

Sam only chuckled, reaching the doors to the building as they parted ways with Morgan. They thanked her, offering her farewells, and advice. 

As soon as Morgan left, the group looked at each other. Y/n tried to avoid her gaze on Colby, not wanting to seem desperate for his attention. 

"Alright, I think we should use the spirit box," Sam began, rummaging through his bag. "And I have some toys that might interest the kids." Sam added as he pulled out various children's toys and the infamous Alice box. 

"Okay, sounds good." Colby agreed, nodding with the plan. 

Y/n bit her lip, trying to figure out something she heard in the building. She figured it was nothing, brushing it off slightly. They began making their way back towards the doors they just exited, seeing the dark hallways stretch down. 

Y/n froze for a moment, her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Soon, she started making her way towards the two who had already made it halfway down the hallway as they discussed plans. 

She tried to catch up to them, but stopped when she saw it. She stopped at the intersection of hallways, staring down the much larger hallway. 

Colby looked behind him, seeing y/n stuck in a trance like state. He made his way back to her, nudging her to see what's wrong. 

"Y-You guys don't see it don't you?" She whispered, her eyes glued on the other side of the barren hallway. 

Colby and Sam looked over to where she was staring, unable to locate the problem. 

"No, Y/n we only see the hallway." Colby shook his head, worry creeping into his skin. 

As Sam tried to begin his sentence, Y/n quickly cut him off. 

"Holy fuck, that thing just moved." Y/n whispered, her hands shaking a bit. 

"What? What did you see?" Sam asked, looking around the hallway. 

Y/n turned to the two, her eyes widened slightly. 

"Okay, as I was about to make my way towards you guys," y/n explained. "I stopped because I heard this whisper, almost telling me to come over here kinda. So I look down the hallway and I see this fucking thing, it was like tall and black and clothed with some weird black clothes, it kept staring at me even when you guys came over. Then it grinned and walked away." She elaborated, her voice beginning to shake as she covered her mouth a bit with her shaking hand. 

Sam and Colby look at each other for a moment, worried. 

"Yeah, okay so already a lot of shit is happening." Sam sighed, feeling a pressure build up in his chest. 

Colby nodded, licking his lips as he began to speak, "let's just get this investigation over with so we can leave," he suggested. "Are you okay to keep going?" He asked Y/n, his brows furrowed. 

Y/n nodded her head, exhaling a deep breath out. "Yeah, just that freaked me out but i'm sure it's nothing." She convinced herself. 

With that, the three made their way to one of the bedrooms, trying to contact one of the nicer spirits. 

"Okay guys, so we have the new Alice box," Sam pointed the camera to the machine. "It's like a spirit box, reading through channels and frequencies so the spirits talk through it." He explained. 

Y/n looked around the room a bit, examining the surroundings well. Colby couldn't help but stare at her face, watching as her eyes darted around. Y/n looked over to Colby's glance and Colby smiled a bit, causing her to blush yet again. She's lost track of how many times she caught him doing things that she keeps reading into. Clearly he's being friendly, but really how friendly?

"Okay let's ask some questions for the little girls that stay in this room." Sam began, clasping his hands after he turned on the small device.

"...hello?..." 

A female voice rang throughout the room, the echo bouncing off the walls. Y/n furrowed her brows, pulling out her notebook as she began to scribble words that came up in her mind. 

She stopped at the word, she looked down and thought of it for a moment. She noticed something, a pair of eyes on her notebook. But it wasn't a spirit, just colby snooping. She smiled a bit, turning her notebook over to Colby. 

He looked at her then lined the pieces of paper with the random ink on letters and drawings. As he read the words, suddenly the Alice box answered. 

"...chair..."

Colby's jaw hung open, looking over to Sam and the paper. Y/n's actions mimicking his. 

"Dude," y/n gasped, displaying her notebook to Sam and the camera. "I wrote that not even 2 minutes earlier, Colby saw it too." She explained. 

Sam’s mouth hung open a bit, shocked. "No fucking way." 

But before they could say anything else, the Alice box spoke again. 

"...girl..." 

"I mean, this is the girl's room." Y/n explained. The two guys nodded, still confused what the spirits are trying to say. 

"...man... hallway..." 

Y/n froze, goosebumps running down her body. "Oh my god, it's talking about that thing I saw." She whispered. 

"Do you know the thing that Y/n saw in that hallway?" Colby asked into the open air. 

The Alice box stayed silent for a moment, occasionally spewing random words that didn't make sense. But as they were about to turn it off, it spoke. 

"... can't say..." 

"Can't say? Why can't you say anything?" Y/n asked yet again, scribbling into her notebook. 

"...won't..." "...let us..." 

"He maybe has a hold on them," Sam suggested, rubbing his chin slightly. "It's possible it's a demon." He added. 

"...evil..." 

They looked at each other and didn't say anything for a moment, Y/n turning her notebook over to reveal the word written on the paper. evil. 

Then the rem pod near the door started going off, a chill running down Y/n's back as the room became cold.

"Okay, this is actually so freaky," Sam chuckled a bit, pointing the camera towards the door. "The rem pod went off after Y/n wrote evil AND the Alice box said evil." 

Y/n sat up, ears perking up a bit as she listened carefully to the air. "Okay, I don't know if it's just me, but the room went completely freezing, and I feel something negative in here." She blurted out. 

"Yeah, I feel the cold," Sam agreed. "Could it be that thing you saw earlier?" He inquired. 

Y/n shook her head, "No, that was like paralyzing fear," She noted. "This one.. it's just mad." She whispered out. 

Concern painted on Colby's expression, clearly reading her body language as uncomfortable. 

"Hey, maybe let's end it in this room," Colby proposed. "A lot more places to investigate." 

Sam nodded, reaching for the equipment as he turned it off. Y/n sat up, but quickly recoiled forward. Colby noticed it, confused. 

"You okay?" he asked, helping her stabilize herself. 

Y/n looked around as Colby held onto her arm. "Y-Yeah, just something pushed me," She answered. "like I was standing up, and I felt a shove on my upper back." 

The group quickly exited the room, making their way down to the basement. They were going to explore more of the place, but seeing how y/n kept being targeted clearly for her abilities they weren't comfortable making her go through it. 

The feeling of uneasiness returned, entering the frigid basement. The dim light still remained on, barely illuminating the space around them. 

"Alright guys, we're going to the basement," Sam mentioned into the camera, showing the dark room. "We're going to do the Estes method down here, Colby is going to do it today." he spun the camera towards Colby's direction, zooming into his face. 

"Wow, face of excitement right there." Y/n joked, causing Colby to break his monotone expression to light up with laughter. 

She felt her heart jump, hearing his laughter brightening her spirit up. She could listen to it all day if she could. Colby soon sat on the barren concrete floor, Y/n handing him the blindfold followed with the headphones. His hands brushing up against her, followed by a smirk on his face. 

She cleared her throat, backing away from him. 

"Alright Colby, can you hear us?" Sam asked, testing out the volume. Colby doesn't say anything, listening to the random static coming through the headphones. 

"Okay, whoever dwells in this basement, are you the supposed member of staff that passed away?" Sam questioned, awaiting Colby's answer. 

"Perhaps." Colby replied. 

"So it's a bit sassy." Y/n chuckled a bit followed by Sam's chuckles. 

"Well, is it true you did rituals to keep this place running?" Sam added. 

Colby stayed silent for a moment, trying to listen carefully to the voices ringing through. 

"Force." Colby blurted. "protect," he continued. 

They looked at each other, trying to decipher what was spoken. 

"What did you do to protect this building?" Y/n asked, furrowing her brows. 

"Colby." Colby said. "Crush." 

Sam looked over to y/n and smirked a bit, "I think it's speaking for you." 

Y/n smacked Sam playfully, a blush covering her face. 

"Kissing," Colby furrowed his brow under his mask. "Tree." 

Sam bursted into laughter, nearly dropping to the floor. Y/n covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. Colby, still oblivious to what's happening, is still spewing out words. Sam tapped him, alerting him to pull out of his trance. 

Colby removed his blindfold, followed by the headphones. He noticed Sam's laughter and Y/n's embarrassed face behind her hands. 

"What? What happened?" Colby asked, curious why Sam was practically rolling on the floor. 

Sam calmed down, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “It said kiss and then tree,” Sam coughed a bit. “It was teasing you.” He pointed towards Colby. 

Colby's face became warm, blushing until his face was red, “Yeah real funny, Sam.” Colby muttered with a sigh. 

Y/n cleared her throat, cheeks still flaming hot. "Well, let's just continue what we came here for." Y/n grumbled, her arms folded on her chest. 

Sam wiped his eyes, cooling down from his laughter. "Wow, that was too good."

Sam began making his way towards the stairs, leaving Y/n and Colby behind his trail.

"Sorry about him." Colby let out with a sigh, rubbing his neck. 

Y/n smiled up at him slightly, "I-Its okay, I know he's just teasing." She blushed. 

Colby simply nodded, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. It wasn't too long before they had explored the whole place, investigating where they could. But then the time to sleep in the actual building came, which y/n began overthinking about. She knew she agreed to sleep alone, but she was too scared after her encounter with that thing in the hallway. 

"Alright guys, it's time for us to split up and sleep in separate rooms," Sam urged. "We figured with the whole Y/n seeing the spirit in the hallway, we're going to sleep in rooms next to each other just to ensure safety." Sam explained. 

Y/n fiddled with her fingers slightly, anxiety beginning to heighten. She bit her lip as they began setting up camp in their rooms. She grabbed her sleeping bag, making their way towards one of the girl's rooms. her heart began beating against her chest as she sat on top of her sleeping bag, listening to every crack and noise around her. 

She rubbed her face, trying to distract herself from her thoughts. But then she heard a faint knocking on the window directly behind her. She just stared at the moonlight that illuminated through the glass in front of her. She quickly sat up, quickly walking towards the closed door. As she opened the door, Colby's chest pressed up against hers. She yelped as she got freighted by the unexpected visit. 

Y/n pressed her hand onto her chest, trying to calm herself down. "Holy shit Colby, you scared the fuck out of me!" She lightly slapped his chest. 

Colby chuckled a bit, trying to lighten up the mood, "Sorry, I couldn't sleep, plus I knew this was your first time staying alone in a haunted place so I wanted to keep you some company." He admitted. 

Y/n felt her heart softly flutter, touched by his gesture, "Yeah, I sorta kept hearing things, I was gonna go to you." She confessed. 

Colby smiled, glad she found comfort in his presence, "Mind if I sleep in the same room as you then?" He requested. 

"Not at all," Y/n quickly replied, walking back to her sleeping bag onto the floor. Colby followed, his pillow and sleeping bag in his hands. "I wonder if Sam is shitting himself alone." She chuckled as she hugged her knees close to her chest. 

Colby sat next to her as he laid out his temporary bed, chuckling at the comment, "He'll be fine," He waved off, "After he laughed at us,he can sleep by himself." 

Y/n laughed a bit, looking down towards the floor. Colby couldn't help but stare at her, admiring her features in the moonlight. She noticed his gaze, moving her attention back towards him. 

"W-What?" She asked him, confused. 

"Nothing," Colby shrugged. "You're just really beautiful." He whispered. 

She flustered as she looked away as her cheeks painted with a deep color, "Oh, stop it." She muttered, playing with her fingernails. 

Colby's fingers landed on her jaw, moving her to face back towards him. She looked up into his eyes, seeming to get pulled closer towards him. 

"Well, it's true," He added, but couldn't help but lean towards her lips as his eyes kept glancing to her eyes and back to her lips. "I couldn't stop staring at you all day," he revealed. 

She felt her body heat up, unknowingly pressing closer to him. "Well, maybe I knew," She replied, feeling his hand on top of hers. "Maybe I was staring too." 

With that, Colby's lips landed on her. She gladly accepted as her lips pieced together perfectly. Colby's hand laced with hers, like previously that night. He lightly held her face, his thumb rubbing her cheek.

But soon, Colby pulled away, leaving them panting as they rested each other's forehead on one another. Y/n couldn't help but smile and chuckle a bit, causing Colby to wonder. 

"What?" He wondered. 

"Nothing," She added, rubbing her thumb on his hand. "Just, there were at least three little girls in here giggling." She confessed. 

Colby let out a laugh, pulling away as he looked around the room, "Well, you guys should give us some space." He announced into the room. 

The next morning, the sun began to shine through their window. The rays of light hitting their eyes, causing their eyes to flutter open. Y/n was the first one to notice him, seeing his wide smile on his face. Sam pointed the camera at the two, giggling as he noticed her to wake up. 

Y/n looked over next to her, noticing the boy clung onto her as he laid onto her chest. She threw her pillow towards Sam, causing him to laugh loudly which woke up Colby. Colby rubbed his eyes, adjusting his vision to the bright room. 

"What the-." Colby grumbled, looking up towards y/n's tired face. 

"Dude, how long have you guys been cuddling?" Sam exclaimed, putting away the camera. 

"Shut up sam." Colby muttered, his head landing onto his pillow. y/n sat up, covering her face. 

"Sam, it's too early for this, can you please leave us alone." Y/n groaned.

"Fine, fine I'll let you love birds be." Sam teased, wiggling his brows a bit before he shut the door behind him as he left. 

Y/n looked over to Colby who was laying on his side. She smiled a bit, still exhausted. He returned the smile, still amazed by her beauty. 

"Does this mean you'd go out with me? or do you already know that I was gonna ask you out?" He finally asked. 

Y/n chuckled dryly, "Colby, I’m a medium, not psychic," She rolled her eyes playfully. "But yes, I will go out with you."

[gilverrwrites]

If that ask was too long and elaborate, I have another one!

What about a fic with Batman, where the reader finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t know how to tell Bruce since he already has mature/ teenager kids and she doesn’t know if he wants to raise one from the infant stage to adulthood.

She kinda overthinks about it and distance herself from Bruce. He notice it and when she would confess, to her surprise, Bruce would get super exited!

What I don't understand

AN: I'm back baby! At least partly, my hand is still on and off achy so I won't we posting as activiely as I have previously. I've done so much research on pregnancy that all my adds are now of pregancy tests, fertilitie test, baby stuff, I'm worried my bf might start to suspect that I'm pregnant which would be akward Bruce Wayne/F!Reader, 3.9K words CW: Husband/Wife dynamic, pregnancy, feet (none sexual), mentions of vomit, body dysmorphia, lying/sneaking around, prenatal anxiety/depression, martial problems, swearing. Fluffy ending tho!

Pregnancy brain is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Or maybe that's insanity, who knows? You ponder the thought as you fidget with the flimsy cardboard packaging of the pregnancy test you're awaiting the results of as if you don't know the answer. You'd already taken countless tests, trialling different brands in the hopes of a different outcome but every single one of them had confirmed your situation with variations on lines and plus signs. They'd never offered you a negative, and yet you keep trying.

There was no denying it, and pretty soon there would be no hiding. You were fast approaching the end of your first trimester at 9 weeks but had only found out about a month ago. The task of informing Bruce while there was still time to act seems to grow bigger and scarier with each passing day. Not to mention; it's becoming increasingly obvious that he already suspected something is wrong.

3 weeks ago:

The cold tile against your aching feet felt like ecstasy. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean against the wall, relishing in every second of release as you awaited Jason’s return.

You’d spend hours hiding your pain, precariously balancing in a pair of heels as you kept up appearances during a charity event being held at the manor. Bruce was currently being cornered by a visiting dignitary, and as bad as you felt leaving him alone, it might have been your only chance. You’d slipped away to an off-limits hallway, grasping Jason’s who had drawn the short straw for event appearances along the way. Once out of view to your guests you’d begged him to retrieve a pair of pumps from your bedroom, the petty prospect of keeping it secret from, and thus getting a one-up on his adoptive father being the primary motivator. That and he owed you, a lot, for defusing many situations in which he and your husband had butt heads.

The weight of your discarded shoes hung heavily from your fingers, you hadn’t realised how weighty they were. A shame, because they were so pretty. They were a gift from Bruce, strappy and bedazzled, the perfect colour to match your dress. Another pair for your ever-expanding collection, he’d always favoured gifting you shoes and purses, and you certainly didn’t mind, at least not until your ankles had begun swelling at the mere notion of being used for their primary function.

“Are you okay? You seem off.” Jason’s voice returning to the hall made you jump out of your stupor, and he watched with concern as you tucked your heels behind a curtain and slipped into the flats he’d brought you.

“Fine, fine.” You smile, patting his arm with a reassuring smile. “Just didn’t wear those in properly and now I’m paying the price.”

“Right.” He still seemed dubious and was about to say something else when a door creeks open, redirecting both of your attention.

Bruce stood in the doorway, stern, arms crossed. He glares at the both of you, he and Jason have a very similar glare. His eyes focus in on you, identifying you as the main culprit, his gaze roves across your form, lingering on your feet for an uncomfortably long time before speaking.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do the two of you.” He points behind him. “In.”

Jason’s face is obscured as he takes the lead, but Bruce must not like his expression because his frown seems to deepen.

You followed close behind, careful not to step on the hem of your dress now that you lack the additional six inches the heels had offered but your integration back into the crowd is halted. Bruce traced his hand along your back, cupping the curve of your waist and directing you to a lesser populated spot amongst the outskirts of your visitants.

The stony look on his face was gone, replaced with a polite smile for the crowd and softer eyes for you.

“What happened to your shoes?” His voice was low, in-perceivable to anyone but yourself.

“My feet were sore is all.” It’s not a lie.

“Too sore for dancing?” He asks, voice as slick as silk and you don’t want to agree but yes, they are too sore dancing. Not to mention you’d gotten nauseous from standing up too quickly only hours earlier but damn if you didn’t want to dance with your husband. Want to feel his chest against yours, his hands on your curves, admire the smile on his face. There are few things you enjoy more than any form of intimacy with Bruce.

“Maybe later.” You sighed, “I think I need to sit down for a while.”

2 weeks ago:

‘Breast changes are another very early sign of pregnancy. Your hormone levels rapidly change after the egg is fertilized. Because of these changes, your breasts may become swollen, sore, or tingly.’

You groaned aloud, rereading the entry on WebMD once more. You hadn’t expected your breasts to change so early on, incorrectly assuming any swelling or pain would be a result of breast milk, but you were wrong.

Believing you had the house to yourself, you figure now was as good a time as any to read up on more early pregnancy symptoms, to correct any other misconception you might have. You were midway through reading about progesterone and how it causes constipation when your laptop pinged.

A notification popped up in the corner of the screen, a DM from UserDC27, Bruce’s bat-server codename. You click to open the message and audibly gasp when a screenshot of your browsing history greets you, framed in red with its own ‘suspicious activity’ notification in the corner.

‘Pregnancy trimesters in weeks’ ‘Swollen breasts pregnant’ ‘Early pregnancy symptoms’

Amongst all the suspicious browsing habits of this family, of course yours had flagged up! Fucking ridiculous!

UserDC27: ? UserRI01: For a friend UserRI01: dw UserRI01: Love you x UserDC27: is typing… UserRI01: has signed out.

1 weeks ago:

“Good morning.” A familiar voice greeted you, strong hands slink around your body, brushing against your back and hips before settling on your stomach. What should have been a sweet moment frightened you, disturbing you from your train of thought and causing you to almost spill your morning decaf coffee.

“Woah there.” Bruce laughed, the warmth and proximity of him soothing you quickly. He effortlessly took the mug from your hands and settled it on the kitchen island so he could pull you closer without spillage.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, turning your head to rest it against his chest. The strength of his cologne is always so much stronger in the mornings, the scent of the man you love, of citrus and woodsiness does wonders to comfort your frantic brain no matter the time or place. “Just lost in thought.”

After a second you realise your mistake, you’ve allowed him an opening to ask what you’re thinking about and that exact moment certainly did not feel like the right time, what with Damian in the next room. You should be alone, completely alone.

He surprises you however, always one for keeping everyone on their toes, by spinning you around to face him and telling you, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“What do you think it is?” You tried to keep your voice airy, relaxed, unsuspicious but even you can hear the guilt in your tone.

“I think you’re tired.” He watches you with a playful glint in his eye, but the next words out of his mouth are accusatory no matter how light his tone is. “Where are you sneaking off to in the mornings, oh wife of mine?”

“W-what?” You heard him fine, you were stalling while you calculated a response. You had been sneaking off in the mornings and the fact that he’s asking so playfully, as opposed to interrogating which he is not unknown to do even with you, means he knows more than he’s letting on.

Bruce isn’t exactly an early riser, often too tired from long nights of crime fighting and case filing, but he is a light sleeper. Always on alert. He’d already caught you in a bought of morning sickness once. Roused by the unpleasant noises you’d been making. You’d lied about it, citing an upset tummy from something you’d eaten. You weren’t sure which was worse, the vomiting, the sombre expression he’d given you as he approached to rub your back throughout, or the look of horror on Alfred’s face when Bruce had brought up your supposed food poisoning later that day.

Ever since you’d purposely been rising early and sneaking off to dispel any nausea in one of the many guest bedrooms.

“Nowhere, I’m just becoming more of a morning person I guess.”

He eyed you sceptically, and you thought you might crack under the pressure. His hands reach up to cup your face, preventing you from turning away. His touch is so gentle, so soft for a man of his stature. “You can tell me anything, you know that?”

“Of course.”

As if you couldn’t feel worse he adds; “I miss waking up to you beside me.”

“Oh Brucie-“

You’re already on your tip toes, ready to concede, to apologise, to shower your sullen husband with kisses when you’re saved by the signal. Literally, a call from Duke 'The Signal' Thomas, with a reminder of your apprehension; an active situation that needed Batman’s participation.

Your relationship, and now marriage to Bruce had always hinged on an unspoken understanding that Gotham comes first. Even with Tim taking over most of his responsibilities at Wayne Tech, Bruce simply does not have enough time to raise a baby. You can't expect him to take turns with the nighttime feeds, with the frequent nappy changes, with the constant attention an infant will need.

You’ve no doubt Alfred would delight in assisting you, he's been dropping hints about wanting a baby Brucie since the engagement, and you love him very much but if you’re to raise a baby, you want to do it with your husband, not his butler.

That’s presuming your husband even wants a child. Another child. He already has enough children to populate a small village. Children with lives of their own. Children who in some way or another have followed in his vigilante footsteps. You think of the stress and trauma each of them has faced, and how it has affected them and their father. You think of Steph and her tremulous relationships with Bruce and Arthur. Of Jason’s deaths, plural. Of Dicks ineptitude to form meaningful relationships with anyone outside of the lifestyle. Of all the childhoods so many, but especially Cass and Damian missed out on. Could you be responsible for putting another child through any of that?

Furthermore, if your child wanted to live this life, could you really stop them? Nobody stopped Tim. Nobody stopped Barbara, when Jim had tried it only caused the rift between them to grow bigger.

Could Bruce stop your unborn child? Would he want to?

Speak of the Oracle. The chime of your phone draws you out of your spiral of perinatal anxieties. It’s Barbara, informing the girls-only group chat that she’s running late for lunch. Crap. You’d completely forgotten that you’d promised the girls lunch and shopping. Barbara had some tech on hold, Steph wanted to try the new caramel cookie waffles at Goodilicious, and Cass needed new boots whether she knew it or not.

Hurriedly, you shove the used test into a previously disused makeup bag that is now full of other used tests. It's starting to smell, but you don't have time to figure out how to stealthily throw it out, so you hide it at the back of a cupboard behind a basket of sanitary products before rushing out the door.

Later

Catching up with the girls had been fun, it had really helped you forget about your predicament and just relax for a while, but it had also taken a lot out of you, keeping you out well past dinner. Your body just was not functioning as well as it used to, for obvious reasons.

Upon returning to the mansion you’d made it to the ground floor lounge, feet too sore to even consider the stairs, and collapsed on the closest couch, exerting just enough energy to pry your shoes and sock off of your swollen feet prior to falling asleep. Just a quick nap you tell yourself, to regain some energy, you’ll be right as rain in time for Damian’s bedtime. He’s old enough now to put himself to bed, especially given that he often patrols with his father until the early hours of the morning, but tonight is his night off and you’d always make the effort to wish him sweet dreams when you can.

You’re awoken by the feel of calloused fingers pressing into the arches of your feet. You hadn’t heard him enter, but Bruce is sitting on the arm of the couch, in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. Between his bare chest and cowl hair, he is a welcome sight, bruised chest and freshly cut lip and all.

“What happened to you?” You ask, voice husky from your impromptu nap. You manage to draw your eyes away from Bruce long enough to check the time on an antique wall clock, it’s 4 AM. You’d far exceeded a nap. “Where’s Damian?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Damian is asleep. When you didn’t wish him a goodnight he came to look for you, that’s how I knew you were here.” He asserts. He looks at you with a furrowed brow and pinched lips, working his thumb into the arch of your feet with just enough pressure to make you mewl in relief. “Are you punishing me for something?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks, it’s not without merit. You hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch, but you can understand how it must look to him, especially in tangent with the ways in which you had intentionally been avoiding him; sneaking out in the mornings, not allowing him to see your naked body for fear that he’ll notice your swollen breasts, and growing belly. You hadn’t had sex in at least three weeks.

All at once you are overcome with remorse. You’d been so consumed with the pregnancy and how best to approach the subject with Bruce that you hadn’t stopped to think how your actions would weigh on him. He’s so strong, your anchor, an unchanging presence for the whole family. He locks himself and his emotions behind the big bad bat or billionaire Brucie so well that sometimes he forgets he has them. Sometimes you forget. Even now, clearly hurting and concerned for his marriage, he’s rubbing your feet.

“No of course not Bruce, I’m sorry…” your mind starts to form the end of your apology ‘I was just so tired’ or ‘it’s been a long day’ and they wouldn’t be lies but they’re not the right thing to say. You can’t keep postponing for the ‘right moment’ that will never come, can’t keep chickening out. He needs to know the truth. “I’m- I’m pregnant.”

You’re not sure how you’d expected him to respond really. You’d feared anger, hoped for joy but instead, he continues to stare at you, his brows raising in a way that implied he needed more information. He swaps your left foot for your right as he awaits your resumption. When you don’t speak he nods and states; “I know.”

“You know?” As though possessed your tired body launches into an upright seated position. “How could you know?”

Bruce smiles in response, an amused, tight-lipped ‘Are you kidding?’ smile.

“Well, to name a few things;” he counts off each observation on his fingers. “You’ve stopped wearing heels because your ankles are constantly swollen, your breasts are also noticeably swollen even under your clothes, you now only drink decaf, you seemingly have ‘food poisoning’ every morning and at no other time of day, a massive increase in urination, and my personal favourite, the bag full of positive pregnancy tests behind a crate-full of menstrual products that haven’t been used in almost three months.”

He’s trying to hide it, but he’s smug about his own detective skills. His mouth might be straight but there’s a fire in his eyes that has you drawing your legs away from him with a huff, abruptly ending the massage you had been enjoying. “How long have you known?”

“I’d had my suspicions for about 6 weeks, but I wasn’t certain until I found your stash last week.” Typical of Bruce to have figured out you were pregnant before you’d known yourself. “What I don’t understand, is why you didn’t tell me. Why you’ve been lying.”

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have kept this from you. I was going to but…” You trail off,  straightening your thoughts as best you can and finding your composure, preparing to begin monologuing about your concerns. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, what with you know, already having so many kids. Everyone but Damian has flown the nest, Dick and Babs are married! They’re all so grown up, do you really want to start again? And then…”

Conscious of your rambling you cut yourself off, looking to Bruce for reassurance that you’re not talking too much, that he’s not offended by your worries. He consoles you by coming closer, sitting on the cushion beside you and easily coaxing your legs over his. His firm hands are gentle as they grasp your knee.

“And what?” He questions.

“I wasn’t sure how I feel, I wanted to figure that out before talking to you.”

“What do you think you feel about it?”

“I think I want to have your baby Bruce, our baby.” So caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed your husband’s hands creeping higher and higher up your body until a hand settles on your stomach, his thumb stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You’d been so self-conscious of its growth but as you look at it now, under Bruce’s sturdy fingers, you realise it isn’t much bigger than it had been pre-pregnancy. How tedious your problems seemed when voiced and put into perspective, except maybe one. “I’m just not sure about how… well I guess I never thought about raising a child within your lifestyle.”

“I understand.” He nods, confirming his statement. He’s done well to keep his face soft but neutral throughout, a staple of his Batman facade but also a careful way not to let his own emotions interfere with yours.

“What do you think?” He looks down at your abdomen as he considers his words. You follow his gaze, watching as his fingers lift your top, exposing your skin to him. Without warning he lowers himself to pepper your belly with gentle kisses, the ticklish motion causes you to giggle and writhe beneath him.

When he looks up at you again he’s smiling, the motion causing the scab on his lip to split and bleed. Without thought you pull yourself closer to him, using his broad shoulders as leverage. Once close enough you dab at the minor wound with your thumb soaking up the fluid as best you can and examining the cut to ensure no further damage.

Bruce watches you intently the whole time, cupping your face in his hand when you appear satisfied. The adoration in his eyes makes you feel sheepish even after everything you’ve been through together.

“I think,” his voice is low, sincere. “I couldn’t be happier to be growing our family together. I think this child, like all our children, will be lucky to have you as a mother, whatever life they choose to lead.”

The amount of pent-up tension in your body had not been apparent to you until now. Until your body noticeably lightens in response to his words. The relief of no longer sneaking around, no more fretting over how he might react has you wishing you’d done this a long time ago.

“Bruce?” You sag into his chest, breathing him in. His arms unconsciously wrap around you in response, pulling you in for a tighter embrace. “We’re having a baby.”

“Were are having a baby.” He confirms, pressing more, tender kisses to your neck, the curve of a smile apparent as his lips press to your exposed skin. "I've been waiting for this moment since the day we me. But, I think it’s time we got to bed, it’s late.”

Swift and practiced, Bruce lifts you from the couch, cradling you in the bridal position. You stretch to check the clock, 4:34 AM.

“Technically it’s early.” You jest, expecting him to punish your cheek by jolting you in the air or throwing you over his shoulder as he normally does, but instead, he chides you with an amused glare, clearly too concerned about the baby for play fighting.

“Neither of us has been to bed, it’s late.” His grip tightens on your body as he makes his way up the stairs, one steady step at a time. “And I expect my wife to be in our bed when I wake up.”

“Hmmm.” Your morning sickness has eased in the last few days, you’d only persisted in sneaking out to be safe, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet. “I’ll try, but I might be in our bathroom.”

“I can cope with that. At least then I can care for you. And we can throw out your hoard.” You don’t fuss over the likelihood of him having to rush off to save the day or for an urgent board meeting, you just throw your head back, laughing at yourself for trying to hide anything from Bruce.

When you reach the bedroom he lays you in the bed and climbs over your form. He’s in full caretaker mode, a manner you could get used to. He carefully removes your clothes, offers to redress you in your sleepwear and to bring you your lotions, or anything you should need from the bathroom.

Dawn is breaking behind your blackout curtains by the time you’re both settled in bed, entangled in each other’s arms. Sleep has nearly taken you again when Bruce whispers; “I do have one other thought.”

“Oh?" You peer at him curiously over your shoulder. "Yes dear?”

“I think you should be the one to tell Damian.”

His request hangs heavy in the air as you consider the implication. “Tell Damian that he will no longer be your only blood child?”

The room remains silent, he doesn’t expand because you know what he’s getting at. Damian probably won’t mind, because he’ll still be the oldest, the first in line and you’re certain he’ll be a wonderful older brother, he’s great with animals, so why not babies? Right?

“… That's not fair.”

“Think of it as penance for lying to me all month.” There’s an air of humour in his voice as he pulls you closer still, squeezing himself into your back and planting sleepy kisses against your neck. “Besides, he’ll probably take it better from you. I think he likes you more.”

[deathbecomesthem]

Basement Apartment - Part 1 of 2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - 4.8K

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

Summary - It's 2001, and you've just moved into this new basement apartment. It's not so bad, except for the neighbor directly above your bedroom.

Contains a mean reader (kinda). Both parts have their smutty stuff, but part 2 will go a lot harder. Reader is bisexual. This is kind of an enemies to lovers deal. Sorta. Alcohol. Use of derogatory language against Eddie.

A/N: Thank you @jo-harrington for loving this story, and thank you for editing this at a moment's notice. Love you forever.

---

No. No. No. Not again. It’s 2:07 on Wednesday morning, and it’s happening again. You know it’s going to be at least an hour, probably longer, before it’s quiet enough for you to sleep. You know the routine at this point. Different partners, but the play-by-play appears to be the same. You could set your clock by it at this point. You don’t begrudge your neighbor his fun, lord knows you like having a good time, but fucking hell - can he remember he’s in a building with thin walls and neighbors that have to wake up early for work in the morning?

The anger’s been building inside since that first night. Tonight, you’re pushed over the limit. His stamina is impressive. The knock, knock, knocking of the headboard against the outer wall of both of your bedrooms is a familiar sound that alone wouldn’t keep you up. It’s the moaning, the occasional *SLAP* that makes your eyes pop open. An unpleasant surprise scream of, “Daddy!” sets your teeth on edge. You can hear his rhythm falter at the word, and it makes you huff a laugh under your breath. She won’t be coming back tomorrow night. Must not be his thing - you try hard not to think about why you care, and still make the mental note. It’s not your thing either. 

Your current thing is getting at least 6 consecutive hours of sleep when you have to wake up at 7:00 am and be able to function in the office. You’re absolutely done and ready to make a scene. It’s been almost a month in your new place, and it’s clear that Mr. Upstairs is not slowing down. Mary, your roomie, has been begging you to be cool, begging you to let it go, but her room isn’t directly beneath a fucking brothel. See, Mary has already met one of the guys in the apartment upstairs, and she’s smitten. “He’s tall, gorgeous green eyes, and his hair. Oh my god, his hair.” Oh, his hair, oh my god. Vomit. If you hear any more about this guy’s hair, you’re going to light it on fire. Plus, what if he’s the one that’s been fucking the entire city’s worth of girls right above your own bed? Mary refuses to believe it. 

Your clock reads 3:30 when the noises stop, and you’re able to sleep. Your alarm is set for 6:30, giving you plenty of time to get ready for work and still have time to hike up the stairs and meet the dickhead of a neighbor. You have no idea what you expect him to do about his noise issue, but you’re sure as hell going to give him a piece of your mind. He can get his rocks off in his living room as long as you don’t have to listen to him saying, “oh, fuck. Your pussy is so good, I’m gonna cum,” one more time. It’s the same script with every person he brings home. As you drift off, your brain scrolls through ideas - things you could do to make this man lose enough brain function to be able to form speech.

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

You shower. You brush your teeth. You fix your hair. You put on your (warpaint) makeup. You pour your coffee into a travel mug. You pack your briefcase. You feed the cat. You do all of your morning things while seething with anger. You make sure to keep it at the forefront of your mind. The fucking noises. You’re so tired, and your day hasn’t even started yet. You march your ass up the stairs in your heels and wool pencil skirt and knock. Loudly. You kept knocking. You aren’t leaving until you have some satisfaction. You check your watch. Shit. You start pounding.

You hear noises behind the door marked 2A, a grumbling. “Hold on!” An angry shout directed at the person pounding on the door. You. The door jerks open. Grey sweats, bare feet, bare chest, oh god the tattoos, long curly hair, and brown eyes. Not green. Not Mary’s guy. Mr. Brown Eyes is smiling at you, annoyance forgotten. “Good morning, Sweetheart. What can I help you with.”

Oh, no. It’s him. You scoff and frown. Your eyebrows are drawn together while you take in the sight of him in the new context. The grin spread across his full lips infuriates you, his charms are lost on you. Maybe it would work better if you weren’t currently surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep. You can feel heat creeping up your neck and down the line of your jaw. 

“Hi, yeah. So, I live downstairs. You can absolutely do me a favor.” You smile at him with teeth, and he thinks his charms are working on you. He’s so wrong. That cocky bullshit never works with you. He returns your wide grin with one of his own. “I’m hoping that in the future you could take a moment to remember the fact that you have a neighbor downstairs that can hear you fucking the night away and keep it down.” His smile fathers - you go in for the kill, “Or at least maybe up your game. I’m getting really fucking tired of hearing the same shit with every girl you bring home.” You drop your voice to imitate his, “Oh, fuck. Your pussy’s so good, I’m gonna cum.”

You take a quick look at your watch while the half naked man in front of you flounders. His chest and neck are flushed red by the time you turn on your heel and stomp towards the back door of the building. You’re going to be late, you add it to the list of reasons to hate that fucking guy. Selfish dick.

You turn back to push open the door and call back, “Thanks so much, Daddy.”

–

The office is quiet when you let yourself in, but it doesn’t fool you. The stack of papers you left Friday afternoon are still waiting for you after you drop your lunch in the fridge and sit down. On cue, the phone rings, and you’re still pulling out a pen and legal pad when you answer it. Fucking Mondays. Everyone needs something from you, and you provide. It’s what you do. You think some day you’ll wake up empty, but it hasn’t happened yet.

You bite back a yawn and take a scalding gulp of the coffee from your Garfield mug. You hiss a little and wonder if there are scars on your esophagus from the acid and burning liquid. The taste of the weak Maxwell House brew is a reminder to get to work. No time to worry about the possible deterioration of your body, you put a rubber thimble on your thumb and get to the stack of mail sitting expectantly on the edge of your desk. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Mr. Misny comes through the door like a hurricane force wind, just like every morning. Even the smile he wears is meant to intimidate, but you know that and let it feed the anger inside. “What’s my morning look like?”

“Carrington and Hodges at 9:15,” you put your hand up to stop the protest you can see rising up your boss’s throat, “it was the only time they could both make it. You’ll have to eat your pastry while you talk about their case. I saved a couple of hours for brief writing before your early afternoon meetings.”

“Well, aren’t you a peach?” Mr. Misny’s comically expressive eyebrows shoot up and his lips curl with a smile that has an edge. “What would I do without you, hm?”

You’d hire someone else for less than they’re worth and condescendingly thank them while never actually respecting the hard work they perform.

“You’d probably be late for every meeting.” You answer coolly. You can’t help but add, “Checks speak louder than words, Tim.”

He laughs at your “joke” and heads into his office, shaking his head all the way. He won’t be laughing when you finally turn in your resignation letter, but that won’t be today. Today you need to do this job that pays measly wages so you can afford your shitty little apartment. Your shitty little apartment where you can only sleep a couple of nights a week because of the son of a bitch that lives upstairs.

But he’s gorgeous. You slam the stapler down on the stack of papers in front of you at the thought. He’s gorgeous, and it only makes you angrier to have that visual frame of reference when you hear his headboard knocking on your shared wall. 

—

The day passes in front of you, and it’s not until your wristwatch chirps to remind you that it’s 4:30 that you realize you forgot to eat your lunch. Again. The alarm seems to have awoken your stomach, it growls angrily while you shove half finished work items into the drawers at your side and power down your word processing machine. When you leave your desk, it’s in perfect order, all the clutter is hidden away.  Your inbox is empty, your outbox is half full, and your pens are all put away. You were able to spend several hours transcribing today, and your head was pounding from having to listen to your boss’s voice over the headset for so long. Your mood is, as it was this morning, on the very edge of quiet rage. Your car coughs to life, and you think it’s as annoyed as you are today. That seems appropriate.

The drive is easy and quiet, a small blessing, the icy patches on the road are covered with fresh salt that crunches under your tires. You can’t find it in yourself to be grateful for it, your mind too fogged over with hunger and exhaustion. You’re sleeping tonight, and it doesn’t matter if you have to knock your neighbor unconscious to achieve a quiet night. 

Your luck runs out when you find the lock to the front of your apartment building frozen, and you lose your balance. You curse your impractical footwear and march angrily, and cautiously, to the back entrance and let yourself in. FInally. You scowl at apartment 1 and make your way down to the darker hallway where the laundry room, and your apartment, are located. There’s a brown paper bag taped to the door just under the number 2. There’s a note attached. You pull it down to read while you fiddle with your keys to unlock the last door between you and your refrigerator.

Pretty Neighbor Lady,

I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe these will help with our little problem. Consider it a gift. Stop by any time, I’d love to see you again.

-Eddie in apartment 2

You don’t even wait until you get inside the apartment before you tear open the bag to see what could possibly be hiding inside. A small cardboard box that contains - are you fucking kidding me - foam earplugs. The same kind your father used to wear when he worked at the warehouse. You write the name  “Eddie” at the top of your mental scorecard. “Eddie”, a real piece of work. 

—

Merciful silence. That’s the only way to describe the way the rest of the week goes. You don’t hear a sound from the man that lives above you. You almost wonder if he’s unwell, but you’ve caught sight of him in the parking lot a couple of times and he seems perfectly fine. You hadn’t expected it to work, but you’re glad you confronted him when you did. 

By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, you’re full of happy thoughts of napping with Henry, your orange tabby, before getting properly wasted and finding someone to pass the time with. It’s been too long, and you deserve this. 

Your apartment is dark when you get home, no Mary to be found. Henry has already assumed his nap position in your bed. You scratch behind his ear, and he chirps in response. Sweet boy. The shirt you want to wear out tonight, a red deep v-neck sweater, is on the top of your dirty laundry pile. It’s a sign, so you grab the basket and make your way across the hall to the laundry room. You can sleep once you start a load, you’ll thank yourself later. Last minute, you decide to throw in the outfit you’re wearing, and slip into a tank top and shorts. Ridiculous choice for this time of year, but the basement stays nice and warm - actually uncomfortably warm most of the time - laundry room included.

You’re relieved to find the washer and dryer silent. You count it as a small win until you open the washer and find it full of wet clothes. You’re tempted to throw the clothes onto the counter beside you, but decide against it. No need to make enemies, or any more enemies, in the building. Fine, asshole. I’ll dry your clothes. You’re lucky you have 2 rolls of quarters on you. 50 cents is worth keeping the peace.

What you find in the washer are - 2 pairs of black jeans, several black button ups, a couple of band t-shirts, black boxers, and grey sweatpants. You should have known that this is the kind person he is - leaving his wet boxers in a communal washing machine with no thought about the person that would have to stick their hands in to fish them out. With delicate fingers, you pull out each article of clothing with the tips of your fingers, and you fling them into the open dryer. You’re not aware of the audible grumbling coming from your mouth while you do the unpleasant task.

“Well, howdy neighbor! You’re an absolute sweetheart for switching my laundry for me.” The voice from the entryway makes you jump. You immediately straighten your back and ignore him. You ignore the steps you hear moving, sauntering, towards you, and keep focused on the job at hand. “You should stop by tonight,” he’s much closer now, his low voice and heavy presence at your back, “your roommate’s upstairs with Stevie right now. We could all get to know each other, all friendly neighbors.”

You slam the top of the washing down and spin to face him. He’s directly behind you, close enough to smell him. Cologne - Brut maybe? - cigarette smoke, and faintly of weed. He stands over you like a tower, but you don’t step back. You hold his gaze and wait. You, in your too short shorts and paint speckled tank top wearing an armor of barely suppressed rage. He breaks eye contact to look at you. You watch his eyes widen at the sight of the tattoos. His lips twitch when he sees the barbells poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. All of these things are so well hidden under the blazers and dress pants Monday through Friday.

“I would really like to take you out for a drink,” Eddie’s eyes are locked on yours again, only this time he seems to have shrunk down a little. He seems smaller than he did just a moment ago. It stirs a strange feeling in your stomach that you ignore.

“Thanks so much for the offer, neighbor, but I have plans tonight. Please, get your shit out of the dryer when it’s done. I’d hate for you to find it all over the concrete if you forget.” You push past him, heading towards your apartment door and hear him groan behind you.

“Come on, Sweetheart. You need to loosen up, get that stick out of your ass. I bet I could help with that.” 

You turn around and press your back against the metal door of your apartment and crook a finger at him. He’s so cocky, you’re thinking while the smile spreads across his lips and he makes his way closer to you, I’d love to bend him over my knee right here in this hallway.

“Come here.” You crook your finger at him. Eddie’s giving you a dopey smile as he sashays close, bringing his ear down closer to your mouth. He smells like shampoo and Irish Spring, clean with a hint of something - probably his skin - that makes you want to stick your tongue out and taste him. Instead, you rest your fingers at the base of his neck. You keep your tone soft, and put on the best sultry voice you can muster outside of a bedroom, “Don’t you worry about what’s up my ass, Sweetheart. I don’t let cocky little whores anywhere near it.”

Eddie is a statue. You’d think him made of stone if not for the quickening pulse you feel under your fingertips. You stand up on the balls of your feet to give yourself a couple extra inches, angling your mouth even closer to his ear, and whisper, “What about your ass, Baby?”

You give Eddie an exaggerated frown and push him away from you, moving the hand from his neck down to his chest. You leave him there, mouth open but no words coming from it, and slam your apartment door behind you. There’s a fire in your gut, and you need to remove yourself from the presence of that menace of a man before it begins to spread from under your skin and into the open.

You make a beeline straight for your bedroom. That fire continues to grow through your anger and irritation. How dare he? It’s not a thing you can control, the way your body reacts to the sight of him with those low slung grey sweatpants. The pretty curve of his lips. Those brown eyes. In your mind you can envision him here with you. His arms are stretched up high, wrists strung up to your headboard. He’s moaning at the sight of you with your little bullet vibrator placed firmly to ease your ache. 

Except, the noises you’re hearing are not in your mind at this moment, they’re drifting down that open vent. You bite your lip and press the vibrator harder at the realization. The taste of coppery blood hits your tongue, you can’t let him hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. You listen to him cry out in pleasure, pretty noises that push you right to the edge of your own cliff. A soft whimper is what causes you to stumble. Your release is a flood, and you have to turn your face to let your own cries die in the safety of your pillow.

He’s loud, even when he’s fucking his own fist, and you’re done for. You’re biting your lip so hard, not wanting him to hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. He needs to earn it. Your teeth clamped so hard you taste blood by the time the pleasure is done rippling through your body. He’s still moaning like a bitch, and you fall asleep to the sound, only waking when your watch alerts you that it’s time to switch your laundry.

The washroom light is on, and your laundry is already tumbling in the dryer. Your sweaters, bras, and underwear are spread along the table in the corner to air dry. There’s a note sitting on the dryer 1A written on the outside.

I hope this makes your life easier, 

Your cocky little whore,

Eddie

You close your eyes and imagine him holding your delicates in his hands, gently placing them flat to dry. This is bad, very bad.

—

Makeup first. Black eyeliner thick around your eyes, Mary always says it’s too much. She once introduced you as “her roommate that wears too much black eyeliner”,  but it makes you feel so sexy. A red lip. You fish around your jewelry box to find your favorite choker and the cute bat earrings that were a gift from an ex-boyfriend. It’s been too long since you were able to dress this way - the way you like. Sheer black pantyhose, black boots, black mini skirt, and a red deep v sweater.

You’re going out, even if Mary stays in with Mr. Green Eyes and Mr. Grey Sweatpants - Eddie.

You’ll find someone tonight, maybe you’ll even bring them back here. It’s fun to imagine Eddie in his bed listening to the sounds of you and someone else. You imagine him reaching a hand under the waistband of his sweats. You think of him with his mouth hanging open while trying to hold back the sounds that you know like to escape while he’s touching himself. You clear your throat and shake the image out of your mind.

It was yesterday evening that you realized the heating vent in your room must lead directly up to his own room. It’s the only explanation for how clearly you can hear him. You could make him jealous if you really wanted. Jealous of you or your hypothetical partner. Man, woman…it doesn’t matter, and he wasn’t the only one that knew how to make a woman scream, although you prefer when they listen and keep quiet. It’s rude to be too loud when you live in an apartment building. You dick.

You make a detour to 2A to give Mary a chance to come with you before you head downtown. The guy that answers the door is a little taller than Eddie and very pretty. He’s wearing a polo shirt and tight jeans, his hair is so stupidly gorgeous. His eyes bug out a bit when he sees you at his door but recovers with a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m your neighbor in 1A, I was looking for- oh there she is.”

Mary is sitting on the couch with a beer in her hand, and she gives you a wave. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Don’t be mad!” You shake your head and point your finger at your roommate. “You owe me. I take it I’m flying solo tonight?” Her eyes are squinting and she’s giving you a pained smile.

“I would say you could stay and hang out with us, but you look like you’re ready for more of a party than I can offer.” The guy, Stevie, you remember Eddie calling him that, is giving you a genuine smile. You’re returning it with ease, because he really does seem like a nice guy. “Yeah, next time? Have fun you two.” You’re wearing your best smile so they know there’s no hard feelings and head out into the night.

The walk is chilly, but your building is only a half a mile from the bars downtown. It was one of the reasons you were willing to move into the shitty basement apartment. That and the easy access to the laundry room. Your purse has the essentials. Wallet, mace, lipstick, condoms, collapsible baton, and camels. Your keys sit on your hip attached to your wallet chain. You know there would be at least a couple of bars that had bands playing tonight. Musicians are reliably horny, even though most of the time you end up regretting letting them into your bed. 

The bright lights in the first bar, along with the house music, are an absolute no for you. You walk in, look around the room, and immediately head back out. The next bar has pool tables lined up in the back room. Lots of dudes turn to look at you when you enter, and you grip the handle of your purse. Leers sweeping from your hair to your boots. You smoothly turn and leave before anyone can talk to you. Bar number 3, however, is smokey and you can hear someone performing a mic check. A mix of leather clad men, women, and everything in between. The bartender has a flannel tied around her waist and an undercut. Winner.

“Hey sweetie, what can I get for you.” The bartender is very pretty up close, and openly scanning your chest. You’re giving her a wolfish grin and looking up to the ceiling with a finger on your lips, as if thinking hard.

“Oh, I think I’d like a double Jameson straight up.” You blink your eyes at her and she’s laughing at your antics while she gets your drink. “What can you tell me about the band tonight?”

“Metal. The guys play here pretty often. Corroded Coffin. The crowd is pretty fun, even if you’re not into the music.” Definitely not your typical scene, but you like this place, and you’re willing to let the music work magic on the crowd.

You’re reaching into your wallet for a card to hand over to start a tab. You’re thinking about suggesting the bartender keep you in mind at the end of the night, you’re sure she’d be up for passing some time with you, when you feel a familiar presence at your side.

“Jeannie, how are you tonight?” A hand is on your own, halting its movement. You know this voice. Are you kidding me? “Whatever this pretty lady wants is on our tab tonight, ok?” Jeannie’s eyebrows are high enough that they’re almost lost in her microbangs. She looks to you for confirmation, and you shake your head.

“She’s saying no, Ed.” Jeannie shrugs a little and accepts your card. “Shocking, I know.” She’s laughing at him a little, and you’re loving it. His eyes finally find your own, and he’s frowning. Sad puppy eyes. They sparkle. An effective weapon.

“Come on, you gotta give me something here. You’re killing me.”  Eddie sounds genuinely pained. Butterflies beat their wings in your gut at the thought of disappointing him. 

“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m paying for myself tonight.” You place your hand on his neck and pull him close to your face while his eyes stay on your cherry red lips. “Think I might have a shot with Jeannie tonight?” 

His mouth lets out a little noise that you’d swear was a whimper. It’s then that the music changes from the metal that’s been blaring over the speakers to Peaches. Fuck the Pain Away. Jeannie is laughing behind the counter, she must have put the song on while you and Eddie were sparring. 

Eddie is glaring at you with eyes that are not shiny and sweet - they’re black pools. The grin creeping on his lips is sinister. He leans into your ear to make sure you can hear what he’s got to say over the thumping music. “Do me a favor, yeah? Bring Jeannie out on the dance floor when she’s on her break. I want to see you move.”

He’s gone now, and you knock back your drink. Of course, he’s heading to the stage just as Peaches is chanting for the crowd to fuck the pain away, and Jeannie is refilling your glass. “This one’s on me, Sugar. I like watching someone put Eddie in his place.” Yeah, well he just did a good job of keeping me sitting firmly on this stool, you don’t say. You can feel heat in your chest that’s creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and lust hot on your skin.

And it’s no surprise to you that he is sex on fire on the stage. You fully understand it now. You see the fuller picture of him while he’s at center stage, everything else fades to black. All of the girls that he brings into his bed. His leather jacket is tossed to the side and he’s wearing a crop top sleeveless shirt. His fingers move on his guitar, a fucking Warlock, and your eyes are glued to him. When he starts to sing, you feel like you can’t breathe. You’re warm all over, and it’s not because of the crowd. No, it’s because he’s watching you watch him. You can’t stop yourself. It’s like you two are the only ones in this crowded bar, and he’s hypnotizing you.

You have no idea how long it’s been when Jeannie is coming around the bar to tell you her break is starting. You grab her hand and drag her to the floor. It’s in between songs, and you see Eddie yell back to the rest of the band. The next song is a major departure from the rest of the band’s set, and you know it’s for you, so you make it count. The guitar riff starts, and you circle around Jeannie eyes on Eddie. The drums start and you’re moving your hips to the rhythm. The crowd is moving as one and the energy is palpable. Jeannie is laughing, you made sure to whisper to her about the show you’re putting on for Eddie. You both dance together, your hands never leaving the bartender once during Thunderstruck. When the song ends, you see Eddie adjust his (very tight) jeans, and you leave the floor, dragging Jeannie out the back door and into the alley.

[the-kr8tor]

lavender + ❣️ with Jason todd where they are at the manor after being out ( prob shopping or smth) and he confesses his love bc a bunch of guys were asking for readers number but she turned them all down and he wanted to be hers and was tired of guys bothering his (soon to be) girl. Hopefully this makes sense lol but you totally don't have to do this. I love you and hope you have an amazing week!! 😘😘

Yay a Jason req! Thank you for being patient! I hope you like your potion 🩷

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mention, Best friends to lovers, Fluff

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Jason has been uncharacteristically quiet the entire drive to the manor. He doesn't even tap his fingers to the rhythm of the radio playing a cheesy pop song that he keeps telling you that he doesn't like. With one hand he steers the wheel while his elbow rests on the window sill. It's a cool afternoon in Gotham, orange and pink hues shifting along the clouds, the road is still wet from the downpour a few hours ago. His drenched jacket that he used to shield you both from the rain hangs over the backseat.

You watch him with pensive eyes, wracking your brain as to why he's so quiet when he was such a chatterbox back when he was driving to the grocery store. You've almost forgotten what he was talking about, mind reeling from the conclusion that you might've done something to agitate your best friend. Maybe you shouldn't have volunteered to go on a grocery run when Alfred asked, especially that you and Jason planned to hang out at your place. Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to remember what happened at the store to warrant such a stifling silence from Jason— Well, he opened the door for you while he was talking about that new book he was so excited to read. Then he grabbed a cart, pushed it while you had your hand on the end, guiding him, and all the while you two kept chattering on the aisle, taking stuff that was on Alfred's list. And then that was it. Nothing special happened, well except for that one guy with a nice smile who asked you where the cereal was. And that one dude who helped you take the can of beans from the highest shelf while Jason was weighing the blueberries.

You must've looked quite agitated or even constipated because it's now Jason's turn to worry.

“Are you okay? You look like you need to take a shit.” He glances briefly to you, green eyes hiding an emotion you're still trying to ascertain.

“Am I okay? Jay, you're the one who's been silent the entire way.” He enters the manor's gates, shrugging at your words. “We can still hang out at my place after this. I'm sorry we wasted an afternoon buying Damian's sweets.”

There's a small smile on his lips, “that kid eats too much sugar.” Clicking his seatbelt off, he opens the door with a groan, you surmise that his healing knee is still bothering him.

You sigh, getting more anxious at his dodging. Before you could open the door for yourself, you find Jason outside of your door, opening it for you. “C’mon, Jay, talk to me.” Tugging at the hem of his shirt, you smile up at him. “Is it because I ate the donut you left in my fridge?”

Jason furrows his brows, lips pursed, trying not to laugh. “That was yours, babe, I left it for you.”

You blink, hand drifting away from his shirt. He already misses your hold on him. “Oh, thanks.”

“You and Dami share a sweet tooth, so I got it for you.” He leans down, arm placed atop the car, eyes soft and tender. “But thank you for confessing your sins.”

You can't help but ogle at how he looks from below. “...yeah, sure, Jay.” You say in a small tone. It's not the nickname that has you all giddy inside, you're used to his sweet nicknames that he has bestowed upon you. No, it's the thought that he left you a treat because he knows how much you love that triple chocolate donut that has you bouncing off the walls after eating it.

So it's not the donut, then why the hell does he have a stick up his finely toned ass?

Jason leaves your side, the cologne you bought him lingering around you. He opens the trunk, carrying every single plastic bag with both hands. You finally stand up after being weak in the knees after the simple look he gave you. Walking towards him to help, he's already halfway inside the mansion before you could grab a few bags from him. Knowing him, it's all effortless. Well, at least he left you one tiny bag that only contains two boxes of cereal— one regular wheat and one that has your tooth rotting just from looking at the bright colors. With a sigh, you grab it and follow him inside and towards the kitchen.

The plastic bags rustle as he takes out all the groceries. It's filled with fresh vegetables, fruits, sugar and all the food that a vigilante needs for patrol. You put your singular bag on the counter next to the others, helping him take out the rest while he still stands there all quiet and broody. In the low light of the kitchen you can clearly see that Bruce has definitely made a big influence on him.

You put your foot down, knees up on the stool to level with him, hands placed on the cold marble countertop as he raises a curious brow at you. “What's up, Jay?”

“What's up?” He mimics your tone. “Nothing, babe, just taking out the groceries.” You take the can of beans from his hand and then you place it loudly on the counter while you take a stance against the red hood who makes goons cower in fear just from his stare. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, reaching over the counter to grab his hand. Wordlessly telling him that you're there for him whatever kind of problem has plagued him recently.

Jason watches as your fingers dance along his scarred palm, kneading his muscles just like you always do whenever he drops in your apartment after a tough patrol. He was so sure that he had gathered enough courage to tell you, but now that you have your hands around his own, all his bravery is down the drain.

He sucks in his teeth, leaning down, elbows atop the counter, green eyes staring anywhere near your eyes, and then he places a quick kiss along your knuckles. Warmth soothing you, almost making you forget what you were asking for.

Defeated, you cup his jaw, thumb running along his growing stubble, fingers reaching behind his ear to rub lovingly across his nape. “Okay, it's okay if you don't want to tell me. But I'll be here if you want to tell me.” You smile when he leans against your touch, eyes looking at you with such fondness that you almost melt on the spot.

Jason rationalizes his thoughts, the same thoughts that have plagued him for years, the same thoughts that he has dreamed of telling you. “It’s not the donut.”

“Of course it's not the donut.” You chuckle, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“And it's not because of the trip to the grocery store.” His eyes flick over to yours, smiling softly at how you look back at him with the same fondness. “I liked our trip, I kept imagining that we were buying stuff for our place.”

“Do you want more hangouts like that then? You can join me in going to my laundry place. We can watch the clothes tumble and dry like a couple of old people.” Your waist is cold against the counter, but you don't mind as long as he's there with you. “How's that sound?”

“Sounds great. I'll bring the spare change.” You chuckle, after a beat, you thought that was the end of it, but Jason looks like he still wants to say something else— so you stay rooted in place. “But that's not the reason.”

“Okay,” you nod, encouraging him to continue. He gives you his other hand to hold, fingers beckoning your touch. You indulge him, leaving his hair to hold his hand.

“It's that fucking guy.” He blurts out. “Guys.” He corrects himself.

“What guys?”

“The ones who were asking for your number.”

You blink, trying to recall. “I don't remember that.”

“Come on, Y/N.” He squeezes your hands as if that will help you remember them. “The tall blonde guy and the one with the uncanny smile. Just thinking about that grin gives me the creeps.”

“Oh,” you know Jason enough to actually know what he means. “Yeah, I actually remember now. What about them?”

He scoffs, acting like you caught his hand in the cookie jar. “They were bothering you is all. I was just worried for you.”

You nod, hands sliding from his own. For a moment, Jason thinks you're about to go off on him, telling him that you can handle yourself or that you can give your number to whoever the hell you want to. Because who is he to tell you who to date? It's not like you're together, right? But is it wrong that he wants to?

His thoughts get thrown out of the window when you hold his face, soft palms against his rough skin, thumb tracing along the scar on his cheek. It's all affectionate, loving, and it has Jason's heart pumping a thousand times per second.

You smile, head tilting, staring at how his eyes glow under the kitchen lights. It's mundane, but you love him like this, just like how you love him in any way shape or form. You love your best friend. “You're an idiot, Jason Todd.” Your smile gets bigger, he frowns, fearing the worst. “You know that I'm in love with you, right?”

Jason's worried eyes light up, not a trace of his worries, just you in his vision, bathed in the light of his home. “Now I do.” He chuckles, mirroring your position, holding your face in his hands, gentle, like how you'd hold a delicate feather. Placing his forehead atop yours, he says the three words back. “I love you. I'm sorry it took this long.”

Jason leans away, eyes staring at your lips before watching your heart shaped eyes look at him. “That's my girl.” Tilting his head back, you chase his lips, grabbing his collar to do what you've always wanted to do.

“I don't blame you, it took me a while too.” You sniff, refusing to let the tears escape you. “By the way, I never gave them my number.”

[hedgehog-moss]

Today felt like the last day of summer... I spent a long time following a little stream, looking for the spot where I'd found wild currants last year. They had clearly moved to a different spot, or maybe I'm just bad at finding things again because the only landmarks my brain finds worth remembering are stuff like "there were two baby cows to the left" or "there was a majestic hawk perched on a fencepost." I did know the currants grew near a waterfall that's near a little hamlet, and (unlike the baby cows) both were still here one year later.

Half an hour into our quest Pandolf had decided we must be looking for water, so he stopped like "Here!!" every time he found a noteworthy watery spot, it was very sweet.

Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going to find my favourite berries this year, and I went back to the road—and found raspberries instead! The last ones of the summer...

I was like "I accept this consolation prize, world, thank you" and had started picking raspberries when I heard soft dainty footsteps on the road behind me. On reflex I said "Bonjour !" as I was turning around and then realised I'd just said bonjour to this lady:

She walked up to me like she was about to ask me for directions, but then went right past me and walked on with the same purposeful air.

She stopped to admire the view above the waterfall like an old lady on her routine evening walk, then she was on her way.

Pandolf and I went in the opposite direction, to go home, and we soon found another pony who was clearly the first one's pasture mate. This one was in her pasture and she looked sad and abandoned (and/or outraged). She kept pacing and then stopping behind the fence and whinnying.

After we crossed the hamlet we saw a guy on his tractor on the road—he was on his way to a pasture where you could see a little herd of cows who had formed an orderly queue in front of their milking parlour. It was evening milking time and the ladies knew it.

Cows queue like British citizens, I mean very politely and patiently, but still I didn't want to keep them waiting so I hesitated to stop the guy to tell him about the fugitive. I chose the compromise of trotting besides his tractor to give him the news, and the tractor was very loud so he couldn't hear me well and I had to sort of convey the concept of escaped ponyhood with hand gestures. The guy looked in the direction I was indicating and then nodded and moved his arms in a philosophical gesture of total acceptance, like, "Such is life." Or maybe it was "Not my pony, not my problem."

I on the other hand feel a deep sense of community with people who have escape artist animals, so I ended up turning back to see if I could at least orient the pony in the vague direction of her pasture. I found her at a crossroads, wondering where tonight's walk would take her.

When I tried to go around her and shoo her back in the right direction, she went off the road and down by the stream, which wasn't the plan, and Pandolf happily followed her then barked at me like "hey!! water!!" Our search for water had ended but I followed them to humour him—and! I found some wild currants! down by the little bridge that the pony was waiting for me to notice like some mystical guide.

There were no actual berries to be found, I'm a bit too late for that, but I got some cuttings to transplant near my house and since I thought I was going to go home empty-handed it made me feel successful anyway.

So maybe the pony saw me meandering near her pasture looking for currants and decided to escape so she could help me out. A criminal with a heart of gold. If I'd walked by the bridge I might have seen the currants without her help because, guess what, last year's hawk, Guardian of the Gooseberries, was still there on his fencepost nearby. What a good landmark! But I wouldn't have walked by the bridge without the pony's prompting as I had already given up on my search, so she did escape for a good cause.

I tried to use the currants as bait to attract the pony (let's call her Mrs Berry) towards her pasture, but after I pulled the leaves out of her reach for the third time I lost her trust and she stopped paying attention to me. So I had to go back to the good old method to make shetland ponies move, i.e. walk behind her and occasionally pretend-kick in the direction of her bum, the way you'd shepherd a reticent pigeon.

Her friend looked pretty indifferent upon seeing her again, so I think she wasn't whinnying out of worry but because she's a Pirlouit (a snitch).

I opened the pasture gate but Mrs Berry had absolutely no intention of going home so early. She went in the opposite direction, for a little stroll around her hamlet. (Look at Pandolf merrily leading the way! He loves escape artist animals, he thinks they're so much more fun than everybody else.)

Nobody was home in the house by the pasture and I decided to let Mrs Berry stroll, now that she was no longer on the road walking away towards the distant horizon. I figured she must be a Pampérigouste, a known local personage who goes out for an adventure every now and then. We let her have her harmless fun in the two and a half streets of her little village, and since we had lost some time following this pony round, the sun was now quite low and Pan was all prettily backlit as he frolicked on the way home <3

[hazelfoureyes]

Hi there! I hope you’re doing well!

I was hoping to send a request. Do with it what you will…but I had the scenario in my head of reader going on dates and always wearing a lot of makeup. (Nothing against makeup)

Anyway, she and Alastor are friends, although Alastor always thinks the people reader dates are not worthy of her. After this particular date that was maybe a 2nd or 3rd date, she comes home in tears. While he’s comforting her he begins to tenderly wash her face. Eventually wiping off all the makeup and he simply says “There you are.”

I love the idea of Alastor believing that a woman doesn’t need makeup to be beautiful.

Thank you! ❤️❤️

I only began wearing make up like, last month, so I’m purely using info from watching the Welsh twins. personally I like to think Alastor would respect a person taking the effort to express themselves with make up, and also appreciate people who can feel no pressure to do so. There’s something very attractive about people who do things purely for their own enjoyment. Assuming it’s not like—- watching porn in the bus or killing snakes or stuff like that. Anyway what was I supposed to be doing aga-

Alastor x GN! Reader

「warnings/promises: not an ounce of smut, he may love you in any sense of the word, but he does love you dearly, Alastor knows how to remove make up because he likes to sneak up and scare Charlie when she’s getting ready for bed and has had many a product thrown at this head」

It was normally the mornings when he’d see you after your dates, and you’d spill the tea about the good and the bad. It was fun for him, drama was always best enjoyed from a distance.

There was no distance great enough that could make him miss you as you slunk into the hotel quietly, head down and turned away purposefully. Your arms were straight to your sides and balled into fists, back stiff as a board as you power walked through the lobby. How unlike you in every way.

He waited a beat until he was confident you’d made it to your room before following.

You considered not letting him in, but you knew he would come in if he really wanted to. Why pretend?

There was no point either in hiding your makeup streaked face. He clearly knew something was wrong, why else would he have come to your room.

“It went badly?” He asked somewhat rhetorically, closing the door behind him softly. “You know, I could always eat them. Avoid awkward run-ins downtown.”

A laugh, half hearted and more a glorified exhale than anything else.

Alastor came to your bed and offered you both hands. Setting yours in his, he guided you to the bathroom. Odd, a room you’d definitely not shared before, but you didn’t question it.

There was something deeply soothing about the way he moved around you as he led you around your own space. After lifting you onto the counter, he leaned past you to fiddle with something.

You smiled genuinely as you watched him rub your make up removing cleanser between his large hands. His palms were warm on your cheeks, tears both fresh and dried were mixed with the layers of setting spray, powder, cream, and lotion. Closing your eyes was the natural thing to do, but you couldn’t have kept them open if you had wanted to. Your brain was going fuzzy, clashing with the nauseous pain in your gut.

“As much as I adore the way you jazz up your temple, I’m quite fond of your natural features.” His voice seemed so close to you in the darkness. A hummed response was all you could muster.

The sound of running water, a few cabinets opening and closing, and then the soothing warmth of a hot and sopping face towel sliding down your cheeks.

“Another dud.” Alastor announced, the word ‘dud’ popped with an annoyed static. Even with your eyes shut, they stung with newly summoned tears. “The pain of realizing someone is not for you on a third date is much more tolerable than on the third year.” His large thumbs wiped away errant tears and liquified eyeshadow.

“Not to discount your pain!” You heard the facial cleanser lathering between his palms before he began to cover your face in gentle soap. “Just, well, I’d hate to see you cry too long over nothing and no one.”

A nod from you.

His careful fingers rubbed the suds into your skin gently, sharp nails barely grazing you. “I still don’t see how my idea was discounted so quickly!”

He could see your eyes roll behind your eyelids as you ground out, “Alastor I can’t make people be interviewed by an overlord to take me out.”

“I prefer the word interrogate.”

“I don’t!”

He tsk’d, wiping the soap away with wet hands and a damp cloth. “You sure are making your dating life all about you.” His hands left you and as your cheeks began to cool you opened your eyes.

Alastor was beaming down at you. You stayed still and let his finger follow the length of your nose that you cleverly reshaped with your skills,

his palms ran over the redness of your cheeks you calmed and covered before every outing,

his claws brushed over freckles reassuringly,

his eyes settled on your two tone lips,

and he purred happily at the sight,

“There you are.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[magical-girl-trucy]

Sorry my brain is being silly and it just went "how would the aa characters use a youtube channel" so now here's your list of that

Phoenix: you would think he wouldn't have one, but he does and the only thing on it is the ad he and Maya made in the anime Maya: Runs a Steel Samurai analysis/review channel called Real Pink Princess that has over 100k subs. The most popular video is one that features Will Powers as a guest. Sometimes there will be unexpected breaks and when she gets back she's like "sorry guys I got arrested!" and at this point none of her subs know if she's joking or not. Pearl: Does not have a youtube channel but likes to help Maya and Trucy with editing. Ema: Her youtube channel is only a mirror for her tiktoks. Those tiktoks being incredibly ridiculous, sometimes dangerous science experiments and also explaining how forensics stuff work. Trucy: Posts her magic acts on her channel and has some videos teaching people how to do some more basic tricks to try to get people more interested in magic. Generally good vibes

Edgeworth: Does not have a youtube channel but is a frequent guest on Maya's channel. The fans love him. Kay: Makes clickbait videos called stuff like "BREAKING INTO THE CHIEF PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE!!!!" and has millions of subs. Was notorious during the prank era of youtube despite never doing anything harmful. Also has a gaming channel. Apollo: Only has a channel in name. Nothing is posted on it, but he is subbed to a lot of law-based content and an astrology channel. By nature of being Trucy's magic assistant, it goes without saying that he is in a lot of Trucy's videos. Klavier: Ran the official Gavinners youtube channel up until Turnabout Serenade happens. Afterwards made a new channel for his own music but has kept it very lowkey. Athena: Has a vlogging channel that she started when she was 14. She has a small but supportive fanbase of people who are rooting for her in her lawyer/psychology endeavors. In the DD and beyond era she makes more videos about law and psychology but never full out stops with the vlogs (those Khura'in videos must've been wild) Simon: Makes a channel after getting out of prison. It's low quality videos of Taka and nothing else. It goes viral and someone tries to get him "cancelled" by exposing his criminal history but it fails spectacularly Bonus: Once out of prison, Godot also makes a youtube channel, which is how to make every single Godot Blend. It's not popular but the people who come across them are concerned for his health