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spencerrreiddd · 8 months ago

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Three, Two, One. - Chapter 1

Summary: You and Spencer have worked in the BAU together for years, since the beginning but now, he's your boss and something quite big is happening in your life & soon to be Spencer's life after needing each others help to unwind.

Pairing: UnitChief!Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy, Angst, Cheating??

A/N: LOW & BEHOLD- here lays my first beauty. - my apologies is this is complete shit, I have not written in a while & I may have to get my special touch back. - anyways, i hope you guys like it ! 🔪🤍

Three, Two, One. Chaper 2.

three, two, one-

pregnant.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant with your bosses baby.

Spencer has not always been your boss, you actually started working for the BAU a month before he had even started working there.

He took over Emily's position once she moved up to FBI Director a few months back, at that congratulations party is when something sparked between you and Spencer- just, neither of you acted on it

You remember exactly how and when it happened too, it was the party after his promotion to Unit Chief. Goddamn promotion parties. You didn’t think you drank that much, until you woke up naked beside your new boss.

The temptation to pack a bag and hop on a flight across the world sounded so appetizing right now in your mind, too bad that it isn't realistic & you were going to have to face the facts and that was including, him.

There was never any “no speaking of this” - only us meeting up at my apartment, his apartment, our hotel rooms when we were on a case and needed to ‘unwind’ - the last time you and Spence had even slept together was 2-3 weeks ago anyway, of course when y'all needed to unwind after a case. Who could've guessed that one?

You were snatched from your thoughts when you heard your phone ringing from your bedroom- running for it, you were hoping that it wasn't Spencer.

‘Penelope Garcia 🖥️💖🍩’ 'thank the heavens' you silently think to yourself

“What’s up, Penny”

“Spencer is busy, he put me on duty to call you to find out if you plan to show your face at work today, ya know- since it is a work day and no show, no calls are frowned upon here" Your neck snaps to look at your alarm clock.

"Also, he wants to see you in his office once you get here"

7:32 A.M - have I seriously been staring at a positive pregnancy test for an entire hour?

“Fuck. See you soon. I'm leaving right now"

The short drive to work felt longer than it should have, probably because you took back roads to avoid having to see him again so soon. If you were already running late, what is a few extra minutes?

So many thoughts flying through your mind. How are you going to tell him? Oh hey, by the way, ya knocked me up so what’s the plan bud?!

“I'm doomed" You mutter to yourself getting out of your vehicle to go face reality, to go face the man of your now growing child. This has to be a nightmare.

Getting off of the elevator, the first person you saw was Alvez- boy, you were thankful that it wasn't Spencer, even though you'd be seeing him in just a few minutes.

"Looks like you saw a ghost"

"Yeah, Luke, something like that"

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not right now, I just want to forget about it- I need to see Pen" yeah, Y/N, like you'll actually be able to forget about it.

You make a beeline directly for Penelope's office, you have to tell someone about this before you actually lose your mind.

"Pen, I have news and it has to stay between you and I only"

"Your secret is safe with me, my love"

"I'm pregnant.. with Spencer's baby" you hesitated even saying the last part but wow, that felt good to get off of your chest, too bad it won't feel this easy with Spencer. Just thinking of having to tell him has you feeling like someone is choking you out.

"Oh."

"Oh? Pen, I am in a state of panic, a state of shock and you say 'Oh'- I don't know what to even begin to do here or how to even tell Reid that I am carrying his.. spawn"

"Spencer has a girlfriend or did, as far as I kn- okay, when did you find out” She cuts herself after seeing the look of horror on your face after hearing the beginning of her sentence, understandably so!

You were NOT the type of person to sleep with a taken man.

You were confident that you were about to face plant the ground right here and now in Penelope’s office. Did Spencer have a girlfriend or not? And were you about to go physically fight him for doing this to her, if so? You would be considering yourself jobless at that point.

“I found out this morning, literal minutes before you called me to get my ass here” you were in a pure state of panic and you had many good reasons as to why.

“How long has he had a girlfriend, Pen?” you continued- you were sure your skin was blistering with how hot it was at this point. Was it hot out of anger or the panic attack that was charging at you? Who knows anymore because you didn’t care enough in this single second to sit and determine that.

"I don't know, he just mentioned a date a few weeks ago then didn't mention anything again but I know he's still in communication with her and by the contact name in his phone, I don't think they are just friends" Penelope lets you in on all of this, nervously- like she isn't supposed to be saying anything at all.

"Thanks, Pen" You murmur to her her as you leave, you have to leave her office, the longer you are in there, the more it feels like the walls are literally closing in on you.

Walking into the hallway, you don't know which direction to go- You should probably go see Spencer and give him some bullshit excuse as to why you were late.

It was barely 8 A.M, maybe it was past 8 A.M now- your mind is going too fast to try and keep up with time. Regardless, it's too early in the morning to drop a pregnancy announcement on someone.

Finally, you muster up the courage to walk into the bullpen to go on the hunt for Spencer, as much as your mind and body are telling you to just bolt to your car and never look back.

"Tara, do you know where Spencer is?" You ask quietly, so that you don't disturb the others around you

"No, I saw him walk out of his office a few minutes ago but I haven't seen him go back in. If you find him before me, let me know because I need to go over some things with him"

"I'll go knock and see if he's back, thanks Tara"

You can visibly see his blinds are closed but majority of the time they are closed anyways, so that doesn't even matter to you. Walking up the flight of stairs to get to his office is exhausting, it feels like your legs weigh 1000 pounds each.

Standing in front of his office, you hear talking inside- You can very clearly hear a females voice inside talking to him but you honestly couldn't tell if she was over the phone or actually in his office by how muffled it is, it's safe to assume that it is a phone call.

"No going back now since you're already here" You mumble to yourself

Knock, knock, knock

"Come in" You hear a muffled Spencer behind the door

As your opening the door, you quickly hear him state to the woman on the phone 'I have to go, I'll see you tonight' - God, as if you haven't already wanted to run away all morning, it keeps getting worse.

"Pen said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, please sit" He says, gesturing to the chair

"Are you okay, Y/N? - You were late this morning, we've worked together for many years now and you've never once ran late, it's not like you not to communicate" You can see on his face that he cares, he didn't bring you in here to give you a lecture over something small, especially since this is your first time ever running late.

"Y-yes, I just woke up late and then getting to my car, I realized I had a flat, so I had to ask my neighbor to use his pump to fill it" You lied straight through your pearly white teeth and you were confident that he knew it to, just by the look he was giving you

He stares at you for a moment, trying to read you for anything. You were thankful for the fact that sometimes you were an impossible person to read

"Please, just communicate next time- It's not a big deal you were late, we just didn't know what was going on until I had Garcia get a hold of you"

"I will, you have my word- Am I good to go now?" You ask while standing up, yes, the talk went better than expected but you still wanted out of this office as fast as possible.

"Yes, thank you for coming to talk to me. Oh, also before I forget to mention it, at some point today whenever we both have free time, I would like to have a conversation. If it's just at the end of the day that's fine. It just needs to happen"

All you can bring yourself to do is nod your head and walk out of the room, based on the ass end of the phone call you walked in on- You have a pretty good hunch what he will be saying to you, especially after what Garcia also let you in on

It makes your heart ache- knowing that he could have a girlfriend, knowing this thing that the two of you had will be coming to an end, by no means were you and Spencer in a committed relationship but you would be lying to yourself, if you said you hadn't gained feelings for him and actually wanted more than just a 'fuck buddy' outcome

"So, is he up in the office? I really need to see him" Tara asks while already walking up there and away from you before you can even give her an answer.

You know for a fact that you are not going to be able to focus on work at all today even if you try your hardest, your anxiety is skyrocketing through the roof waiting for this conversation with Spencer and still, wondering when and how you are going to spill the beans about carrying his growing child.

"Alright, what is your issue? Are you pregnant?" Alvez is like a brother to you, nothing has been off limits in the talking department but this just sent you for a whole loop with how bluntly he asked.

You were confident that if it were possible, your eyes would've popped right out of their sockets and into your lap.

"Alvez, I am not discussing this with you right now" you whisper yelled to him, you didn't mean to come off like a bitch at all but god only knows who could've heard him.

"Well, Y/N, If I am being entirely honest. Penelope lets some things slip from time to time" He states like it's the most obvious thing ever.

All you can seem to do is look at him like a dear in the headlights, you feel your skin getting hot and prickly, it feels like there are someones hands around your throat squeezing harder and harder by the second.

"I have to go, I need to go home, I need air" It all comes out in a panic, you get up from your desk and bolt out of the bullpen and down the stairs, you don't even care to take the elevator. You cannot be stuck in a tight spot right now, a tight spot like an elevator.

"Please, just communicate" - "I will, you have my word" the conversation in Spencer's office goes through your mind and you know that you have to communicate with him that you just left work for the day and you don't plan to come back today, atleast- you couldn't and thankfully, it was Friday.

to: Spencer 'The Genius' Reid

'I have to excuse myself for the day, I'm sorry that I am having to send you a text message about this rather than coming to your office- this is me communicating with you. I will return back to my work duties on Monday, unless of course, a case pops up over the weekend then I will be here'

'also, I know we need to have a conversation, I also have something I need to tell you- let me know when you would like this conversation to take place' -

After sending your texts to Spencer, you set your phone on DND because at this point, you don't want to deal with anything or anyone else today, emergency or not.

Driving home was an entire blur, I mean you made it home alive, so that's what matters, I guess.

Walking inside, you plop onto the couch and turn on your favorite comfort show.. Modern Family.

A few hours later, you wake up in the exact place you laid down at- you thought your couch was so comfy until now when your entire body is in pain.. well, maybe it was your horrible sleeping position.

5:13 P.M -

"sweet baby jesus on a motorbike" You mutter to yourself after looking at the clock

"what are you doing to me?" You ask while poking your non-existent baby bump, granted it was a great sleep so you weren't trying to complain- you had heard from JJ in the past that early pregnancy is exhausting and you will sleep.. ALOT.

**BACK AT THE BAU**

"I just practically asked her if it was true but maybe in a more blunt way, it wasn't meant to come out so.. blunt" Alvez explains to Penelope who apparently watched you sprint out of work.

"I specifically told you not to say anything to her about it, I didn't even mean to let it slip to you of all people, Luke. I don't even think that they were in a relationship which makes this so much more difficult for her, as I could imagine" Pen snaps back at Luke.

"It's not going past me, I'm not opening my mouth to anyone about it" Luke says while walking to the Elevator with Pen, finally the work day was over

"Yeah, you let it slip to someone or who knows, I accidentally do again and Spencer is going to find out which right now, that doesn't need to happen" Pen states while being wildly unaware of who just came up behind them

"What doesn't Spencer need to find out right now and why can't he find out right now?" He asks from directly behind Alvez and Garcia, looking between the two of them for a answer.

Luke and Penelope both seem to jump straight out of their skin, not expecting to be crept up on- in reality, it was not Spencer's plan to creep up on them, he just happened to be leaving at the exact time as them and they didn't hear him coming up in the middle of their 'supposed to be' private conversation that was happening out in the open.

"I- uh it's nothing, well, sir, it's nothing in regards to me, i'm fine- it's not my place to tell you, it wasn't my place to tell, Luke- it just slipped and I am blabbering and I just realized that I need to get home" Before Spencer or Luke could say anything to her or anything more to Spencer, she's in the elevator with the doors closing.

'Nice Penelope, real nice' Luke thinks to himself, feeling a bit annoyed and slightly scared

Turning to look behind him, he sees Spencer's eyes boring right into him like he's staring right into Luke's soul, just waiting and searching for answers.

"Is there anything that you know, Alvez?" Spencer finally breaks the silence, otherwise who knows how long the two of them would've stayed standing there in the awkward paralyzing silence.

"I just know Y/N had to leave early today because, well I don't know why but I just know she left- you're her boss too, she should've communicated with you, right?"

"Right, Luke and she did, I have been trying to text and call her since I received her messages and nothing is going through" Reid is quick to bite back, getting quite annoyed himself being left in the dark and now that he is adding the pieces together, he's assuming these secretive things that "he isn't allowed to know about currently" are about you.

"I don't have any other information, what I told you is all I know- but I do need to get home to Roxy" Luke matter-of-factly states even though Luke knows that Luke is lying, well- not about Roxy but about the first part.

"Mhm, alright. Have a good night, Luke" Spencer gave up on trying to get any information out of the turnips that don't bleed but he is confident when he says this is about you and he will get to the bottom of it.

Back at your apartment, you've finally relaxed after a nice hot shower and ordering from your favorite chinese food joint and yes, still watching your comfort show but this time from the comfort of your own bed.

You still haven't even taken your phone off of DND mode, in your mind all you thought was 'if it is important enough, you know where I live and if you don't, contact Penelope Garcia' and the most important part, you were at peace.

You weren't worried about this pregnancy, you had accepted your fate, you weren't worried about Spencer or his new situ-relationship, you weren't even worried about what had happened with Alvez or Garcia. Peace.

"jesus Spencer, what the fuck" You yell out after walking out of the room and coming face to face with him, to say that you were startled was to say the absolute least

"Well, you would've known I was coming if someone didn't have their phone on airplane mode" He bit back with a darkness in his eyes and maybe a bit of worrisome, you couldn't tell everything with how dark it was.

"I know that I gave people a key to my house for emergencies but our conversation or how I was protecting my peace on a Friday night is not an emergency and frankly, if anyone was that worried, you would've sent someone sooner" You were once again fed up and wanted to continue to be alone with your favorite person, Phil Dunphy.

"I was going to drop our conversation until this weekend or even Monday, when we see each other in person again but funny enough, I was walking out to leave for the day when I walked into Luke's and Penelope's conversation and it was about you and something that I shouldn't be finding out about right now- would you happen to know anything about that?" Spencer replied, getting more and more fed up by the second.

If Spencer didn't know any better, he would say that you looked like you just saw a ghost- he was dead on the money about the conversation and some secret rooting back to you- now to just get it out of you.

Calming down after seeing the state you were rushing into, he comes to you with a softer approach - "Y/N, I want to help you. We've known each other for years, since I started working for the BAU, please let me know. Let me know what is going on. I'm not going anywhere"

You felt like you were about to up-chuck your chinese food all over this poor man, you know you need to tell him.

'Y/N you will never know the outcome of this unless you open your mouth and spill those words to him, be brave, be bold' You think silently to yourself.

"Spencer, I'm pregnant - You are the last person I slept with. I am pregnant with your baby"

if this is horrible, sue me - i haven't written in forever and honestly, this is a little bit longer than i thought it would be - whoops!

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED

& yeah, yeah- i left this on a cliffhanger, if you beautiful humans actually like this, i had planned to make this a 2 parter story or who knows, if i make the next part longer then it could be 3 or more parts.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds gif #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #luke alvez #penelope garcia #emily prentiss

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us-cj · 3 months ago

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From 2001 to 2005 there was an ongoing investigation into the Clinton Foundation. A Grand Jury had been impaneled. Governments from around the world had donated to the “Charity”. Yet, from 2001 to 2003 none of those “Donations” to the Clinton Foundation were declared. Now you would think that an honest investigator would be able to figure this out.

Look who took over this investigation in 2005, none other than James Comey. Coincidence? Guess who was transferred into the Internal Revenue Service to run the Tax Exemption Branch of the IRS? None other than, Lois Lerner. Isn’t that interesting?

But this is all just a series of strange coincidences, right? Guess who ran the Tax Division inside the Department of Justice from 2001 to 2005? None other than the Assistant Attorney General of the United States, Rod Rosenstein.

Guess who was the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation during this time frame? Another coincidence (just an anomaly in statistics and chances), but it was Robert Mueller.

What do all four casting characters have in common? They all were briefed and/or were front-line investigators into the Clinton Foundation Investigation. Another coincidence, right?

Fast forward to 2009. James Comey leaves the Justice Department to go and cash-in at Lockheed Martin. Hillary Clinton is running the State Department, official government business, on her own personal email server. The Uranium One “issue” comes to the attention of Hillary. Like all good public servants do, supposedly looking out for America’s best interest, she decides to support the decision and approve the sale of 20% of US Uranium to... the Russians. Now, you would think that this is a fairly straight up deal, except it wasn’t. America got absolutely nothing out of it.

However, prior to the sales approval, BILL CLINTON goes to Moscow, gets paid $500,000 for a one hour speech; then meets with Vladimir Putin at his home for a few hours. Ok, no big deal right? Well, not so fast, the FBI had a mole inside the money laundering and bribery scheme.

Robert Mueller was the FBI Director during this time frame. He even delivered a Uranium Sample to Moscow in 2009. Who was handling that case within the Justice Department out of the US Attorney’s Office in Maryland? None other than, Rod Rosenstein.

And what happened to the informant? The Department of Justice placed a gag order on him and threatened to lock him up if he spoke out about it.

How does 20% of the most strategic asset of the United States of America end up in Russian hands when the FBI has an informant, a mole providing inside information to the FBI on the criminal enterprise?

Very soon after; the sale was approved. $145 million dollars in “donations” made their way into the Clinton Foundation from entities directly connected to the Uranium One deal. Guess who was still at the Internal Revenue Service working the Charitable Division? None other than, Lois Lerner.

Ok, that’s all just another series of coincidences, nothing to see here, right? Let’s fast forward to 2015. Due to a series of tragic events in Benghazi and after the 9 “investigations” the House, Senate and at State Department, Trey Gowdy who was running the 10th investigation as Chairman of the Select Committee on Benghazi discovers that Hillary ran the State Department on an unclassified, unauthorized, outlaw personal email server. He also discovered that none of those emails had been turned over when she departed her “Public Service” as Secretary of State which was required by law. He also discovered that there was Top Secret information contained within her personally archived email.

Sparing you the State Departments cover up, the nostrums they floated, the delay tactics that were employed and the outright lies that were spewed forth from the necks of the Kerry State Department, we shall leave it with this, they did everything humanly possible to cover for Hillary.

Now this is amazing, guess who became FBI Director in 2013? James Comey, who secured 17 no bid contracts for his employer (Lockheed Martin) with the State Department and was rewarded with a $6 million dollar thank you present when he departed his employer? Amazing how all those no-bids just went right through at the State Department. Now he is the FBI Director in charge of the “Clinton Email Investigation” after of course his FBI Investigates the Lois Lerner “Matter” at the Internal Revenue Service and he exonerates her. Nope, couldn’t find any crimes there.

In April 2016, James Comey drafts an exoneration letter of Hillary Rodham Clinton. Meanwhile the DOJ is handing out immunity deals like candy. They didn’t even convene a Grand Jury! Like a lightning bolt of statistical impossibility, like a miracle from God himself, like the true “Gangsta” Comey is, James steps out into the cameras of an awaiting press conference on July 5th of 2016, and exonerates Hillary from any wrongdoing.

Do you see the pattern?

It goes on and on, Rosenstein becomes Assistant Attorney General, Comey gets fired based upon a letter by Rosenstein, Comey leaks government information to the press, Mueller is assigned to the Russian Investigation sham by Rosenstein to provide cover for decades of malfeasance within the FBI and DOJ and the story continues.

FISA abuse, political espionage pick a crime, any crime, chances are this group and a few others did it:

All the same players.

All compromised and conflicted.

All working fervently to NOT go to jail themselves.

All connected in one way or another to the Clinton's.

They are like battery acid; they corrode and corrupt everything they touch. How many lives have these two destroyed?

As of this writing, the Clinton Foundation, in its 20+ years of operation of being the largest International Charity Fraud in the history of mankind, has never been audited by the Internal Revenue Service. Let us not forget that Comey's brother works for DLA Piper, the law firm that does the Clinton Foundation's taxes.

The person that is the common denominator to all the crimes above and still doing her evil escape legal maneuvers at the top of the 3 Letter USA Agencies? Yes, that would be Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Let’s learn a little about Mrs. Lisa H. Barsoomian’s background. Lisa H. Barsoomian, an Attorney that graduated from Georgetown Law, is a protégé of James Comey and Robert Mueller. Barsoomian, with her boss R. Craig Lawrence, represented Bill Clinton in 1998. Lawrence also represented:

Robert Mueller 3 times,

James Comey 5 times,

Barack Obama 45 times,

Kathleen Sebelius 56 times,

Bill Clinton 40 times,

and Hillary Clinton 17 times.

Between 1998 and 2017, Barsoomian herself represented the FBI at least five times.

You may be saying to yourself, who cares about the work history of this Barsoomian woman? Apparently, someone does, because someone out there cares so much that they’ve “purged” all Barsoomian court documents for her Clinton representation in Hamburg vs. Clinton in 1998 and its appeal in 1999 from the DC District and Appeals Court dockets. Someone out there cares so much that even the internet has been “purged” of all information pertaining to Barsoomian.

Historically, this indicates that the individual is a protected CIA operative. Additionally, Lisa Barsoomian has specialized in opposing Freedom of Information Act requests on behalf of the intelligence community. Although, Barsoomian has been involved in hundreds of cases representing the DC Office of the US Attorney, her email address is [email protected]. The NIH stands for National Institutes of Health. This is a tactic routinely used by the CIA to protect an operative by using another government organization to shield their activities. It’s a cover, so big deal right? What does one more attorney with ties to the US intelligence community really matter?

It deals with Trump and his recent tariffs on Chinese steel and aluminum imports, the border wall, DACA, everything coming out of California, the Uni-party unrelenting opposition to President Trump, the Clapper leaks, the Comey leaks, Attorney General Jeff Sessions recusal and subsequent 14 month nap with occasional forays into the marijuana legalization mix and last but not least Mueller’s never-ending investigation into collusion between the Trump team and the Russians.

Why does Barsoomian, CIA operative, merit any mention? Because she is Assistant Attorney General Rod

Rosenstein’s wife.

- Tom Tancredo/Team America

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pathologicalreid · 2 years ago

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buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #h writes (hypothetically)

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kiwriteswords · 3 months ago

Note

congrats on your 2k 🎉

for missing scene Monday, could we get bearded Hotch's new gf he met on his secret assignment in Pakistan?? I'll leave it to you if you want to extend it back to the US and the BAU team!!

Just begging for anything with bearded Hotch and yes this was inspired by your 2k celebration gif choices ❤️ love ya!

Let It Be [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||Main Masterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 8k|| AN: Thank you so much for sending this request so early for day one! I was able to get a head start on this last week, and I really love how it turned out!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, canon-divergent, beard!hotch, canon-typical themes, hurt/comfort, banter, Hotch in Pakistan, non!BAU reader, kinda left tbc?

Summary: Hotch meets you on assignment in Pakistan, and you're exactly what he was looking for...someone who's just there without pushing.

The sun was relentless, bearing down on the barren expanse surrounding the base. Sweat collected under your tactical gear, but you barely noticed. It was the kind of heat that stripped away all distractions, leaving you focused on the mission ahead--or at least trying to be.

You adjusted the strap of your duffel bag and glanced around the bustling camp. This wasn’t your first special operations assignment, but the tension in the air felt different here. Heavier.

It could have just been you dragging the weight of unresolved emotions halfway across the world, or it could have been the stakes of the mission--a dangerous operation involving an international terrorist cell that required precision, discretion, and teamwork between agencies not known for always getting along.

“Agent Y/L/N?”

The voice was deep, cutting through the camp noise. You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall man, his sharp features etched into a permanent state of seriousness. His gaze was steady, and his presence commanded attention without effort.

“That’s me,” you replied, clipped but polite.

He stepped closer, extending a hand. “Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU.”

The name was familiar. You had read the reports and heard the stories--his work on high-profile cases, his leadership, and his reputation for being unflinchingly methodical. You shook his hand, noting the firm grip and how it matched the intensity in his dark eyes.

“Special Agent Y/L/N, CIA Directorate of Operations,” you said, introducing yourself with the same straightforward efficiency. “Behavioral analyst and covert operations specialist.”

His brow shifted slightly, just enough for you to notice. He nodded, acknowledging your credentials with a quiet respect.

“Briefing starts in five,” he said, his tone all business. Then he turned and walked away, leaving you with the distinct impression that there was more to him than the stoic exterior he projected. You had worked with people like him before--people who carried their burdens in silence--but something about the weight in his eyes made you wonder if he had brought his own ghosts to this mission, much like you had.

….

The first few days were a blur of briefings, strategy sessions, and late nights poring over intel. You didn’t interact much with Hotch beyond the occasional exchange of information, but you caught yourself noticing him. The way he carried himself--calm and composed, but with an edge of tension that never seemed to leave him. You recognized it because you felt it, too.

As you reviewed reports in the command tent one night, he walked in, filling the space. He set a folder on the table and glanced at you.

“You’ve been here for hours,” he said, not a question but an observation.

You shrugged, keeping your focus on the documents in front of you. “So have you.”

“I’m used to it,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“So am I.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, he pulled out a chair and sat across from you, his gaze steady.

“It’s easier to keep busy,” he said quietly as if he was sharing a truth he rarely voiced.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was something there--something raw and unspoken. You wanted to ask what he was running from, but you didn’t. You weren’t ready to share your own truths, so you didn’t ask for his.

….

The nights were the hardest. The quiet gave your mind too much room to wander, dredging up memories you’d rather forget. One evening, you found yourself outside, staring at the vast expanse of desert under a blanket of stars. You didn’t expect company, but the sound of footsteps behind you made you turn.

It was Hotch.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head, stepping closer until he was standing beside you.

“Me neither,” you admitted.

For a while, you just stood there, the silence between you feeling strangely comfortable.

“I read your file,” he said eventually, his tone careful.

You glanced at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you now?”

“You’ve handled some difficult assignments. Made a name for yourself.”

There was no arrogance in his words; it was just observation.

“Guess you could say I have a knack for throwing myself into the fire,” you replied. Something flashed across his face like he was going to respond with something, but he didn’t.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but his presence was steady, almost calming.

“Why are you really here?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Nobody in their right mind would have volunteered for this unless they either A) had nobody to go home to at night, or B) were trying to forget about something else. You could tell by the small photo Hotch carried around of, presumably, his son it wasn’t option A.

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. “Because it’s easier than being back home.”

You nodded, understanding more than you cared to admit. “Yeah. Same.”

He glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What are you running from?”

You hesitated, the question hitting too close to home. “A mistake. One I don’t want to repeat.”

He didn’t press for details, and you were grateful. Instead, he said, “Sometimes running is the only way to keep moving.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if you agreed.

……

As the mission dragged on, the weight of it started to press down on both of you. You began to notice how Hotch avoided certain topics, not that personal topics frequently came up. You noticed how his eyes darkened when the name "Prentiss" came up from the communication specialist on the special ops team.

You didn’t ask--he didn’t offer--but the pieces slowly started to come together. You had to be living under a rock in this field not to have heard about the major loss the BAU took this past year.

One night, after another tense meeting, you found yourselves in the makeshift kitchen, both reaching for the last cup of coffee.

“You take it,” you said, stepping back.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“I insist. I’ve had worse days.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of understanding. “I doubt that.”

You smirked, the slightest crack in your guarded exterior. “Careful, Hotchner. That almost sounded like empathy.”

His lips twitched--the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. “Don’t get used to it.”

….

A sudden sandstorm sent the entire team scrambling for cover. The wind howled outside the command tent, shaking the canvas walls as you huddled with Hotch and two other agents.

“Typical,” you muttered, brushing sand off your gear. “Mission’s hard enough without Mother Nature making it worse.”

Hotch sat across from you, his expression unreadable as he tightened the straps on his vest. He was scruffier than he was when you first arrived. It wasn’t a bad look, but you brushed down that thought.

“You’ve been through worse,” he said matter-of-factly, not a question but a statement.

You let out a short laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit, Hotchner. I’m not invincible.”

“No one is,” he replied, his tone softer than you expected. “But you’re resilient. I can see that.”

The compliment, if you could call it that, caught you off guard. You didn’t reply, unsure how to. Instead, you focused on the storm outside, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

But later, when the storm passed, and you stepped out into the eerily quiet desert, you found yourself glancing at Hotch. He met your gaze for a moment, and something unspoken passed between you--a mutual respect, a shared understanding.

….

It was late, and the compound was finally quiet. You were seated at a makeshift table, cleaning your sidearm, when Hotch approached with two cups of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as he set one down in front of you.

“I doubt that,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

You took a sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “God, this is terrible.”

“It’s coffee,” he said with a small shrug as if that explained everything.

You glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Do you ever lighten up, Hotchner?”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “On occasion.”

“Define ‘occasion.’”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the weapon in your hands. “When it’s earned,” he said finally.

It was a cryptic response, but it made you smile anyway. “Well, I’ll consider this progress.”

He sat with you in silence, but it was comfortable. The company was more needed than either of you realized.

….

The day had been relentless, the kind that left your muscles aching and your mind frayed at the edges. You had lost count of how many hours you’d been awake--thirty, maybe forty. Every bone in your body screamed for rest, but the tension from the mission had settled into your chest, making sleep impossible.

You found yourself outside the command tent, slumping onto an old crate with a half-empty water bottle in your hand. The distant hum of generators buzzed like a white noise machine, masking the desert’s eerie quiet.

Hotch appeared a few minutes later, wordlessly lowering himself onto the crate beside you. His presence, steady as always, should have been comforting, but tonight it only made the lump in your throat harder to ignore.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You told yourself you liked the silence, but the truth was, it gave your thoughts too much room to spiral. Your chest felt tight, and despite the coolness of the night, your face burned with exhaustion-fueled frustration.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your mouth before you could stop them.

Hotch turned his head toward you, his face unreadable but his attention sharp. “Why do you say that?”

You let out a shaky breath, staring out into the endless darkness of the desert. “Because I’m running. I didn’t know what else to do.” You hesitated, feeling the weight of your own admission. “I thought putting space between me and...everything would help, but maybe it just makes it worse.”

The words sat heavy in the air, and you instantly regretted saying them. You felt exposed, as though admitting it aloud would make it all the more real. Your hands fidgeted with the bottle, and you kept your gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to meet his.

You thought about the way your life had pretty much unraveled around you back at home. If it wasn’t for work, you’re not sure you’d still be standing on your two feet. Here you could be the strong, independent person you aspired to be. At home, you were heartbroken without an end in sight.

The silence stretched long enough that you thought he wouldn’t respond. But then, in that low, even voice of his, he said, “It doesn’t make it worse. It just makes it...quieter. And sometimes quiet is all you can handle.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his tone. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, distant and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly, the rawness in your voice betraying how fragile you felt.

He nodded, barely perceptible, his gaze never leaving the horizon. “I thought being here might help me make sense of things. But some things…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Some things don’t have answers.”

There was something about the way he said it--not defensive, not self-pitying, just honest. It broke through the dam inside you, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you might cry.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat tightening. The weight of his answer settled between you, tangible and heavy, yet somehow reassuring.

For the first time, the silence felt like a shared space rather than an empty one. You didn’t push for more. You couldn’t, not with your emotions already threatening to overflow. But as the desert night pressed in around you, you realized you didn’t need to.

Whatever walls you both had built were starting to crumble, and neither of you seemed inclined to stop it.

…..

The air in the abandoned warehouse was stifling, thick with the smell of rust and dust. You moved carefully, your weapon drawn and your eyes scanning every shadow. Hotch was just behind you, silent but steady, his presence grounding you in the tense atmosphere.

The intel had been solid: a potential threat against the local embassy was being planned here, and your team had been tasked with gathering evidence. But now, as you crept deeper into the maze of crates and machinery, something felt off. The place was too quiet.

A faint creak made you freeze. You glanced back at Hotch, and he gave a subtle nod, his dark eyes sharp with focus. He gestured for you to take the left while he veered right. You obeyed without question, trusting his instincts as much as your own.

You edged around a stack of crates, your pulse quickening. The sound came again--a faint shuffle, followed by a whisper of movement. You tightened your grip on your weapon, adrenaline flooding your system.

Then everything exploded at once.

A figure lunged from the shadows, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off balance. Your weapon clattered to the floor as you struggled against the assailant, their grip bruising as they tried to pin you down.

“Agent Y/L/N!” Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

You twisted, freeing one arm, and drove your elbow into the attacker’s side. They grunted, loosening their grip just enough for you to push them off. But before you could retrieve your weapon, another figure appeared, this one heading straight for Hotch.

“Behind you!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet.

Hotch spun just in time, deflecting the attacker’s blow and delivering a calculated strike that sent them stumbling. But the odds were quickly stacking against you--more figures emerged from the shadows, their movements coordinated and purposeful.

“Fall back!” Hotch ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

You grabbed your weapon and fell into step beside him as the two of you retreated toward the exit. The sound of footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second.

“We’re not going to make it out clean,” you said, your voice tight as you scanned for cover.

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “We don’t have to. We just need to slow them down.”

He pointed to a stack of crates near the exit, and you understood immediately. You fired a few shots, not aiming to hit but to force your pursuers to take cover. Then, together, you pushed the nearest crate, toppling it over and creating a barricade that bought you a few precious seconds.

“Go!” Hotch barked, motioning for you to move ahead.

“No way,” you snapped, falling into position beside him. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

His gaze flicked to you, something unspoken passing between you. It wasn’t the time for arguments, so he didn’t push it.

The two of you moved as one, covering each other as you navigated the narrow corridors toward the exit. Your heart pounded in your ears, but you didn’t let it distract you. Hotch’s steady presence was all you focused on, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind you. You didn’t stop running until you reached the safety of the extraction point, where reinforcements were waiting.

You doubled over, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. Hotch was beside you, his breathing heavy but controlled.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You nodded, straightening up. “Yeah. You?”

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, a faint flicker of dry humor in his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “That’s one way to bond, I guess.”

Hotch glanced at you, and for the first time since the mission began, you saw something close to a smile on his face. It was brief, but it was real.

“Good work out there,” he said simply.

“Right back at you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

In that moment, you realized just how much you trusted him--not just as a colleague, but as someone who had your back, no matter what. And from the way he looked at you, you had the feeling he felt the same.

….

The day had been unusually quiet. The base hummed with its usual activity, but the weight in the air seemed heavier that day. You had noticed it the moment you walked into the briefing room. Hotch had been there, as he always was, but there was something off.

His usual sharp focus felt dulled, his replies curt even for his standards. He spent more time staring at his tablet than actually reading it, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper somehow.

You weren’t a profiler, but you didn’t need to be to know something was wrong.

Now, hours later, you found him alone in the makeshift command tent, the harsh glow of a desk lamp illuminating the strain on his features. He was seated, elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him, staring at a map as if willing it to make sense.

“You’re still at it?” you asked gently, stepping inside.

His head lifted slightly, but he didn’t look at you. “There’s a lot to prepare for.”

“There always is,” you replied, pulling up a chair across from him. “But it’s late. You should take a break.”

“I can’t afford to.”

The edge in his voice wasn’t aimed at you, but it still made you hesitate. You considered leaving him to his work, but something kept you there.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the tense quiet. “What’s going on?”

He finally looked up, his dark eyes shadowed by something heavy. For a moment, you thought he might tell you, but then his expression hardened, his walls slamming back into place.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, his tone measured but distant.

You didn’t believe him, not for a second. But you also knew better than to push.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You’re allowed to have off days, you know. Even you.”

His lips twitched, almost a humorless smile. “I don’t have the time for that.”

“You’re human,” you countered, your tone steady but not pressing. “It’s not a luxury. It’s just...life.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the table. But his hands, usually so still, were fidgeting now--his fingers twisting the edge of the map absentmindedly.

You let the silence settle between you, giving him space. After a few minutes, you stood and moved toward the coffee pot in the corner of the tent. You poured two cups, setting one down in front of him without a word before returning to your seat.

Hotch stared at the cup for a moment before picking it up, cradling it in his hands like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, almost as if he was telling it to himself, though his tone betrayed him. “I just--” He stopped, shaking his head as if to dismiss whatever he’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly, your voice steady. “We all have those days.”

He let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “This one feels heavier.”

You didn’t know what he was carrying--something about him always felt impenetrable, as though he kept the world at arm’s length. But you didn’t need to know the specifics to recognize the weight he was under.

“You’re allowed to let it feel heavy,” you said after a moment, watching his reaction carefully.

Hotch’s hand tightened around the coffee cup, the faintest flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face before his walls went back up. “I shouldn’t let it distract me,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table. “Maybe letting yourself feel it for five minutes wouldn’t be a distraction. Maybe it’d just be human.”

He didn’t respond, but his jaw shifted as though he was grinding his teeth. His silence didn’t bother you--it was enough to just sit there, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

After a while, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not digging,” he said, finally looking at you. His gaze softened just enough to make your chest ache. “For just...being here.”

You offered a small smile, reaching across the table and resting your hand lightly over his. It wasn’t much, but the way his shoulders relaxed told you it was enough.

“I’ve got your back,” you said simply. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone.”

Hotch nodded, his grip tightening briefly on the cup before setting it down. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in the room felt lighter somehow.

The two of you sat there in silence, the night pressing in around you. And while the weight of whatever he was carrying didn’t disappear, you could tell it didn’t feel quite so unbearable anymore.

…

The sun blazed mercilessly overhead, reflecting off the shallow, winding river that cut through the barren terrain. You adjusted your gear, sweat dripping down your temple as you followed Hotch’s lead. The mission had gone sideways--nothing catastrophic, but the extraction point was now miles further than planned, and the only route was straight through the rocky riverbed.

“Watch your step,” Hotch warned as he leaped from one jagged boulder to another. His movements were precise, practiced, but you could tell the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him.

“I was planning to fall flat on my face,” you replied, the edge of sarcasm in your voice lighthearted enough to soften the tension.

His lips twitched, that almost-smile you’d grown accustomed to. “Let’s avoid that.”

The river wasn’t deep, but the current was deceptively strong. The rocks were uneven; some were slick with moss, and others were barely stable. The whole setup was a sprained ankle--or worse--waiting to happen.

You made it halfway across before your boot slipped on a loose stone, your footing completely giving out beneath you. You stumbled, and the weight of your gear made it impossible to regain your balance.

Before you could hit the water, a substantial hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. The force of it brought you chest-to-chest with Hotch, his grip firm and steady.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and close, his breath warm against your temple.

“Yeah,” you managed, your own breath catching as you looked up at him. His face was inches from yours, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you.

His dark eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in them--concern, maybe, or something deeper. He didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering on your arm as though he needed to make sure you were truly steady.

“I told you to watch your step,” he said finally, his tone softer than usual. His words did not match the gentleness in his tone.

“And I told you I was planning to fall,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a wry smile.

His lips twitched again, but this time, it felt closer to a real smile. His hand slipped away reluctantly, the warmth of his touch lingering long after he stepped back.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, his voice all business again, though you caught the slight shift in his expression--something unguarded, fleeting, but unmistakably there.

…

The day’s trek had left you both bone-weary, but the setting sun brought with it a chill that seeped into your skin. The fire crackled low between you as you sat on overturned crates, the glow casting flickering shadows over the rocky outcrop that served as your makeshift camp for the night.

You had stripped down to your undershirt, your jacket drying on a nearby rock after the river crossing. Hotch sat across from you, rolling his stiff shoulders and rubbing his neck, his usual stoicism slightly cracked by the day’s exhaustion.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” you commented, watching him massage the tension from his muscles.

“So will you,” he replied, his eyes flicking to your bruised forearm from the earlier stumble.

“I bounce back quickly,” you said lightly. “You, on the other hand, might want to consider a hot bath.”

His lips quirked, and he shook his head. “I’ll add that to the list of luxuries I’m missing out on.”

“Right after edible food,” you added, holding up the protein bar you’d been gnawing on. “This is basically punishment.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, and it made your chest tighten unexpectedly. You leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire and the rare ease of the moment settle over you.

“You’re not always so serious, are you?” you asked, half-teasing but genuinely curious.

Hotch glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “Depends on the company.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the lines of exhaustion and something deeper--something you couldn’t quite name but felt pulled toward.

“Well,” you said finally, breaking the tension with a small smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on you before he nodded slightly. “You should.”

The fire had long since burned down to embers, but neither of you had moved. The quiet was comfortable now, a shared understanding that didn’t need words.

“You’re different,” Hotch said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was thoughtful, not heavy, but it made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t expect.

“Different how?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t push,” he said simply. “Most people do. They want something, even if they don’t say it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “Maybe I just know what it’s like to need space.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze dropping to the glowing embers. “It’s rare,” he said quietly. “And...appreciated.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized with a startling clarity that you didn’t want this moment to end. The mission, the chaos, the fleeting moments of quiet connection--they’d all built to this, and you weren’t ready to let it go.

You didn’t say anything, but you shifted closer, just enough that your knee brushed against his. He didn’t move away, and the warmth of his presence felt like an anchor in the cool desert night.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But when he finally looked at you, the guarded distance in his eyes had softened, replaced by something you couldn’t name but felt deeply.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, his voice low but gentle. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”

You nodded, standing and brushing the dust from your pants. But as you turned to leave, you paused, glancing back at him. “Good night, Hotch.”

“Good night,” he replied, his gaze following you as you walked away.

And for the first time since this mission began, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time--something you weren’t sure you could name but couldn’t deny was there.

…..

The air in the base felt heavier than usual. The usual hum of activity buzzed in the background, but your focus was locked on the figure in front of you--Aaron Hotchner, standing by the transport vehicle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. A stark contrast to how he had shown up so long ago. Now, slimmer and with a face full of facial hair.

You hadn’t expected the mission to end like this--not with him leaving before it was over. The news had come down hours ago: he had been called back stateside. No explanation, no warning. Just orders.

“Something urgent?” you asked, keeping your tone steady even as you struggled to meet his eyes.

He nodded, his expression unreadable but his jaw tight, a tell you’d come to recognize. “I have to return to Quantico. The team needs me.”

Of course, they do, you thought. You had known from the beginning that this wasn’t his world. His world was back home, leading the BAU, carrying burdens most people couldn’t fathom. Still, the abruptness of his departure left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You stepped closer, your arms crossed, not out of defiance but to keep yourself grounded. “We’ll manage here,” you said, the words feeling both true and hollow.

Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, his dark eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “You will,” he said, his voice low. “You’re good at this.”

A faint, humorless laugh escaped you. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was,” he replied, a faint ghost of a smile on his lips before it disappeared.

The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. You weren’t naive. Whatever had brought him here was bigger than the mission, bigger than you. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him leave.

“Will you be back?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Hotch hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t know.”

The honesty in his answer hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and nodded. “Well, in case you don’t…you know, good luck, Hotch.”

He studied you for a moment, as if committing your face to memory. Then, to your surprise, he stepped closer. His hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t pull away. “For what?”

“For being here. For making this easier,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You searched his eyes, the words catching in your throat. Instead of speaking, you reached up and squeezed his hand where it rested on your arm, the small gesture saying more than words could.

His hand lingered for a moment before he pulled back, his professional mask sliding into place once more.

“They’re waiting for me,” he said, his voice steady but distant.

You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Go. They need you more than we do.”

He hesitated again, his eyes flicking to yours one last time. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely audible.

And then he turned and climbed into the vehicle. You stood there, watching as it pulled away, the ache in your chest growing heavier with each passing second.

When the dust finally settled, and the vehicle disappeared from sight, you let out a shaky breath, the reality of his absence sinking in.

You hadn’t expected this assignment to change anything. But now, as you stood alone under the relentless desert sun, you realized just how much it had--and how much he had.

You weren’t sure how you’d get over missing him the way you felt the minute he left your side.

…

The harsh glow of the tent's fluorescent light was a poor substitute for the sun. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the dull ache that had settled behind your eyes after hours of pouring over intel. The mission dragged on, one step forward and two steps back, and you were beginning to feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

The faint crackle of the comm system startled you, drawing your attention to the communications officer stationed at the other end of the tent. His head tilted, listening intently before he turned and called out, “Y/L/N, secure line for you. Priority channel.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. Secure lines weren’t uncommon, but they were usually pre-arranged. Rising from your chair, you crossed the tent, curiosity buzzing in the back of your mind.

When you picked up the headset, the officer handed you a notepad with a string of verification codes scrawled across it. “Verify the code,” he instructed.

You input the code into the secure terminal, and after a moment, the line cleared. “This is Y/L/N,” you said cautiously.

There was a beat of silence, then a familiar voice. “It’s Hotch.”

Back in Quantico, Hotch leaned back in his chair, his fingers gripping the phone tighter than necessary. The bullpen below his office was dim and quiet--most of the team had left for the night, but the stillness did little to ease the weight pressing on him.

The fallout from the Ian Doyle case was still reverberating through the BAU. Emily’s return had blindsided the team, and though he had tried to justify the deception, the cracks in their trust were impossible to ignore. Strauss’s scrutiny had sharpened, and his every decision seemed to be under a magnifying glass.

He hadn’t called to talk about any of that. He couldn’t.

But the familiar tension in his chest--the suffocating combination of guilt, stress, and isolation--had driven him to dial the secure line. He wasn’t even sure you’d pick up, but when your voice filtered through the line, steady and sure, it was like a knot in his chest loosened.

You straightened instinctively, surprise rippling through you. “Hotch,” you repeated, unable to keep the astonishment from your tone. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You’re not…no,” you assured him, leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough for you to sense the weight behind it. “I just wanted to check-in. See how things are going on your end.”

You frowned slightly, his words not matching the tension you could hear in his voice. “Things are...as expected. Slow, frustrating, and complicated. But manageable.”

“Good,” he said, the word clipped, almost distracted.

You weren’t a profiler, but the exhaustion in his tone was unmistakable. He sounded like a man carrying too many burdens, with no room to set them down.

“You sound tired,” you said gently, knowing better than to pry.

He let out a soft exhale, the kind that felt heavier than it should. “It’s been a long few weeks,” he admitted, though his words felt like an understatement.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, your voice cutting through the static in his mind. He could still see the look on Morgan’s face when Emily had walked into the room, the betrayal simmering under the surface. He could hear the edge in Strauss’s tone as she grilled him about his decision to keep the team in the dark.

But here, with you, there was no judgment. No interrogation.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” you asked, keeping your tone light but genuine.

A soft scoff met your ears. “I’m trying,” he replied, the words carrying a note of dry humor.

You smiled faintly, leaning back against the table. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

His silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. You knew he wasn’t the type to reach out without a reason, but you also knew he wouldn’t say more than he wanted to. And you weren’t going to push.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For picking up,” he said simply. “For not asking.”

Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his tone. “Of course,” you replied softly. “You don’t have to explain anything, Hotch. You know that.”

For a fleeting moment, Hotch considered telling you. About Emily. About the team’s trust--or lack of it. But the words felt too heavy…too complicated to put into the space between you. He didn’t want to drag you into the mess, especially not when you had your own mission to worry about.

And yet, knowing you were there, steady and unwavering, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in weeks.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the faint hum of the secure line filling the silence. Despite the distance between you, the connection felt tangible--grounding.

“I should let you get back to work,” he said finally, although his voice sounded reluctant.

“Yeah,” you agreed, even though you didn’t want the call to end. “But Hotch...don’t wait so long to call next time, okay?”

There was a pause, then a quiet, almost imperceptible, “Okay.”

And then the line disconnected, leaving you standing there with the headset in hand and a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Across the ocean, Hotch set the phone down, his hand lingering on the receiver. For the first time in days, the storm inside him felt a little less suffocating. And though he couldn’t explain why, he knew that calling you had been the right choice.

….

Throughout the remainder of your mission in Pakistan, Hotch’s calls came sporadically, never announced, and always brief. Each time the secure line connected, his voice carried a steadiness that seemed to ease the tension that surrounded you. The conversations were simple--updates on the mission, quiet exchanges about the weather, or mutual remarks about the relentless grind of your respective work.

Yet, beneath the surface, those calls meant more.

They weren’t about the words exchanged but the connection that had grown between you. Somehow, through the static of secure lines and the distance of continents, you felt you knew him intimately.

Not in the way of shared stories or confessions, but in the quiet understanding of someone who had seen the same kind of pain.

Hotch never spoke about what weighed on him, and you never pressed. He didn’t need to. The heaviness in his tone, the pauses that lingered too long--they told you everything you needed to know. And you, in turn, found comfort in the silence he offered, in the unspoken acknowledgment of your own burdens.

It was a strange closeness, one that felt both fragile and unbreakable. You knew so much about each other, and yet nothing at all. He never asked about what had driven you to this mission, and you never asked about the strain you could hear in his voice. Yet, you understood each other in a way that words couldn’t capture.

In those stolen moments on the phone, it didn’t matter that the world outside was relentless. It didn’t matter that neither of you could put your pain into words. What mattered was that, for a few fleeting minutes, you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

It was those moments that patched up the pain in your chest, almost making you forget about the heartbreak you left at home. The failed relationships, the loneliness…you wondered how it would continue on--or if it would continue on once you were back home. You hoped.

…..

The bullpen at the BAU was its usual hive of activity, with agents moving between desks, typing up reports, and chatting quietly between tasks. But today, there was an undercurrent of curiosity rippling through the team--one that centered on Hotch.

Seated at her desk, Garcia spun her chair toward Morgan, a playful smirk on her lips. “Alright, Derek, spill. What’s with the boss man and those secretive phone calls he’s been making?”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think I know anything, Baby Girl?”

Garcia raised a skeptical brow, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch’s office. “Because every time he steps in there and picks up that phone, he looks...different. Like, not his usual stressed-out-because-the-world-is-burning look. It’s something else.”

JJ, passing by with a file, paused to join the conversation. “You’re not wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I noticed it, too. He’s been...quieter lately. More introspective. Not that Hotch is ever exactly chatty, but it’s different.”

Rossi appeared from behind them, holding his ever-present coffee mug. “And you’re all assuming that a few phone calls mean he’s seeing someone?” His tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the craziest thing,” Morgan replied with a shrug. “The man deserves a little happiness. Maybe he finally found someone who gets him.”

Reid, seated nearby with his tablet, looked up. “It could be related to the fallout from the Doyle case. He might be reaching out to someone for professional advice or support.”

Garcia shook her head dramatically. “Oh, boy-wonder, that’s far too clinical. This is Hotch we’re talking about. If he’s calling someone regularly, it’s personal.”

JJ frowned slightly, leaning against her desk. “Whoever it is, I just hope they’re good for him. After everything with Haley, and now the strain with the team...he needs someone who can be there for him.”

Rossi took a sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Hotch’s closed office door. “Maybe it’s not about what they say. Sometimes, it’s just about having someone who listens. God knows that man doesn’t let anyone in easily.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence, their gazes drifting toward the office where Hotch was currently on a call. Inside, his expression was characteristically composed, but the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed something softer.

Morgan broke the silence first, smirking. “Well, whoever this mystery caller is, they’ve got our fearless leader smiling. I say we let him have this one.”

Garcia gasped dramatically, clasping her hands together. “Smiling? You saw him smile? Oh, this is bigger than I thought.”

JJ and Rossi exchanged amused glances, and even Reid couldn’t suppress a small smile at Garcia’s theatrics. But beneath the playful banter, the team shared a collective hope--that whoever was on the other end of those calls was helping their stoic leader carry at least some of the weight on his shoulders.

….

Hotch sat in his office, the low hum of activity in the bullpen barely reaching his ears. His personal phone buzzed on the desk beside him, an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. He frowned, picking it up cautiously. It wasn’t often he got calls from unlisted numbers on this line.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, his tone brisk.

“Well, that’s formal. Do you always answer like you’re being interrogated?”

His breath caught, the familiar voice pulling a genuine, if fleeting, smile to his face. “Agent Y/L/N. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you teased. “Just because I’m not in Pakistan doesn’t mean I’ve vanished. I still exist, contrary to popular belief.”

“Good to know,” he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I heard you finished the mission. Back stateside?”

“For now,” you said, your tone carrying the same measured ease he remembered. “It’s just a pit stop, though. The CIA doesn’t let its covert operatives sit idle for too long.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. “How’s it feel to be back?”

“Strange,” you admitted. “Like I’m not entirely here, you know? You get that, don’t you?”

He did. More than he cared to admit.

“I do,” he said simply, his voice low.

“And you?” you asked, your voice softening. “How’s the BAU treating you?”

He hesitated, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on his chest. The fallout from the Doyle case, Emily’s return, the team’s shaken trust--it all simmered just beneath the surface. But he wasn’t ready to unpack that. Not now.

“Still busy,” he said instead, his voice even. “But you know how it is. Work doesn’t stop.”

“I do,” you replied, a knowing edge to your tone. “Sounds like you’re carrying more than just case files, though.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his grip tightening slightly on the phone. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

“You always say that,” you said, a note of fond exasperation in your voice. “I’m starting to think it’s your catchphrase.”

“I don’t have catchphrases,” he replied, his lips twitching in the faintest of smiles.

“Sure you don’t,” you shot back. “Next, you’ll tell me you don’t ever crack a smile.”

“That’s a rare occurrence,” he said, his tone lighter.

“Well, I must be one of the lucky few then because I swear I’ve seen it.”

The warmth in your voice caught him off guard, but he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. “You’re in a unique position.”

“Unique, huh?” you teased. “You make it sound so exclusive.”

“It is,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Not many people see past the job.”

Your tone matched his now, the playfulness giving way to something more sincere. “That’s because the job is easier to focus on. It’s harder to look past it.”

He let out a quiet sigh, nodding even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re not wrong.”

The call buzzed with a quiet warmth neither of you acknowledged outright, but both felt. Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a breath. He stared at the phone in his hand, debating whether to say what had been sitting in the back of his mind.

"So, this call," he said, his voice measured but holding a thread of something lighter. "Official business, or are you just checking up on me?"

"Can't it be both?" you asked, your teasing tone doing exactly what you intended--it made him relax, even if just a little.

He let out a soft laugh, surprising himself. "I suppose it can."

"I don’t know," you said, your voice playful. "Can it?"

He hesitated just a moment before admitting, “I actually thought about calling you too; I wanted to see how you were doing. And…I guess I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

The silence between you settled softly, comfortable, and filled with an understanding neither of you needed to articulate.

“Well, I’m doing okay,” you said finally, your tone calm. “Work’s the same. Chaos, classified details, long hours. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he replied, the weight of shared experience clear in his voice. “Too familiar.”

“And you?” you asked gently, your tone softening. “How are you, Hotch? Really?”

He hesitated again, the instinct to protect himself battling against the trust he felt when speaking to you. “I’m…I’m managing,” he said at last, quieter than before. “But it’s...been a lot.”

You didn’t push. You never did. That was one of the things he appreciated most.

“Well,” you said, the warmth returning to your voice, “if you ever feel like you need to step away from saving the world, give me a call. I’ve got plenty of experience in chaos management.”

He let out another rare, quiet laugh. “I might take you up on that.”

“Good,” you said lightly. “Don’t be a stranger, Hotch.”

He let the words settle, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t sure what prompted him, but before the conversation could end, he spoke again.

“Actually,” he started, his voice betraying a hint of nerves that even he couldn’t suppress, “have you ever thought about meeting up?” The question lingered, and he immediately wondered if he had overstepped. “I mean, if your schedule allows it,” he added, his tone faltering slightly. “I know how demanding your work is.”

You paused, clearly caught off guard. “Meeting up?” you repeated, a smile audible in your tone. “You mean in person?”

“Yes,” he said quickly before he could second-guess himself. “I just thought…you’ve been a consistent voice through everything, and…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know how to explain it without giving too much away. “It would be nice to catch up.”

“I think that sounds...great,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “Though I should warn you, Hotchner, I’m still terrible at small talk.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” you teased, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Flattered,” he said, surprising himself again with the sincerity in his tone.

The brief pause that followed carried an unspoken weight, a quiet understanding of the connection that had been building between you since the mission in Pakistan. Neither of you said it outright, but it was there, tangible in the way you lingered on the call longer than necessary.

“I’ll check my schedule,” you said lightly, breaking the silence. “But don’t think I won’t hold you to this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, his voice steadier now.

When the call ended, Hotch sat back, his thoughts circling the conversation. He realized that while he still didn’t know the full scope of your personal life or if there was someone waiting for you back home, he felt compelled to try--to find out, to see where this connection might lead. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself the thought of something beyond the weight he carried every day.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

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reasonsforhope · 6 months ago

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"New York is marking the early achievement of its Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act statutory goal a year ahead of schedule, announcing that 6 gigawatts (GW) of distributed solar have been installed across the state, enough to power more than one million homes.

New York State Energy Research and Development Authority (NYSERDA) president and CEO Doreen M. Harris broke the news onsite at a distributed solar project in New Scotland, NY today. The project, developed by New Leaf Energy and owned by Generate Capital, participates in the state’s Solar for All pilot program with utility partner National Grid, meaning its generation benefits low-income households. The site’s 5.7 MW solar array will generate 6.7 million kilowatt-hours of solar energy annually, powering about one thousand homes.

“New York State has provided a replicable model for others to deliver clean, low-cost renewable energy to more consumers,” asserted Harris. “Our public-private partnerships are the catalysts which have helped us to achieve our 6-GW goal well ahead of target, trailblazing New York’s path to an equitable energy transition.”

Governor Kathy Hochul says this achievement brings New York one step closer to a reliable, resilient, zero-emission grid. The Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act contains goals to generate 70% of the state’s electricity from renewable sources by 2030 and 100% zero-emission electricity by 2040.

“Distributed solar is at the heart of reducing greenhouse gas emissions, expanding the availability of renewable energy, and delivering substantial benefits for our health, our environment, and our economy,” Hochul added.

New York achieving its distributed solar goal of 6 GW has generated approximately $9.2 billion in private investment across the state, according to NYSERDA, creating more than 14,000 solar jobs from engineering to installation. Three years ago, Governor Hochul directed to expand the goal to 10 GW by 2030.

“While we’re incredibly proud of the work and partnerships that have led to this achievement, we’re more excited that it can be repeated and multiplied. With the State’s continued leadership, we’re confident we can get to 10 GW and beyond,” predicts New Leaf Energy director of policy and business development Sam Jasinsk.

The state says it has another 3.4 GW of distributed solar projects already in development, making a 10 GW goal quite feasible.

“Customers and consumers are asking for access to clean energy, and New York state is listening,” Generate Capital Investments managing director Peggy Flannery said. Generate Capital operates 69 projects and counting in New York.

In 2023, New York installed more community solar capacity than any other state. Last year was also the state’s most productive year ever for solar installations, with 885 MW of capacity installed.

In April, NYSERDA was selected to receive nearly $250 million from the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) Solar for All program to enhance New York State’s existing portfolio of solar deployment, technical assistance, and workforce development programs for the benefit of over 6.8 million residents that live in low-income households and disadvantaged communities. As part of the grant funding, the New York State Housing and Community Renewal, the New York City Department of Environmental Protection, and New York City Housing Preservation and Development, will implement new programs that target specific barriers to solar deployment for this population."

-via Renewable Energy World, October 17, 2024

#new york #ny #nyc #solar #solar power #distributed solar #community solar #united states #north american #clean energy #climate action #climate hope #good news #hope

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saywhat-politics · 28 days ago

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“We need to get better at treating this like a business," Todd Lyons said of kicking migrants out of the United States

While Department of Homeland Security Secretary Kritsi Noem is busy cosplaying as an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent — and pointing a rifle at an actual agent’s head while she does it — Acting ICE Director Todd Lyons is plotting how to turn the U.S. immigration enforcement system into an Amazon-style business for deportations.

According to a Wednesday report from AZ Mirror, during a speech at this year’s Border Security Expo in Phoenix, Lyons told the audience that “we need to get better at treating this like a business.”

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year ago

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Israel relies on crude oil and refined products from overseas to run its large fleet of fighter jets, tanks and other military vehicles. The research, which was commissioned by the non-profit Oil Change International and shared exclusively with the Guardian, examines this fuel supply chain, which since the current conflict in Gaza began appears to have relied heavily on fossil fuels from Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Russia, Brazil, Gabon and the US. The analysis by Data Desk, a UK-based tech consultancy firm investigating the fossil fuel industry, suggests the major oil companies facilitating the fuel supplies include BP, Chevron, ExxonMobil, Shell and TotalEnergies.

[...]

Human rights experts said that countries and corporations supplying oil to Israeli armed forces may be complicit in war crimes and genocide. “The countries and companies that have continued to supply oil to the Israeli military since the decision of the international court of justice are contributing to horrible human rights violations and may be complicit in genocide,” said David Boyd, the United Nations special rapporteur on human rights and the environment. “Oil firms must ensure they’re not in the business of helping to entrench Israel’s apartheid system or fuelling war crimes and possible genocide in Gaza,” said Peter Frankental, Amnesty International UK’s economic affairs director, adding that it was incumbent on every company with commercial ties to the Israeli military to do “due diligence”.

Thu 14 Mar 2024

#israel #palestine #fossil fuels #energy

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biblicallyaccuratemeat · 1 month ago

Text

MDNI!! 18+

A/N: Surgeon Stephen Strange was totally a manwhore!!! I scream as they drag me back to my padded cell. Anywho! I finally finished this goddamn thang. He was a manwhore but also he is so, so earnest and fucking dumb. I have like three other WIPs in progress for this idiot that are all drastically different vibes. In other news, I’m starting ketamine therapy which I’m hoping will help with my fucking depression so I can find the motivation to write again. :’) Surgeon Stephen Strange x female reader, first dates, mutual pining, smut!!!! vaginal sex, oral fem receiving, face sitting, Stephen Strange being a munch, protected sex (he wouldn’t NOT use a condom, come on people), fluff & smut, good vibes all around <3

Word count: 5.8k

Sixteen hours. Nine hundred and sixty minutes. Eleven PM to eleven AM. That’s how long one Doctor Stephen Strange has been on call. Christine has been not so subtly urging him to go home, take a shower, eat a meal, sleep probably. But he doesn’t sleep, not really. In fact, it’s a waste of time in his not so humble opinion. He needs to be awake to think, to memorize, to change the world. He can’t save lives if he’s unconscious.

So, he powers through the bloodshot eyes and lead weight legs. Another laminectomy, another thousand dollars in his bank account, another new car. He sniffs, sitting in his office, shiny accolades and framed pictures with hospital directors and various colleagues staring back at him. If he were honest, which he never really is when it comes to matters of the heart, his incessant urge to work himself into an early grave isn’t the sole reason for him being here going on seventeen hours now. Fuck, has it really been seventeen hours?

The blinds of his office windows are uncharacteristically drawn, giving passerbys an inside look at the opulent yet vapid domain of Doctor Strange. He can’t complain, not really, it’s not warranted. He has more money than he knows what to do with, so he buys and collects and fills up his too big penthouse with shit he doesn’t look twice at. He buys cars, though he only really needs one. He goes on dates, though he isn’t really interested in whatever woman he found at a bar or in the hospital cafeteria. Is he lonely? Sure, but who isn’t?

Of course, though, there’s you. Perfect, lovely, borderline cherubic you. His little Neonatal Intensive Care Unit angel. The NICU is four levels above his realm, and he has absolutely no business going up there. But he does, every single day. He’s getting lazy with his excuses and he knows you’re catching on. You’re smart, not Stephen smart, but it’s nothing to sneeze at. Twelve o’clock on the dot. You all but float past his office, heading to the elevators. He struggles, should he approach now or do a little drive by in an hour? Decisions, decisions.

He decides on the former, nearly tripping out of his desk chair in his enthusiasm. He narrowly escapes the cloying interrogation of one Doctor Palmer, waving her off, long strides eating up the distance to the shiny steel doors. A ding! It’s already heading up to level five. He’ll take the second one, the elegant length of his pointer finger jabbing the button.

On the ride up he debates what’s he’s going to say. He loves making you laugh, in fact, it’s his personal mission to make you laugh at least once every day. Your delicate giggle breathes life into him, it’s like a thousand little wind chimes singing a song only his heart knows. He sorts through the files of his eidetic memory, searching for the perfect joke. The elevator doors part open for him like the Red Sea, and he steps out into the sprawling hallway.

The solemn off-white doors of the NICU stand before him, he takes a breath and then another one, steeling his nerves, chasing away the butterfly swarm in his stomach. If he were a patient, he’d pick up the little phone on the wall. Whichever nurse that picked up would say the usual, “Hello, how can I help you?” And said patient would inform the aforementioned nurse that they’re here to see baby whatever their surname was. But he’s a doctor, and that comes with privileges.

So, he pulls his ID badge from the clip on his scrubs, a little ziiiiiip noise filling the empty space. The door reader chimes in approval, electronic motor swinging the doors open at a snail’s pace. No need to rush on his account. Staff and patients alike are stopped at the entrance, a wide steel sink off to the left side. There’s a pedal at the bottom for water and an automatic soap dispenser. He washes his hands, scrubbing under his nails, his palms, between each finger. He goes about this for thirty seconds, a little extra just in case. The motion activated paper towel dispenser whirs, spitting out a scratchy brown napkin. He crumples it up when finished, tossing it into the bin. The final step, an antibacterial alcohol hand sanitizer. He massages it into his skin and it leaves behind a somewhat tacky feeling.

“Doctor Strange! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Comes a cheerful voice from his flank. He turns, it’s not you, he knows that. Miriam. Charge nurse, mid-fifties, kind eyes, wrinkle softened features.

He smiles his charming Stephen Strange grin, it's lopsided and boyish. The women (and some men) fall over themselves in the wake of that smile. “Hello Miriam, how’s your day going? How are the little ones?”

This is the dance, he has to get through a sea of social graces to finally reach you. So he’ll make small talk and ask questions and nod along, so long as you’re the light at the end of the tunnel. Miriam, ever the chatter, rambles aimlessly about a set of twins, a social worker, a 30 week preemie finally, finally going home with mom and dad. He nods along, makes the occasional appropriate comment. His mind is elsewhere, of course, because he knows you’re nearby but he’s not exactly sure where.

He finds the time to butt in, “I was hoping you could tell me where a certain RN is?”

Miriam blinks, pausing and then she beams, “Oh, she’s giving a bath right now,” she nods her head in the direction of the room on his left. He pats her arm, smiling appreciatively.

He walks slow, savoring the fizzy feeling of anticipation building up. Simply standing in the doorway, he watches. The row of a variety of incubators, radiant warmers, and bassinets. There’s the ever present soft beeps of dozens of machines. CPAP, heart monitor, pulse ox, et cetera. He sees the set of twins Miriam mentioned, their incubators side by side. The soft glow of bili lights illuminates their little bodies, eye shields covering their faces. He estimates they can’t be older than maybe thirty-two weeks gestation, tiny spindly limbs and soft bellies.

There’s a sharp, shrill cry from the baby you’re currently bathing at a sink. The little guy is clearly not a fan of water and you fuss over him, cooing softly, speaking in a gentle tone, soothing. He can’t help but smile, you’re so naturally maternal. You should be the charge nurse, no you should be the director. He’s not biased whatsoever. Definitely not.

As you gently pat the squealing infant dry, he steps into your domain, taking care to be quiet. You don’t notice him, too wrapped up in getting the baby back into a soft muslin onesie and a little duck patterned hospital blanket. Once he’s returned to his bassinet, a good sign, he’ll probably be discharged soon, Stephen clears his throat.

You look up, and ah, there it is. Those Bambi eyes of yours lock onto him and his heart does a funny little somersault at your shy smile. “How long have you been here?” You break the silence first, the spell isn’t broken, no it’s stronger now. It’s almost a tangible thing, it feels like TV static and aching possibility on Stephen’s tongue.

“Oh, I’d say about five or ten minutes, give or take,” He replies, acting far more casual than he feels, picking up a preemie blood pressure cuff. God, it’s tiny, it could probably fit his thumb.

You cluck your tongue, admonishing and angelic all in one, “Mm, you know that’s not what I mean.”

He lets out something halfway between a snort and a chuckle, “Oh, right, uhh…I’ve been at the hospital for about seventeen hours.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands and his grin widens, his cheeks hurt. You step closer and his heart goes from allegro to presto. He’ll definitely develop some kind of heart murmur if he basks in your presence too long, he can’t help himself though. He is selfish as much as he is giving. His life saving surgeries, his methods, his work is for his own ego as much as it is for the good of the general population.

“Doctor Strange—“ You begin to lecture him, it’s adorable.

“Buh, buh, buh,” He holds a hand up, eyes twinkling with mirth and bite, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Stephen?”

Your nose scrunches up, he wants to take a picture, immortalize your cute little fucking face. He’d get the biggest canvas print of it money can buy, hang it up in his living room, sip two thousand dollar wine and act like an art history scholar, meditating on the metaphor or whatever of the lines of your face.

“Fine, Stephen,” You huff, trying to act annoyed but failing miserably. The blush dusting your cheeks is a dead giveaway and it goes straight to both of his heads.

“You need to go home. You look exhausted, it’s not healthy to be going at it like this,” You sigh, gesturing vaguely around the room. He’s flattered by how much you seem to care, he wonders if you think about him as much as he thinks about you. You clearly pay enough attention to know his sneaky little habit of staying at work far too long.

“So, what I’m hearing is you’re not pleased to see me? That hurts, sweetheart. I slaved away in the OR, poured over case notes until this morning just so I could run into you,” He quips, leaning back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Mm, didn’t really run into me. You came to my unit and asked for me. Pretty sure that’s actively seeking me out,” You retort, effortlessly able to match his wit. God, he loved these little verbal spars with you. You, worried about his health and chastising. Him, dry and snarky and head over heels for you, just trying to pull a giggle out of you.

“Yeah, and you love it, sweetheart,” Stephen grins, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

That earns him an eye roll and a small smile that you try to hide but he catches it. He grabs it, hangs onto it, memorizes it. You pick at an imaginary piece of lint on your scrubs, gaze casting down demurely.

“Go home after this, okay?” You scold in a subdued voice, eyes flicking up to lock onto his.

Stephen sees an opening. He takes it before he can second guess himself.

“I’ll go home on one condition,” He affirms, pushing up from the counter, stepping forward. He keeps a respectful distance, but he’s hovering close enough in your orbit that your scent hits him square in the nose. Something sweet mixed with antiseptic and latex gloves.

“And what’s that?” You inquire, shifting from one foot to the other, the soles of your clogs squeaking on the linoleum. A hip juts out, head tilting to the side, arms crossing. He has you exactly where he wants you, he goes in for the kill.

“Have dinner with me,” He coaxes, he doesn’t doubt himself, doesn’t give himself time to back out.

You’re momentarily stunned and it shows, posture tensing and then relaxing. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, “You want me to have dinner with you?”

He hums in affirmation, rocking on the balls of his feet, “What time are you off?” He reaches into the pocket of his lab coat, tugging out a stick of spearmint gum. He crumples the foil wrapper, tossing the stick in his mouth. He chews, once, twice, saliva flooding his palate. He waits, watching every nervous twitch and the way blood rushes to your cheeks.

“Um, midnight. Standard twelve hour shift- are you sure about doing this tonight?” You mumble, brow pinching, musing the logistics in your mind, silent. “I’m gonna be all gross and sweaty. And nothing is gonna be open…are we eating at 7/11 or what?”

“Take a shower, I’m night owl anyway, and I’ll cook for you at my place,” He declares, sweeping his hands out in a grand ah-ha motion, a smug smirk on his lips.

Now, when Stephen says he’ll cook for you, that’s an exaggeration. A generous exaggeration. Stephen’s godlike skills in nearly every aspect of his life have never translated into the kitchen. So, he’d order out. Call in a favor at some ridiculously overpriced restaurant, get one of everything— No, that’d be overdoing it. He realizes you’re speaking again, he’s not paying attention, too wrapped up in the mental gymnastics of what entree he should order for you, what does he usually see you eating in the hospital’s cafeteria…

“Sorry?” He clears his throat, tilting his head to the side like a ridiculously handsome puppy.

“I said I don’t have your address,” You repeat, quirking an eyebrow, “Or your phone number, for that matter.”

A flush spreads up Stephen’s neck, “Ah, an oversight on my part. Which will be remedied right now.”

After exchanging phone numbers, Stephen bids you farewell, washing his hands one more time for good measure at the door to the unit. When he returns to his office, he has about forty-five or so minutes until his next scheduled operation, he texts you his address and tries to return his focus back to work.

•••

It becomes abundantly clear that Stephen has overestimated the high end restaurants of New York. Because by the time he gets home and goes through the motions of getting ready for you, it’s quarter past twelve in the morning and nothing, no one is open to take orders for carry out.

Fuuuuuck. Okay, this is fine, totally fine. No big deal, surely something is open nearby. After all, this is the city that never sleeps.

It winds up being a pizza place, family owned and a hole in the wall. They deliver, which is nice and convenient for him. Stephen’s not entirely sure what toppings you like on your pizza, so he opts to play it safe with plain cheese. He fishes out a bottle of wine, Moscato. He recalls from a Christmas party that you detest dry wines, especially red.

He sets up the table, candles, jazz playing softly on a turntable in the corner of the living room. He’s wearing a tie, does he look ridiculous? He fusses over his reflection. Pizza and a tie don’t go together. So, he yanks it off, tossing it onto the sofa, undoing the first three buttons of his shirt and rolls his sleeve up to his elbows. He looks at himself again, willing his posture to just relax. Okay, good, he looks more casual, laidback. Now all that’s left to do is wait.

The waiting, admittedly, takes far longer than Stephen anticipated. He’s reheated the pizza at least thrice before his phone chimes with the text from you notifying that you’re on your way up. His heart does a funny little flip as he shuffles towards the door, ready to open it at the first knock.

And then, there you are looking like sunshine personified. You’re smiling up at him, tired but shy and tentative. He feels a twinge of guilt, arranging this date so late and right after you get off, but he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait another second and he knows he’d lose his nerve. So here he is, stepping aside to welcome you into his place.

“Wow…” You breathe out, all wide eyed, doing a little spin to look around the penthouse. It’s decorated in the same clinical manner as his office at the hospital. Clean white walls, floor to ceiling windows, everything sleek and modern. “This is very…clean.”

Stephen blinks, “Uh, yeah? I have a maid…so that’s probably why.”

You laugh sheepish and nervous, rubbing the back of your neck, “Sorry, it’s just…this place looks like a museum or a model home, you know? Very cool and empty. You don’t have any knick knacks or even a throw blanket or something on the couch.” You gesture around the space as you ramble, a nervous habit of yours. And fuck, were you nervous. You’d been dancing around Stephen’s flirtations for months now. Because if there were two things you knew, it was this: one, Stephen was a notorious flirt. And two, he had this weird longtime, on again/off again relationship with Christine Palmer. And you preferred to go under the radar at work, the last thing you needed was stirring up trouble with Stephen and Christine.

He feels his cheeks heat up in something akin to embarrassment, “Oh, right.” He mutters lamely. Stephen knows his place isn’t exactly the warmest or coziest, but you pointing it out so bluntly makes him flustered in a way he hasn’t been since grad school. His apartment could be cozier, but it also could far more sparse. Stephen tried his best to toe the delicate line between the two. Apparently he wasn’t doing as good a job as he thought.

You throw your hands up in a gesture of surrender, “I mean, I like it! It’s very…um, bright and monotone?”

A surprised, rueful chuckle bursts from Stephen’s chest, “Wow, that might be the worst backhanded compliment I’ve ever received.” He huffs dryly, running a lithe hand through his hair.

You can’t help but laugh along with him, your cheeks heating up, “Yeah, well, it’s not my fault your apartment is morgue-esque.”

Stephen actually chortles at that, the crows feet around his eyes crinkling up in a way that makes him look rather dashing and wise, “Okay, I think that’s enough critiquing my decorating skills. Haven’t you noticed I practically live at work?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have,” you huff, rolling your eyes and smiling, “But I have a sneaking suspicion you also hang around for ungodly amounts of time just to be able to come bug me when I clock in.”

Stephen blushes. He actually fucking blushes and it’s a little mortifying, how easily you can fluster him and make him lose his cool, collected demeanor. Stephen knows there’s no use in denying it now, after all you’ve agreed to a date and the said date is commencing. So, “Ah, yeah. I’m that obvious, huh?”

You grin, triumphant and far too smug for his liking, but fuck if that isn’t incredibly attractive, “You’re easy to read. Like a book written for dumb children.”

Stephen clutches his hand to his chest dramatically, scoffing in mock offense, “Dumb children? I’m insulted, sweetheart, truly.” If Stephen were being honest, he honestly believed he was being a bit more subtle. He won’t dwell on it, though. You’re here and that’s all that matters now. If anything, he’ll lay it on even thicker.

“So, I believe I was promised food?” You ask, tilting your head to the side coyly.

“Oh!” Stephen jolts, pulled from his reverie, “Food, right. Of course. I ord—cooked! I cooked us something. Come take a seat.”

Stephen pulls out your seat, ever the gentleman. The table has a simple white cloth draped across it, a small vase with a rose, and a few little tea candles lit on it. Stephen tried his best to make the setting romantic as his limited time to prepare allowed. The bottle of wine is chilling in the fridge as Stephen pulls the pizza out of the oven, hoping you don’t notice the cardboard boxes they arrived in, stuffed into the trash.

When he presents your plate with a flourish, you quirk a brow, “You made me pizza? From scratch?”

Stephen flushes in embarrassment, “Yes?”

You snort, shaking your head, “Uh-huh, sure.”

But you’re ravenous, so you won’t complain when it comes to free food. The meal is eaten in silence, save for the clink of utensils because Stephen insists on eating his pizza with a fork and knife of all things. You tease him relentlessly for it, causing the faint carnation pink on his cheeks to bloom into full blown scarlet. The wine is delicious, exactly what you like, you’re secretly impressed. It’s bubbly, fruity, dancing on your tongue in bursts of sweetness. By the time you’ve finished your third slice of pizza, you have a nice little buzz going.

The buzz is lowering your inhibitions, dangerously so. So, you blurt out, “Your hair is nice. Like a skunk.”

Stephen nearly spits out the wine he’s finishing off, “Excuse me? My hair reminds you of a skunk?”

“Um, yes,” You reply earnestly, reaching across the table, placing a hand on each side of Stephen’s temple. His hair is infuriatingly soft, you run your fingers through it, admiring the feel of it between each digit.

Stephen freezes, because you’re touching him. You’re actually touching him, running your fucking fingers through his hair like it’s the most normal thing in the world. When in reality, the most you’ve ever touched him was the odd handshake. So, Stephen stays remarkably still, not wanting to break the odd, dizzying spell that’s fallen over the both of you.

“Thanks,” He breathes out, though being compared to a skunk isn’t necessarily dazzling praise. You hum, nodding, dazed and devastatingly gorgeous. Stephen hesitates, because is this a move? A signal? Do you want him to kiss you? Should he cross that line?

You beat him to the punch.

You borderline launch yourself at Stephen, tipsy and sloppy. But your lips slot against his like they belong there, tacky with lipgloss, tasting of Moscato and tomato sauce. One of Stephen’s hand cups the back of your head, holding you in place, kissing you slow and filthy. Fuck, he’s imagined this countless times and the fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing.

Silverware clatters to the floor, loud and jarring. In your haste, your hip bumped the table, so you break apart from Stephen with a nervous giggle.

“We should…” Stephen nods his head towards the sofa, “Uh, less hazards in the way. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt on my watch, sweetheart.”

You nod dumbly, “The couch. Yes…that’s a good idea.”

Stephen and you make your way to the large sectional, equally giddy and nervous. Stephen settles down, legs spread wide, and he fully expects you to sit beside him. But, you surprise him by taking a seat in his lap of all places. Your weight, your warmth drives him mad, he fights the urge to let his eyes roll back into his head. His hands automatically go to your waist, holding you, steadying you. He squeezes the dip once, savoring the gentle give of your flesh.

You waste no time, crashing your lips against his again. The kiss is slower, filthy, sending a molten, heady feeling straight to your pussy. So, you chase that feeling and grind down against Stephen’s lap, practically purring into the kiss. Fuck, he feels big. You’re going to be pleasantly achy tomorrow.

You thread your fingers through his soft hair, licking into his mouth, tasting the ridges on the roof of his mouth. Stephen groans, low and rough into the kiss, his tongue tangling and massaging yours. His hands drift, exploratory, down to your ass. His gorgeous, lifesaving hands dig into the meat of your ass and squeeze, dragging your hips down to grind into him again.

You arch, tits pressing into his broad chest, ass curving further into his large hands. Your body is on fire, Stephen is coaxing sounds from you that would be humiliating in any other circumstance. And when he pulls back, perfectly disheveled, lips all spit shiny and swollen, you grin at the sight. He’s perfect, sex appeal personified. You never stood a chance.

“How far do you wanna take this?” He murmurs breathlessly, brushing a wayward strand of hair from your forehead, the gesture tender and completely opposite from the almost mauling he was just bestowing upon you.

You hesitate now, because he’s your coworker and all the reasons you’d been artfully dodging his advances are rearing their ugly head. But, god, do you want him. You want him so badly it hurts. And you know women don’t get blue balls, in fact you’re a firm believer that it’s just bullshit to guilt trip the female population but…if you don’t fuck Stephen or at the very least dry hump him to completion, you’re definitely going to experience something within the vein of blue balls.

So, you play it safe, “Well, how far do you want to take this?”

Stephen chuckles ruefully, giving your ass a playful squeeze, “Do I really need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?” He gives a sinfully slow grind against your clothed mound, letting his body do the talking.

You smack your lips together, shaking your head vehemently, “Mm, nope. Nope I got it.” You squeak out, unbearably flustered and turned on.

“May I take your top off?” Stephen murmurs, brushing a thumb gently across the midriff exposed from your blouse riding up. You hum in affirmation, raising your hands above your head. Stephen makes quick work of the fabric, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Stephen’s pupils blow out, inky black swallowing the cool blue of his irises. He inhales shakily, because fuck are you pretty. Which, he already knew, but being able to see you bare…he worries he won’t last. He’s been building this up in his mind for months and you’re leaps and bounds ahead, better, even more gorgeous than any fantasy his mind conjures up.

Your bra joins the quickly forming pile of clothing on the floor. And when your tits are bare, nipples hardening in the cool air of his apartment, Stephen can’t help but bury his face between them, groaning. He feels like a teenager seeing his first pair of tits, the way he wants to motorboat you. He settles on a happy medium, sucking one nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth, letting his teeth glide lightly on the bud, teasing. You whimper, arching into his mouth, greedily pressing more of your breast into it. He’s just as skilled in bed as he is in the operating room.

His left hand departs from kneading your pillowy breasts, sneaking down the soft length of your abdomen. Slipping down the front of your jeans, finding where you’re slick and aching for him. You feel like heaven against his probing fingers, syrupy and molten. He lavishes one last worshipful suckle to your tits, pulling back to gaze at you with hooded, dark eyes full of a million dirty promises.

“Sit on my face,” He whispers, voice wrecked and throaty. It’s not a request, it’s a prayer, and who are you to not indulge the man? So, you nod, feeling nervous but the idea is incredibly appealing. You stand from his lap, shucking your jeans and panties down your legs. They’re kicked off, tossed to the side without second thought. Before you can second guess yourself or feel a modicum of shyness, you nudge Stephen back and straddle his face.

You’re momentarily mortified when Stephen buries his face between your legs and inhales loudly. It’s obscene and indecent and makes you even wetter. He moans at your scent, his eyes rolling back into his head, hands digging into the meat of your thighs and spreading you, holding you open to him. And then, his tongue enters the picture. Gliding slowly, he licks at your cunt from hole to clit. You shudder, gasping, rocking down onto his face.

Then, Stephen really starts to eat you, fingers spreading your labia majora apart, finding your clit with a surgeon’s precision. He nips once, twice and then suckles at the swollen bud like he’s trying to get venom out. You throw your head back, moaning brokenly, unashamedly rutting against his face. A hand winds into his hair, desperate for some kind of anchor against the storm of sensations Stephen is inflicting on your aching cunt.

“Oh my god,” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, grinding into Stephen’s eager mouth. Your thighs clamp around his head, full body shivers wracking through you. He doubles his efforts, slurping and moaning into your slick flesh. You realize with startling clarity the bastard is going to make you come in no time at all, a feat even your most skilled past lover couldn’t pull off.

“J-Jesus Christ!” You squeak, your entire body tensing up, dangling on the precipice of something major. And when Stephen’s fingers join in, two elegant digits sliding home and curling with expertise, you’re done for. Your head snaps down, tucking your chin to your chest, riding Stephen’s face almost violently, bucking against his stupidly handsome features.

And Stephen is getting off from the spectacle of it all, his cock throbbing and leaking steadily in his pants. He could come just like this, untouched, devouring your pretty pussy. You shatter, bright and burning, squealing, jaw dropping as your cunt gushes eagerly into Stephen’s waiting mouth. He moans in reply, eagerly lapping up every wave of slick ecstasy that pools out of your throbbing pussy.

Your limbs aren’t working, you can barely fucking breathe, so Stephen gently maneuvers you to switch places with him, turning you to lie prone. You lay on your stomach, hiding your beet red face against the cushions of the sofa, the sound of Stephen’s belt clinking joining the symphony of your panting. There’s the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open, then Stephen carefully shifts your sticky thighs apart.

He kneels in the space between your legs, dragging the head of his cock from your clit to nudge at your entrance. You jolt at the sensation, sensitive but desperate for more. A hand smooths down the curve of your spine, finding its home on your ass, groping, “Relax,” Stephen murmurs into your ear, soothing and sexy all at once.

He nudges in slow and steady, inch by glorious inch stretching you open. It’s heaven and hell all at once. You keen, pitching high, arching your ass up subtly. The fullness is intensified by the position, and you’re lost to it, no choice left but to open yourself to him. The hand on your ass squeezes tight, short nails digging into your supple skin. Once Stephen is fully seated in your fluttering cunt, he exhales shakily, head dipping to rest between your shoulder blades.

“Knew your pussy’d feel like heaven,” He groans, sending another flood of liquid arousal pooling between your legs. You moan in response, you wouldn’t be able to string words together right now even if you tried. Stephen has reduced you to a whiny, drooling mess.

He pulls out slowly, till just the crown notches at your entrance, and then buries himself to the hilt once more. The pace he sets is brutal, allowing you no time to adjust. His cock bullies you, mean and unrelenting, veins dragging deliciously against your inner walls. Each thrust punches a breathless sound from you, your toes curling, thighs tensing up. The noises spilling from Stephen’s lips are borderline pornographic, you always secretly loved his voice and the way he sounds fucking you is truly something to behold.

Stephen slips a hand around your hip, encouraging you to lift your hips up slightly. His fingers find your clit once more, rubbing precise circles around the oversensitive bud. You bury your face into the couch cushions, moaning wantonly, bucking restlessly against his fingers. Stephen fucks you mean and fast, expertly guiding you towards another mind shattering orgasm.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” He groans out, increasing the pressure against your clit, “Knew you’d be a good fuck. Shit, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You whine at his words, because the fact that he wanted this just as badly as you, it absolutely melts you. You want him—no, need him to know you feel the same, you’ve craved the same things. You should’ve done this far sooner.

“Me too,” you sigh out, wriggling your hips back, desperate for more, “I love your hands. They’re so nice, fuck, I’ve imagined them on my body, inside me, in my mouth.”

Stephen groans in response, his free hand snaking up, seeking out your kiss swollen lips. You part your lips immediately, taking three spindly digits into your mouth and sucking on them, a comfort against the toe curling orgasm that’s quickly building in your belly. Stephen’s cock throbs as you deepthroat his fingers, his rhythm transforming from methodical to sloppy. He’s close, unbearably so, but he won’t come before you earn your second orgasm. So he backs off a bit, slowing down.

His attention zeroes in on your clit and that spongy spot deep in your pussy. He bends down, sucking and biting at the slope of your neck, dragging his cock slow and steady. He pinches your clit between forefinger and thumb, rubbing mercilessly. And that’s enough, you come again, harder, brighter, shivering. His name is a prayer, sobbing it like scripture. The heady feeling of your cunt pulsing around him is more than enough of an invitation to join you.

Stephen bites down on the curve of your neck, groaning as his eyes roll back and he floods the condom with his potent seed. He rocks, gentling you both through the numbing pleasure. When the last of the aftershocks fade, buzzing away into blissful nothingness, he pulls out. He inhales sharply at the loss of pressure and warmth. Stephen presses a trail of soft, adoring kisses down the curve of your spine.

Once the condom is disposed of, he scoops your pliant form up, carrying you down the hall to his bedroom. He cleans you up, taking extra care with the warm washcloth between your thighs. An hour later, when you’re all snuggled up in bed, eating cold pizza, you ask, “What time do you have to go in today?”

Stephen chuckles softly, massaging the swell of your hip, “Actually, I’m off. A preemptive measure.”

You gasp in mock offense, smacking his bicep, “You ass! You never take time off. I see you even on your alleged days off. So, you naturally assumed I would just fall into bed with you and stay the night?”

Stephen shrugs, grinning boyishly, “Call it a hunch.”

“You think far too highly of yourself,” You scoff, but there’s no bite behind you. So, you smile and lean into his side, melting.

“Well, you just had first hand experience with my sexual prowess. You’d think highly of yourself too if you were me,” Stephen quips, sneaking a quick bite of the pizza in your hand.

That earns an eye roll, but you can’t help agreeing with him. He is just that good.

#fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #doctor strange #marvel #marvel fanfiction #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange smut #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange marvel #marvel doctor strange #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x reader

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dostoyevsky-official · 3 months ago

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Trump administration disbands taskforce targeting Russian oligarchs

A memo from the attorney general, Pam Bondi, issued during a wave of orders on her first day in office but not previously reported, said the effort, known as Task Force KleptoCapture, will end as part of a shift in focus and funding to combating drug cartels and international gangs. The taskforce brought indictments against the aluminum magnate Oleg Deripaska and TV tycoon Konstantin Malofeyev for alleged sanctions busting, and seized yachts belonging to the sanctioned oligarchs Suleiman Kerimov and Viktor Vekselberg. It also secured a guilty plea against a US lawyer who made $3.8m in payments to maintain properties owned by Vekselberg.

Trump Green-Lights Bribery and Corruption With New Executive Order

President Donald Trump has instructed Attorney General Pam Bondi to pause prosecutions of companies that bribe foreign government officials to win business. The Foreign Corrupt Practices Act has been “stretched beyond proper bounds and abused in a manner that harms the interests of the United States,” hurting American competitiveness, Trump wrote in an executive order signed Monday. [...] The order’s legality was not immediately clear. Generally, the Constitution requires the president to “take care that the laws” passed by Congress “be faithfully executed.” Presidents do have some enforcement discretion, but they cannot override laws, according to the ACLU. Major companies such as Goldman Sachs, Glencore and Walmart have all come under FCPA scrutiny, according to Reuters.

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"It's going to mean a lot more business for America," Trump told reporters while signing the order in the Oval Office on Monday. Trump wanted to strike down FCPA during his first term in office. He has called it a "horrible law" and said "the world is laughing at us" for enforcing it. Anti-corruption watchdog Transparency International said FCPA made the United States a leader in addressing global corruption. (x)

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“It sounds good on paper, but in practicality, it's a disaster,” Trump said. “It means that if an American goes over to a foreign country and starts doing business over there, legally, legitimately or otherwise, it's almost a guaranteed investigation indictment, and nobody wants to do business with the Americans because of it.” [...] Gary Kalman, executive director of Transparency International U.S., said Trump’s order “diminishes—and could pave the way for completely eliminating—the crown jewel in the U.S.’s fight against global corruption.” [...] In one of its most significant victories, the Justice Department announced Oct. 16, three weeks before Trump’s election victory, that mega-defense contractor Raytheon Company of Virginia would pay over $950 million to settle foreign bribery and related charges in a scheme to help foreign governments purchase PATRIOT missile systems and operate and maintain a radar system. In one of the schemes, Raytheon engaged in a campaign from 2012 and 2016 “to bribe a high-level official” within the Qatar government’s military “in order to assist Raytheon in obtaining and retaining business” from it, the DOJ said, citing admissions and court documents filed in the Eastern District of New York. [...] Raytheon’s “criminal schemes to defraud the U.S. government in connection with” the contracts “erodes public trust and harms the DOD, businesses that play by the rules, and American taxpayers,” Deputy Assistant Attorney General Kevin Driscoll of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division also said at the time. (x)

this is the most relentlessly pro-corruption administration in american history. the guiding animus seems to be how much corruption can we do, how can we help others get away with corruption, how can we halt justice, etc

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mysunshinetemptress · 1 year ago

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Never yours to fix

Alessia Russo x mum!reader

Warnings: angst absent parent, fluff

As a child you dreamed of being a mum, it was something your parents often talked about you constantly carrying your baby doll a girl you had named Gina.

Although you had dreamed of being a mum you never expected it to happen so soon but after your boyfriend knocked you up at the age of 19 you knew no matter what you would love every moment of it. And you did well mostly, you loved the moments it was just you and Teddy or the moments you shared with your family, you hated the moments she would sit watching the door for her Dad to decide he wanted to spend time with her, the moments she cried into your arms stating “daddy not love me.” The moments he cancelled last minute or didn’t show up at all.

Teddy’s heart had been broken so many times that you often felt like you failed her, you hadn’t not by a long shot you where the best mum a 21 year old could be, Teddy was loved and cared for and you made sure she didn’t have to worry about ever feeling hungry..well your dad did after he got you a job in his company but still it was you there to laugh with her when she was her happiest and hold her when she was at her saddest which was more frequent these days after her Dad found himself a new girlfriend. Being caught up in making sure Teddy was loved and happy you often neglected it for yourself but you couldn’t possibly bring in a new person to your life scared Teddy would get attached and then become even more heartbroken when it eventually turned bad. That was until you met her.

Teddy was staying with your parents while you and your brother attended Manchester United vs Newcastle at Old Trafford, since you where kids both you and your brother held season tickets and although you still bought it you hadn’t used yours in two since having your daughter. Seats picked right beside the directors box at the Bobby Charlton stand you both got comfortable catching up.

You both sat with batted breath as you watch the boys in red try tirelessly to defend sighing and dropping your head in disappointment turning when you heard a laugh, eyes catching two girls sat beside you. The brunette turned before locking eyes with you and smiling sheepishly hitting the blonde girl beside her “sorry, it’s not funny I know but if I don’t laugh I’ll cry.” It was your turn to laugh before nodding “that’s understandable haven’t seen them preform as good as they should be since I was a kid if I’m being honest but once a red always a red so I’ll keep coming.” The girls smiled at you “I’m Y/n and this is my brother Jamie.” The brunette smiled “I’m..” Jamie laughed “oh we know who you are best number seven for United and Alessia the traitor.” You thumped Jamie’s arm at the last part “sorry ignore him he wishes he was half as decent as you Alessia.” The girls laughed as the whistle sounded for half time “right my turn to buy drinks.” You dragged your brother up before turning to the girls “you guys coming “oh no we…”. You smiled “come on it’s on me please.” The both nodded standing before following you to the drinks stand.

Arriving back to your seats Ella was pulled away spotting a family friend so Alessia had decided to take her seat beside you as you both struck up a conversation “so how long have you been a United fan for.” You shrugged thinking “god don’t think I can remember but my entire life really, Dads a red used to live by Busby way as a kid then he met mum, Mum moved from Ireland when she was 22 they met shortly after in the Stretford end actually, got married and when the business did well moved to Hale had My brother then me and the rest is history.” Alessia smiled at your little story “sorry just realised I told you my entire life story.” Alessia laughed nah it’s all good “I’m a red as well although I grew down south, my Dad is a massive fan. My brothers and I followed after him my mum she isn’t really into it but she’ll watch if I’m playing.” You smiled “that’s really cute.” You both continued talking not even realising the final whistle had blown until Jamie shuck your shoulder “ready.” You looked around “oh, well I best be off it was really nice to meet you Alessia.” You stood slowly smiling at the girl as Alessia shot from her seat “wait, I’d ehm well I…you don’t have to.. I mean I don’t even know if this is what your into…oh god spit it out… would you like to go out with me tomorrow.” You looked at her surprised “like a date.” Alessia nodded “yeah…I had a really nice time with you and I would love to do it again if you are free.” You stood thinking before turning to Jamie “I got T don’t worry.” You smiled great fully “I’d love to here out your number in.”

It was your second date when you finally told Alessia about Teddy. “I really like you and before this goes any further I need to tell you something.” Alessia grabbed your hand across the table “breath Y/n.” You looked at her eyes wide in worry “I have a daughter, Teddy..she ehm she’s two and my entire world and listen I understand if this is all to much for you and before you get up and leave just know I have had the best time with you these past few weeks.” Alessia let go of your hand eyes wide in shock “Teddy.” You nodded head dropping slightly “oh my god that is the cutest name ever have you got photos oh when can I meet her, does she have a favourite show, favourite princess, does she like football tell me everything.” You looked at her in shock before bursting into tears as Alessia got up to move beside you “oh shit Y/n I’m sorry.” You shook your head “no I’m sorry I god it’s just I love her so much and I was so scared of telling you in fear you wouldn’t like me anymore because I really like you.” You spent the rest of the night show Less videos of Teddy and telling her all about her and Alessia found herself falling fast watching your eyes sparkle as you talked about your daughter buzzing in anticipation to meet her.

A month after Alessia finally asked you to be her girlfriend you decided it was time to introduce her to Teddy so you invited Alessia around for lunch “hey baby remember Mummy has someone special coming to visit today Teddy hummed focused on playing with her toys “I know your my best girl but I need you to promise me you will be good.” Teddy looked up eyes big “I promise I good girl Mama.” You smiled spreading your arms “ok come give me a hug and a kiss.” Teddy ran over smiling wrapping her little arms around you before wiggling out to go back to playing. Shortly after the doorbell rang and your nerves spiked at the thought of Alessia actually being here.

You opened the door smiling softly as she pulled you in for a hug “hi gorgeous.” You pulled back kissing her cheek before asking “ready.” Alessia nodded excitedly “so ready I’m absolutely buzzin to meet her.” You laughed pulling her in hands locked together “Hey T can you come here a second there is someone I want you to meet.” Teddy threw her toys down jumping up from the floor and raced towards you putting her hands in the air “up mama.” You smiled letting go of Alessia’s hand picking her up as she rested her head on your chest “hey love this is the person I was telling you about, her name is Alessia can you say hi.” Teddy looked at the blonde studying her before smiling “hi lessia I Teddy.”you looked at the older girl smiling as she laughed “hi Teddy your so pretty aren’t you.” It was Teddy’s turn to laugh before she reached over for Alessia’s hair “hair like Punzle.” You smiled nodding “yeah Alessia does have hair like Rapunzle.” Teddy lifted her head getting more comfortable with your girlfriend “you a princess.” Alessia smiled shaking her head “Alessia plays football she’s not a princess.” Teddy’s eyes widened as a smile took over her face “I love football, like my mama and uncle jam and Grandpa.” Alessia smiled as Teddy wiggled letting you know she wanted to be put down before she grabbed Alessia’s hand “I show you I show you.” You nodded at the older girl “go I’ll start lunch.”

It’s safe to say the first meeting was a hit Alessia ended up staying until well after Teddy went to bed your daughter the happiest you had seen her in awhile “oh god Y/n she’s amazing, really amazing and she absolutely adores you.” You smiled resting your head on Alessia’s shoulder as you watched the tv “well I can say the same about you I think today might be her favourite out of the year, you made her laugh more today then I have been able to these last few weeks.” Alessia squeezed you tightly “if you’ll let me I would love to spend more time with the both of you. You’re my girlfriend, I care about you a lot and I care about her a lot too, I don’t plan on leaving, that is unless you want me to but we’ll from the moment I met you at Old Trafford I couldn’t help the butterflies and I don’t ever want them to stop.” You smiled pulling her into a kiss “I’d love nothing more than for you to stick around.”

You and Alessia fell into a routine something you had asked for as to not get Teddy all mixed up. Alessia face timed on the nights she wasn’t up in Manchester which at the start was frequently as she lived in London but after the first night she stayed over and how happy Teddy was afterwards it happened more frequently, so Sunday nights Alessia traveled to yours and would be there when Teddy awoke the next morning she would leave then Monday night and be back Wednesday night and Thursday night before heading back down to do it all over again.

That happened without a hiccup for a few weeks until your ex decided he wanted to start seeing Teddy again, you had forgotten to tell Less that Teddy was at her dads on the Wednesday and you definitely didn’t miss the disappointment on her face when she came through the front door waiting on the 2 yr old to jump at her only to be met with silence “sorry darling, I completely forgot Mickey came to get her this morning he’s back on his “I love my daughter and want to see her” phase again but she’ll be home tomorrow.” Alessia nodded “oh ok, we’ll how about we go out for dinner then.” You smiled kissing her softly “ok sounds good.”

That happened for three more weeks until you where sat at dinner laughing about Alessia being clumsy like always when your phone rang “sorry Less it’s Mickey let me get it.” You stood up walking away from the table answering your phone before you rushed back 5 minutes later “hey hey Y/n what’s going on.” You picked up everything taking out the money for the meal “it’s Teddy, Mickey never picked her up from my parents house I have to go get her I’m really sorry less I have to go get her.” Alessia shook her head “hey it’s ok let me drive yeah we will both go get her.” You smiled at her taking her hand as you both left to get your daughter.

You raced up the driveway Alessia following after you as you knocked on the door, before looking at your dad “where is she.” Your Dad stepped aside as you walked through the house finding your daughter cuddled up to your brother hiccuping “hey Pumpkin.” Teddy’s head shot up at the sound of your voice “Mama.” You kneeled down in front of her “oh baby I’m so sorry.” Teddy crawled off Jamie’s lap before wrapping herself around you “No Daddy.” You dropped your head sighing “I’m sorry baby.” Teddy lifted her head seeing Alessia standing behind you putting her hands out for the Blonde as you passed her over “no daddy Less.” Alessia looked at you trying to work out what to say “I’m sorry T.” Teddy began playing with Alessia’s hair “you stay.” Alessia nodded “I’m staying as long as you want piccola Stella.” Teddy’s little chin began to wobble “no go stay.” Alessia nodded “I promise it’s ok I’m staying.” Teddy began crying feeling overwhelmed.

Alessia was there for Teddy and you after that more so then she had been, she left London earlier to spend more time in Manchester with you both and often stayed longer then she was allowed to with training, but she didn’t care “Teddy needs me, you need me, I’ll stay as long as I have go to make sure she isn’t going to bed crying over that idiot who doesn’t deserve her.” You cried into her arms that night.

A few months later Mickey fell back into his phase only this time Teddy was an awful lot more reluctant to go with him stating “no stay, stay with Mama and Lessia no go Daddy.” Mickey wasn’t to happy about that often screaming down the phone at you stating “how dare you take my daughter away from me you and that bitch blonde.” You hung up on him only for him to come banging on the door. You turned at the noise before looking at Teddy “hey Pumpkin you stay here ok I have to go answer the door Less will be here shortly ok.” Teddy nodded watching the TV. Opening the door stood Mickey “where is she.” You sighed “she doesn’t want to see you.” Mickey shook his head “bullshit she’s two she can’t make up her own mind over what tutu to wear, I won’t ask again Y/n where is she.” You moved slightly as her tried to push past you “for the sake of our daughters happiness im sorry Mickey but no, you do this every few weeks, you get this itch to spend time with her like you’re supposed to and then you push her to the side when you get fed up, she is a two year old child not a toy you can’t keep doing that to her, her tiny heart breaks every time and I’m tired of trying to tell her you love her when you clearly don’t and she is starting to realise.” Mickey pushed you back into the hall “Fuck you she is my kid, you can’t keep her from me TEDDY ITS DADDY LETS GO.” Teddy stood up from the couch running to the door peaking out “hey T.” Teddy shook her head “not my name.” Mickey looked at her confused “yeah it is.” Teddy shook her head again “only Mama and Less allowed not daddy.” Mickey looked at you anger sparking in his eyes “what but I’m your Daddy.” Teddy nodded “yeah but Daddy not love me, Mama and Less love me.” Mickey turned to you “what bullshit have you been feeding her, how…how dare you turn her against me, I’m taking you to court you bitch you can’t keep her from me.” Mickey had you pushed against the wall now as Teddy began to cry, just on time Alessia came through the door “I’d take your hands off her if I where you Mickey.” Teddy ran past you both to Alessia putting her hands up as Alessia lifted her up “you should go.” Mickey shook his head “I’m not leaving without my daughter.” Teddy ducked her head into Alessia neck “yeah you are, your not taking her like this, especially not when you are this angry so I won’t ask again leave, take a few days and when you have calmed the hell down try it again in a nicer manner.” Mickey stepped forward but you stopped him placing your hand on his chest “you have broken her heart enough Mickey, don’t make her fear you as well.” Mickey stopped looking at Teddy “I’m sorry baby, I’ll see you soon.” Mickey walked out after that as you looked at your daughter crying in Alessia’s arms.

Sighing you placed Teddy in bed kissing her head before stepping back into Alessia’s arms. “You ok amore mio.” You nodded “I love you.” Alessia froze for a minute before pulling you closer “I love you too.” You turned facing her “I never got to thank you.” Alessia looked at you confused “for what Y/n.” You looked back at Teddy’s sleeping form “we where….we where never yours to fix but you have, I was so scared of love until I met you and Teddy never knew love like yours existed until she met you, you have made us both the happiest girls in the world these past few months and you have eased my worries…I feared she would cry watching the door every day for the rest of her life for her father to love her like she deserves but you…you have loved her since I told you about her in the restaurant and I know she will never have to worry about being heart broken by you, that she will never have to sit watching the door for you..so thank you for fixing what was never yours to fix but loving us both enough to do it.” Alessia smiled pulling you into a kiss “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” You kissed her pulling her impossibly closer. “I love you.” You smiled “we love you too.”

#awfc #leah williamson #woso #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #alessia russo #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo x you #ella toone #muwfc #arsenal wfc #man united wfc #man united women #arsenal women

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