#and ros heard 'more micro expressions ros!'

[capricornlevi]

SHAWTY I HEARD AKI HAYAKAWA AND CAME RUNNING-...Aki as a dad mayhaps? tysm!

aki as a dad!!!!!!!!! yes!!!!!!!!! (wc ~1.5k)

Aki has always been the responsible one. 

Ever since he joined the Public Safety Division - even before then, truth be told, since he’s always had an air of seriousness about him, even as a child - he’s been deemed reliable by everyone he encounters. 

Trustworthy. The backbone of the force, someone you can depend on. He’s prepared for almost every eventuality, and carries out his work with diligence and stoic dignity. 

It’s a point of pride for him. He gets attached too easily, he’s well aware of that, but the fact that other people consider him to be responsible … gives him some small amount of reassurance. Almost as if he’s exuding a little bit of comfort just by being around. It feels nice.

But now, for the first time in his twenty-something years, he feels completely and utterly irresponsible. 

Clueless, some could say. 

Panicked, too. 

Out of his depth. 

As he stares down into the bassinet, gazing helplessly at the tiny baby who’s been wailing non-stop for fifteen minutes now, he feels lost. 

How can someone so tiny cry for such a long time? 

He knew babies were loud in spite of their size - he learned as much from the many parenting books that he read during your pregnancy - but he hadn’t prepared for just how much stamina they have when it comes to screaming. This kid will just not let up. How strong are his lungs?

Aki has tried every trick in the book to get your son to stop crying. The baby has been fed, changed, burped, rocked gently back and forth in the bassinet, has had his temperature checked for a fever at least three times …

Nothing has worked. Not even for a moment. The longest pause was about five seconds long, and it was just so he could catch his breath. The crying resumed immediately afterwards.

Taking a step back to reassess the situation, fixing his posture and rolling his shoulder to try and ease the stress-induced ache, Aki can’t help but notice that he feels a peculiar mix of distress, panic, and shame. 

Distress, because the sound of his son crying upsets him greatly. He doesn’t like to think of his baby in a state of discomfort, even though the cause is still completely unknown to him. 

Panic, because the cries are only getting louder, and he’s scared that his efforts are only making things worse. 

And shame, because he had assured you that he could absolutely handle this by himself.

You had only needed to step outside for an hour or so to go to a dentist appointment, but still tried to bring the baby with you - you spent most of the morning trying to gather your son’s things in preparation for the trip. Outings with a six-week-old are more exhausting than either of you had anticipated, and sometimes you feel as though you should bring suitcases with you, not just a pram. 

“No need to go to all the trouble of packing his stuff,” Aki had pointed out, watching you scramble around the apartment to find a clean pair of mittens. As always, his voice was calm and confident. “Since it’s just for an hour - it’s too much effort. I’ll stay here and watch him.”

You paused, a single mitten in one hand and an empty baby bottle in the other. 

“You sure?” 

“Absolutely. It’ll save you the trouble, plus it’s freezing outside.” 

“Certain?” you ask again, trying to keep any concern from leaching into your voice. “Because it’s not that I don’t think you can handle him solo … it’s just neither of us have had to watch him alone before. I haven’t had to do it either, since you’ve always been there to help.”

Aki nods. He’s responsible - he has read all the books, and at this point, he’s spent weeks with his son, learning all about his behaviour and micro-expressions and what babies need to feel safe and comforted. Aki’s as prepared for this task as he is for any other. He’s responsible. 

“How different can it be?”

As it turns out, very. 

Now, Aki reaches a hand out to give the bassinet another gentle rock - futile, since the last five attempts hadn’t worked, but he tries anyway. 

His brows pull together, concern weighing heavily on him. He hasn’t admitted this to anyone - least of all to himself - but deep down, this was always a worry of his. 

Because he knows that on some level, the reason why he always acts as the responsible one is that he has to be in order to keep going. He’s spent most of his life feeling the crushing survivor’s guilt from losing his family. That feeling has informed every decision, every choice he’s made in the field, even the way he interacts with the people in his life. 

Aki is responsible because he needs to protect. He knows he cannot shoulder the burden of losing another person close to him. He can’t afford to be any less than perfect.

When you first told him that you were pregnant, he had felt surprised, happy, hopeful - the pregnancy wasn’t planned, but his heart still warmed when he saw the barely-contained delight written all over your face. 

However, he couldn’t ignore the spark of deep and profound insecurity that ignited in his chest. As the months passed and your due date grew closer, the thoughts started to nag at him. 

You’re gonna fuck this up, Aki. 

You can’t be a father. You can barely take care of yourself. 

How are you ever going to keep this child safe? 

He worked for months to overcome those feelings; for all of your sake, not just his own. For the most part, it worked - the first few weeks of your son’s life had been exhausting but rewarding, filled with moments of happiness that helped drown out his worried thoughts.  

And recently, Aki had started to think that, yeah, maybe he could do this, maybe you could both do this together, since you make such a good team …

But that confidence seems to evaporate now that he’s by himself. 

When he hears the front door push open a few minutes later, Aki’s heart sinks. You’re back home early and you’re about to see his utter failure. 

He couldn’t even look after the kid for an hour … how is he going to handle the rest of his life?

“Everything okay?” you ask softly, approaching the two of them once you’ve set your bag and keys down on the counter. You could hear the sounds of crying from down the hall; the sound is never easy to hear, but it’s made all the more difficult when you see the expression on Aki’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“He won’t stop crying,” Aki admits, each syllable laced with shame. “The whole time you were gone. I don’t have a clue what to do, I tried everything.”

“It’s probably nothing,” you answer, and you mean it, too. You’re protective, of course, but you approach these situations a bit more practically than Aki does - as long as the baby is safe, fed, and taken care of, then it’s probably nothing to worry about. “Have you tried talking to him?”

He looks up at you, baffled.

“I - talking?”

You smile, warm as you can. “Talking. Letting him hear your voice, you know? Obviously he won’t know what you’re saying, but it’s worth a shot.”

And well … even though he’s still confused, Aki feels he may as well give it a shot. He’s tried everything else to no avail, and so even though having a conversation with a newborn seems ridiculous, he’s willing to try anything at this stage. He looks back down at his son, trying not to feel discouraged by the sounds of high-pitched crying, and starts to talk.  

“Ah … h-hi, there,” he begins, sounding just a little awkward and stilted. It’s strangely endearing. Aki glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you nod, prompting him to keep going. “You’re … okay. You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

He rocks the bassinet along with the rhythm of his words, his tone now more soft and soothing as he reassures the baby. 

“You’re okay. It’s all okay, don’t worry. It’s all fine. I’m here.”

The volume of the cries starts to lower - the baby is still stirring, but is no longer wailing at the top of his tiny lungs. There are even a few moments of complete silence. 

Encouraged, Aki keeps going. 

“That helps, huh?” he whispers, leaning down a little closer  - he knows that babies can’t see too far away, and wants to let his son know that he’s there. The little face that peers back up at him is an almost exact mix of the two of you both, and Aki’s eyes soften even further. “Did you just want to have a little talk? A little talk with your dad?”

At that, the baby lets out a little delighted-sounding gurgle. 

You laugh, reaching to take Aki’s free hand in your own. 

“See?” you point out when your son’s eyes start to droop shut, ready to sleep, his cries having ceased completely at this point. “He just likes knowing you’re here.”

Aki likes knowing that, too. He knows that he’s going to be here whenever he’s needed, for both of you. 

[ronearoundblindly]

Do You Two...Fondue? (3)

Door-to-Door, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Going public has its drawbacks but you have more than just Steve's support.

While no warnings really apply to this part, this storyline is not suitable for all ages. MINORS DNI.

Dating has its ups and downs. You’re with both Steve Rogers and Captain America, but the press are pretty indifferent to you dating Cap. Stories about your ‘brother’ are irritating to the whole family because you and your parents worked really hard to make Ro feel supported. Tabloids don’t seem to care if they dead-name people. Ro ends their leave time and returns to cruise work to get away from the nonsense, wishing you good luck.

Without any real scandal in your present, one ‘journalist’ runs a horrifyingly inaccurate, nonsensical, drivel piece about Norm grooming you for the express purpose of going after Steve. Somehow your entire education, your lack of previous longterm romances, even your hobbies are all reduced to a ploy for attracting the dude you are half-convinced isn’t actually attracted to you.

You still have to show your face at work like none of it bothers you, as if you’re not getting a call every hour from Norm’s widow. Bruce tells you to go home at lunch, but you go hide in Steve’s apartment and use his pretty, pretty pencils to draw the world’s fanciest stick figures until he returns.

They run this story, of course, three weeks after the one-year anniversary of Norm’s death, so it makes you sick to your stomach to think people might actually believe it. His family deserves better. Steve believes you deserve better and, shortly after he arrives, excuses himself to get your favorite food as comfort.

Except…he clearly doesn’t go do that because Natasha texts you about half an hour later with a simple:

: Never heard Steve yell like that.

—followed by a text from Tony Stark himself (a man who does not text you)—

: Star-Spangler

: I’m handling it. Call off Goldie.

: I think he ruptured my eardrum

: Correction: Pep says that was def Morgan yesterday at the park.

Steve comes back with your food like nothing’s happened and apologizes for the wait.

The story miraculously goes away which is good for Norm’s family, but you have absolutely zero clue how to talk about any of it with Steve. There’s a twinge of fear that even he might believe the faintest hint of that awful article.

Instead, in the middle of an emotionally draining ‘hike’—you’re fully dragging your feet by this point—Steve turns around to grip your chin and force you to look at him. It’s a bright, sunny spring day, and he is so perfectly America’s Golden Boy, your heart dies and resuscitates simply by the potency of his glow.

“It worked,” he starts with an easy smile. “You didn’t do any of that for me, and they didn’t even mention the best bits.” Steve releases your chin and sweeps a bit of hair behind your ear carefully, slowly, (you think) sensually. “That’s what I kept thinking. Gosh, they don’t know the half of it, the stuff that I…appreciate about you.”

That pause.

That one hesitation where your stomach bottoms out and you go blind. Was he gonna say it? Why didn’t he say it? Why do you expect him to say it? You analyze every micro expression you think you saw on his face, unsure how much to get your hopes up. Steve’s feelings are indecipherable, an uncrackable code, mostly because his physical actions are so limited towards you and they haven’t really escalated to the point you’d think it’s love.

By the end of the walk, Steve offers to play hooky for an upcoming event, the biggest you two will have attended as a couple yet. You don’t have to worry about anything big-press related, he insists. You can stay in, just the two of you.

You’re feeling staunchly brave. You won’t give those fuckers the satisfaction. Steve even lets the curse go without protest, but he asks again the day before the gala to make sure you haven’t lost your nerve. Tony advises that you not skip it, says it will help to offer some innocuous photo ops, says it’ll bury the need for any salacious stories.

Tony Stark has a skewed version of ‘innocuous.’ 

The spring charity gala starts with a red carpet entrance and a truly outrageous amount of press. Steve is a huge stick in the mud. You can’t blame him. You’re fighting back tears by the time you reach the actual front doors.

“Are you pregnant? Is that why you’re together?”

“Do you think of yourself as the worthiest woman then?”

“Have you gotten a makeover to be ready for tonight?”

“Do you feel pressure to slim down?”

“Will you quit work now that you’re a kept woman?”

Half of these go unnoticed by Steve because he is asked other questions, relevant ones about the damn charity, while you get grilled, roasted, and skewered.

You have to stop by the restroom to check your makeup before returning inside where more photographers await. You did have a bit of a makeover—and a pep talk—from Natasha before this, but your carefully tempered nerves of steel are warping in the direct heat of utter bullshit. You’ll never joke that he’s Captain Judgment ever again.

When you pop out of the restroom after a too-long reprieve, Steve is right there. “Say the word and we leave.”

You say nothing, nod and smile, but he becomes a wall of muscle between you and almost everyone the whole night. Literally, only fellow Avengers are allowed to approach you, which is an appreciated protection but makes it impossible to think of anything other than how polarizing you seem to be. You keep drinking and try to distract yourself.

The band doesn’t play Steve’s type of music, so he stays seated with you during the majority of the night. He puts his hand on your knee, tells you that you look lovely in the dress you’re convinced is suffocating you very slowly, and says he’d like to dance with you…just not to this and not here. As always, his hand is warm and heavy.

After seeing you wiggle around to the beat, Tony takes pity and offers his hand. He doesn’t allow Steve time to answer the rushed “you don’t mind” before pulling you around the table to the center floor. There’re plenty of people dancing already, and it’s an easy bit of fun. Moving helps you flake off some anxious energy.

Tony looks around for a bit, assessing the party, then returns his focus to you. “Nice to have ya ‘round, Spangler.”

You sniffle a bit and whip your hair out of your face dramatically. “It’s nice to be around, sir.”

He brings you very close to dance, expecting the eye roll it earns him, but Tony’s hand stays respectfully high on your waist. “You look very glowy tonight. Could it be love?”

A nervous giggle is all you manage while failing to stop a glance over his shoulder at Steve. 

“People don’t generally shriek at me for good reasons,” Tony rambles as he sways with you, “sure, yeah, valid reasons but rarely good reasons. Pep yells at me out of love, or so I’m told—“ he snorts “—baby girl also. Those are one-hundred percent loving shrieks.”

Steve chats with a couple of people on the other side of the room. Your cheeks burn, and you try to change the subject. “And how is Miss Morgan?”

Tony puffs up. “Smartest kid ever. Runs away from all responsibility. Won’t pick up her toys. Orders Dum-E around. Dum-E actually listens to her which is just insulting.” He shrugs with the most rapturous grin on. “She’ll eclipse me by ten.”

How predictable of a Stark… “A young whippersnapper, eh?” 

It’s the kind of joke that makes the billionaire’s eyes melt when he recognizes who it reminds him of.

Unnervingly, he keeps his full attention trained on you for a few more steps. “I’m glad he has you.” Tony twirls you around playfully. “Pep’s hoping to do a cookout by the river when summer hits. You in?”

Tony’s caught you off guard with his intuition, so you nod and accidentally swing back into his chest a little hard. He mockingly clutches his heart while you apologize. Tony assures you the outing would be secluded and no stress. He thinks that’s what’s flustered you.

You wouldn’t dare complain or let Stark in on any details of your relationship, but your throat tightens at his words. You’re in pretty deep now, and your feelings are obvious enough that Mr. Neon Signs is onto you. It makes you foggy the rest of the event.

(Next part)

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[youresog0lden]

Seven Months II Spencer Reid

Summary:  It's been seven long tiring months since Emily was presumed dead. That night changed the way the group worked.

WC: 3k 

Warning: Gun Violence, cursing if any, angry reid

masterlist

I kinda mixed Season 7 episode 1 & 2 to make this. I also just wanted to go more into detail on angry Reid since I felt like he wasn’t as showed in this. 

It's been seven long tiring months since Emily was presumed dead. That night changed the way the group worked. There wasn't really any pep in peoples steps as they would say. Spence came in everyday with this disappointed look on his face. That our Emily wouldn't be there. For ten weeks he went to JJ's house. We all mourned the lost of our friend. Finding it hard to move on but we did. I always heard talking saying that it must have been the hardest for me since I was the closest to Emily I mean we did share an apartment together. My thoughts we're interrupted by the sound of my phone going off, we all got a call in the morning telling us that it was urgent and to get to the offices as fast as we can.

We all cluster around the table ready for Garcia to speak. She walked in with almost as confused face as we did.

"What's going on." I ask. Not seeing JJ or Hotch there yet. Within seconds they both come striding through the door.  Hotch clears hit throat nodding  at her.

"Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle." he starts. The look on everyone's face was confused.

"But the doctors were able to stabilize her, and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to, for her security." he finally spoke.

"She's alive." Garcia said. It took a minute to process what was fully happening in my head until a soft voice spoke.

"But we buried her." Spencer spoke out

"As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues they should be directed toward me." Hotch spoke

"Any issues?" Morgan snapped.

"Yeah I got issues." Right then we heard the sound of clicking all of us turning our head to see the fully alive woman standing in front of us.

"Oh my god." Garcia and I spoke in sink. Emily gives Hotch and JJ a nod Derek looking between the tow of them. Emily came walking around giving all of us a hug. I finally took her in my embrace slightly crying.

"Em." I whispered softly still not believing she real. She let go going over to Spencer hugging him they hug for a second before breathing out.

"I am so sorry. I really am" she said softly. I walk to where Spencer's standing grabbing his hand and squeezing it him doing the same in return.

"Not a day went by that I didn't want to- Really I- You didn't deserve that and I'm so sorry." she said inching her way to Morgan slowly wrapping her hands around him.

"There's so much I want to tell you guys and, I will but right now I really need to know what's going on with Declan." I release my grip from Spence's hand as he talks.

"Emily was there a man living in the house?"

"Yes. My friend Tom Koehler. He was raising Declan as his own."

"Where is he?" JJ asked.

"I never saw him go in or out of the house." Garcia chimed in.

"Uh he was on an assignment overseas."

"But he's alright." I asked.

"Yes he is on his way back now. He got a call from Declan, he called me and when I landed Hotch told me that you had Doyle in custody"

"And, because of Tom's line in work that's why you enrolled Declan in a boarding school." Hotch asked.

"I made sure that he, Louise and I were the only ones able to take him off campus." I started spacing out again before hearing Spencer's voice  

"Louise took him home last night because he was sick."

"Food poisoning." Hotch said. I finally started putting everything together letting it work it's way in.

"Yeah a few of the kids had it apparently."  Reid said

"So whoever did this got to him on campus." I say.

"They knew they only had once chance." Reid finished

"Current suspect is Richard Gerace. He's the most recent arrival into the states. We've been tracking the city but we came empty." Jennifer said.

"We know it's him because he has the scar." I spoke softly. Spence looked a quick glance at Emily then right at board behind her taking his tongue and raking it over his lips before biting the bottom looking at the board trying to focus.

"That doesn't make sense Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago."

"He said you were the only one who knew Gerace." Rossi finally spoke. I look at Morgan who hasn't said a word since Emily walked into the room.

"Which is why I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the balls to pull this off." she said snapping me back to her.

"There was no forced entry at the house?"  she asked.

"I had two agents working security." Morgan finally speaks up.

"We think Gerace and his partner pose as the next shift and one of the agents was a woman." Reid says talking with his hands like he usually does. I smile. He's barley even talking ro mw and I already have butterfly. Come on y/n get it together.

"She's the alpha." Prentiss says.

"So we're looking for a woman who's getting back at Doyle." Jennifer asks

"And out suspect list just got a whole lot longer." Everyone start's to walk away Emily Garcia and JJ heading down to the the 'Lair' Morgan went on a walk to clear his head and Hotch and Rossi are talking in Hotch's office. Leaving me and Reid sitting there. He was leaned up against the table and I was just standing there taking in everything. I look up to see Reid just standing there.

"Hey." I said softly putting my hand on his arm. He jumps but realizes it me and just kinda settles.

"How are you doing with this?" I asked.

"I mean my best friend just lied to me for seven months. I went to her house crying. CRYING." he said softly almost if he talked any louder he'd break. I rub his arm softly looking up at him.

"Spence. I know it hard but they probably we're just looking out for us. I'm not saying you don't have a right to be mad because you do trust me you do." I say even softer than him a tear runs down my cheek.

"How come you're not like screaming. Ya'll we're best friends."

"I don't know. Nothing shocks me that much at this point." I say swiftly

"It just hurts."

"I know pretty boy. I know." I said softly wrapping my arms around his torso. He wraps his arms around my neck laying his head on top of mine. I don't know why this whole thing isn't bothering me. She was like a sister to me but, ever since she died I've gotten a lot closer with Reid. I'm not trying to replace her. He was just there. Like if I needed him at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep I'd call him and he'd come over and some how get me to sleep weather he read me to sleep or we cuddled either way or, if it was ten in the morning and I'd been crying he'd come over and we'd laugh and watch movies together.

"Spence I'm sorry." my voice was muffled

"Why?"

"I just fell bad. You were always there for me but I feel like I was never there for you."

"Y/N." he pulled you away sighing his hands still on my shoulders.

"You were there for me even if you don't know it. You were." he says softly planting a kiss on forehead. I felt a blush creep up on my cheeks.

"Okay I have to go. I'll see you when I get back." we finally let go. I smile at him before watching him walk away.  

----

Hotch, Morgan, Rossi, Emily, and I were standing there waiting for Spencer and JJ get back.

"Spencer." JJ called out.

"Look we have to talk about this." she said. We tried to see more of him but we couldn't.

"I don't want to talk about it." he sighed

"I get you're disappointed with the way we handled Emily." she continued.

"Listen I've got a lot going on. Alright?" he sighs turning around.

"You know what I think this it is? You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to direct our deception." he scoffs and turns around quickly fire burning in his eyes.

"You think this is about my profiling skills Jennifer listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth." he spills out.

"I couldn't." she sighed.

"You couldn't or you wouldn't?" he questioned

"No I could't" she sighed in defeat

"What if I started taking dilaudid again would've let me?" he spat

"you didn't." she said

"Yeah but I thought about it." he rolled his eyes backing up. We were just watching not knowing what to say.

"Spence." she calls out. He throws his hands up angrily.

"I'm sorry."

"It's to late alright." he says walking away. I sigh seeing him walk past me.

"Reid." Emily called out to him.

"I'll go talk to him." I say running to catch up with him.

"Spence." I called out. He stops dead in his tracks and turned around. I couldn't stop in time almost falling on him. He let's out a chuckle as I catch myself.

"Are you okay?"

"You asked me this earlier." he laughs.

"I know I just have to make sure. I heard the fight and wanted to check up on you." he scoffs.

"Did she send you out here." he says with bitterness on his tone.

"What? No." I say just as bitterly.

"Then why are you out here." he asks. Maybe because I'm fucking in love with you but you're can't even get out of your own head.

"I wanted to check up on you." I sigh. He laughs then walks away. I stood there dumbfounded.

"Whatever." I mumbled under my breath walking into the offices again.

"What he say?" JJ asked

"He thinks you sent me out there and when I told him you didn't he laughed and walked away."

"Guys." Garcia comes running in.

"There's a private plane getting ready to be flown to Paris."

"Okay everyone load up." right then Spencer comes in. I look at him before walking away and going towards the where we held Doyle. I open the door before stepping in.

"Your ex is working with Lachlan McDermott." I say "How would he leave the country?" I ask "I don't know." he says "He's got endless funds." I say. I look to see the door nob jiggling. Spencer walks in with a straight face. I take a step back. "You'll never stop him." he laughs "And he hates you, doesn't he?" Spencer questioned. "More than you do." I shrug my shoulders. "Then I think we should give him what he really wants." Spencer takes a breath. "You." It takes me a second to realize what he said. You could see the panic in Doyle's eyes.  I grab his arm and drag him out.

"What the hell Spencer."

"I ran the probability of Declan's  survival, and it wasn't good." he says

"No, we are not letting him get out of here Reid." Emily says

"I will chain myself to him, if I have to." he says with pleading eyes. "He'll find a way to escape." I said

"No he won't." Spencer pleads

"And we're running out of time; if we find McDermott now, we have a chance to save Declan. " he finished. Emily and I sigh looking at each other knowing we weren't going to get our way.

"Fine." was all I said walking away.

---

Here we are speeding into a runway for Airplanes I was driving Emily was beside me, and Doyle and Reid in the back. I stop the car swiftly and turn off the engine. I turn and look at Emily.

"Let's do this." I say. All of us getting out of the car Hotch with  microphone in his hand.

"Lachlan McDermott and Chloe Donaghy, this is the FBI."

"We know you have Declan. To ensure his safety, we would like to trade. We will give you lan Doyle, and you send us the boy." Hotch speaks again.

"Bring Doyle here. I want him on his hands a knees." I watch Spence start walking.

"Spence" I say softly before he can get away.

"Please be careful."

"Always." he smiles at me. I walk with him stopping at Hotch. Emily walking with Doyle and Spencer.

"Hotch are we really going to do this." I ask

"No one leaves here." Hotch says.

"Hand him over." McDermott yells. Spencer started walking him over slowly. Just as Chloe came out of the airplane.

"Gun." I yelled loud enough for everyone to here. I pull of my gun as Chloe shot out a shot. I pulled the trugger hitting her knocking her down. Spencer pulls his out hittinf McDermott just before shooting Doyle I run to Spencer.

"Hey you okay?" I ask checking there pulse.

"Dead." I called out.

"I wish you would stop asking me that." he sighed.

"Sorry." I said softly standing up moving to the cars. I get in Spencer coming into the passenger. Emily decided to ride with Declan in the ambulance. The car ride was filled with nothing but silence and not the good happy kind but the awkward kind. I sigh taking the road down to the offices.  Feelings his eyes on me I looked at him through my peripheral  vision.

"I'm sorry." he finally spoke in a sigh

"It's fine I understand why you're upset you have every right. I just wish you would talk to someone it's not good to keep all of your feelings inside." it comes out a lost softer than I expected. I decide to pull over so we could talk more and I wouldn't have to focus on the road.

"I just. I don't know, I feel if I go to somebody they're going to lie to me and keep things from me." he says barley above a whisper.

"Pretty Boy." I take a deep breath

"I know it's hard. Trust me but you can't keep bottling it up inside. Even if you feel like people are going to keep things from you just know that I would never or Garcia definitely wouldn't. I can promise you. You will always have someone to come to." I smile at him putting my hand on top of him. He looks down at it before looking up at me.

"Y/n."

"Yeah Spence."

"Thank you for being one of the only people who's told me the truth." he smiles softly.

"I will always be here for you. Even when you don't want me to I will and I know it's hard with everything but the we're only trying to protect us.  we laugh together. I take a second to look at his as his eyes are closed and his head was thrown back. God he's perfect. At that moment he stopped what he was doing and looked at me.

"What." he breathed. My eye's go wide as I realize what I just said I feel pink start to rise to my cheek.

"Oh my god- I'm- It- I didn't mean to say that out loud." I stuttered. He laughed.

"It's the Agent Y/L/N speechless." he teased. I just blushed even more putting my head in my hands.

"Hey." he gabbed my chin lifting it so we could make eye contact. He licked his lips and biting it slightly I look from his eyes to his lips him copying my movements. He pulls my chin closer to him. His lips lingering over mine.

"God just kiss me already." I say loud enough for him to hear me. He does just that plants his lips on mine. Wow. It was even better than I imagined. I wrap my hands around his neck deeping the kiss. After a few moments we pull away to get oxygen. Biting my lips as we pull away.

"So are you coming to Rossi's for dinner tonight?" I ask him. Our lips practically touch as I move my lips. He doesn't say anything before his lips land on mine once again pulling into a heated kiss. Finally pulling away

"Yes." he smiles pulling me into a kiss one more time.

[perspective-series]

Switched Perspective (22)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, arguing, self-deprecation, fear, and guilt

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters and the prequel!)

This is a sequel to A Third Perspective! Read that first or you will be confused!

 Patton woke up slowly, blinking his eyes awake. The first thing he saw when was the ceiling but when he looked off to the side, he let out a long sigh. 

 He was still human-sized.

 And Roman and Logan, who were still asleep on the pillow next to him, were still borrower sized. It looked like Logan was wrong after all.

 He turned his gaze back to the ceiling, deciding to not wake the others up yet. His eyebrows pinched together as he thought about Virgil. Virgil was his best friend and he had always been a timid borrower at best. Extremely cautious, maybe a bit sassy but never too much with Patton. He was a kind soul though.

 But as a human...Virgil was dangerous to their once fellow borrowers. Sure, he could understand his anger but what he didn’t understand was his want for revenge. And Patton even thought they had finally gotten through to Virgil! But...apparently not. He glanced over at Logan.

 Poor Lo...Patton knew even Virgil wouldn’t kill someone, no matter how angry he was, but at Logan’s size and current state of mind...there was almost no doubt that Logan must have fully believed Virgil’s threats. And that was not okay. Nothing Virgil had done was okay but at this point, Patton was unsure of how to make everything better.

 All Patton knew was today was not going to be fun.

 Slowly, Roman began to join the waking world next. He groaned, feeling the pain of his injuries return full force now that he was conscious. Roman looked around, frowning when he saw he was still small. Well, it had been worth a shot. Although if that meant Logan and Virgil really did have to become friends...maybe Roman should get used to this size.

 “Up and at ‘em, Micro-Microsoft.” Roman shook Logan’s shoulder gently. “We’re still small.”

 Logan groaned into the pillow, the reaction likely a mixture of hearing he had to wake up and he was still a few inches tall.

 Patton turned over when he heard Roman’s voice, looking at him with a sad smile. “Morning, Ro. Morning, Lo.”

 “Morning.” Both borrowers returned the greeting with an almost deadpan expression.

 “So...I guess going to bed wasn’t the answer,” Patton said, biting his lip. 

 “I suppose not.” Logan sighed, sitting up. 

 “Perhaps we should regroup and refuel,” Roman suggested, trying to lighten the mood a little.

 “I think that’s a good idea. Come on, we’ll go get Thomas and have some breakfast.” Patton didn’t mention Virgil, of course, knowing he was currently a sore subject. He offered his hand to them.

 “Why Thomas?” Logan raised an eyebrow, helping Roman climb on as they both looked worse for wear.

 “Because he’s our friend?” Roman raised an eyebrow of his own.

 “...oh, right,” Logan said. “I had forgotten that is a friend thing to do.”

 Patton chuckled a bit and then carefully got out of bed, heading out and to where he knew Thomas’ apartment was at. Patton was just about to knock on the door when it opened. His eyes widened when he saw Virgil.

 Virgil stared back with equally wide eyes. He had decided to leave back to Logan’s apartment before they got there, knowing they would probably come here and eat with Thomas. But it looked like he was a little too late. “Uhh…” He was at a loss for what to say.

 “What are you doing in Thomas’ apartment?” Roman asked, his tone a bit snippy. He felt the way Logan tensed up next to him.

 “I...he offered to let me sleep on his couch,” Virgil answered quietly, only briefly glancing at Roman before turning away.

 “Well, that was um, nice of him.” Patton tried but he felt awkward. “Where is Thomas?”

 Virgil shrugged, taking a few steps back to allow Patton to enter. “Probably still in his room.”

 “I’m right here, actually.” Thomas’ voice came from behind Virgil, having snuck up on them. He leaned around Virgil, smiling at the trio. “Do you guys want to join us for breakfast?”

 Virgil jumped slightly but quickly composed himself. Patton blinked and then smiled. “Yeah! That sounds great!”

 “Awesome, come on in!” Thomas waved them all into the kitchen. “Ah...I haven’t really gone grocery shopping in a while, but I’m sure I can scrounge up some eggs.”

 “That is satisfactory.” Logan murmured quietly.

 “I’m sure whatever you make will be wonderful, Thomas.” Roman praised.

 “Are you aware of how many times he has set off the smoke alarm?” Logan reminded him.

 Virgil watched, not moving, as everyone headed into the kitchen. He wanted to follow them but...once again, he probably wasn’t welcome. He glanced back towards the front door, wondering if he should stick with his original plan and go back to Logan’s apartment while the rest of them ate. Just to give them a little peace before they were forced to talk to him again.

 Seeming to sense his guest’s hesitation, Thomas called over his shoulder. “Virgil, you coming?”

 Virgil met Thomas’ eyes before sighing and walking over to the kitchen. Patton was already at the table with Roman and Logan on top. He avoided eye contact with all of them as he went over to the corner and leaned against the counter.

 Patton looked at Virgil for a moment and then sighed as he looked away. Things were so tense, how did they even begin to fix this?

 “You know, you don’t have to keep inviting him, Thomas.” Roman reminded him, feeling the tension as well.

 “Okay, let’s lay some ground rules.” Thomas said, frowning at Roman as he pulled out the eggs. “My apartment is a safe zone. There will be no threats, no insults, and no shaming. Sound good?”

 “And here I thought my apartment was supposed to be a safe zone.” Logan pointed out. “And yet, look what occurred.”

 “Logan, what did I just say?” Thomas sighed, cracking some eggs into a pan.

 Virgil closed his eyes tight to stop any tears from falling before he pushed himself off the counter. “Maybe I should just go.” Virgil muttered, already walking towards the living room.

 Patton bit his lip. “Virgil, wait.” Virgil froze, waiting for Patton to continue. “I…” Patton didn’t know what to say and after another few beats of silence, Virgil sighed.

 “Right.” He mumbled, before continuing.

 Thomas pushed the eggs around in the pan a bit, contemplative. The only sound in the kitchen being the eggs frying. “So...do we want to talk about the scroll?”

 “No,” Logan answered immediately.

 “What about it? It isn’t like it’s actually helped us at all.” Virgil muttered, having paused for another second when Thomas said that.

 “Well, I think it’s important,” Patton spoke up. “Maybe if we look at it again, it will give us another way to fix everything?” Patton suggested but Virgil scoffed. 

 “Yeah, I highly doubt that.” He should just leave already.

 “The scroll is our best bet,” Roman argued. “We just have to keep doing as it says.”

 “It’s a scroll, it’s not like the message is going to change!” Logan threw his arms up in exasperation. “And there is no doubt in my mind that it requests an impossible outcome.”

 Virgil growled. “We all get it, Logan! I’m a monster! This is all my fault!” Virgil yelled before realizing he was letting his anger get the best of him again. He let out a deep sigh. “I’ll be in Logan’s apartment, in case you wanted to continue this whole avoiding me thing.” Virgil turned around and started walking out of the kitchen.

 “STOP!” There was a loud voice suddenly echoing through the apartment. Everyone froze, heads snapping to look in the direction of the front door as it suddenly burst off its hinges, lying on the living room floor. 

 Two girls stood each leaning on one side of the doorway, arms crossed and looking smug. Both girls were adorned with long flowing robes and pointy hats to match. The girl on the right wore a robe that was a beautiful ombre of violet to teal, with her hat sharing a similar hue. The girl on the left had a more brash pattern, her robe split down the middle with half being a bright red and the other a dark blue. Her hat was split in the same fashion but with the sides of the colors swapped. From both hats, several charms hung, a series of symbols whose meanings were not immediately transparent. 

 “Betcha didn’t see that one coming.” The girl in red and blue smirked.

[ecotone99]

[RO] [NSFW] Pray for Two

I was upset over a girl this Christmas and sought to drain some bitter emotion in a manner that didn't involve excessive drinking and masturbation. I appreciate comments, tips, and reviews

Pray for Two

It’s custom that on Christmas, before my parents and I sit around our ornamented table to eat, we attend mass at the local Roman Catholic Parish. We spent the daybreak in a shouting match about my refusal to emerge from my *dziura and leave with them to church.

Polish word for “hole”. The narrator's father uses it to describe his son's room.

By the time I finished masturbating, it was twelve; afternoon mass had just commenced. I contemplated blowing it off completely, but figured it was the least I could do for my father as he never ceases to remind me that nothing would bring him more joy than my company at Sunday night mass.

I dressed in a plaid red flannel, light gray slacks, a light gray peacoat, and a pair of brown suede dress shoes. If I wasn’t so pressed on time, I’d have swapped the flannel for something more elegant, for with the addition of my beard, I looked like a lumberjack in the early stages of converting to a gentleman. However, once I shaded my eyes with a pair of dark amber Wayfarers and gazed at my reflection in a tinted car window, I felt like a thin white Rick Ross (the rapper). And so I started toward the end of my block taking long lofty steps. At the end, down by where the community piled their garbage twice a week, a small pup was dragging his nose on the ground. The pup was preceded by a small, fair-skinned girl with dainty features. Two flat antlers protruded from her cherry-red hair. The dog whipped her around and I observed a small red sphere extending from her nose. As I approached, I recognized her to be the young Jewess who moved into my neighborhood about four years ago. Upon her arrival, she was only fifteen, and although her blossoming beauty radiated to a dangerous degree, I always managed to keep myself in check while in her presence. We hit it off pretty fast—she was quick-witted and bookish. It was easy with her, you’d introduce a topic, a recent event for example, even just a headline that you read, and she already had a thought-out opinion of the matter. And even if you played devil’s advocate, as I often did, she’d cement through with bold conviction. Back then, I rejected her chutzpah. At the time, the only thing I was confident about was being unsure of everything. That was until she convinced me that confidence, even in the face of uncertainty, is the only way forward. Once I was convinced, I became both jealous of and feverishly attracted to her.

She turned eighteen at the start of one summer and literally parted her legs before me the minute the clock struck eleven forty-three pm, the time recorded on her birth certificate. We had gone out for dinner at The Olive Garden that evening—our parents knew that she and I would talk for long stretches of time outside and didn’t think much of it. My parents liked her; they remarked that she was always cordial whenever running into her outside in the neighborhood. My mother would blush whenever she came up during dinner-table conversation, “I heard the neighbor girl got accepted into Princeton,” she said one evening. “Yeah, she did. . . but I think she’s choosing The Rhode Island School of Design,” I replied. My father looked up after forking up some pickled cabbage, “Perhaps she’ll convince you to go back to school,” he snickered under his breath with grim sarcasm. At the time I was in the midst of a brief hiatus, taking a year or so to master the art of Chinese food delivery.

I once asked her how her parents felt about me as a serious prospect, and she replied, “Have you ever baked a dreidel?” I said nothing in response, understanding the message, but she proceeded to pinch my cheek saying, “Aw, fuck ‘em, you’re my favorite little gentile.” With me at six-two and her at five-four, I towered over her.

At The Olive Garden the night of her eighteen birthday, she took a breadstick and began to wiggle it horizontally as if trying to perform the rubber pencil illusion. She then turned her head and pressed the tip of the breadstick against her rouge lips. She kissed it lightly and turned to me, smiling coyly. Then, without waiting for my initial reaction, she shoved the stick into her mouth and ferociously chomped down on it before chucking it back into the basket while crumbs were still raining down onto the table. Afterward, she fell into a wild hysteria, laughing like a hyena, gripping her stomach with one hand and pointing at my frozen wide-eyed gaze with the other.

That night, I paid seventy dollars in exchange for three unbothered hours with her in a bedroom at a Days Inn down the street from the restaurant. She was ravenous from the get-go, and we nearly skinned each-other when removing clothes, but once bare, I slowed the tempo—her growing more feverish with every graze. It was tight when I inserted. I manipulated my stroking sequence taking feedback from her every micro expression. We commenced the Bang-Mitzvah with missionary and for at least five minutes she vocalized nothing but high-pitched mouse-like squeaks. Then she looked into my eyes, wrapped her hands around my neck, brought me down to a hair's width away from her face and said, “I’m glad it’s you. . . .”

As I approached her this Christmas morning, she smiled, the sun glinting off her face as if it were the surface of a lake.

“Hey, how you been? How’s school?” I said while bending down to pay my respects to her furry little brown blotched shih tzu.

“Oh, it’s fun. . . have my own space now. . . the freedom,” she replied, sneaking a wink in at that last part. This caught me off guard. Ever since I took her innocence, we hadn’t really been corresponding much. She left for school that summer, and Rhode Island was a ways away from Staten Island. And a week after that fateful night, I was let off from my food delivery position. The owner informed me that the restaurant's old driver was moving back into the area and that she had promised him a position if ever was the case. But after about a week, a ‘Driver Wanted’ sign hung in the window, and I began to doubt her story. I think she actually caught on to me. At the end of every shift, I was supposed to report my tip earnings and fork over a percentage . . . I always skimmed some off the top though, reporting less than I actually received. She must’ve been aware of realistic averages from past, honest drivers. After that bombshell, my funds quickly exasperated and as at least one of our parents was always home, I simply couldn’t afford to have sex with her.

“Must be nice,” I replied, petting the gleeful pup. “I found decent work, but I don’t want to pay rent and share a kitchen with some rando.”

“What’s the job?” she asked while I rose from the ground, “And I get you.”

“I’m a. . . like a teachers assistant. . . I work at a school.”

“Aw, I’m so happy for you.”

I didn’t reply to that. Her pitiful tone indicated that she knew, or at least assumed, that I was going through a rough patch. Instead, I switched the topic.

“So. . . what’s up with the Rudolph theme? And that’s a wig right?”

“Ah, yes. . . . See, I’m a rebel Jew—you should come in and see my house, I’ve dressed this collapsible Christmas tree that I keep tucked away in the attic, and ABC Family’s ‘25 Days of Christmas’ is blaring in the living room.”

“Your parents are cool with it?”

“Oh, hell to the naw—but every Christmas my dad spends all day at his office and my mom’s in the city consulting with a doctor.”

I put on a thoughtful expression and became quiet.

“Yup, this is just the way I am,” she continued, “but come over! Let me show you all the cute little ornaments I put up for the day.”

“I’m actually running late for mass,” I replied.

“Well, if you’re already going to be late, it doesn’t matter how late.”

“Bulletproof logic. . . . I guess I can step inside for a second. I’m interested in seeing how rogue you’ve actually gone.”

After the dog hosed down the fire hydrant, I followed her inside. All the while I thought of our first and only fuck, and how, if I had the money and she wasn’t in Rhode Island, I’d get my own place just be alone and comfortable with her.

Inside was an assortment of Christmas things, mostly little knick-knacks sort of strewn about. There was a nativity scene on the sill under the kitchen window and I wondered if the depiction of Jesus’ birth was the same by Jewish doctrine. Ironically, the Christmas tree was topped with a Star of David. I couldn’t discern if this was done out of mockery or a whole-hearted display of cultural amalgamation.

“So. . . what do you think?” she said as I was gazing at the star atop the tree.

“This mesh of cultures is causing my eyes to well up. . . it’s. . .” I drew in air through my nose and skimmed my finger across a lower eyelid, “it’s. . . beautiful.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit. . . but thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.”

Albeit her saying that I was “full of shit,” a soft rouge blossomed in the centers of her pale cheeks; I stepped towards her and softly clasped my hands around them. Her lips parted slightly, revealing the blinding whiteness of her front teeth. Frosty blue rings around her tiny pupils gleamed against the cold, winter sun streaming in through the windows. I inched my head forward as if it were precious cargo being moved by a crane. As our lips met, I dropped to the couch beside the tree. My body buzzed warmly as if I had just taken a swig of old scotch. I kept my eyes closed, straining in an effort to send her telepathic messages. I yearned for pressure, I’d have settled for a slab of stone over me. And then she went, toppling onto me as if caught by a fainting spell.

Much like the first time, we stripped each other frantically, but when going through the motions, I realized she had gained much experience. While on top, she rode me in various styles as if it were second nature. Before, I was the sole director, now it was a mutual effort—push and pull. This left me conflicted; from one side I was a bit saddened at the thought of some gung ho college boy, or plural, taking temporary reign over her body; and from the other—her promiscuousness, dressing up in racy little clothing just to attend some haphazard frat party, being the object of unshakable desire, willing and ready for the taking, made her all the more alluring! It was enough to drive me mad with desire. I was aroused as I had ever been. Her flesh was as pure as it was the summer before she left for school, and now it was supplemented by experience. I was so lost in my burning desire and her plush interior that I couldn’t fathom a reality that was devoid of it. Clinging onto what seemed like fantasy, I asked her:

“Are you on birth control?” My breath was heavy, my thirst for air insatiable.

“Yes. . . kind of,” her voice faltered; her breathing matched mine. “Kind of?”

“Just cum in me!” she howled, gripping the back of my neck, bringing my lips to hers as I came down. No further questions, her resolve was what would finally drive me to orgasm. I have only once ever came inside someone before, and severe paranoia had followed me like a rain cloud for weeks afterwards despite the girl’s assurance that her ex always finished inside without consequence.

My muscles numbed as bliss spread from the tip of my penis through the rest of my body. My back hunched as I slowly pulled out. My thighs gave out and I collapsed on the carpeted floor, sprawling in ecstasy.

I spent a long moment simply lying there, catching my breath and recovering my senses.

“What did you mean by ‘Kind of’?” I asked, now having recovered the rationale one often loses during sex.

“I meant. . . it doesn’t matter if I’m on birth control or not.” “Doesn’t matter?”

“No. . . it doesn’t. . . it doesn’t because I’ve been diagnosed with cancer.”

“What?. . . When?”

She didn’t reply.

I raised myself till my neck was level with the couch. Her head was turned to the side, tilted up at the Star of David.

“Were you aware before the first time I was with you?” I questioned.

Again, no answer.

“Say something!”

“Look,” she said turning her head towards me, her eyelids like buckets of water preparing to overflow, “I did know and—”

“In the event of,” I rudely interrupted, “would you keep it?” “Birth wouldn’t outlast the cancer.”

“So. . . no?”

“I’d prefer to leave this life with a piece of you within me!”

“That’s murder!”

“And abortion is not?”

I fell silent and wished desperately for the ability to rewind the day, deeply regretting not remaining in bed.

“And this fantasy of yours is supposed to justify murder?” I continued after a tense silence.

“Who are you to speak for what goes on in my body? The fate of whoever is developing within me is no ones but my own.”

I fell silent and fell against the carpet. I looked up at the star atop the tree then shifted my gaze to the digital time on the cable box below the TV. Mass would end in ten minutes; if I sprinted, I’d be able to make it in time for a single prayer. . . and I’d pray for two.

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