#Chief Delivery Officer

[anishanthonydeccanchronicle]

Anthony Anish | T-Hub as its CDO

T-Hub moved to its current location in Jun 2022, the same time that Anish Anthony joined T-Hub as its CDO (Chief Delivery Officer).

[retirementhomewriting]

Fraudulent Flowers

Features: In which the author decides that Valentine's Day is today

Fem!Reader, poor attempt at dialogue, can you tell I haven't written anything in a long time it's been literal years

"Neuvillette?!"

You felt your eyebrows raise and your heart leap all in one second.

In your hand you held an exquisite bouquet of red roses, having been delivered to you just a few moments ago on this morning of Valentine's Day.

You hadn't expected the breathtaking delivery. You weren't seeing anybody.

But what you expected least of all was that when you read the card that came with the flowers, the sender's name was written as Neuvillette—in other words—the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and although you hadn't admitted this to anyone yet, the man you loved dearly.

Never in a million years did you believe you would receive such a gift from him. Still staring at the bouquet in shock, you tried to make sense of the situation.

Neuvillette had sent you flowers. Roses, in particular. Red ones. On Valentine's Day.

This gift could only mean the sender had feelings for you. Neuvillette must have feelings for you.

For a moment, you felt that familiar flutter in your heart, only for it to be stopped by your mind.

Had it been anyone else, you wouldn't have questioned their intentions. But Neuvillette? How would he have known to send such a present? Could there have been a misunderstanding on his part of the flowers' meaning?

No, you thought. Although not a human himself, Neuvillette had lived amongst humans for centuries. Surely at some point, he must have observed the habit humans had of gifting flowers to the object of their affections on Valentine's Day.

...

Oh my.

You felt the corners of your mouth pulling into a smile. You had to see him right away. Quickly reaching for the first vase you could find, you arranged the flowers neatly, sending their beautiful blooms one last glance over your shoulder as you hurried out the door.

"Lady (Y/n)! Good morning!"

Your feet gradually came to a stop as you walked through the halls of the Palais Mermonia, a group of Melusines calling your name when you came into view.

Chuckling affectionately, you gave each of them a smile.

"Hello dears. Would Monsieur Neuvillette happen to be in his office right now?" You asked, your heart beating in anticipation.

The Melusines glanced at each other and quickly nodded.

"Monsieur Neuvillette would be happy to see you!"

"Thank you," you told them. "I'll be seeing him now."

With a mixture of anticipation and giddiness rising in your chest, you lifted your arm to knock on the doors of Neuvillette's office, not even noticing the giggles of the Melusines as they trotted happily away.

Knock knock.

"Enter."

The mere sound of Neuvillette's voice was enough to cause your heart to jump. In just a few moments, your relationship with him could change.

"Good morning, Monsieur Neuvillette," you greeted the Iudex warmly as you walked into his office, shutting the door softly behind you.

The sight of Neuvillette poring over paperwork cut as regal a figure as always, you vaguely noted.

"Good morning, Lady (Y/n)," Neuvillette responded, his gorgeous eyes flitting up to meet yours. "I was not expecting your presence today. Not that your presence is unwelcome," he added, the faintest of smiles ghosting his lips.

His words cycled through your brain as you took a seat in front of him. He wasn't expecting your presence today?

"Well," you began carefully, "I believe these types of matters are best not delayed." You inhaled quietly, facing these next important words. "I received your flowers. I must say, I was touched. They were beautiful. And... I really appreciated that you would send them to me."

You smiled, albeit a bit bashfully, at Neuvillette.

Neuvillette, for as much as he wanted to bask in that beautiful smile of yours that threatened to purge all other concerns from his mind, could not combat his confusion.

"I'm afraid I do not understand," he said. "I do not recall sending you any flowers, and yet you say you have received them from me?"

"... I'm sorry?"

Neuvillette... didn't send you any flowers? The information hit you like a bucket of ice water, the bashful smile on your face rapidly turning into a frown of mortification.

"I... well..." you stumbled miserably around your words as you tried to make sense of the situation while also fighting the confusion and shame that tore at your dignity. "I received a bouquet of roses this morning that were supposedly sent as a Valentine's gift...from...you...."

Your final word slipped out weakly from your lips.

You couldn't believe what was happening. That bouquet you got wasn't from Neuvillette. But then who would play such a cruel trick on you?

Oh you felt like such a fool, having gotten your hopes up when Neuvillette wasn't even thinking of you.

Suddenly straightening in your chair, you forced yourself to make eye contact with the Iudex.

"I'm sorry," you choked the words from your throat.

Neuvillette only looked at you in confusion.

"I do not believe you have anything to apologize for. It was not you who falsely sent those flowers in my name, after all."

"I know," you muttered, "but I apologize for charging into the matter so blindly and being so quick to believe in a lie. I in no way wanted to make you uncomfortable by misreading the situation. Please," you swallowed bitterly, "disregard my intentions in coming here to see you today."

Your intentions? Your statement gave Neuvillette pause.

If he stopped to think about the situation clearly, what were your intentions in visiting him?

You believed you had received flowers from him, specifically Valentine's Day flowers. Neuvillette had personally never celebrated Valentine's Day himself, but he knew at least the basic significance of the holiday for most Fontainians.

It was a day to celebrate love.

You thought he had sent you a gift... to celebrate his love for you?

And you had accepted that gift.

Had you perhaps come here to... reciprocate his love?

At the thought of that possibility, Neuvillette felt a warmth bloom across his chest, a warmth that seemed to awaken often in him these days.

He quietly breathed in and out, trying to regain his composure and quell the urgent tremble he knew would break his voice if he spoke too soon.

"Lady (Y/n)."

At the sound of your name, you reluctantly looked up.

"If it would not incommodate you, I would prefer not to overlook your intentions in coming to visit me today." Neuvillette gazed into your eyes steadily. "In fact, would you be willing to tell me your favorite species of flower?"

"My favorite flower...?"

"If you would allow me," Neuvillette continued, the tips of his ears turning the lightest shade of pink, "it would be my honor to truly gift you a Valentine's bouquet. I may not have the most experience in these sorts of human customs, but... I would be willing to learn more about them if it pleases you."

Two beats later and you were staring at Neuvillette as if on today of all todays your ears chose to fail you.

Two beats more and Neuvillette was graced with what surely must have been the most precious gift of all: your smiling face, which could evaporate the rain from the sky itself.

You were right.

Your relationship with Neuvillette was about to change.

And as the Melusines listening from the hall giggled triumphantly to each other and took note of what your favorite flower really was, the love you shared with the Chief Justice allowed itself to grow.

[thirteenducks]

rest for the weary

(neuvillette x fem!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to as 'girl'), no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.9k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic? sort of?, mild hurt/comfort, gentle and tender Neuvillette, being overworked, fainting, neuvillette is sexy in a paramedic kind of way, crimes against gloves, almost-crimes against pastries, "you will be taken care of So Help Me" neuvillette, very self indulgent, can you tell i'm a college student

༻❁༺ author’s note: blame my mutuals for putting talk about neuvillette being gentlemanly and kind on my twitter feed. this is their fault and also the four glasses of sangria i drank before i wrote this

Neuvillette would like to believe he understands human behavior quite well by now. What he does not understand is their tendency to be self-sacrificial to the point of exhaustion. When your stress reaches a fever pitch, he steps in.

You don’t remember if it was the fatigue or the hunger that you noticed first. Both have been on the fringes of your consciousness since you left your bed early this morning. Right now, they’re kept at bay only by a lingering headache that worsens as you step out into the clear day.

The beautiful azure of the morning sky above. The flocks of pigeons that dapple the steps of the Palais Mermonia like sunlight through leaves. The hum of the Court of Fontaine as coffee sales begin for the morning. All are lost on you as you forge ahead, feet barely clearing the cobblestone below them.

The papers on your desk, stacked high and demanding attention, are all that your bleary eyes register at the moment. Anything else is secondary.

As much as your conscience would contend it, your current predicament isn’t entirely your fault. Sure, you had procrastinated a bit when the pile of records was first assigned to you, and maybe hadn’t chipped away at it the way you could’ve if you planned ahead. 

For a gestionnaire, though, it’s also just that time of year when the clouds pour rain daily and the opera house sees a never-ending rotation of cases.

So if that means some sacrifices on your side are required, you’re willing to make them for the good of the Court. You’re certainly not the only one, either. The circles under the Chief Justice’s eyes always grow darker during the rainy season; you hope he’s taking better care of himself than you are.

Once you’ve gotten rid of this batch of paperwork, you’ll be free to rest for a while, you tell yourself. You can take a break. Maybe you could walk to that cafe down the street with the nice cashier and get yourself breakfast, if the rain isn't too bad by midmorning.

Your knees waver under you as you carry the precarious stack of records to the threshold of your office. On second thought, maybe you should ask if they offer delivery.

The low murmur of a familiar voice, a pleasant bass melody, reaches you as you step out into the plush carpet of the hallway. It floats through your dizzy head like syrup.

Good. You won’t have to walk far to give these to Neuvillette, then. You’re not sure your feet would carry you all the way to his office anyway, and you’d rather not field any uncomfortable questions about your health from such an esteemed man. 

Assuming what you hope is a pleasant expression, you approach the Iudex and Sedene as he bends at the waist to inspect a bump on her antler. 

There’s a very becoming look of concern on his face, you notice. It must be nice to be the focus of such care.

The unfazed voice of a Melusine comes from somewhere below you: “I promise it’s just a mosquito bite, Monsieur. I must’ve stood around the docks for too long this morning.” 

“Even so... I would administer some anti-inflammatory soon, Sedene. Please don’t neglect your health,” he chides as he pats her head affectionately.

Neuvillette rises again to his full height, catching your eye as you draw near to him.

A fetching smile upturns the corners of his mouth. He greets you with a stately nod, holding out his right hand for your stack of records. Your gaze flits to his other hand, currently engaged by an apple turnover.

Ah. A gift from a Melusine, no doubt. You hope he enjoys it, even if a part of your brain wants you to snatch it for yourself.

If Neuvillette catches the way your eyes linger on his breakfast, he doesn’t mention it. What he does is quirk his head to the left in a silent question as he continues to stand with his hand outstretched.

Oh, archons. How long have you been standing in front of him with a blank look on your face? Too long to be appropriate, certainly.

Clearing your throat and forcing a smile, you take a step forward to hand off your pile of papers to him. Only, instead of making contact with the floor of the hallway, your shoe falls into thin air as your other knee buckles and your back falls towards the carpet.

As your consciousness slips, you feel a cool hand snake around your waist.

Your head goes limp, bouncing a bit with the impact until the pastry drops to the carpet and Neuvillette’s other gloved hand comes to cradle the back of your neck.

He’s caught you. He wishes you were awake to instruct him what to do next.

He lowers you to the ground softly, brow creased with worry. Sedene stands next to him with a similar expression, holding the turnover she saved as it fell. 

“Sedene. Bring me a pillow from the sofa in my office, please. Quickly.”

The Melusine salutes and she darts off. His eyes never leave your face as he kneels, large frame bent over you protectively.

Releasing your waist, he brings a hand up to his teeth and tugs off the glove in a smooth motion before resting his bare fingers against your forehead. A curse in a tongue unknown to all but him breaks the quiet air and his brows knit together. Humans and their damned self-sacrificial nature.

Sedene returns holding a cushion. He eases it under your head with care, ensuring your neck is supported before he retracts the hand underneath.

There in the Palais hallway, the Iudex of Fontaine strips himself of his judge’s coat, uncaring of decorum at the moment. Gentle hands graze your bare skin as he wraps the garment around your shoulders. Were you conscious, you would feel the softness of the silk lining against your cheek and the scent of the ocean it carries with it.

He knows from his extensive observations of human behavior that you’ve probably only collapsed from fatigue, not sickness. And yet… and yet he cannot keep himself from stroking your forehead, cool fingertips resting there as he meditates.

Another moment passes before he makes up his mind. Your body rises from the carpeted hallway floor into strong arms, seldom-seen muscles flexing under his white undershirt. 

The change in altitude brings you halfway out of your daze. Through hazy vision, you catch the sight of pale skin moving above you. His slit eyes meet yours and you don't manage more than a small sound of confusion before you’re pulled back under by sleep.

With a brief nod to Sedene, Neuvillette carries you to his office in a few quick strides. The door slides shut behind him.

Your hands unconsciously tug on his lapels and you curl your body closer to the warmth of his chest, making his ears burn.

Every time he thinks he understands your species, something like this happens. 

He had certainly noticed your energy waning over the last few days, but he worried about the propriety of mentioning such a thing to you. Would you resent him for asking about something so personal? Should he send someone closer to you to step in before you hurt yourself?

In the end, he had settled for bringing you breakfast from a nearby cafe. He glances at the turnover, now sitting innocently on his coffee table courtesy of Sedene. It taunts him.

The silence in his office is deafening as Neuvillette lays you carefully on the sofa next to his desk. He runs through the list of human vitals in his head.

You’re breathing quite deeply. Your pulse is healthy and strong as his fingers press against the side of your throat. The color in your face is returning to its normal shade. Surely all you lack is a good meal, which he can certainly provide, and some rest. 

Then why do his hands shake as he pours tea into a cup on the table before you?

Why can he not keep his eyes from you as you sleep, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm? 

Why does he find it impossible to return to the paperwork that calls his name just a few feet away?

A clap of thunder shakes the building.

He doesn’t realize how long his eyes have been trained on yours until you’re staring back at him through lowered lids, awakened by the noise.

It takes about a half second for you to remember the circumstances of a few minutes prior and gasp, sitting up with a speed that makes Neuvillette reach towards you in concern. His coat falls from where it was draped across you and you stare at it, unblinking. 

Your gaze flits to Neuvillette, bare to the wrist. He watches silently as you register the sofa you’re laid upon and the lavish office around you.

The Chief Justice makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you rush to stand up, face burning. Your head spins - whether from fatigue or embarrassment, you’re not sure. A million apologies threaten to spill from your mouth at once.

With your head bowed and your feet unsteady below you, you don’t see the hand rising to your face until a cool sensation spreads over your flushed forehead. The surprise of it shuts you up immediately. When you do dare to raise your eyes, you hardly trust what you see in front of you.

There is no anger in the face of the Iudex, in the downturned curve of his mouth or the crease of his brow. Only tender concern presents itself as he addresses you.

“You appear to be feverish. Please, sit back down. I won’t have you fainting again if I can help it.” He removes his hand from your skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that you can't attribute to a fever.

“Mon- Monsieur?”

He tuts, raising the cup of tea to your hand and folding it into your grasp. “Drink, please,” he murmurs, face etched with care. 

You blink a few times, sipping the drink as if compelled by magic. It's sweeter than you’re expecting.

“Good girl.” 

You nearly choke on it.

If possible, Neuvillette looks even more distressed by your sudden coughing fit. “You’re far redder than when you awoke. The fever reducer in this blend should help with that, but in the meantime, please take some of this…”

The minutes pass quietly. Periodically, Neuvillette instructs you in a gentle tone to drink your tea or eat a bit of pastry. He absolutely forbids you to stand after the second time you attempt to excuse yourself.

When he's been assured that you're comfortable, he speaks again.

“May I ask why you believe those papers you were attempting to bring me were worth working yourself to exhaustion over?” 

His words are authoritative, but his voice carries such softness that you can’t help but be honest with him.

“I’m so very sorry, Monsieur. It won’t happen again. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this week.”

Neuvillette's violet eyes are melancholy as they meet yours. “Of course. It’s a busy time of year for us all,” he says, shifting his gaze to the steady rain outside. “I do hope you know, however, that I would far rather your work be late than your health to fail on my account.”

You duck your head. “...I understand, Monsieur.”

The man’s stately expression fades into something unreadable at that.

“...Please, call me Neuvillette.”

You were unaware that his voice, so commanding in the courtroom, could sound so tender directed at you.

Your gaze darts up from the floor. The Iudex is not meeting your eyes. His are fixed instead on the light drizzle pattering the windowpane. A faint swathe of color decorates his lofty cheekbones.

As you smile and nod your head, pronouncing his name with a few words of thanks, the morning sun streams into the room behind you.

It’s getting to be quite the lovely day outside.

[strawbeerossi]

Let Me Hear You

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Unit Chief!Spencer Reid

Description: You and Spencer pull an all nighter to get caught up on paperwork. However whenever you decide to break to eat, you find yourself with some free time before the food gets there.

Content/Warnings: Talking about sex, food mentions and being hungry, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 1.1K

Kinktober Day Twenty Five: Sound Kink

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

One thing you learned about Spencer was that he liked to let the world know what was his. For instance, he was proud for everyone to know he was the newest acting unit chief after Emily passed the baton so she could be the first female director of the FBI. It was a big achievement for him after spending years dedicating his time to his career. Another thing he liked to tell the world was about his academic career, all his PHDs and academic excellency being a proud achievement he was happy to let everyone hear about.

He wore these achievements like a badge of honor. Anyone in his shoes would. His personal life was more quiet, although one part of it was something he was far too proud to show off. You. You’d begun dating while you worked in a separate sector of the FBI, your transfer being about a year after you both started seeing each other. You enjoyed having a man as strong as him as well as a job where you did important things.

You’d currently been pulling an all nighter at the office, catching up with the shocking amount of paperwork you let pile on your desk. Spencer had planned on staying as well, so it worked out a lot better than you’d expected. You were both sitting in his office, the both of you having coffees filled to the brim for the night ahead. “You can summarize things, you know.” Spencer had commented with a chuckle, eyes looking over the huge statement you were writing. “This is a summary. Oh, my god. Is it too long?!” You asked while lifting your head to face your boyfriend, who chuckled. “No! I was just letting you know, that's all.”

As the paperwork dragged on, Spencer was eventually closing the file in his hand. “What do you say we take a break? I think we’ve earned it.” Which you didn’t object, your eyes crossed from all the reading and writing you’d been doing. As you placed the completed files to the side, you leaned against your boyfriend’s desk. “Should we order from that all night burger place in town? I’m pretty sure they deliver.” You inferred while Spencer was tapping his pen against the desk. “Yeah, let’s go ahead and order from there tonight. Seems easy and quick enough.” He chuckled. Which was exactly what you both did. After calling in your orders and confirming they did deliveries, it was a waiting game now.

“I know something that’ll pass the time.” Your boyfriend teased, eyebrows wiggling while you laughed and rolled your eyes with a smile. “Is sex on your mind all the time?” You asked in a teasing tone while he put his hands up in self defense. “Look at my girlfriend. Any guy would be lucky enough to be able to put their hands on you.” He was pushing himself to stand while offering a hand in your direction, tugging you up and to his chest when you took it. “Besides, don’t act like you aren’t jumping on me any chance you get.” He wiggled his eyebrows with a laugh, head dipping down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

The sweetness eventually escalated though, your bodies pressed flush against one another as your kiss had deepened. You were backing up with Spencer’s assistance before your body was hitting the couch towards the left side of the office. With both of you giggling due to your eagerness causing you to fall back, your head was lifting as you could feel his hands moving to bunch up the skirt you were wearing. “We don’t have much time.” He murmured, which you nodded as you were pushing your panties to the side as Spencer pulled his cock from his slacks.

After giving a few lazy tugs, the thick head of his shaft was plunging into your hot, leaking cunt. Your hands were quick to grasp at his shoulders. “Fuck.” You hissed, biting your lower lip as his hips were snapping into yours. You were making an effort to keep it down, already knowing there were cleaning crews as well as other agents working late on the floor. Last thing you needed was to alert everyone.

However Spencer seemed to realize, his hands squeezing your hips as his head was dipping in order for him to whisper in your ear. “Let everyone know who’s making you feel good in here. I wanna get complaints.” He murmured against your ear, a moan tumbling out of your mouth at the request. “Tell the office that you liked getting fucked by your unit chief like the whore you are.” The words had your hands clutching his shoulders tighter as you were letting your head tilt back. His hand had slid down your body, thumb rubbing at your clit before he was pinching it between his fingers to elicit a cry from you, knowing exactly how to get you crying and moaning loud enough for every floor to hear.

“That’s right. Fuck. Take my cock so well. I know you love it when I pound your sweet pussy.” He hummed in her ear. “Bet you want me to fill you up too. Don’t you?” The words were enough to help drive you both closer to the edge, your eyes falling shut as the moans and whines just fell from your lips. Once the filter was taken away, you made it known that you were getting fucked in the office. As you’d both approached your orgasms, Spencer had managed to get rougher on you.

With his grip tightening on your hips, he’d let himself go overboard as he was jackhammering against the spongy button that he’d been prodding within the past few minutes.

The force had a fire spreading all throughout your body, louder moans and pleas for him not to stop now filling the once quiet and peaceful office space. As you were being fucked into oblivion, it wasn’t long until your cunt was clenching tightly around his cock, sucking him in as best as you could as your orgasm was making you see stars. Your body jolted with a few more rough thrusts before you could feel a warmth gushing inside of you, chest rising and falling rapidly as you were clutching your boyfriend tighter.

However it wasn’t long until you’d gotten a text, Spencer being the one to gently pull out of you before approaching the desk. “The food is here. Why don’t you lay here and relax? I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah.. Might be best..” you commented, face flushed as you were pulling your panties back into place and smoothing out your skirt.

“I’m starving anyway.” You laughed.

[hotchgirlsummer]

There’s barley people on this app that make good bimbo reader! You are amazing!! Could u do one where she goes to his office for lunch and after they eat she gets sleepy so he lays her on his couch to nap and she’s like “so sleepy”

summary ⤷ There's nothing more one looks forward after lunch than napping with the love of their life.

pairing ⤷ aaron hotchner x fem!bimbo!reader

warnings ⤷ nothing but fluff! maybe some heart to heart talk?

word count ⤷ 1.6k words

a/n ⤷ no cause you are so sweet 🥺🥺🥺🥺 this took a long while to get done as february was a busy month for me. hopefully you like it!also!! to get back in the habit of writing, drabble requests are open! ☺️

masterlist

"Your food delivery's here!" Y/N giggled cheerfully as she opened Aaron's office door but her cheery expression was halted when she noticed that Dave and Emily were also in the room as they were previously discussing important; she looked at the other two agents and shot them a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry I didn't get you guys anything, can I make it up next time? Did you guys like the chocolate mousse or the cupcakes that I brought last time?"

"i liked both, I do have a craving for your chocolate mousse," Came Emily's immediate and well-thought of reply, which earned her smirking looks from the two men, "What? Y/N's a great baker and I love all of her treats."

"Aw, you're too sweet to me, Em," Cooed the younger woman and hurriedly hugged the noirette tight, "I'll bring some next time I visit here, kay?"

"As much as Emily and I would love to chat more with you, I believe there's a certain commander of ours who'll get grumpy if he doesn't ear his lunch," Rossi remarked as he took note of the rather tight-lipped expression that Hotch was wearing; Emily smirked as well once she broke off the hug and took a good look at their unit chief, "You're right, Rossi. It seems like they might even need to be put down for a nap."

Y/N waited until the two were out of the room before placing the lunch bag on his desk, making way to where Aaron was and sat comfortably on his lap, lacing her arms around his neck as she wondered, "Did you guys get a new team member?"

"What makes you say that, sweetheart?" Aaron questioned back as he busied himself with stroking her cheek as he kissed her nose before landing a sweet kiss on her lips.

"Dave was talking about a commander, do you have an army teammate?" Her cute head tilt made it hard for the unit chief to explain what Rossi really meant. Instead, he went along with her understanding by agreeing, "No, sweetheart. But wanna know a secret?"

Her cute gasp as she nodded excitedly, prompted him to reveal, "Sometime I don't really understand what Dave says. We all just go with what he says and make him think he's making sense."

Smacking his shoulder slightly, she reprimanded him, "That's mean, Aar. You be nice to Dave! Or else he won't make me anymore of his delicious lasagna." Leaning forward to press a kiss on her glossed up pout and chuckles at her, "Well don't worry, I will cook all the meals you will ever crave for."

"You are a great cook," She pondered for a bit before her eyes drifted over to the lunch bag she had carried with her, perking up in excitement as she remembers, "Oh! I brought you lunch! I made a it all healthy like you want, with produce, filer, and gains!"

As she was opening the covers of the tupperware, Hotch nodded to himself as he understood better what she was trying to convey, "Protein, fibre, and grains," He listed as he saw the chicken, eggs, banana, grapes, and some nuts. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble, sweetheart," He said, with a voice full of love as he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

Shaking her head as if what he said was absurd and lifting the forkful of food by his mouth, cupping her free hand underneath the fork in case some food fell off, "But I really wanted to see you, and I knew you didn't pack any lunch with you. Plus, you always cook for me and I wanted to return the favor, you know?"

Taking the bite she had prepared for him, he hummed appreciatingly as he smiled up at her, "I'll forever be grateful for this, sweetheart. It's been a while since I had a pretty girl bring and feed me lunch."

Giggling as she scooped some of the eggs and brought it to her mouth, "Just say the word and I can make this an everyday arrangement! Oh, would you need a personal assistant, Aar?"

"And no, I don't think I need one. Besides, I'd love it more if you busied yourself with your designs, sweet."

"Oh! Speaking of my designs, I worked on more today! I came up with this dress that comes down mid thigh and it has this Venus cut on the shoulders. Though for a while I struggled because I wasn't sure if I wanted the design to be simple sparkles to look like stars or have like embroidered flowers on it," It was apparent on her satisfied smile as she fed him more chicken that she was immensely proud of the result, "Can't wait to show you what it looks like once I've made it!"

"I can't wait to see it either. Maybe you can give me a fashion show hm?" Rubbing her back to settle her pent up excitement.

"Well maybe not right away, I have these shoes in mind that I wanna buy that will tie up the whole look."

As he was fed another bite, Aaron felt around for his wallet before speaking, "Why don't you take my card when you buy it?" Scoffing in mock offense, she shook her head and feed him another spoonful as if to silence him from making more silly suggestions, "Well excuse me for wanting to use my hard-earned money. You can't be the only one who will do all the spoiling of me. Or for me," She pouts as she looked up at him, "You do know what I mean, right?"

"I always do, sweetheart," He reassures which brings out a bright, toothy smile from her.

From there on out, Hotch filled her up on what the latest happenings within the team are — he of course left out the gruesome details of the cases are, but instead what the latest life updates of team members. And in return, she shared memorable interactions with her customers.

While he was recalling how Spencer pulled a prank on Derek with the help of Blake, Hotch's keen eye noticed that Y/N was scooping eggs but instead of feeding it to him, she fed it to herself.

"Hey! I thought those eggs were for me?" He jokingly scolded her when the bite of eggs went to her; as if to make up for it she gave him a big serving of the eggs before answering his question, "Well it's because I had such a busy day, Aar! I cleaned the apartment, cooked food, and I worked on some more designs!" She laid her head on his shoulder as she passed the fork to him — which allowed the unit chief to this time feed for himself as he noticed that the exhaustion of her day's activities was catching up on Y/N. "So ready for a nap, Aar."

"Yeah? Your tummy's all full so you're ready for a nap now?" While his voice was teasing her , Y/N did not register it as such and instead took it as concern for her well-being. Snuggling further into his neck while her hand busied itself by rubbing his chest lovingly, spreading warmth on his entire being.

"Can I go lay on your chest? Wanna stay with you while I nap," She was a hundred percent sure that he would give in but Hotch knew that if she did let him lay on him like this that one, work that needed to be done that day would not get accomplished which means more time not spent with Y/N and Jack. And second, it would be likely that a team member will barge in and poke at him for letting his guard down.

Against his will, he shook his head as he lifted her body in his strong arms — he smiled to himself upon feeling her snuggle close — and laid her on his office couch, he draped her with the soft, faux fur blanket her purchased after her first visit into his office and she made some comment about what will keep him warm while he works and she was not there to snuggle him.

"I won't take more than two hours and then we're out of here, okay?"

"Mmkay, I'm just gonna nap here, Aarbear. Wake me up when it's time for us to go, okay?" She immediately nuzzled herself into the blanket, leaning against his soft lips when he pecked her cheek softly.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," He muttered softly before promptly returning back to his desk; now motivated more than ever to brisk through this mountain of paperwork if he had any desire of spending his time with her and Jack for the evening like they had originally planned.

It wasn't until twenty minutes in when he had the expected visitor that took place in the form of Derek Morgan. Polite knocks followed by him entering the office, the Chicago native smirked as he spotted the sleeping form of his boss' girlfriend. "I see you got yourself a sleeping beauty," He remarked as he placed the files on the desk.

"Don't worry, I'll wake her up with a kiss before we leave," Hotch joked as he thanked him for the files he got accomplished. Taken aback with how he cracked a joke on his own, Derek replicated his chuckle and said, "Honestly though, Hotch, she's really good for you."

Putting the pen down as he took in his words and stared lovingly at her, "Not only that, but I she is the one for me, Morgan."

[yuurei20]

do we know what caters dad does for work? its mentioned that they move around a lot for his job but what exactly /is/ his job

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

Cater’s dad works at a bank!

It is not specified what it is that he does for the bank, only that he is transferred to a new office about once every two years.

We have a surprising amount of information about the employment situations of the parents of the various characters!

Riddle’s Parents: Medical mages (also called “magical healers” on EN, but the job title of “魔法医術士" is consistent in the original game.)

Trey’s Parents: Professional bakers that run their own cake business / patisserie.

Cater’s Father: Works for a bank (mage status unconfirmed) Cater’s Mother: No information

Ace’s Father: No information (confirmed magicless) Ace’s Mother: Never mentioned in-game

Deuce’s Father: Never mentioned in-game Deuce’s Mother: Delivery truck driver (mage status unconfirmed)

Leona’s Father: King of Sunset Savanna (mage status unconfirmed) Leona’s Mother: Never mentioned in-game

Ruggie’s Father: No information Ruggie's Mother: Dead

Jack’s Parents: No information (mage status unconfirmed)

Azul’s Mother: Restaurant owner (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Father: No information (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Step-Father: Lawyer (confirmed mage*)

*Azul says, “everyone in my family is a mage," without distinguishing between the different members.

Jade and Floyd’s Parents: “They simply run an independent business that dabbles in a bit of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.” (mage status unconfirmed)

Kalim’s Father: “Does business in a lot of different places,” but what kind of business may never be specified. (confirmed magicless)

Kalim says they come from a long line of merchants and he wants to emulate his grandpa and great-grandpa, but I have not been able to find a specific line that says Kalim’s father himself is also a merchant. Jamil describes Kalim’s father as “a key player in our government and economy.”

Kalim’s Mother: No Information (confirmed mage)

Jamil’s Parents: Servants to Kalim’s family (mage status unconfirmed)

Vil’s Father: Actor (confirmed magicless) Vil’s Mother: No Information

Rook’s Mother: No Information Rook's Father: Never mentioned in-game

Epel’s Parents: Apple farmers (confirmed magicless)

Idia and Ortho's Father: Director of STYX (mage status unconfirmed) Idia and Ortho's Mother: Chief Engineer of STYX (mage status unconfirmed)

Malleus’ Mother: Former princess of Briarland and commander of the royal guard (dead) Malleus' Father: Nobleman / Diplomat / Envoy / "Dragoneye Duke"

Lilia’s Parents: Never mentioned in-game (Lilia is a confirmed orphan)

Silver's Father: Retired General and Royal Guard (confirmed mage)

Silver's Birth Father: Commander of the Silver Owls (deceased) Silver's Birth Mother: Occupation never specified (deceased)

Sebek’s Father: Dentist (confirmed magicless) Sebek’s Mother: Assistant to her husband's dental practice (nocturnal fae, confirmed mage)

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 4 __ The Profile & The Profiler

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above the common bound." - Act 1, Scene 4. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

“We believe our unsub is a white male driving an SUV. He uses the vehicle to abduct and transport the male victims from Washington DC to Maryland,” Hotch stated in front of the members of the Washington PD.

Morgan stood next to him, hands on his hips. “His victims are between the ages 27-35 and we think the unsub is in the same age bracket.”

“Add to that, our unsub is experiencing a psychosis specifically called erotomania. This form of delusion is when an individual believes that another person, usually of a higher status, is in love with him. His weapon of choice also gives us another understanding on his psyche to these killings, using narcotics to kill symbolizes the emotional detachment the unsub has to his victims—” Spencer elaborated.

“Which means the victims were a crime of opportunity, rather than crime of passion,” Morgan injected.

“—and with his use of methanol and formaldehyde to preserve the body parts, we believe we are looking for an intelligent unsub.”

“Which is not unusual. True psychopaths often have above average intelligence.” Hotch clarified.

“This type of unsub will not have injected himself into the investigation as we often see. He will not be following the case very closely unless his fantasy to Ms. Olivia Hill is disturbed.” Morgan concluded. 

The Washington chief detective raised his pen up in the air.  “So how come he hasn’t tried to kidnap Ms. Hill rather than kidnapping all these male victims?”

“It’s because his fantasy—transformation if you will—isn’t complete yet. He’s collecting all these different body parts to fit into her perfect male partner. Once that process is complete, he will try to kidnap her next.” Spencer explained.

Morgan took a deep breath. “There is something about him that would be helpful, he has a superficial connection to Ms. Hill. Not enough for her to notice his feelings but enough for him to project his fantasy, possibly a colleague or someone she interacts with on a daily short basis like a delivery man.” 

“We suggest not to go public with this information and to re-interview female co-workers to ask if they’ve noticed any untoward or suspicious behaviors from their male co-workers to Ms Hill,” Hotch said as Morgan’s phone started to ring. “Thank you very much.” 

With his back turned to the police officers leaving the premise, he accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Prentiss, what you got?”

She sighed. “Another body has been dumped in the Potomac River, skinned from his upper thigh to feet.”

“That completes his suit,” Spencer noted.

“Forensics is currently running his fingerprints in the system to see if we have him in the database. I’ll get Garcia to forward any information she has,” she stated before ending the call. 

The two FBI agents turned around to face their stern unit chief for further instructions. “Morgan, you’re with me for the re-interview. Reid, you go back to Ms. Hill’s residence and Reid,—“

“Yes?”

“—keep us updated on any slight disturbance.” 

Spencer nodded, gathering his belongings before dashing out of the precinct. 

———

Dusk was beginning to settle when Spencer turned off the SUV ignition in front of her residence. Crossing the empty and calm street road, he took note of any rustling noise, flickering neighborhood lights—the lack thereof—and dark corners where the unsub could hide while keeping watch of the doorstep. All the curtains were shut, he observed, as if mimicking a moat bridge drawn up to protect the castle and it’s inhabitants. Steeling his nerves, he knocked on the door and announced his presence.

“Olivia, it’s Dr Spencer Reid,” He called out.

Several bolts were heard being unlocked from the other side before the door fully swung open, Olivia’s eyes darting behind his stature before widening as it settled on his form. 

“Oh, uh-hi Dr. Reid, you look—different,” her cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink as she observed his change in attire. Gone was the brown sweater vest that emphasized his lithe form and the lilac button down shirt that was once hidden underneath now had its sleeve pushed up to his forearms. With the vest out of the way and the gun holster secured on his waist visible, he looked formidable, sensual, and dangerous rolled into one. The sharp contrast to the soft spoken and intriguing male that she met this afternoon to the knight and shining armor rounding her living space had her feeling lightheaded with desire.

Spencer sat down at the worn love seat sofa located in her office. “My team is re-interviewing your female colleagues and I’d like to ask you for any strange male colleagues and interactions that rubbed you off the wrong way.” 

“I don’t really interact with any other publishing employees beside from my agent and publicist,” she sat beside him with a glass of water in hand. “One of the perks of being a writer is not having to interact with anyone beyond necessary.” 

A heavy silence covered their surroundings. Their thighs softly caressing the other, as if whispering the subconscious declaration of intrigue and attraction. Eyes flitting across the room, never meeting each other’s gaze afraid of unconsciously communicating their innermost thoughts. 

His palms opening and closing, unsure of what he needs to do and apprehensive of what he wants to do. Hers drumming on her thighs, nervous of the palpable tension around them. He wanted to touch her delicate hand, he realized—to envelope hers in his, to trace patterns on the back of her hand that will never leave a trace but wishing it would, and to never let go.

“Dr Reid, is it too forward of me to ask if you’re in a relationship?” Olivia rushed out to ask, clearly sheepish with her inquiry. 

His ears turning red at the implication behind her questioning. “My job and its urgency isn’t ideal for a relationship,” he explained. “Being on call 24/7 and not knowing when I’ll be able to return home isn’t a fair deal for a potential partner. Statistically speaking, divorcees are common in the FBI, especially in the BAU.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” 

A silence crept between them. 

“Spencer,” he clarified, noticing the little scrunch of her nose as if asking him to further clarify. “Call me Spencer.” 

She smiled, the kind so infectious that he felt his own lips curling upwards and his filter evaporating into nothing. “Did you know that women in the romance community are more likely than the general population to be currently married or living with a partner?” He articulated as his fingers tapped a rapid beat on his thigh, an outward display of nervousness. “More often than not, most writers are to be in happy relationships. The stereotype depictions of the lonely, lovesick romance writer who pens alluring novels is largely false in narrative.”

“Huh, I’ve always thought the minds behind romance would be the hopeless romantic pouring over their frustrations, hopes, and dreams into ink to escape reality and live out their fantasies,” she countered back. 

His body shifted to face hers. “That is not necessarily incorrect. Romance novels are, for the most part, written by women, about women, for women but it also allows the writers to explore who they are as a woman. Who you want to be. Finding out what you can be. Pushing yourself to be more of who you are.”

“So it’s more of self navigation and therapy?”

He nodded, pleased that his intention was understood even if he explained it in a convoluting way. “Yes, actually more like a self discovery and research.” 

“Sadly and realistically speaking, I do tend to fall on the stereotype category of being a romance writer,” she shrugged as if it was no big deal. “So Mr Genius, how’d you end up in the FBI and as a profiler?”

His eyebrows scrunched in concentration unsure to what extent he should divulge. “I was recruited and this was the path that I wanted to do.” 

“Can you profile me, then?” She smiled, leaning further into him. “I’m no criminal but I’d like to see your job in action. To see if it’s how they portrayed it in the movies, I mean.” 

She was obviously flirting, Spencer noted. He was known to be oblivious to these types of advances as Morgan pointed out, mainly rooting from his deep sense of insecurity, but she was making it clear that she felt an attraction to him or maybe he was just projecting his own emotions, he countered in his mind. After all, he didn’t have the typical male physique—muscles that allude a capability to protect and attack. His greatest asset would be his IQ of 187 that slashes into 60 whenever her set of doe-eyed eyes looks into his with such trust and comfort. His hand moved on their own accord, swiping on her lower lip that was being assaulted by her teeth.

Her breath hitched and his hand quickly dropped, a visible flush coloring his cheeks. “That was, uh, that was inappropriate of me—“

“It’s alright, Spencer.” 

“I—it’s really not. You—you asked for a profile, yes?” He brought up, desperate to diffuse the atmosphere and change the subject matter. “You’re a perfectionist based on the organization of your home. Your books are a financial success but you still use an old sedan, possibly a hand me down from your father based on the color and make, which tells me you’re frugal with your income, despite the fact that your house is located in one of the pricier neighborhoods—I believe this is your biggest purchase to date—and that you possibly grew up in a middle income family. You subconsciously tap your fingers on your thighs when you’re nervous and you keep your nails short meaning you’re other tic would be nail biting which you’re trying to break. And you mentioned that you fall under the stereotype category of being a romance writer which tells me you didn’t date much during your school years and never felt the need to go through all the usual considered landmarks of being a teenager, kissing under the bleachers and such. Perhaps you’ve had a boyfriend or two, nothing noteworthy for inspiration and romance, so you pour your hopes and dreams into the characters and scenarios you create.” 

“You missed one more important piece.”

He titled his head, thinking of what he could have possibly missed.

“You, and my apparent attraction to you. How I’d like to see you again once this situation is through,” her voice trailed off, the sudden confidence evaporating from her body. 

There was silence. His intelligent, hyper-active mind not knowing how to respond. Her confession had rendered him mindless and mute.

The lights flickered, as if wanting to escape their bodies as the space in between lessens ever so slightly, before complete darkness and danger shrouded over. 

[vague-humanoid]

As racism within the healthcare system persists, a large new study reveals startling disparities in unscheduled C-sections among Black women.

A National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) report of nearly 1 million births at 68 hospitals in New Jersey found that Black women are 25% more likely to undergo unnecessary C-sections compared to white women.

While more research is needed to determine whether these disparities are found in other states, the data point to the potential for implicit racial bias occurring in hospital delivery rooms at a provider’s discretion.

“The findings from the new study are alarming — it is concerning that these disparities exist and are so stark,” said Mark Simon, MD, chief medical officer at Ob Hospitalist Group (OBHG).

“The CDC has released dataTrusted Source that clearly highlights national differences in C-section rates across each state, with New Jersey ranking on the high end. But this problem is not unique to New Jersey — disparities in maternal mortality, particularly along racial and socioeconomic lines, are also well-documented,” Simon told Healthline. Simon wasn’t affiliated with the research.

@startorrent02 @meanmisscharles @mettaworldpiece

Takeaway

A concerning new report shows that unnecessary C-sections are 25% more common in Black women compared to white women.

The researchers suggest that implicit racial bias could play a role, and there may be a “financial incentive” to fill operating rooms.

Experts say the reasons for this alarming disparity are multifactorial. More research is needed to determine whether the high number of C-section rates persist in other states.

[lovezbrownies]

The First Ascension: Revolution.

Masterlist - Story's Masterlist.

Synopsis: All stories have a beginning, and this one begins with a box filled with mangled body parts and an ominous letter, promising the demise and revolution of your kingdom...

PAIRING: Yandere!Goddess x GN!Reader.

Character appearances: Siolis Ludenhart, Grim Ludenhart, Y/N.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine yourself in a situation like this—standing in the office of Siolis Ludenhart, the kingdom’s unshakable cornerstone of hope, staring down at a box brimming with bloodied body parts. The stench is overwhelming, the grotesque sight threatening to turn your stomach inside out. Resting atop the grisly collection is a neatly folded green note, its pristine edges a stark contrast to the chaos beneath. The words scrawled across it in dried blood pulse with menace.

“Revolution is nigh. Queen Nia shall perish. – The enemy of centuries, The Adonis.”

Your throat tightens, bile rising with every passing second. But you don’t collapse, nor do you retch. The enchantment woven into the room by Siolis—a quiet, steady influence of calm—keeps the visceral panic at bay, wrapping your mind in an unnatural serenity. It’s an almost cruel kindness, muting your terror while forcing you to fully absorb the grotesque scene before you.

Siolis, ever composed, stands beside you. Their sharp, green-streaked bangs catch the dim light as they silently analyze the note, their expression carved from stone. Calm and calculating, they radiate an aura of quiet authority, one that reassures you despite the horror laid out before your eyes.

A soft yet menacing smile graces Siolis’ face, their composure unshaken by the macabre display. “Well,” they murmur, their tone almost playful, “that’s certainly one way to be greeted at work, hm? Stop staring at it, Y/n. You’re only going to upset yourself more.”

It’s clear they’re trying to lighten the mood with a touch of humor, but the attempt barely scratches the surface of the tension hanging in the air. You can only manage a weak nod, the image burned into your mind refusing to dissipate. Siolis, sensing the futility of their jest, lets out a soft sigh and steps closer to the box. With an elegance that feels almost out of place, they wrap their long fingers around the flaps and close it, as though sealing the horror away might somehow diminish its weight.

When they turn back to you, their dark eyes brim with a strange mix of fondness and determination. “I’ll send this over to my father,” they say with gentle authority. “He’ll know what to do with a box full of body parts.”

Their nonchalant delivery makes your stomach flip, but their next words are softer, almost soothing. “You sit down and try to forget the image. I’ll have someone bring tea and coffee—pick whichever you’d like.” The warmth in their gaze doesn’t match the grimness of the situation, but somehow, it helps. Siolis is steady, grounded—a calm eye in the storm—and you find yourself clinging to their words as though they might truly wash away the nightmare.

Siolis stomped out of their office, their face now devoid of the emotion they had shown you earlier, replaced with a cold, focused determination. Each step carried purpose as they made their way toward their father’s office, the destination not far but frustratingly indistinguishable amidst the corridor of identical doors. What a horribly built castle, genuinely.

They passed a few maids, guards, and even one of the chiefs, though they paid them no mind. Their focus remained solely on the task at hand: delivering the box without incident. The stench it emitted was vile, the kind of foulness that clung to the air and turned stomachs. It drew everyone’s attention, but no one dared to comment, too stunned by the sight of Chief of Assistants Siolis carrying something so grotesque.

The box, darkly stained and leaking something unnervingly red, left a trail of droplets on the polished floor. Siolis’ arms were smeared with the liquid as they held the bottom of the box tightly, ensuring its contents stayed hidden. The silent warning in their expression discouraged any questions—no one wanted to know what horrors lay within.

When Siolis finally reached the heavy oak door of the Chief of Police’s office, their sharp gaze landed on the nearest guard—a young knight whose polished armor reflected the dim hallway light. “Knight Estelle,” Siolis said, their voice cutting clean through the air with the clarity and strength of a command, “open the door for me.”

The knight froze, her thoughts colliding in a storm of disbelief and awe. Siolis Ludenhart had spoken her name, their calm tone making the grotesque nature of the moment feel almost mundane. But nothing about this was mundane—not the nauseating smell wafting from the leaking box in their arms, nor the dark red streaks that painted their hands and seeped down their wrists like the macabre aftermath of a battlefield.

Estelle swallowed hard, her admiration for Siolis warring with her horror at what they carried. She shifted closer, her boots clicking against the marble floor as she extended a hesitant arm toward the door, careful to stay as far from Siolis and their blood-slicked form as possible. “O-o-of c-c-course,” she stammered, her attempt at polite composure crumbling under the weight of the situation.

Her trembling fingers barely brushed the handle when Siolis moved, their tone dismissively polite. “Ah, thank you,” they said, cutting off her attempts at formality the moment the door cracked open.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Siolis slipped inside, their boot catching the edge of the door to swing it shut with startling force. The heavy wood slammed closed with an audible thud, leaving Estelle standing stunned, her wide eyes staring at the door as if it might offer an explanation.

Inside the office, Siolis inhaled sharply, their controlled demeanor giving way to a flicker of urgency. “Dad?” they called, their voice firm but tinged with the faintest hint of exasperation as they scanned the dimly lit room for their father, who was standing right in front of his bookshelf, hand steady on the gun in his holster, face stern and serious, at least that was before he realized it was his youngest that just burst into the room.

"My god! Siolis, I thought I taught you not to do things like this! What if I had been in the middle of a meeting? Wh—"

“You never have meetings here,” Siolis interrupted, their tone cutting and unflinching. “You hate everyone who works here. You don’t even like it when Aunt Gen shows up to work.”

Grim froze, silenced—not politely, but effectively. As much as he hated to admit it, Siolis was right, and he could tell they had more pressing matters on their mind.

“That’s neither here nor there, Dad,” Siolis continued, their voice even but tinged with urgency. “My assistant and I walked into our office and found this.” They gently lowered the box to the floor, careful not to let it slip and scatter its grisly contents. “A box filled with neatly dismembered body parts. And a letter from the Adonis people.”

The mention of Adonis immediately commanded Grim’s full attention. The most radical anti-monarchist faction in existence, Adonis had a reputation for being elusive and unrelenting. No one, not even the kingdom's best operatives, had ever successfully captured one of their members. Grim, for his part, had always remained indifferent to their cause. Their ideology—while extreme—didn’t seem to affect him personally. Still, as the Chief of Police, it was his duty to protect the nation’s people. Reasonable or not, terrorizing kingdoms was something he couldn’t ignore.

Grim hurried over to Siolis, his focus now solely on the ominous box before them, so focused on the contents of the box that he failed to catch the strange ease that flows from Siolis, as though the presence of dismantled body parts was just another part of their day. Kneeling down, he pulled the lid open cautiously. The sickening stench of rot and iron hit him like a blow. Inside, the contents were arranged with a chilling meticulousness: pale, bloodied limbs laid out in an almost artistic display, as though the sender reveled in the horror they’d created.

Grim leaned in closer, his sharp eyes scanning the grisly remains for anything that might serve as a clue—a symbol, a signature, anything. Yet all he found was the letter dead center of the dismembered remains. The neat swirls of the pen strikes Grim’s memories, This looks like Siolis’s writing in high school… Siolis had to learn to write once more when they got their job, their previous writing style too messy and illegible to even read!

Grim’s stomach twisted as his fingers carefully plucked the letter from its place atop the grisly tableau. The parchment was unnervingly pristine, its edges crisp and clean, entirely untouched by the blood soaking the remains around it. The swirling ink strokes on its surface were precise, deliberate, and yet so achingly familiar that a sharp pang of recognition cut through Grim like a blade.

He stared at the letters, his mind reeling. This… this is Siolis’s handwriting, before they got this job. The realization gripped him like a vice. He remembered all too well the frustration etched across Siolis’s face during those endless sessions of being forced to relearn how to write—an order handed down directly to the Chief of Management.

Their original handwriting had been deemed too sloppy, too unsightly for someone of their station. Nia herself had made the decree, citing that Siolis’s position required precision and elegance in every detail, even their penmanship. Every trace of that “ugly” handwriting had been purged, scrubbed from existence.

So why, after all these years, was it staring back at him now? Perfectly preserved. Perfectly replicated. And perfectly situated amid such a gruesome, calculated display.

“Reminds you of something, doesn’t it, Dad?” Siolis’s voice cut through the thick fog of his thoughts, cool and steady yet laced with an edge that sent a shiver down Grim’s spine.

Grim looked up sharply, his gaze locking on Siolis. They were leaning against the wall nearby, arms folded across their chest. Their expression was impassive, uncaring. They were… unphased?

“That is my handwriting from high school,” Siolis continued, their tone carrying even and steady, the imitation of their writing barely scratching the surface of their emotions. “Somehow, they managed to recreate it perfectly. Even though the Chief of Management was ordered to erase every trace of it. You remember that, don’t you, Dad? The late nights, hunching over my desk rewriting the same damn letter over and over.” Their words were clipped, deliberate.

Grim rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing back at the letter. “Yeah, I remember.” He hesitated, then muttered, “I mean, I always liked your old writing better anyway. It had… character. I… I essentially raised that handwriting as my third child.” Grim tried to shove down as much fear as possible by trying to remember Siolis’s childhood, and their ascension to adulthood, it was all too fast for poor Grim, who wanted his kids to always remain kids.

But now, one of his own—his baby—was being needlessly targeted by some radical monarch-hating group, when Siolis had only ever devoted themselves to benefiting the kingdom. It made no sense, no logic to their cruelty, and that realization boiled Grim’s blood and chilled his veins all at once. Why the hell were those freaks after his kid?

The fear struck Grim hard, a visceral blow that clenched around his chest like an iron grip. His heart pounded against his ribs as his mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last. This wasn’t just some sick intimidation tactic; it was calculated, personal. The kind of hatred and obsession it would take to orchestrate something like this... It terrified him, more than he would ever let show.

He swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the bloodstained ribbon as if it were the only anchor in the storm of dread swirling inside him. Siolis didn’t deserve this. They had poured every ounce of their time, energy, and strength into serving the crown, protecting the people, doing what was right. And now they were a target for it? A pawn in someone’s twisted vendetta against the monarchy?

“Siolis,” Grim said at last, his voice steadier than he felt, though his words carried a dangerous edge. “Whatever game they’re playing, they’ve made a mistake—because now, they’re not just dealing with you. They’re dealing with me.”

He looked up at his child, whose stoic expression was betrayed by the subtle tension in their posture, and added quietly, “We’ll figure this out. I promise you that. But first, we need to know just how far they’re willing to go.”

Grim’s gaze dropped back to the box, his jaw tightening as a fresh wave of determination hardened his features. No one—no one—threatened his family and walked away unscathed.

That struck Siolis’s heart, ah would you look at their father, so kind and sweet. They roll their eyes playfully and finally crack a tiny smile, “Glad to know my old horrifying handwriting is a source of nostalgia for you, Dad, but there’s a pile of body parts right here.” Siolis deadpanned, though their tone softened ever so slightly.

Grim cleared his throat, suddenly more aware of the macabre contents surrounding them. “Right, uh… focus.” He tightened his grip on the letter. The implications were staggering—not only had the Adonis group staged this gruesome spectacle, but they had also dug deep into Siolis’s past, unearthing something buried long ago and wielding it as a weapon.

It wasn’t just an act of terror. It was personal. This was a threat, not only to the Queen but also to his youngest. It was a chilling display of how much these people knew—about Siolis, about things no one should know beyond their father.

And… that finger… is that Queen Nia’s favorite ring?

Grim’s sharp eyes honed in on the pale, severed digit, the gleaming emerald ring unmistakable. He didn’t flinch as he reached into the box, his gloved hand slipping deftly between a bloodied arm and a mangled foot. The cold, lifeless texture of the flesh didn’t faze him—he was far too desensitized from years of police work. But there was something else… something that sent an icy shiver creeping down his spine as his fingers brushed against it.

Carefully, Grim wiggled the dismembered finger free, holding it up to inspect the familiar piece of jewelry. Siolis, watching him intently, pushed off the wall and took a step closer, their brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Dad?” Siolis’s voice cut through the silence, a thread of curiosity weaving into their usually steady tone. “What did you find?”

Grim’s jaw tightened, and he carefully placed the finger aside before reaching back into the box. This time, his hand closed around something softer—a frayed piece of fabric. As he pulled it free, the blood-soaked cloth unfurled in his grip, revealing a hauntingly familiar sight.

“Siolis…” Grim’s voice was low, a rare hint of unease breaking through his usual composure. He turned the fabric toward them, his piercing gaze locking on theirs. “Isn’t this the ribbon from your sword?”

Siolis paused, their eyes narrowing as they stepped closer. The vibrant blue ribbon, now stained and sullied, hung limply in Grim’s grasp. There was no mistaking it. It was theirs.

“That’s impossible,” Siolis murmured the strange calmness in their voice was misplaced but thankfully Grim was too focused on the ribbon in his hand to realize how unaffected his youngest child was. “It’s supposed to be locked away with my sword. No one—no one—should have access to it. It’s supposed to be in between realms, dad…”

Grim’s gaze remained fixed on the ribbon, his mind racing. The Adonis group hadn’t just made a statement. They had infiltrated their lives, their spaces, and their secrets with terrifying precision. This wasn’t just a warning. It was a declaration of war.

Some time later…

“Did you really need to shove my ribbon in there? You know how dad is, he’s scared shitless over me now, my office is swarmed with officers now…”

“It adds a bit of suspense to the story! Come on kid, don’t get upset with me… He’s going to be overjoyed when he realizes what we are truly attempting to accomplish…”

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Working Lunch

Jim Hopper x AFAB! Reader

Plot? What Plot? It's straight up Hopper porn. It's not alluded to in this story but Reader is younger than Hopper like late 20's to his mid 40's as I'll probably string this, the Dirty Dancing story and others to come into a linked series of oneshots.

Warnings: Smut with a capital S, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), p in v sex, creampie, rough sex, rough Hopper, size kink - we live for Dad bod! Hopper, semi-public sex? Light choking? Do better warnings shithead.

It’s a slow day at the diner, mostly due to the beautiful day outside, sun blazing in through the windows, making the vinyl booths almost too hot to the touch. You let out a huff, it’s bad enough that you’re missing the sunshine, but you’re also missing Hopper. The two of you have been super busy with work, helping Jane study, trying to fix up the cabin, most evenings you’re both so tired you crawl into bed with only a small kiss or two before succumbing to exhaustion. You thrive on affection, something that Jim was usually only too eager to give, so you’re feeling significantly touch-starved and needy.

You wonder what Jim is doing right now, it’s almost lunchtime, you knew from Flo that’s he’s barely been stopping to eat and when he does it’s usually from the station’s giant tray of donuts. A devious little idea starts to form in your mind, you could take Jim some lunch and maybe, just maybe get some attention whilst you’re there.

“Hey Donna, would you be ok for half an hour if I take some lunch over for Hop?” You ask your colleague, who is currently overfilling the sugar dispensers in a daze.

“Oh, sure sweetie take the time you need, it’s not exactly Grand Central.” She smiles, gesturing to the empty tables as you quickly make up a BLT, shoving it into a paper bag.

“Call me at the station, if it picks up.” You say, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek.

The midday sun hits you in a stifling wave, heat gathering about your ankles from the burning sidewalk, you’re glad to be wearing your light pink work dress as you skip across the street towards the station.

It’s barely cooler in the building, despite the numerous fans humming and grating on every available surface, Flo has her nose pressed into a gossip magazine when you clear your throat.

“Hey there hunny, you here to see the Chief?” She smiles indulgently at you.

“Just thought I’d bring him some proper lunch for once.” You say shaking the bag.

“You’re too good to him, you know that?” Flo reminds you affectionately.

“I know.” You laugh, heading down the corridor, waving at Powell in greeting from where he’s stood by the xerox machine. 

  The door to Jim’s office is shut, no doubt to keep Callahan from bothering him incessantly, you knock smartly on the wood, buzzing with excitement to see the man on the other side.

“Yeah?” Jim grunts and you roll your eyes at his manners opening the door, he’s pouring over some paperwork, head in his hands not having bothered to look up, the air stale with cigarette smoke and coffee.

“Special delivery for Jim Hopper.” You chime, shutting the door with your butt.

His head shoots up straight away, the deep frown of concentration on his face morphing into a beaming grin that makes your heart swell and sputter. 

“Well this is a surprise.” Jim says happily, pushing his chair out, moving quickly around the desk. His large hands envelop your waist pulling you close, you wouldn’t be surprised if the heat from his palms burn a hole through your dress.

“It’s lunchtime, can’t have the big, strong, Chief of Police going hungry.” You smile, holding the paper bag aloft.

“You’re too good to me.” He murmurs, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“You know it’s funny, Flo said exactly the same thing.” You tease, chasing his lips for a kiss of your own.

“She did huh?” Jim asks, eyebrow cocked, hands drifting down past your waist to cup your ass. “Well I can’t have my best girl going around thinking she’s underappreciated can I?” He teases, bringing you flush to his body, kissing you hard.

Your head is spinning as his tongue licks into your mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, moaning softly as he manhandles you, lifting you to sit on the edge of this desk. Jim hitches your dress up, hands disappearing under the fabric to rub along your thighs, his lips quirk up in a cocky smile when he coaxes another soft moan from your throat.

“So eager baby girl.” He croons, sinking to his knees in front of you, finger hooking at the waistband of your panties dragging them down slowly revealing your wet core. “Jesus baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping for me.” Jim groans, placing heated kisses to your inner thighs, up and up, until his nose nudges at your sensitive clit, tongue swiping through your creamy slick before pushing in.

“Jim!” You gasp, head thrown back, fingers tugging at his short hair.

He growls against your cunt, hands grabbing at your ass, dragging you forward so his tongue fucks you deeper. You bite your lip to keep from crying out, aware that the majority of the Hawkins’ Police force is just on the other side of the door, but it’s hard to concentrate when Jim is lapping at your pussy in such a sinful way. Two thick fingers replace his tongue, stretching and scissoring, making you ready for his cock, the tip of his tongue now firmly focused on your sensitive clit, circling insistently.

Your body seizes, shivers wracking up through your spine as your orgasm pulses from your belly down to your curled toes and back again.

Jim is on his feet, frantically unbuckling his belt, unleashing his thick, girthy cock from the straining confines of his uniform, the tip ruddy and leaking heavily with pre-cum. You can only reach for him, with hooded eyes, head tucked into his neck as he leans over you.

“Fuck.” Jim grunts, lining himself up with your weeping slit, pussy stretching with a delicious burn as he works his way in. You already feel impossibly full, whimpering with each thrust, the edge of the desk digging into your back, your nails biting into Jim’s shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good baby.” He groans, hauling you up to his chest, capturing your lips in a messy kiss.

“Hop, fuck, want you to bend me over your desk.” You whine, licking the sweat from his exposed throat.

“Oh fuck, you’ll be the death of me.” He says in awed disbelief, pulling out, flipping you over and slamming back in, in one fluid motion, flicking your dress up over your ass so he can see his cock piston in and out. His large hand strikes the back of your thigh, leaving a welting red mark that makes you squeak, the sting only sending you closer and closer to your climax again. Papers, pens and clutter falling to the floor with the force of Hopper’s movements, fucking into you without hesitation, drunk on the tight, wet heat of your pulsing cunt.

“Jim, baby, I’m so close.” You whimper, tucking a hand between your legs to rub at your clit, feeling his heavy balls slap against you.

“Oh Jesus.” He huffs, his grip on your hips sure to leave bruises, there’s a knock at the door but Jim doesn’t stop if anything he drills into you harder than ever. “Go away - I’m busy!” He yells, breathing heavily.

“Yeah - Chief I have a question abou-”

“Callahan - if you don’t step away from my fucking door right now - I will fire your sorry ass!” Jim shouts and you have to stifle a giggle, which cuts off abruptly into a strangled moan as Jim presses against throat, hauling your back to his chest. “Something funny baby girl?” He growls in your ear, biting down on the sensitive lobe.

“Jim -” You whine brokenly, he bats your hand away from your clit, circling with his rough thick fingers.

“That’s it doll, come on my cock, lemme feel you squeeze me.” He encourages, voice rough and low.

The tight band in your stomach snaps, wave after wave of burning pleasure coursing through you, making your legs shake.

“God fucking dammit!” Hopper chokes, snapping his hips in staggered thrusts, his cum filling you to the very brim, leaning heavily against your back, trying to put his weight onto the desk, panting from exertion.

“Jim -?” You murmur weakly.

“Yeah baby?” He asks breathlessly, rubbing soothing circles over your back.

“We squished your sandwich.” 

[kimmie2me]

# 01. New Beginnings

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✰⋆⁺⋆˙⠀⠀⠀⠀taglist ... chapters ... masterlist

.....

The buzz of the precinct was a steady hum, a living organism that shifted and grew louder with each burst of activity. Officers hustled past in crisp uniforms, phones rang with persistent urgency, and the air was laced with the faint, acrid smell of burnt coffee that had been sitting in the pot for far too long. You stood in the middle of it all, a rigid statue amidst the chaos, feeling the weight of the day settle in your chest like a stone. The knot of tension between your shoulders tightened with every sideways glance from your colleagues, their whispered conversations just loud enough to remind you that today, you were the center of attention—for all the wrong reasons.

Not long ago, this place felt different. Just weeks ago, you were the fresh-faced rookie who bounced into the station with Officer Kaminari Denki at your side, your shared laughter echoing down the halls like a melody too carefree for the sterile walls of a police department. Kaminari had a way of making even the longest shifts bearable, with his jokes that teetered dangerously on the edge of bad taste and his habit of turning everything into a game. You’d spent countless hours patrolling the streets together, the two of you in sync as you navigated the tangled mess of Musutafu’s bustling districts. It wasn’t glamorous work—breaking up bar fights, issuing citations to street racers who sped down city blocks like they were in Fast & Furious—but it was yours, and you owned every second of it with the reckless energy only a rookie could have.

But things change. Oh, do they change. What started as a routine day had spiraled into the kind of catastrophe that earned headlines and made chiefs reach for antacids. You and Kaminari were on patrol near the West Quarter, an area known for its perpetual state of barely-contained chaos. It had been uneventful enough, the kind of shift that made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate would let you off easy for once. But then came the call: a potential lead on a wanted criminal, one whose record read like the script of an action-thriller film, all high-stakes heists and narrow escapes.

Kaminari’s eyes had gleamed with a spark of adventure, the look of someone who lived for the thrill. You matched it, your own pulse quickening with a mixture of nerves and excitement. This was it—a chance to prove you weren’t just the department’s newest pair of boots on the ground. But what you hadn’t counted on was how easily anticipation could slip into arrogance.

The details from that day were a patchwork quilt of half-formed memories, stitched together with regret. The flash of silver as the suspect’s car screeched around the corner burned bright in your mind, a ghostly echo of metal and adrenaline that haunted your thoughts. It had been a chase you thought you were prepared for—a chance to prove yourself in the field, to show everyone you weren’t just another rookie stumbling through the ranks. The road ahead blurred into a tapestry of city chaos: blaring horns, the red glare of brake lights, and the murmur of bystanders caught between rubbernecking and fleeing.

“L/N, we’re losing him!” Kaminari’s voice crackled through the radio, panic simmering beneath the urgency. His fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly you could see the strain in his knuckles, pale against the dark vinyl. He glanced at you, golden eyes wide with the kind of nervous energy you’d come to recognize as both infectious and reckless.

“I’ve got this,” you’d snapped, more to yourself than to him, your heart pounding a war drum rhythm in your chest. The street was tight with the mid-morning rush; cars inched along bumper to bumper, creating a narrow, suffocating maze. But your eyes locked on the gap forming between a lumbering delivery truck and a black SUV. It was risky, sure—your mind whispered don’t—but the scent of opportunity tasted too sweet to ignore.

Before Kaminari could protest, you jerked the wheel to the right, forcing your way into the lane. Tires screamed, rubber burned, and a wave of curses surged up from drivers as you narrowly dodged mirrors and hoods. You swore you could feel Kaminari’s gaze slicing through you, disbelief painted across his face as he yelled, “L/N, what the hell are you—”

The words died in the air as the chain reaction began. The delivery truck’s driver, caught off guard by your maneuver, slammed the brakes, the cab lurching forward and back like an angry beast. Behind him, the screech of brakes was a symphony of panic, a cacophony that would play in your mind on a loop for days. You saw it unfold in slow motion—the delivery truck veering left, clipping a sedan that skidded across two lanes before colliding headfirst into an oncoming car. The domino effect fanned out from there: one crash begetting another, the crunch of metal on metal, shouts turning to screams. The suspect’s car disappeared into the chaos, a silver blur swallowed by the pandemonium.

You froze. For a heartbeat, your entire world contracted into a pinpoint, a silence so complete that even Kaminari’s frantic voice sounded distant, as though you were underwater. The air was electric with the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline, the morning light turning the shattered glass into tiny prisms scattered across the asphalt. The initial shock dulled, replaced by a crushing wave of realization that gripped your lungs and refused to let go.

“L/N!” Kaminari’s voice shattered through the noise, dragging you back to the moment. He had abandoned the car, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame. You followed, your legs heavy as lead, your breath a stuttering mess. Around you, people shouted and ran, their faces blurring into one incomprehensible mass of fear and confusion.

“What were you thinking!?” Kaminari grabbed your arm, eyes wild with anger and fear that sent a bolt of guilt straight through your chest. He wasn’t Kaminari "your friend" now; he was Officer Kaminari, forced into damage control because you’d gone rogue. You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came. What could you say? The weight of your decision pressed down like an iron hand on your back, making you feel as though the ground itself might crack open and swallow you whole.

“I—I thought…” Your voice trailed off, lost in the din of sirens that were now piercing the air, flashing lights painting streaks of red and blue across the carnage. The scene you’d created was one out of a nightmare: cars tangled like twisted vines, smoke curling up from crumpled hoods, a woman leaning against her steering wheel, dazed and bleeding from her forehead. The suspect was long gone, his escape cemented by the very maneuver you’d convinced yourself would make you a hero.

Kaminari’s expression softened just enough to let exhaustion seep in. “You thought what, L/N?” he whispered, as if the fight had been drained out of him, replaced with the hollow ache of disappointment. “You thought this was worth it?”

Before you could respond, Chief Toshinori Yagi arrived, flanked by other officers. His face was a masterclass in controlled fury, a storm masked by stoic calm. He didn’t need to say anything—his eyes, lined with the weight of years spent leading rookies like you, spoke volumes. He took in the scene, the wreckage, and the panic, and when his gaze finally met yours, it was like staring into the eye of a hurricane.

“Get those people medical attention,” he ordered, voice steady but clipped, before turning to you and Kaminari. His brow furrowed, the hard line of his jaw tightening. “Inside. Now.”

The aftermath was a blur of reprimands and reports, a haze of sterile office lighting and your own shaking hands as you scrawled down every excruciating detail of your failure. Every line, every word was another twist of the knife, another reminder that this was all you. Your reckless choice. Your mistake.

....

And as you sat across from Chief Yagi, whose patience and grace seemed boundless even now, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. The lines on his face seemed deeper, the gray at his temples somehow more pronounced.

“You’re a good officer, L/N,” he said finally, the weight of disappointment turning his voice rough. “But being good isn’t enough when lives are at stake. Mistakes like this cost more than reputations—they cost trust. The question is, how do you plan to earn that back?”

There was no easy answer, no way to smooth over the raw edges of the guilt carving its way through you. You lifted your head, throat tight but voice steady. “I’ll prove it, sir.”

And in the silence that followed, the echo of your promise resonated with a determination tempered by regret. The kind that comes only when you know there’s no one to blame but yourself.

“You’re better than this,” he had said, voice low but unwavering. It was those four words, more than anything else, that threatened to undo you. Because deep down, you knew he was right. You’d spent the rest of that week in a haze of paperwork, back-to-back debriefings, and whispers that followed you like a shadow. Even Kaminari’s reassurances did little to break through the barrier of guilt that fenced you in.

“Officer L/N,” Yagi began, leaning forward with the practiced authority of someone who’d delivered both commendations and condemnations in equal measure. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, a slow, rhythmic beat that matched the thrumming of your pulse. “The events of last week were…” He paused, searching for the word. “Unfortunate. But I believe in second chances.”

You blinked, not quite trusting your ears. “Sir?”

He sighed, the weight of leadership momentarily softening the hard lines of his face. “I know the kind of officer you are. This job isn’t just a career to you—it’s a calling. That mistake, as costly as it was, doesn’t erase your potential.” He let the words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “But redemption isn’t handed out on a silver platter. It’s earned.”

A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, quickly tempered by the reality of what was coming next. The chief’s gaze sharpened, a glint of steely resolve slicing through the air.

“I’m reassigning you,” he continued, the finality in his voice sending a jolt of anticipation—and dread—down your spine. That sounded better than handing over your badge. “You’ll be working under Detective Bakugou.” ...Or not.

The room fell into an eerie silence, the kind that stretches on so long it makes you doubt you’ve heard correctly. Your brain scrambled to make sense of it, latching onto the name like it was a live wire. Detective Katsuki Bakugou. The most volatile, unyielding, and infamously difficult officer in the entire precinct. A man who’d sent even seasoned detectives into early retirement with nothing more than his sharp tongue and a glare that could strip paint from walls. This was who Yagi thought you should work with?

“Sir,” you started, carefully masking the quiver in your voice with a layer of forced composure. “I’m not sure that’s… necessary.” You glanced at the brass nameplate on the chief’s desk, as though it might offer some divine wisdom. “Perhaps Officer Kirishima or—”

“No.” Yagi’s tone cut through your protest like a blade. “This isn’t a punishment, Officer L/N. It’s a proving ground. If you want to keep your badge, you’ll show me—and yourself—that you can handle this.” His expression softened, but the resolve remained. “Detective Bakugou is demanding, yes. But he’s one of our best. If you can hold your own with him, then you’ll prove that you deserve to wear that uniform.”

Your mouth opened, words failing as the full weight of what he was asking settled over you like a heavy cloak. The silence that followed was answer enough. Chief Yagi’s eyes met yours, the smallest hint of encouragement in their depths. It was that unspoken trust that twisted in your chest, somewhere between hope and resignation.

“Understood, Chief,” you said finally, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. The choice was clear, even if it wasn’t easy: face Bakugou Katsuki and whatever trials came with him, or hand in your badge and let the dream you’d clung to slip through your fingers.

The corners of Yagi’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close enough to suggest approval. “Good,” he said. “Report to him at 0900 tomorrow." You nod and get And, Officer?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t let him scare you off. Show him what you’re made of.”

Oh. If only it was that easy..

As you left the office, the noise of the precinct crashed over you, louder and more chaotic than before. And somewhere in the back of your mind, beneath the nerves and uncertainty, a spark of determination lit up, defiant and unyielding.

....

The next morning, you pushed open the station doors, the familiar jingle of the bell above ringing out like the start of a death march. The precinct was as loud and bustling as ever, but today, the noise had an edge to it—a buzz of anticipation and gossip that seemed to latch onto you the second you stepped inside. A few officers glanced up from their desks, whispers trailing behind you like cigarette smoke, seeping into your ears despite your attempts to ignore them. You clenched your jaw, shoulders squaring with a false bravado that you didn’t quite feel. The corridor stretched ahead, a gauntlet to run before facing whatever fate awaited you.

As you approached, you heard raised voices filtering through the office door—Chief Yagi’s calm tone clashing with Bakugou’s explosive indignation.

“Y’can’t be serious, Yagi! I’m not babysittin’ some rookie!” Bakugou’s frustration echoed, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter of the precinct. "Especially not one who’s a fuckin’ hazard!”

“Bakugou, you need a partner,” Yagi replied, his authority clear. “You’ve had too many clashes with your past partners, and I think she’d be perfect for you. She’s got potential and could learn from the best. It’s a win-win!”

“Yeah, right! A win for who? Not me! I don’t need some extra newbie screwing things up for me!” Bakugou spat, clearly unimpressed.

“Trust me on this,” Yagi insisted. “You’re going to be a great team. Just give it a chance.”

The door swung open as you stepped into the scene, and you saw them: Chief Yagi stood with arms crossed, his sharp gaze meeting yours with a nod of acknowledgment. Beside him, Bakugou looked like a live grenade with the pin half-pulled. He stood with his weight on one leg, tapping a foot so aggressively you were surprised the floor hadn’t cracked. His eyes blazed with an intensity that could sear skin, and the muscles in his jaw clenched hard enough to splinter bone.

Great. Just great.

The second Bakugou’s crimson glare zeroed in on you, it felt like the world narrowed to that singular look, full of disdain and barely leashed rage. If a stare could detonate, you’d be nothing but cinders.

“Y’late, newbie,” Bakugou snarled, venom dripping from his words.

You raise an eyebrow as you check your watch, frowning. “What? But... it’s 8:58—”

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Bakugou cut in, stepping forward with an intensity that made even seasoned officers flinch. “Two minutes might as well be ten in my book. Y’think suspects wait ’round for ya t’ decide you’re ready t’ do your damn job?”

“Detective,” Yagi warned, his voice smooth but firm, wrapping authority around Bakugou’s outburst. It was enough to make the blond pause, if only for a breath, before he rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Whatever,” Bakugou spat, the word like a hot brand. He turned back to you, eyes narrowing to slits. “Listen up, rookie. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re the Chief’s charity case or if he thinks you’ve got potential. You screw up on my watch, and I’ll make sure ya wish you’d handed in your badge yesterday.”

The threat hung in the air like gunpowder. You swallowed hard, keeping your chin up even as the knot of anxiety in your gut twisted tighter. “Understood, Detective.” Your tone was forced, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Good,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “Now move your ass. We’re already behind schedule thanks t’ you.”

With a nod from Chief Yagi that could almost pass as sympathy, you fell into step behind Bakugou, your heart a thrum of nerves and defiance. The day hadn’t even started, and already, you knew that facing Bakugou was going to be the kind of trial that either made or broke you.

But if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you didn’t come this far to break. Not now, and definitely not because of some bomb-tempered detective who thought he could scare you into quitting.

Bakugou didn’t glance back as he stalked toward the exit, barking over his shoulder, “Keep up, rookie, or I’ll drag your sorry ass out there myself.”

Yeah, this was going to be hell.

[youmakethelight]

Melissa McBride and Angela Kang are both women in an industry and genre dominated by white men. We don't know them personally, but we know that much.

What surprises me about the current discourse surrounding the spin-off is that for many, it seems as though, as long as Daryl and Carol have a potentially romantic canon future ahead of them, everything is forgiveable.

Many are putting a *huge* amount of faith and trust in Melissa that this will be delivered in a way that feels authentic to the original story. For me, this is actually unfair pressure on Melissa, but it also feels like ignoring crucial evidence. First, Melissa has told us twice that she's laying low on her EP role, and this concerns both seasons 2 and 3.

Second, we have seen season 2, and as far as I can tell, her major inputs were her core ideas for Carol and her acting (both fantastic). To me, the showrunner heard this and gave a script that delivered gimmicks (e.g. gas hallucination) and lacked emotional depth. No time or attention were spent on getting the viewer to understand why Carol is thinking about Sophia now, Daryl's connection to the trauma is completely absent, and we learn almost nothing new about Carol's memories or feelings about Sophia or what she's been going through these last 12 years.

We had more in the flagship - when she said that the "thing" that came out of the barn wasn't her little girl, when she told Lizzie that she thinks about Sophia every day, that she didn't survive because she didn't have a mean bone in her body. Those pieces of dialogue were crumbs in the flagship, but when we have the opportunity to fully delve into it in her spin-off, we learnt that she can't remember Sophia's face anymore and that time took away the Sophia she remembers before the barn. Those lines are both good, but they aren't enough, and they were gone in a flash. A compelling narrative delivery of Carol seeming to "process" the grief is also not given. She gets a hug from Didi, a hug from Daryl, and a hallucination holding her hand and walking away from her. None of those are bad things, but they aren't enough. Melissa acted her heart out, and I ate it up, but the script let her, and Carol, down.

Melissa isn't a writer. The skills she's paid for are acting and executive producing. She can't and shouldn't be expected to make up for David Zabel's shortcomings. There are a number of things Zabel could have done differently, like hiring an expert on trauma and grief (maybe he did, but he doesn't seem to have listened to them, if so). The lines he gives are incredibly shallow. It isn't Melissa's job - and she may not feel it's her place - to make those sorts of suggestions. And regardless, he doesn't have to listen. And he can edit out whatever he likes in post-production, as he did in season 2.

Melissa talked a lot about how much it means to her for Carol to be able to explore her survivor's guilt. And Zabel gave her and Daryl about 3 lines where they talked about "why them" and luck vs bad luck. To me, it feels like lip service to Melissa's ideas. Zabel clearly lacks the knowledge of the source material or the care and attention-to-detail that are needed. Melissa can't fix that, but so many fans are willing to put faith in this showrunner because they somehow think that Melissa can fix him...

Meanwhile, Angela Kang is given no grace. I'm seeing assumptions about her and her work. There is so much we don't know about the behind-the-scenes, who is responsible for what, and what she internally thought and wanted. And yet, there's enough evidence to assume the worst of her? She might have been the showrunner, but she's still answerable to a studio and a chief content officer, and she's still a part of a team whose ideas she's responsible for respecting if she wants her team to respect her. And all this while she's a WOC in a white male dominated space. She simply does not have the same privileges as a white male showrunner. She just doesn't. She at least deserves some grace and not to be assumed the worst of.

I'm not going to dissect this further right now. I'm just going to leave it here. It seems, to me, like it's become normal and acceptable to assume the worst of Angela Kang, despite the fact that she was a WOC showrunner surrounded by powerful white men. And now, it has become normal and acceptable to assume that Melissa McBride, having been given only a fraction of power, is capable of fixing the shortcomings of her white male showrunner.

Both women deserve grace and better allies in their workplace.

"Being an ally to someone is unconditional. It's speaking up when it's easier to stay silent, standing up for someone when you don't have company, and continuing to show up and use your voice even when you're told, "you're causing trouble." But that is how things change. Because if we won't speak up, who will?" - @indigoraysoflight

[mariacallous]

Shortly following reports of an apparent second assassination attempt against former US president and 2024 Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump, Elon Musk decided to speak up.

“And no one is even trying to assassinate Biden/Kamala 🤔,” Musk, X’s owner, wrote in a now deleted post, in response to another person asking, “Why they want to kill Donald Trump?”

After deleting the post—which could be interpreted as a call to murder President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris, Trump’s Democratic opponent in the US presidential election—Musk indicated that it was merely a joke that fell flat given the context. “Well, one lesson I’ve learned is that just because I say something to a group and they laugh doesn’t mean it’s going to be all that hilarious as a post on 𝕏,” he wrote, adding, “Turns out that jokes are WAY less funny if people don’t know the context and the delivery is plain text.”

The incident was the latest in a long line of increasingly incendiary political posts from Musk, whose substantial defense contracts with the US government may give him access to highly sensitive information even while he makes potential threats against the sitting commander in chief. And they point to the more pressing risk that Musk’s recent rhetoric has posed: the potential to inspire further political violence.

While Sunday night’s post is gone, it appears likely that Musk could receive some attention from federal law enforcement, if he hasn’t already.

The United States Secret Service declined WIRED’s request to comment on Musk’s post. “We can say, however, that the Secret Service investigates all threats related to our protectees,” USSS spokesperson Nate Herring tells WIRED.

“In my experience, the Secret Service would take such a comment very seriously,” says Michael German, a former FBI special agent and a liberty and national security fellow at NYU School of Law’s Brennan Center for Justice. “Typically, agents would go out and interview the subject to ensure that there wasn't an existing threat, and to make the subject aware that the agency takes such statements seriously.”

German notes that it’s possible the FBI could also launch an investigation. However, it’s unlikely that Musk would face any charges for his post. “On its face, the tweet would not meet the ‘true threat’ test, in that it wasn't a direct threat to do harm to the vice president, so it wouldn't likely proceed to prosecution,” German says. Still, “it would create a record of the investigations.”

The FBI declined WIRED’s request to comment on Musk’s post. X did not immediately respond to WIRED’s request for comment.

Both Biden and Harris have released statements condemning the apparent attempt on Trump’s life and political violence more broadly. In a statement to ABC News, the White House condemned Musk’s post. "Violence should only be condemned, never encouraged or joked about,” the statement says. “This rhetoric is irresponsible."

Where things get dicier for Musk is his role as a major contractor for the US Department of Defense and NASA. According to Reuters, SpaceX signed a $1.8 billion contract in 2021 with the National Reconnaissance Office, which oversees US spy satellites. The US Space Force also signed a $70 million contract late last year with SpaceX to build out military-grade low-earth-orbit satellite capabilities. Starlink, SpaceX’s commercial satellite internet wing, is providing connectivity to the US Navy.

NASA, meanwhile, has increasingly outsourced its spaceflight projects to SpaceX, including billions of dollars in contracts for multiple trips to the moon and an $843 million contract to build the vehicle that will take the International Space Station out of commission.

The US government’s heavy reliance on companies controlled by Musk has repeatedly raised the hackles of national security experts. Concerns at the Pentagon came into stark relief last September after Musk denied Ukraine’s request to enable Starlink in Crimea, a disputed territory bordering Russia, so it could launch an attack on Russian troops. (Starlink was not under a military contract when he denied the request.) In response to previous WIRED reporting, Musk asserted that “Starlink was barred from turning on satellite beams in Crimea at the time, because doing so would violate US sanctions against Russia!”

Neither the Defense Department nor NASA have responded to WIRED’s request for comment.

Even Musk’s October 2022 acquisition of Twitter (now X) had some experts worried about the national security risks it could pose to the US, given his business relationship and communications with the Chinese government, his alleged outreach to Russian president Vladimir Putin (which Musk has denied), and Saudi Arabia’s continued investment in Twitter following Musk’s buyout. Others raised concerns that China may have leverage over Musk, due to his relationships with Beijing related to Tesla, his electric car company that has a factory in Shanghai. And all that was before Musk—a citizen of South Africa, Canada, and the US—reactivated the accounts of conspiracy theorists and white nationalists, and began heavily pushing his own right-wing political narrative. Immediately following the first attempted assassination of Trump in mid-July, Musk endorsed Trump and reportedly pledged $45 million per month to support a pro-Trump PAC, a funding vow he said he did not make.

Musk’s deleted Sunday night post further complicates matters. The CEO reportedly has security clearance given his companies’ work on classified US government projects. While there are many rules around who gets security clearance, such as abstaining from cannabis use, the designation is awarded and maintained on a risk-vs-reward basis for the US government. Given that Musk is perhaps the world’s richest man and most famous chief executive, it may be tricky to pull his security clearance regardless of his flippant discussions of political assassinations.

“This is where Musk's status might have a greater effect,” says the Brennan Center’s German. “It would be hard for managers to revoke the security clearance of someone in a position of power, whereas they could be expected to take quick action against a regular employee who engaged in similar conduct.”

The most concerning aspect of Musk’s post is its potential to further inflame extremist threats in the US, says Jon Lewis, a research fellow at George Washington University’s Program on Extremism, who calls the post “merely the latest example of right-wing incitement that has become concerningly mainstream in recent years.”

“That the owner of a major social media platform—and US government contractor—is opining on the assassination of political opponents should be alarming for Americans across the political spectrum,” Lewis says. He warns that “culture war narratives and thinly veiled racism” have already had effects on the real world, which could be exacerbated by the far-right’s willingness to answer calls to arms.

“These extremists are waiting for the justification to engage in violence,” he says, “and rhetoric like this provides the perfect excuse.”

[aimeedaisies]

Court Circular | 3rd December 2024

Buckingham Palace

The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani today commenced a State Visit to The King and Queen.

The Prince and Princess of Wales welcomed Their Highnesses at their residence in London W1, on behalf of The King.

The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani, accompanied by Their Royal Highnesses, drove to Horse Guards and were met by The King.

The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani, accompanied by The King, with The Prince and Princess of Wales, drove in a Carriage Procession to Buckingham Palace with a Sovereign’s Escort of the Household Cavalry, and were greeted by The Queen.

Gun Salutes were fired in Green Park by The King’s Troop, Royal Horse Artillery, and at the Tower of London by the Honourable Artillery Company.

Guards of Honour were provided at Horse Guards by 1st Battalion Welsh Guards and at Buckingham Palace by 1st Battalion Welsh Guards.

His Majesty’s Body Guard of the Honourable Corps of Gentlemen at Arms, The King’s Body Guard of the Yeomen of the Guard and a Detachment of Household Cavalry were on duty.

The King presented The Emir with the Insignia of an Honorary Knight Grand Cross of the Civil Division of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath.

The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani this afternoon visited Westminster Abbey.

The Emir afterwards drove to the Palace of Westminster and was received by the Lord Speaker (the Lord McFall of Alcluith) and the Speaker of the House of Commons (the Rt Hon Sir Lindsay Hoyle MP).

The Speaker welcomed The Emir of the State of Qatar and His Highness delivered an Address.

The Emir subsequently attended a Reception with Peers, Members of Parliament and other guests.

The Emir of the State of Qatar afterwards called upon The Prince of Wales at Kensington Palace.

The King and Queen gave a State Banquet this evening in honour of The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani at which The Prince of Wales, The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh, The Princess Royal and Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, and The Duke and Duchess of Gloucester were present.

The following had the honour of being invited:

Suite of The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani: His Excellency Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdulrahman bin Jassim Al Thani (Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs), His Excellency Mr Abdullah bin Mohammed al-Khulaifi (Chief of the Amiri Diwan), His Excellency Mr Ali bin Ahmed Al Kuwari (Minister of Finance), His Excellency Mr Saad bin Sherida Al Kaabi (Minister of State for Energy Affairs), Her Excellency Ms Lolwah bint Rashid Al-Khater (Minister of Education and Higher Education), His Excellency Sheikh Faisal bin Thani Al Thani (Minister of Commerce and Industry), Her Excellency Ms Maryam bint Ali Al Misnad (Minister of State for International Co-operation at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), His Excellency Sheikh Abdulla bin Mohammed bin Saud Al Thani (Ambassador of the State of Qatar to the United Kingdom), His Excellency Lieutenant General (Pilot) Jassim bin Mohammed Al Mannai (Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces) and His Excellency Mr Saad bin Nasser Al Kaabi (Director of the Department of Studies and Research at the Amiri Diwan).

Members of the Qatari Delegation and Guests: His Excellency Badr Mohammed Al Meer (Chief Executive Officer, Qatar Airways), Mr Mohammed Saif Al-Sowaidi (Chief Executive Officer, Qatar Investment Authority), His Excellency Sheikh Abdulrahman Khalid HA Al-Thani (Assistant Director of European Affairs Department at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), the Lord Levy (Member of the House of Lords), His Excellency Hassan Al Thawadi (Supreme Committee for Delivery and Legacy), His Excellency Fahad Mohammed Al-Attiyah (former Qatari Ambassador to the United Kingdom), Mr Nasser Al-Khelaifi (Chairman, beIN Sports), Mr Ali Abdulla Al-Thawadi (Director, ARQ Advisors Limited), Mr Abdulhadi Mana Al-Hajri (Owner, the Ritz Hotel), Sir John Sawers (former Chief of the Secret Service), the Viscount Rothermere (Chairman, Daily Mail and General Trust plc), Sir Ronald Cohen (Businessman and Philanthropist), the Lord Leigh of Hurley (Co-Founder and Senior Partner, Cavendish Corporate Finance), Mr Patrick Thomson (Chief Executive Officer, JP Morgan, Europe, Middle East and Africa), Mr Robert Thomson (Chief Executive Officer, News Corporation), Mr Amit Bhatia (Chairman, Queen’s Park Rangers Football Club), Mr Manoj Badale (Co-Founder, Blenheim Chalcot) and His Excellency Sheikh Sultan bin Jassim bin Mohammed Al-Thani (Founder, Heritage Advisors Limited).

Specially attached to The Emir of the State of Qatar and Sheikha Jawaher Bint Hamad Bin Suhaim Al-Thani: The Viscount Hood (Lord in Waiting) and the Viscountess Hood, and Mr Neerav Patel (His Majesty’s Ambassador to the State of Qatar) and Mrs Patel.

Diplomatic Corps: His Excellency the Ambassador of the Republic of Honduras and Mrs de Romero.

The Cabinet and Government: The Prime Minister and Lady Starmer, the Secretary of State for Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Affairs and Ms Nicola Green, the Leader of the House of Lords, the Rt Hon Edward Miliband MP (Secretary of State for Energy Security and Net Zero) and the Hon Mrs Justice Thornton, the Secretary of State for Business and Trade and President of the Board of Trade and Mrs Reynolds, the Rt Hon John Healey MP (Secretary of State for Defence), and Mr Hamish Falconer MP (Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State, Middle East, North Africa, Afghanistan and Pakistan) and Dr Elizabeth Nally.

Special Invitations: Her Excellency Sheikha Asma Al Thani, His Excellency Sheikh Hamad bin Abdullah Al-Thani, Mr and Mrs Dominic Armstrong, Mrs Felicity Aston and Mr Gísli Jónsson, the Leader of the Opposition and Mr Hamish Badenoch, Mr Andrew Bailey and Professor Cheryl Schonhardt-Bailey, Sir Philip and Lady Barton, Mr and Mrs David Beckham, Professor Dame Carol Black and Dr Christopher Morley, Sir Francis Brooke, Bt and the Hon Lady Brooke, the Lord Great Chamberlain and the Lady Carrington, Professor Sir Mark and Lady Caulfield, Mr Matthew and Dr Emily Clifford, the Lord and Lady Darzi of Denham, the Leader of the Liberal Democrats and Lady Davey, Major General and Mrs Arthur Denaro, Mr and Mrs Sean Doyle, Dame Amelia Fawcett, Dame Anita Frew and Mr Michael van Hemert, Dr Siân and Major Nicholas George, Ms Cressida Hogg and Mr Henry Legge, the Speaker of the House of Commons and Lady Hoyle, Professor Raihan Ismail and Mr Andrew Chapman, Surgeon Rear Admiral Lionel Jarvis and Dr Penelope Gordon, Ms Jennifer Jordan-Saifi, Dame Ann Limb and Mr Michael Jary, the Rt Hon the Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress, Professor and Mrs Geoffrey Maitland, the Lord Speaker (the Lord McFall of Alcluith), Sir Richard and Lady Moore, Dr and Mrs Farhan Nizami, His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London and Lady Olisa, the Chief of the Defence Staff and Lady Radakin, Mr Shabir Randeree, the Lord and Lady Reed of Allermuir, the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, Lennox and Gordon, Sir Mark and Lady Rowley, the Baroness Shackleton of Belgravia and Mr Ian Shackleton, Professor Sir Steven and Lady Smith, Ms Shoshana Stewart and Mr Rory Stewart, the Lord and Lady Thomas of Cwmgiedd, the Leader of the Opposition in the House of Lords and the Lady True, and Sir Nigel Wilson and Ms Katherine Liddell.

[ukrfeminism]

More than a third of all British women who travel by railway are likely to be assaulted during their commute, new data commissioned by the British Transport Police (BTP) has revealed.

BTP data also indicates that most assaults occur during the evening rush hour when trains are packed and busy.

Unacceptable behaviour such as leering, catcalling, touching, pressing, upskirting or indecent exposure is being experienced by women more than ever, with 51% of female victims stating that other rail passengers intervened to try to help.

However, only one in five people who have witnessed incidents of sexual harassment reported it to police.

BTP Detective Chief Superintendent Paul Furnell called on the community to watch out and stand up for each other while catching the train or tube.

“I’ll guarantee that most of us have told our daughters, mums, or friends to be careful on their way home when they’re travelling alone late at night – perhaps to share their journeys and stick to well-lit areas,” he said.

“But we know that sexual harassment and offending can take place at any hour of the day, and our figures show that it’s most likely to happen at the busiest hours when carriages are most full.

“This means we all have a part to play in taking our heads out of our phones or newspapers and being aware of what’s going on around us – and if we see something that isn’t right, doing something about it, whether that’s intervening, if you feel safe to do so or reporting it to police.”

Mr Furnell urged members of the public to report incidents of sexual harassment, whether experienced or witnessed, to the police.

“Driving out this unacceptable behaviour is our number one priority at British Transport Police,” he said, adding: “We will always believe you and take you seriously.”

The BTP survey does indicate that rail passengers are looking out for each other. However, officials are urging the public to report sexual harassment incidents to police so offenders can be held to account.

Chief executive of the Rail Delivery Group Jacqueline Starr revealed that the industry is working hand in hand with BTP to stamp out sexual harassment on trains.

“The latest data shows that harassment doesn’t just happen out of sight,” Ms Starr said.

“Experiences of sexual harassment are sadly a reality for many women, but as an industry, our message is clear: any form of sexual harassment on the rail network is completely unacceptable, and we are working with the British Transport Police to confront this problem.”

Specialist teams of plain-clothed British Transport officers use data provided by the public to target patrols and identify offenders.

On trains, the rail industry and BTP are rolling out a new, ongoing anti-sexual harassment campaign to educate passengers on how to recognise situations of sexual harassment, how to intervene safely, and how to report perpetrators to keep all passengers safe from harassment while commuting to work, home, or wherever their destination may be.

[thebookreader12345]

Newborn

Pairing: Evan Hawkins x reader

Summary: Evan didn't think he could be any happier, but that all changes when he gets to hold his newborn son in his arms

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: mentions of c-sections/surgery

Word Count: 1,165

"Hey beautiful," Evan greeted and peaked him head into our bedroom. "You up yet?"

"No," I grumble sleepily from where I was snuggled up in blankets. "I don't want to get up."

"But you have to get up," Evan retorted and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Today's the day! We're finally gonna get to meet our little munchkin!"

"Please stop calling the baby that," I beg. "I'm only excited for today because we'll finally give the baby a name, and then you don't have to use that ridiculous nickname."

"You secretly love it," Evan teased and leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. "Now come on and get up. We've gotta be at the hospital in like an hour."

"Ugh," I groan and sit up. "All right. I'll get ready then."

"How are you not as excited as me right now?" Evan asked. "I'm freaking out!"

"I am excited, honey. Seriously," I assure him and send a small smile his way. "I'm just not excited for this surgery."

"I get that," Evan confessed and put his face down by my swollen stomach. "You just had to make things difficult, didn't you?"

"Babies are breech all the time, Ev," I notify him. "It's actually pretty common. But I'm glad the date is finally here because in a few months I can get back to work!"

Evan laughed. "You and your work, Y/n. You're a workaholic!"

"I'm not a workaholic. I just love my job!" I defend.

I was working as a firefighter at Firehouse 51 on Squad 3 when Evan and I had met. He had worked with Violet on Ambulance 61 for a few shifts while Sylvie was off in Oregon visiting Matt. We hit things off right away, and the rest was history. I hadn't been able to work on Squad 3 since I found out I was pregnant, so it's been about 9 months. Luckily, Chief Boden let me work in the office with Kylie so that I could still be around everyone.

"I know you do, Y/n," Evan confirmed and hopped off the bed. "I've got all of the hospital bags downstairs by the door, so as soon as you're ready, we can head to the hospital."

In no time, I was all dressed and got myself situated in the passenger seat of the car. Evan loaded the rest of our things into the backseat, and within half an hour, I was set up in my hospital room in the labor and delivery wing of Chicago Med. I was on my phone when Evan walked in with the ice chips I had asked for, and he set them down on the tray next to my bed.

"Thanks," I murmur and continuing typing away at the keypad on my phone.

"Who are you texting?" Evan inquired.

"I was texting my mother that we got to the hospital. But then Stella texted the group chat with me, Sylvie, and Vi, and now they're blowing it up with messages on how excited they are to meet the baby. The amount of emojis being used right now...." I trailed off and placed my phone on the table next to me. "I need a break."

"I think I can provide a distraction from that. Since the moment's finally here, what do you think? Boy or girl?" Evan posed.

"I know that you and all of the guys at 51 want it to be a boy," I bring up. "And the fact that your side of the family is mostly guys only helps with that."

"But?" Evan prompted.

"But nothing. I'd be happy with either," I admit. "I think a girl would be easier, especially if I'm gonna be doing this whole parenting by myself for the first few months."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Evan interrupted. "What gave you the idea that you'd be doing this all alone?"

"Well I just figured that it'd be hard for you to take all that time off," I reason.

"Y/n, you and I are in this together. I already put in time off for the first week after the baby is born, and after that I'll only be going in 3 days a week instead of 5 with shortened hours," Evan informed me.

"You're the best, Ev. I love you," I say and lean over to peck his lips.

"I love you too," Evan returned. "Not get some rest. You're gonna need it. That means you too, munchkin."

A Few Hours Later........

"You doing okay?" Evan asked from where he was seated next to my head in the operating room.

"Yeah," I reply. "I'm good. Are you okay? You look like you're about to start bouncing off the walls."

"I might just do that," Evan revealed jokingly as his foot tapped anxiously against the floor. Suddenly, it felt like a huge pressure was lifted off of me, and then crying pierced the air.

"Congratulations you guys. You're now the parents of a healthy baby boy," the doctor announced.

"Did you hear that, Y/n? We have a son," Evan gushed.

"You do. And he's beautiful," the nurse told us and placed the baby on my chest.

"He's got your nose, Ev," I note as I held the baby against me.

"That he does," Evan agreed and pressed a kiss to my head.

The next hour or so was a blur. The rest of the surgery went by pretty quickly, and before I knew it, we were back in the recovery room excited to spend time with our newborn. The nurse wheeled our son into the room and placed him into my arms, and the baby cooed softly.

"You guys have a beautiful son," the nurse asserted.

"Thank you. Um, our co-workers and family are waiting for a name and a picture," Evan claimed and held up my phone. "They can't come in until after work. Would you mind taking a picture for us?"

"I would love to," the nurse responded and took my phone. As soon as she took the picture, the nurse handed the phone back to Evan and excused herself from the room.

"All right dad. Here you go," I offer and pass him our baby in exchange for my phone. "I know you've been dying to hold him."

"Hey munchkin," Evan greeted softly and rocked the baby back and for.

"Evan, we agreed that once the baby was born you wouldn't call him that," I lecture.

"Sorry," Evan apologized and stared down at the baby lovingly. "Hey, James. Welcome to the world buddy."

As Evan was busy gushing over the baby, I was typing out a text message to all of Firehouse 51. They were very impatient, so I figured I should do this now rather than later. I sent the picture that the nurse had just taken, and below it I typed out a text before hitting send.

"Welcome the newest addition to the Firehouse 51 family, James Christopher Hawkins."

_________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @ncostin2001 @evangeline91 @just-arather-veryconfused-being @generalfarmmuffinagle @kaitlyn-marie-a @shywritermoon @jbbarnes212 @multifandom-loser @wanniiieeee @sesamepancakes @halstead-severide-fan @livinthevidaloca-ish @callmemana