#cm write up

[autisticsupervillain]

Complete Monster Write-Up: Reza Zaydan

What's the Work?

Hitman is stealth action game franchise following the adventures of the world's greatest assassin, Agent 47. The World of Assassination Trilogy is the latest entry in the series as of now, with its third main story mission having two targets for 47 to bring down: Carl Strandberg and today's candidate Reza Zaydan.

Who's the Candidate? What have they done?

Reza Zaydan is a general in the Moroccan Army, known amongst his peers more for womanizing and social skills than for any actual military victory. A classic nepotism baby, Zaydan is always looking to get more power and is willing to sink to any low to get it if it means upstaging the rest of his highly successful family.

Willingly signing up with an international secret society called Providence, Zaydan agreed to become their Puppet King if they aided him in taking over Morroco. To this end, he hatched a plan with banker Claus Strandberg to initiate a military coup. When Strandberg gets caught steeling millions of dollars from the Moroccan public, Zaydan hires mercenaries to break him out of jail, leaving countless innocents and security personnel dead in their wake. This sparks a public outcry that causes riots all across Marrakesh, which Zaydan hopes he can use to justify a full on military coup, painting the Moroccan government as weak and incompetent to his fellow commanders for their inability to handle the riots so they'll join him in uprising.

To further fuel the flames, Zaydan has his people spread propaganda for the terrorist organization Crystal Dawn, hoping to use their supposed involvement to spark massive violent riots across all the most populated cities in Morroco. Once the dust is settled, Zaydan shamelessly admits he plans to have these false flag operatives executed so they can't contradict the narrative he's created.

When one of Zaydan's closest lieutenants and friends learns that his brother died in the Strandberg prison break, he threatens to go public with the truth behind the coup. Zaydan rewards this treachery by have him captured and tortured with advanced interrogation techniques, smugly taunting him about his dead brother in between rounds of torture. Out on the streets, Zaydan's soldiers have innocent people thrown out of their houses and workplaces to convert them to military bases for the upcoming coup, with one store owner in particular being threatened at gun point and told his family will be shot if he does not cooperate. Zaydan has turned the public school into his personal base for the coup this way, forcing the headmaster to live with a relative nearby as he now has nowhere else to go since he cannot work.

Desiring nothing more than to dominate his own country, Zaydan smugly admits that once all is said and done, he plans to throw Strandberg from a plane once he's no longer needed, happy to kill anyone who gets in his way of conquering Morroco.

Thankfully, Agent 47 is brought in to put a stop to this violent insurrection, eliminating both Zaydan and Strandberg before any further damage can be done.

Mitigating Factors?

Nothing concretely redeeming at any rate. Zaydan comes from a large, wealthy family and its suggested that this is what fuels his lust for power, but he never mentions them and no redeeming care or fondness is implied. Zaydan is not popular amongst his own troops, with many badmouthing him behind his back for being a cowardly nepo baby. Several of his own troops express disgust for his fondness for torture and his orders to shoot civilians, with him childishly blowing up at any he hears criticize him. While Zaydan gets on better with his lieutenants, he's happy to throw them to the wolves when betrayed, as discussed above. If directly confronted by 47, he'll even flee to save his own life, leaving all his troops, loyal or not, for dead.

He's not even liked by his girlfriends. One spy working for international terrorist group IAGO mentions that she hates him so much that she's considering quiting just so she won't have to keep dating him.

The biggest concern is being played seriously. There's an Easter Egg in which, if every soldier in the building is dismissed, Zaydan will start dancing a silly dance to goofy disco music. That said, this isn't canon. It's a silly easter egg with no baring or context in the plot and shouldn't be taken against Zaydan's canon actions.

The other issue is Zaydan's potential death, where 47 can drop a toilet on his head from the floor above while he whines about his soldiers disrespecting him. This is his only silly moment in canon, though, and its not enough to detract from how dead straight his atrocities are played otherwise.

Heinous Standard

Hitman's heinous standard is jacked. Just in the WOA Trilogy alone, we have a terrorist organization that got a diplomat and his family killed by leaking classified flight plans, an organ harvester who experiments on the homeless to create mind control technology, and a cult hellbent on spreading an apocalyptic plague around the world.

That said, Zaydan is the most heinous villain in his niche. The latter above examples are CMs in their own right with backing from large, international organizations. Zaydan is ultimately a small cog in Providence's large design whose mostly content just subjugating his own country. As far as dictators whose scope is limited to just their country go? Zaydan is easily the worst.

All the other dictators in the franchise that 47 goes after are all already retired by the time he gets to them, so their crimes are offhandedly described in conversation and mission briefings. Nothing they do goes quite so far in scope and attempted body count as Zaydan does. We see, in gameplay, most of his atrocities play out in front of us. Civilians forced from their homes, a whistle-blower tortures, a riot in the verge of bloodshed that Zaydan plans to spread to major cities all around the country, putting the pieces in place to justify gunning down thousands of innocent civilians to secure his rise to power. Yeah, I think he's bad enough by a hair or two.

Conclusion

He's got a yes from me. I think he just clinches it.

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[azu1as]

Hi, Tin! I love your writing and I have a prompt for you, if you are interested) what if Tang family is too afraid of Tang Bo leaving permanently and eloping with Cheong Myeong? So they initiate marriage negotiations with Mount Hua. It can be angst (CM is socially isolated and insecure about his position) or romantic comedy (awkward situations and protective Cheong Mun), up to you). Thank you in advance!

It was a well-established fact that the Dark Saint of the Tang Family was one of their generation's best.

So it came as no surprise when an influx of marriage proposals flooded their family's estate—because rumors started flying around that the Dark Saint was in search of a partner.

The Dark Saint held a reputation for being cold and ruthless. To cultivators and martial artists, he was someone they feared making into an enemy due to his sheer battle prowess and poisonous abilities. To normal civilians, he was a genius who wielded the Tang Family's techniques with cool precision and intent; to them, he was just another mysterious cultivator that they would only ever know of through gossip and stories.

However, in recent years, something shifted. His reputation among common folk was slowly altered. It started off with a supposed battle between him and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint which turned into a sudden and unexpected friendship.

Whereas in the past the Dark Saint would only go around Sichuan and closeby villages, he was now found going around different major cities and unknown ones.

He was often in the company of Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who worked with him side-by-side to eradicate groups from the Demonic Cult and the occasional bandits and thieves.

For supposed Taoists, the two visited different establishments to drink alcohol and talk cheerily. It was during one of these moments that the first rumor began its spark.

"Ahhhh," The Plum Blossom Sword Saint groans in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot!"

The Dark Saint chuckles as he tosses back his own drink. "If only I could enjoy everyday like this. Alcohol really is the best."

"What would your future wife think?" The Plum Blossom Sword Saint jokingly and dramatically shakes his head in disappointment. "To have a husband who loves alcohol more than his own wife...!"

The Dark Saint wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Trust me, I would make sure that my wife knows full-well just how much I love them."

The two of them share a silent, private conversation with just their eyes alone, that none of the other restaurant's customers could decipher, before they leave a generous tip and went on their way.

It snowballs from there.

All of a sudden gossip went around about the Dark Saint's interest in finding a wife. And so several people came to the same conclusion.

The reason why the Dark Saint is travelling around more than usual is because he's looking for a prospective wife.

Clearly, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint was there to provide moral support. How truly admirable and strong their brotherhood must be!

On the other hand, the head of the Tang Family was fully aware of their Dark Saint's single-minded interest in Mount Hua's Chung Myung.

Seeing all the stacks of letters that ranged from proposing strategic alliances and general marriage offers brought the current head of the Tang Family to a very different conclusion.

Tang Bo was trying to slowly draw himself away from their family by leaving their estate. He might be on the hunt, jumping from village to village, trying to create a dowry befitting for the hand of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and scouting out all the best locations to settle down in.

It really wouldn't be too surprising of an idea if one day a letter turns up from the man with an intent of permanently moving to Mount Hua or some backwater village.

The Tang Family head shakes the thought of losing one of their best and genius members to one of the Ten Great Sects. If he wanted to maintain their family's reputation, he'll need to strike the first move.

And so he begins to pen a decisive letter to the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

%%%

Chung Mun's hands tremble as reads the letter sent to him by the Tang Family.

'Who did they think they were?' He would have bit out if he had any less self-restraint. The paper crumples in his grip and he receives a questioning glance from Chung Myung who was sprawled eating mooncakes on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's got you so worked up?" The subject of the letter askswithout a care.

Chung Mun takes a deep breath. "The Tang Family wishes for you to transfer into their estate."

He refuses to say out loud the marriage proposal that came along with this request. His Chung Myung was too young! The man might be a sixty years old, but that round face, cheeks carelessly bulging with mooncakes with crumbs littered on his chin, screamed too young for marriage!

"Oh." Chung Myung nods in understanding.

Chung Mun is glad that Chung Myung agrees that this was nonsensical. To think, they thought that Chung Myung would even leave Mount Hua for—

"After the war is over, Tang Bo and I were planning to be roommates and travel the world a bit."

—?????

"Roommates?" Chung Mun's voices comes out slightly strangled.

"Yup. It's going to be great."

"No."

"'No'?"

Chung Mun tries to run through his previous conversations with Tang Bo. He knew that the man was capable of being underhanded, but he was also well-aware that Tang Bo respected him enough to not blind-side him with something like this. Especially since it concerned Chung Myung.

...

...Oh no.

"Fuck." Chung Mun says, full of feeling as he recalls Tang Bo off-handedly asking permission to live together with Chung Myung in the future.

"...Sect Leader?"

Chung Mun had thought that was a joke! He thought Tang Bo wasn't being serious! They were talking with alcohol in their systems!

The alarmed look that crosses Chung Myung's face informed Chung Mun that the way he felt his blood drain from his face was a visible, physical reaction.

"He asked for your hand in marriage." Chung Mun says faintly. "I said yes."

Chung Myung blinked at him. "Yeah? He told me?"

Okay. Tang Bo, to his credit, hasn't been leaving Chung Myung in the dark at least.

If Chung Myung knows and isn't reacting violently that means that he isn't completely against this. Even if Chung Mun was, he had to reorganize his priorties.

And his number one would be to make sure Chung Myung was happy.

((And to make sure that the Tang Family doesn't think they can step on Chung Mun and pull his little brother away.))

"I'll have to recheck the sect's budget and my own savings to make sure we have enough for the wedding preparations..." Chung Mun mutters as he begins drafting a response to the Tang Family with what he thought were better marriage agreement conditions.

But then, a flash of dread causes Chung Mun to pause writing and leave a dark ink blot on the paper. He suspected, but he really wishes that he was wrong—!

"Huh?" Chung Myung gives Chung Mun a confused look. "We already got married though?"

[chungmyungenthusiast]

Banter

Notes I Pure fluff maybe + chung myung content ?!?! woah.. keep in mind that this is not edited and checked :3

Chung Myung will never let you live this down. No way. Especially when he, quite literally, had you pinned down. "Give up yet?" He asks, his tone teasing as he looks down at you with that shit-eating grin he knows you have a hate-love relationship with. God, you want to wipe that grin off his face so bad. "Love," You start, your tone seemingly pleading as you look up at him. The one and only Mount Hua's Divine Dragon, Chung Myung, swore he could explode at any given moment. And while that normally is a threat to the other disciples, it means something else now. Slowly but surely, you lean closer to him. You then pout, "Please.." A kiss, then you turn the tables on him. For a split second, he was caught off-guard with that kiss; you didn't waste any time switching your positions. How cute he looks when he's under you. "I'll kiss you, okay? So please, keep your voice down."

Notes II Chung Myung deserves all of the kisses and hugs in the world.

[faillen]

Fandom: Cherry Magic 30 ยังซิง | Cherry Magic (Thailand TV 2023) RPF Rating: Explicit Relationships: Achi Achirawit Jittawisut/Karan Wongkarun Additional Tags: Mutual Masturbation, Episode Tag, Kissing, Hints of demisexual Achi Summary:

How had he gone so long without ever feeling like this for someone. Was this how people always felt? How did they live with it? Did Karan feel like this?

“We don’t have to—”

“I’m okay, I really want this,” Achi said quickly, curling his hands into fists atop his thighs. He hunched his shoulders up, feeling his ears burn pink. “I want to look at you, please.”

It was quiet in the wake of his admission, and when Achi finally dared to peek up, he found Karan looking at him with an expression that was almost coy, clearly a bit amused by his effect on Achi.

“Karan,” Achi couldn’t help but whine and Karan grinned.

Or: The night before Achi leaves for Nakhon Si Thammarat.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Fatigued [Spencer x Reader]

Photo Credits: Left (@foxy-eva) Center (@flowersforfrancis) Right (@s0undmybarbaricyawp)

Prompt: The reader has made one New Year’s Resolution this year, get out more. Spencer is happy to help her with this, but tonight the reader just seems too tired to want to do that. However, Spencer is flexible and is happy to change plans to let the reader rest. 

Pairing: Spencer x Non-BAU!fem!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns. 

Category: fluff/comfort 

Word Count: 3.3K

Content Warnings:  Use of nicknames [sweetheart, love, etc.] someone passes away of old age [minor character]. 

A/N: Hi loves! Here is another fic based on the amazing @imagining-in-the-margins January/February Writing Challenge. The prompt was Character swears that this year they were going to definitely fulfill their New Year's Resolutions. I really just wanted to write a soft, domestic Spencer fic. The start of the semester just makes me tired, so this was also inspired by my own fatigue. I hope all my tired girlies can relate! If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you’re having a great start to your week and thanks for reading.  Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/l/n_ = your last name

_y/f/c_ = your favorite color 

_y/c/e_ = your color eyes

_y/f/i/b_ = your favorite indy band 

_y/f/j_ = your favorite jewelry 

_y/e/c_ = your eye color 

_y/b/t_ = your body type 

_y/f/r_ = your favorite restaurant 

_y/n_ stood in front of the mirror. The _y/f/c_ dress looked as good as it always did, but she didn’t feel like she normally did when it was on. Usually, the short hemline and and scooped neck brought out a confidence in _y/n_ that made her excited for the night ahead, but right now she was just tired. _y/n_ put her head in her hands and let out a sigh. _y/n_ had made one New Year’s Resolution this year, and that was to do more things in the city. _y/n_’s day job kept her cooped up for a good bit of the day, and sometimes on the weekend. The fast transfer to D.C. had been a blessing and a curse. She had met her very loving and supportive boyfriend because of the move. That was the best thing to ever come from a relocation in her life. However, _y/n_ knew she wasn’t great with making friends or having the energy to want to do much outside of spending a quiet night with Spencer in his or her apartment. The fact that _y/n_ kept so isolated was the reason she’d met Spencer. Although _y/n_ didn’t have much energy for friends, she did make time to volunteer. _y/n_ felt that it was important to give back to whatever community she was in. Even if it was something small. 

When _y/n_ had moved, she found out that she lived close to a hybrid hospital and assisted living facility. She would see the older ladies in groups sometimes coming back from the shops the short five-minute walk from the store. She’d stopped and helped a lady with her bag, and they’d struck up a conversation in no time. Eileen had talked about how she’d lived in Sherwood Community Living for five years and then asked _y/n_ about herself. _y/n_ was happy to talk with Eileen. She often found talking to those older than her easier than people her age. When they reached the red brick building that was covered in trailing ivy, Eileen said, “You know I haven’t spoken with a young person in some time. I miss it since my kids have moved away.” There was a distant look in Eileen’s eyes before she said, “If you ever have a free afternoon and want to entertain an old lady like me, I’d love to see you again, dear.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “I’d like that, Eileen. I’ll call soon.” _y/n_ kept her word and visited Eileen and then started to know more people in the facility. She’d talk with the woman as they knitted, crocheted, or cross-stiched. Sometimes she’d paint people's fingers, with the hospital’s permission of course. There weren’t only old folks who lived in the space either. Some younger teens needed the constant care that their families simply couldn’t provide. For those kids, _y/n_ brought copies of Teen Vogue and books that she thought they might like. She assumed they might feel isolated without a peer group to hang out with. _y/n_ felt like she could relate to them in that way. 

One afternoon as _y/n_ was chatting with Eileen over some coffee, the door opened. _y/n_ had her back to it, but Eileen looked up. Her eyes widened slightly and the old woman raised a hand saying, “Dr. Reid, come over here for a second. I want you to meet my new friend.” _y/n_ flushed. She had told Eileen about her friend woes, so now she had been introduced to almost all of the staff. However, _y/n_ had never heard of Dr. Reid before. _y/n_ turned in her chair and felt even more flustered as the lanky man in a sweater vest and Converse walked toward them. He was cute. Spencer shot Eileen a smile and said, “Good afternoon Mrs. Henderson. How are you today?” Eileen beamed and said, “I’m good, thank you. I just wanted to introduce you to Miss _y/n_  _y/l/n_. It’s nice having some younger faces in here, you know. Lightens the mood.” Spencer nodded and looked over to _y/n_. He took a little breath in at just how pretty _y/n_ was. He took a moment before extending his hand, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, _y/n_. I’m Spencer Reid.” _y/n_ smiled and softly said, “It’s nice to meet you too.” She put her hand in his and they shook. Reid felt her delicate palm in his and his face reddened just a bit. When they dropped hands, _y/n_ plucked up her courage and said, “Do you work here Dr. Reid? I’ve never seen you before.” _y/n_ thought he looked slightly young to be a doctor as well, but didn’t voice that thought. She assumed he was around her age given his appearance. However, his clothes seemed to be trying to make him look older. _y/n_ came back to herself when she realized she was staring. This only caused _y/n_ to flush further. Spencer gave a small smile and said, “No, I don’t. I just come and visit now and then.” _y/n_ nodded in understanding. Reid looked at his watch and said, “Well, I’d better be going. Have a good day, Eileen, _y/n_.” Eileen waived from the table and said, “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” Once Spencer had gone, _y/n_ sat back down and Eilneen said, “He’s a good one that Dr. Reid.” _y/n_ nodded and asked, “Who is he exactly?” Eileen took a moment, then a sip of her sweet tea before responding, “Oh someone like you, I suppose. He holds a chess club for some of the men. He also gives talks once in a while. They’re very interesting and on all sorts of stuff -- Lorca’s poetry, what’s happening in the Middle East, Boethius’s philosophy. He comes when he can, but he’s a busy young man. He has some dangerous job that takes him all places.” _y/n_ smiled and said, “Well, he sounds very accomplished.” Eileen smiled. She could see the look in _y/n_’s eye. Not wanting to push her luck, Eileen decided to go back to their previous conversation about the soap opera she was currently watching and how the silly character Leena was pissing her off. 

_y/n_ looked for Dr. Reid the next few times she visited her friends, but he wasn’t there. The line that Eileen had said about him having a busy, dangerous job stuck with her. _y/n_ wondered what his job was. She couldn’t picture him being a police officer or anything like that. _y/n_ considered looking him up on social media but decided not to. She always thought that was creepy. Eventually, Spencer did come back and everyone seemed happy to have him back. He gave her a wave as he passed her table which she returned with a small smile. Reid couldn’t help but notice her pupils dilate as she smiled at him. Later that afternoon, they both left around the same time. As fate would have it, it was raining pretty heavily and neither of them had brought umbrellas. _y/n_ leaned against the railing under the covered awning while Spencer tapped his foot in what might have been a nervous gesture. Not liking the silence, _y/n_ said jokingly, “You know if your gone that long again they might riot.” Spencer chuckled and moved over to the railing with her. He looked over at _y/n_ and said, “I think the same thing could be said about you and the ladies. Your name gets brought up a lot when I’m here and you’re not around.” _y/n_ flushed, but not from the cold. _y/n_ turned her face away for a moment before asking, “Do you know someone here or…” _y/n_ dropped the end of the sentence because she couldn’t think of another alternative. There was a small silence that lingered. _y/n_ worried that she had said something wrong. However, Spencer filled the silence and replied, “No. I just help out with some things, plan events and stuff.” Spencer looked out into the rain and then added, “My mom is in a facility like this, but she doesn’t live nearby. I find helping out here makes me feel better about not seeing her that often.” _y/n_ looked at Reid as he said this. He looked sort of sad. _y/n_ reached a hesitant arm out and placed it on his arm. Spencer turned his gaze to hers. He looked into _y/n_’s _y/c/e_’s as she said, “That’s very kind of you.” Just as _y/n_ said that the rain started letting up. Soon after that, they both went their own ways. 

After that encounter, _y/n_ and Spencer took a few minutes just catching up every time they saw each other at Sherwood. They just exchanged formalities, but it was nice for _y/n_ to talk to someone her age, even if it was just for a few minutes. Time passed as it always did and the seasons changed. Eileen, who had lived a full and happy life passed in the Spring, her favorite season. The ceremony was small and discrete. There were just a few family members at the memorial. The next day, when Eileen was laid to rest, _y/n_ was relieved when she saw Spencer arrive, even if he was late. It felt good to have someone she knew connected to Eileen. When the simple ceremony was over, Spencer could tell that _y/n_ was sad and asked, “_y/n_, would you like to get a coffee or a drink or something to celebrate Eileen’s memory?” _y/n_ sniffled a little and nodded yes. _y/n_ and Spencer ended up talking about how they had met Eileen and their favorite memories with her. There was laughter and a little bit of crying. That was when _y/n_ and Spencer really started to get to know each other, and when Spencer asked her if she’d like to hang out again, and she said yes, _y/n_ had a feeling that Eileen would be proud of her for taking a chance on someone. However, from what _y/n_ knew about Spencer, he was a pretty safe bet. Their relationship had moved on from there. It had moved slowly, but neither minded. Because of the cases Spencer went on, he had to make their dates work when they could. 

It had been three months since they had started dating and _y/n_ had met the team on a rare night that the BAU went out. There had been a lot of good-natured teasing from Morgan and a bit of coo-ing from Garcia. Other than that it was a fun and pleasant evening. It was nice for _y/n_ to meet the people who filled the stories that Spencer told her about his cases. The nature of Reid’s work did worry her, but she knew Spencer was the smartest man in any room. If something went wrong, she knew he had already weighed the odds for him and his team's best options. They had started spending more time in each other’s space, and he had been there when she had sworn to do one new thing a week in town as a Resolution. Spencer had upped the ante and said he’d take her to something nice once a month for their set date night. So far they had gone to an art museum and a concert of _y/f/i/b_. Tonight was supposed to be their third nice date on the town. The BAU’s cases had been lighter than usual. The cases that had popped up had been close to D.C. and didn’t take as long to solve. Thus, Spencer had been able to spend more time with _y/n_. He’d been intent on helping her reach her goal of doing more things in the city. He’d booked a reservation at a nice restaurant for them tonight. The place had a waitlist and if _y/n_ wasn’t so tired, she’d be very excited about it. But even as _y/n_ put _y/f/j_, she could feel the call of the bed or couch even now. _y/n_ was standing by the mirror longer than she had realized as Spencer let himself into her apartment. He called out from the front room, asking, “_y/n_, where are you?” _y/n_ replied, “In the bedroom, Spence.” Reid ambled into the room, stood behind _y/n_, and wrapped his lanky arms around her torso. _y/n_ tipped her head up as he kissed her forehead. Spencer loved to compliment _y/n_. He loved everything about _y/n_ from her _y/c/e_’s to your _y/b/t_ that was always the perfect place to give her gentle hugs. Spencer looked over _y/n_ in the mirror. She was wearing one of his favorite outfits of _y/f/c_ dress and her normal rings. He said softly, “You look so beautiful, _y/n_.” _y/n_ looked at her reflection and just said a small, “Hmm” in acknowledgment. She appreciated the compliment. She knew Spencer was always sincere in his words to her. Even though he could go on tangents, or delve into a topic about ten times more deeply, than a normal person, she knew he never exaggerated or over-intellectualized things for her sake. Spencer could see the faraway look in _y/n_’s eyes and the tone with which she had responded to him was different than her normal, chipper greetings, or even the way she got flustered when he showered her in compliments. Reid moved so that he was standing in front of her and asked gently, “_y/n_, are you alright? You sound a little distant?” _y/n_ sighed and said, “It’s really nothing Spencer,” Reid took her hands in his and said, “It doesn’t sound like nothing to me, _y/n_. Please tell me, even if you think it’s something small.” _y/n_ looked at him and replied, “I’m just so tired today. I feel exhausted and I don’t know why. I went to bed at my normal time and felt refreshed this morning, but now it’s like all the energy has been drained from my body. I know that sounds like a bad episode of Dr. Who or something, but I feel worn down. I want to be excited about tonight, I mean, I am excited about tonight, I just know I’d enjoy it more if I had some energy. Maybe I can chug a coffee or something before we go?” 

_y/n_ didn’t want to be a buzzkill, but even now, she was just thinking of kicking off her heels and crawling into bed. Spencer nodded slightly as said, “Sweetheart, we can cancel tonight and reschedule it. It makes sense that you’re tired, and I want you to have a good night no matter what we’re doing.” _y/n_ opened her eyes a bit wider in surprise. _y/n_ said, “Are you sure? I know those reservations were hard to get. I can perk up, I promise.” Spencer chuckled and said, “_y/n_, I love you, but you’re a terrible liar. I can see you aching for the bed, and you do look a bit tired.” _y/n_ flushed at Reid's ability to read her. She knew he was a profiler and all, but this skill still surprised her sometimes. Spencer smiled and placed his hand under her chin as he said, “I’m sure, _y/n_. Let me call the restaurant and let them know we can’t make it. Some other couple will be happy to have our spots. And how about I call _y/f/r_ to get some delivery?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “That sounds perfect, Spence. I’m just going to change into something more comfortable while you make those calls.” Spencer nodded and stepped out of the room to give _y/n_ some privacy to change. Even though they had been dating for a few months, _y/n_ was still a little hesitant to be fully undressed in front of Spencer. Those types of things took her time to get comfortable with. Spencer understood and respected those boundaries, and let _y/n_ set the pace for physical intimacy in their relationship. 

When _y/n_ had changed into some comfortable sweats and a loose t-shirt and put her heels back in the closet, she moved back into the living room. Spencer was on the couch pulling up their favorite show to watch while they waited for their food. _y/n_ nestled into his side, and he wrapped an arm around her. As the latest episode of the TV show they were watching at the moment started to play softly, _y/n_ asked Spencer, “Why did you say that it was understandable that I was tired? I can’t even figure it out myself.” Reid traced soft patterns on Eli’s side and replied, “I think it’s decision fatigue. People on average make 35,000 conscious decisions every day, and that’s not including things related to work or outside things like changes of plans or sudden new tasks thrown on top of everything else. So I think it’s natural that every few days or weeks people just feel tired. How couldn’t you? Your brain is doing so much work that we don’t even notice it. I don’t think we give ourselves enough credit for everything we do. Also, don’t get me started on how humans aren’t designed to work the way we do today.” _y/n_ smiled at Reid’s intelligence. He always seemed to have a logical answer for everything, and she was comforted by it. The food soon arrived and they spent a quiet evening inside watching their comfort show and talking about what was happening in each other lives. Spencer pulled out a pint of ice cream from the freezer, and they didn’t even bother with bowls. Instead, they just used spoons to dip into the frozen cream mixture. When the night wrapped down, _y/n_ looked over at Spencer and said, “Would you stay here tonight? Having you here is so nice.” Spencer nodded yes. He knew that when he was gone on cases _y/n_ missed him badly. He knew because he missed her too. So any chance they got to spend time together, they did. After they’d both brushed their teeth and washed their faces in the bathroom sink, the couple settled under _y/n_’s covers. Spencer pulled her to his chest, and once she was settled, _y/n_ said, “Well. I already broke my only New Year’s Resolution to go out more,” with a chuckle. Spencer rubbed _y/n_’s back with his long fingers saying, “Well only about nine percent of Americans follow through with their resolutions, and twenty-three percent of people drop them by the first week. So I’d say statistically speaking almost making it to the end of January before giving up is a triumph. Besides, sometimes there are more important things to think about than New Year’s Resolutions. Like taking care of yourself and getting the rest you need.” _y/n_ flushed and said, “Well, when you put it like that, then I guess it’s not so bad after all.” Spencer nodded and said, “And there’s always time. We have the whole year in front of us to explore and go out.” There was a soft silence as they just breathed and enjoyed being next to each other in the bed. _y/n_ thought about the prospect of a whole year spent with Spencer and it warmed her from the inside. She smiled and said, “Thanks for being with me, Spencer. For spending your free time here doing nothing.” Reid kissed the top of her head, and just before _y/n_ fell into a deep sleep, she could hear him say, “It’s not nothing to me, love. And I’ll always be here.”

Text Break Banner by @cafekitsune

Tag list: @potatovoyager

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[careol]

part of me wants to have hotchier get together sooner... not a crazy amount sooner, but like i kinda of want the angst of them having to be apart when they ship hotch off and when he comes back with the beard she's actually able to go feral instead of just silently feral. purely selfish reasoning lmao.

[blackbird-brewster]

17x06 'Message in a Bottle'

JJ takes care of Emily who she suspects is high.

(Source)

Wild how little you can see because this show is so damn dark

[nevalizona]

Pals?

Please pardon any errors. Also, please read the tags before reading🫶

Angie, who always needs reassurance that she's liked, or at least, tolerated by anyone and everyone, feels no shame as she walks up to Bubba, who's tall and wide, and towering over her. He watches her approach, but she can't really see his eyes. He looks down at her when she's in front of him.

"Can I ask you something?" Angie asks coyly. She's playing with her fingers, pushing her index fingertips against each other.

He nods slowly in response. She still can't see his eyes.

"Do you like me, Bubba? Like am I your pal?" She looked up at him with big eager eyes. Fingertips still pushing against each other. She may have a smile on her face, but it also looked a tad bit like a frown, oddly enough.

He looked at her for a few moments, and she wondered if she should repeat herself. Right as she was about to, he shrugged. She noticeably deflated.

"Oh."

He shrugged again, and this time pointed in the direction of Margie, his girlfriend’s, house.

"Am I interrupting something, ya big oaf?" She groaned, arms tight across her chest, foot tapping on the dirt. She looked more than annoyed. Offended may be a better word.

He nodded his head and pointed at Margie's house again. Clumsily using his hands to try to say something. Angie looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Bring the damn book with you, man. If you want me to know what you're saying." Angie turned her head up and away from him, looking more like someone throwing a fit than anything else. He shrugged his shoulders again and audibly sighed.

When she heard him start walking away, she sucked on her teeth and strode after the big man.

"Look, Bubba, I'm sorry, man! I shouldn't be mean to you. I'm sorry. If I want you to be my friend, being mean to you ain't gonna help!" She debated touching his arm and decided against it. She didn't know if he'd be alright with that. Seems like every person in this damned family has a preference about one thing or another, and she already did enough to him for the day.

He stopped and looked down at her. With this lighting, in this direction, she could see his eyes. They didn't look angry. They didn't look hurt. He nodded his head, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder. Two firm pats and a small, small smile, and he was on the move again.

Angie watched him for a few moments and sighed, rubbing her face. She didn't dare go ask Nubbins the same question. He wouldn't mince his words, and she's not sure he liked her too much either. Instead, she sulked back to where she knew Sissy would be. The one person on this farm that she knew would be happy to see her. And would gladly call Angie, her friend.

[cm-lily]

“I have something for you.”

“Oh, is this… Poppy flower?”

“Yes… I thought you like poppies? Do you not like it?”

“Oh I do! The flowers are nice, I really like it. It's just…” He sigh. “It just remind me of something.”

“Sorry….”

“It's fine, you didn't know. It's in the past anyway,” He assures, slipping the delicate flower between his ear. “I've grown to like it back.”

The person smiles, jagged teeth distorting his scarred face. “I see, I'm glad.”

[azu1as]

HI TINN ITS ME PITTY 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i was wondering if youre still open for prompts… and if u are can you write about pbss somehow tranported to current mount hua, and everyone is confused af and just watches pbss and divine dragon interact (and maybe argue) with each other

PITTY HELLO ♥✨♥✨♥ yes i'm always open to prompts !!! im literally rotating rotmhs in my head 24/7

this first half was actually born from another prompt by mei on discord but I want to build on it, so dumping it here 👍 HAHAHA

»—————————–✄

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint lets out a ragged breath, his vision rapidly fading. His sword falls from his hand and soon after his body follows.

"...Mount Hua..." he mumbles, aware that the only thing left that awaited him was the cold claim of death.

He dies. And in the next second, he blinks up to a clear sky, the dead bodies that surrounded him gone.

%%%

Dawn had barely broken when an incessant banging against Mount Hua's gates and shouting started and broke the tranquil silence, rousing several disciples.

"OPEN UP!" Someone barks out from the other side. "Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Open this gate right now!!"

Un Am frowns at the lack of manners and respect being shown by the source of the shouting. He reaches the gate and pulls it open. It takes Un Am a bit of effort to ensure that his voice sounded cordial, "Hello, we aren't accepting any visitors this ear—"

Un Am cuts himself off as he takes note of the state of the man in front of him. The man's robes and face were crusted with dried blood despite a lack of any visible injury. That is, if one ignore his lack of an arm.

It still didn't explain the amount of blood he had on his body that was free from any wounds and visible scars.

The man's eyes were bloodshot and trembling. Un Am, even from afar, could tell that there was something deeply wrong with this man. He seemed unconscious of the way he emanated a manic aura; there was a charged sort of energy surrounded him that made an instinctive part of Un Am grip his sword handle in response.

The most notable and unexplainable part of the man, however, was the blood-stained plum blossom embroidered on his chest.

"Who...?" Un Am finds himself unable to react to the man's speed and freezes in place as the man grabs him by the lapels of his robe. He pulls Un Am towards himself and grits out,

"What. Happened. To. My Sect."

%%%

Baek Cheon was quickly ushered into the Sect Leader's residence the moment he returned with a few others from their last excursion to Xi'an.

"What's going on?" He asks.

Elder Un Geom, for a lack of a better word, looked harried. His face twists into a grimace. "It's a bit complicated..."

Baek Cheon doesn't know how he should feel about that response.

Surely, it couldn't be too terrible. After all, their sect was still standing and they did leave Chung Myung behind to stay on Mount Hua as he and the other chosen second-class disciples only had to deliver some goods and tokens to their subsect. Their youngest wouldn't let anything dangerous happen on his watch.

Baek Cheon tries to probe more information. "Before you pulled me away, Baek Sang mentioned something about a guest...?"

"We aren't quite sure of the specifics either, I'm afraid. But the man claims to be one of our ancestors from over a hundred years ago."

"An ancestor? Was he able to verify the claims?"

Un Geom nods. "I've never seen someone weild our plum blossom technique with as much power as he did."

If that was the case, then maybe their supposed ancestor could help them develop and improve their sword techniques even further by teaching them more about the skills that have been lost through time.

"Isn't that a good thing then?"

"It should be, but Chung Myung..."

Ah. Hearing those last three trailing words did not promise anything good.

When they finally opened the door to the Sect Leader's residence, they were greeted to the sight of a soulless Hyun Jong slumped against the wall, a freaked-out Yoon Jong who seemed to be torn between jumping into the fray and throwing himself out the window, and—

"WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO BEAT UP OUR ANCESTOR, YOU BRAT?!"

Their ancestor and Chung Myung pause in their positions as they both turned eerily similar pink gazes towards the two new entrants.

Chung Myung had the end of their ancestor's ponytail pulled towards him and scrunched up in his fists. His knee pressed against the older man's chest and neck while his jaw was unhinged as he was clearly attempting to bite the man's single arm.

Their ancestor in turn had his one hand closed around half of Chung Myung's face, trying to push him away. His legs were wrapped around Chung Myung's lower half in an inescapable hold and he seemed to have been gearing up for a headbutt before Baek Cheon and Un Geom interrupted them.

"You want me to call this brat my ancestor?!" Chung Myung shouts out as he renewed his attempts to bite the man by roughly grabbing onto the base of his ponytail.

"I'm one hundred years older than you!" Their ancestor grits out as he unashamedly bites Chung Myung's arm. "You disrespectful descendant! Back in my time—"

"'Back in my time', my ass!"

"You...!"

Off to the side, their current sect leader lets out a pitiful moan of mental pain. Baek Cheon would comfort him if he didn't feel the same amount of psychic damage as he watches his youngest sajil and ancestor continue their childish scuffle, rolling on the floor and uncaringly biting into each other like they were both five-year olds.

Later on, after tempers have cooled and everyone (read: Chung Myung and their ancestor) had managed to settle down into a tenuous truce, Hyun Jong turns a tired, but respectful nod towards the bruised man, "May we know this ancestor's identity?"

"Hm?" Said man absently rubs against the embroidered plum blossom on his new uniform. "Ah, I supposed you would know me as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint."

They would have expressed their shock and surpise, but they get easily distracted by Chung Myung's mocking scoff as he rolls his eyes in response.

[sideblogforcrimpy-plus]

Rinse; Repeat

Words: 4,478, chapter one of probably two.

Rated: Handle with care, cw suicidal thoughts/discussion, canon typical violence, hints at abuse/bullying

Summary: Spencer and Derek meet before either of them are in the BAU. Spencer is hesitant as a deer to be close and all Derek wants is to be close (so does Spencer). Spencer is clearly Troubled and Derek just wants to love him softly, honestly. Like filtered afternoon sunlight and sepia filters.

but for real I just, I saw a post that made me laugh and go 'ahaha, unless?' and then sat down uncomfortably on the floor for three hours and wrote this.

For my own comfort/entertainment, Derek and Spencer are closer in age than my recent google search would lead me to believe. Thank (●'◡'●)

---- 2003

Derek was having a truly sucky day. The academy was rough, and as good as he was at all the physical stuff, there were some real smart people and he was so scared that he was all brawn and no brain. Not that he’d readily use the word ‘scared’ to describe himself if he could help it, but he was.

But realistically, he did get this far. So he did have some of the brain, but was it enough? Had he set his sights too high on the BAU?

Still, the doubt and insecurity wasn’t going to have him quit early. Partly because he really, really wanted this, but also partly because what would he tell his family if he’d put so much time into this and failed?

They’d comfort him and say they’re proud; he knows it. But would he be proud?

He doesn’t want to find out.

Dead tired despite the lack of physical training that day, he walked through the house and out to the balcony, only part stopping to shed his jacket and backpack.

The sun was long gone by now, and the stars were too hidden in such a built up area, but he braced himself with his arms on the railing and stretched his neck, trying to relax.

God, how many people even got through the academy each year?

“Chances are, if you’re already in the academy, you’ll come out the other side.”

God?

Had he asked that aloud?

Derek just about jumped out of his skin, training be damned. He was on the top floor and roof access was blocked. He must have made some sort of noise, because the sad, quiet voice came again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not- I wasn’t… Startled.” Derek rubbed his forehead, hoping his voice didn’t sound it; startled. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that organically in conversation, more something you come across in text, in books and things.

“Oh. Sorry for assuming?” The speaker was hesitant, like they’d started apologising before they really knew why. Curious, and not thrilled someone had roof access and it wasn’t the guy (and his sister) who had the top floor apartment, Derek leaned out over the railing and twisted his neck, trying to see who answered him.

Before he could get a glimpse, he heard them step back.

How close to the edge was he? He watched as a bit of rubble fell past him and to the concrete below.

“I don’t think that’s something you need to apologise for, man. How’d you get up there, anyway? I was told we weren’t allowed because they don’t have railings. Or insurance, I think.”

“Well, that makes sense. Although a fall from a five story building isn’t guaranteed to be fatal; you’re better off on the eighth floor for that. But then again, there have been people that survived from even that height so, you can’t really win, can you? If you’re scared of heights or something.”

Derek’s curiosity took a quick dive into concern that sped right down to worry.

“Now I think you got that the wrong way around, better off on the lower floors if there’s no railing, right?”

There was a long pause, and Derek wondered if he’d be able to get up onto the roof in a reasonable amount of time if he had a sense of urgency pushing him.

“Perhaps. Can you imagine the injuries you’d be left with after surviving the fall?” He heard a foot scuff the ground above him and thought he’d started sweating despite the cool breeze. “It’d really suck to not have insurance then, huh? As the building owner, I mean.”

“Okay man, well, that’s a dark topic. And since there’s no railing, or maybe no seats up there either, why don’t you join me on my balcony instead? I might even be able to find a beer or something for you.”

“It’s not safe to go into a stranger’s house.”

“It’s not safe to think about people surviving and not surviving falls while you’re alone on a rooftop, close to the edge, and there’s no railing.”

“Well… Perhaps that’s a reasonable counterpoint.”

And that’s how Derek started becoming friends with a bundle of limbs and greasy hair that hid an incredible but haunted mind.

–

Spencer didn’t have a phone, so he’d just show up at Derek’s apartment intermittently. Well, his and Sarah’s. His mother had put money towards them renting it for the duration of Derek’s time at the academy and Sarah’s short term study since they lined up almost the same, with him likely finding some place more permanent for himself after.

He didn’t do well in the claustrophobic, shared dorms of the academy so would escape to the apartment when he could, and Sarah was completing her course close enough to make the apartment almost worth it. 

It had two shoebox rooms, and they had to share a bathroom, but it still had two rooms so it was a step up from the low bar the academy set. But she was out often with friends, study, and a part time job while he was still largely sleeping at the dorm, so they hardly saw each other.

He’d come back to Spencer hanging out near the block only a couple times; he didn’t seem to like loitering, like he was concerned Derek’s neighbours would get suspicious.

More often, though, Derek would go out onto the balcony and make some sort of noise, and Spencer would respond from above. Over time, Derek was relieved to note that Spencer was usually not so close to the edge as he was the first night.

But most of the time, unfortunately, was not all of the time.

Spencer wasn’t all that interested in drinking, but he was interested in sharing whatever he’d learned about recently. He absolutely did not share much about himself at all.

Despite how private Derek felt as a person though, he found he was sharing quite a lot about himself with Spencer. It was hard not to, inviting Spencer into a place he and his sister were living in though. She’d met him in passing once or twice, and had commented after he left, thankfully, about how shy he seemed to be.

Spencer was a bit like butter from the fridge; he needed time to soften up every single time he came over to Derek’s.

His most recent obsession, to Derek's suffering, had been body farms. After finding out that Derek was studying at the academy (which he was loath to share on account of those ever-present insecurities), Spencer had told him that he was interested in criminal behaviour, among other related things.

Not in a ‘watch true crime documentaries just for the nightmares, apparently’ kind of way, but more to work out the why, and sometimes guess at the how, of everything. He’d dropped stupid time into geographical profiling, in Derek’s opinion, for someone who wasn’t pursuing a career in a related field.

“And they have one, a body farm that is, in East Tennessee. Did you know that they run ten week courses there? Something they’ve done recently is watching for changes in hair for a body left in a car for two months. That’s so specific, isn’t it? Hair changes in a car? Although it’s safe to assume they’re obviously looking for more at the same time.”

“Obviously,” Derek agreed.

Spencer was way too excited for the topic at hand.

Derek continued before Spencer went back to talking about something like maggot life cycles. “Okay, so if I get through to being an FBI agent and I see a body in a car, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“You mean when. I don’t have a phone.” Spencer’s lips had a little curve, like he was self-conscious of smiling still but couldn’t help it fully.

“Right, right. Can you tell me how to summon you then, or will I just have to come here and call out at the roof until you appear?”

Now that was definitely a smile. Why did that feel just as good as high test scores?

The next time Derek was at the apartment, Spencer didn’t show. But there was a phone number written on a paper plane that had been thrown onto his balcony. Three, actually, and one he picked up on the way to the apartment that was stuck in a sad, over-pruned and under-watered hedge out front. How many had Spencer made that Derek didn’t find?

Eleven, it turns out. Spencer was a horrible shot, but Derek liked watching his long fingers folding the paper in what was ‘the most aerodynamic plane folding method’ the next time he was over. It felt a little silly to challenge him on it, especially since Derek knew fuck all about the aerodynamics of paper planes. And Spencer called him out on it.

“Superior hand-eye coordination doesn’t mean your plane folding method is superior, it just means you’re good with your hands.”

Derek wiggled his eyebrows, but continued speaking after he let the flush of Spencer’s cheeks sit for a moment.

“So you want me to throw one of yours, to see if I can do it better with your method?”

“It’s a reasonable request. You can’t test two theories for quality results if the testing methods are different.”

“You’re a sore loser, you know that?”

“You’re an unfair winner, did you know that?”

“So you admit I’m a winner?”

Spencer felt terrible that his next plane hit Derek in the eye, so Derek only milked it for half the time he would have liked to.

Spencer shoved his shoulder when Derek finally caved and laughed, indignant.

“You were playing it up!”

“It’s paper! It can’t hurt me that bad.”

“It did hit your eye. They might be the fastest healing body part, but they’re not impervious.”

“Pretty boy, if you want to kiss it better, I won’t stop you. But you don’t need to worry that much about it.”

Derek saw that sweet rush of colour on Spencer’s neck and cheeks, and the smile he was trying to hide before now took a shy edge as he tried to look casual.

“Well, if I injured you, I should do what I can to help.”

His voice was so quiet that Derek almost missed what he said. He tilted his head in question, raising a brow while trying to figure out if this was more word-based flirting or if one of them would actually take it further for once.

Spencer’s eyes were focused on his fingers, picking at lint that certainly wasn’t on the leg of his pants but held his gaze anyway. His eyes flickered up to Derek’s face though, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips just after.

“Well, you’re the doctor out of the two of us, what do you think I need?”

“I’m not a medical doctor.” Spencer’s voice seemed to be getting quieter, but Derek liked that his gaze was flicking more to Derek’s lips now.

“Maybe so, but I bet you know more about first aid than I do, especially with that fear of germs you got.”

“Me not shaking your hand is normal. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”

Derek almost laughed at how embarrassed Spencer looked at that line, but knew if he did Spencer would think he was laughing at him and might take offense.

“So I should kiss you goodbye when you leave? Doctor Reid, who knew you could be so forward?”

“That’s not what I was saying! I just-”

Derek held up his hands, placating, while Spencer seemed to flap his. “Now now handsome, I didn’t say I was opposed.”

Derek thought he was floating when Spencer, so quickly it was barely a kiss, pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek when he left that night.

–

The next time Derek heard Spencer’s voice from above his balcony, he was almost back to his subdued, distanced self from when they first started speaking. It was over an hour before Spencer let Derek coax him inside. He was shocked when Spencer came to his front door, hair lank and pulled forward to try and cover his eye and cheek that were dark with bruising.

“Spencer, what happened?” He ushered the younger man in, directing him to the couch.

“Nothing. An accident. What were you saying about the fitness test?”

“You’re not interested in fitness tests, what happened?” He tried to bring his hand up to Spencer’s cheek, tilt his head up into the light and assess the damage, but Spencer shied away from him, getting up and heading to the kitchen instead.

“I’m interested in the fitness test.”

“I’m not. Since when are you interested in that?”

“Since you’re the one talking about them.” Derek tried not to feel warm and fuzzy with that comment. Spencer was being genuine, the man was a terrible liar, but he gives away shy truths when he wants to distract.

Derek leaned against the tiny kitchen counter while Spencer turned the kettle on.

“I thought you didn’t have tea at night because of the caffeine.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight anyway, so I may as well enjoy a tea.”

Derek scrutinised him, wordlessly getting a still sealed pack of decaf tea from the cupboard and putting it down beside Spencer’s hand on the counter.

“You know this isn’t truly decaffeinated? It’s just lower in comparison to other teas.”

Derek stayed quiet and watched as Spencer started to squirm under his gaze. He turned then to face Derek, a frown on his face that softened when he saw whatever emotion Derek’s expression wasn’t hiding. Concern, probably.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t use your behavioural training on me.”

“I thought I wouldn’t feel the need to with you.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line before he turned back to the kettle, mumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

When Derek put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Spencer jumped, then looked guilty.

“Sorry. I don’t-” He looked at Derek’s hand, which he’d pulled back like he'd been burnt when Spencer flinched at his touch. “I don’t mind.” He wrung his hands, nervous or something like it and unable to look at Derek with that soft red on his cheeks again, marred by bruises. “I don’t mind. The contact, if it’s you. But I’d rather not be surprised by it just now.”

“I get it, pretty boy, and I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, for Spencer to take. Spencer’s hands shook a little, and he’d forgotten to pour water into his mug now.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, I won’t ask how you got- that.” He jutted his chin to try and gesture at Spencer’s purpled skin while his hands were occupied. “But is what I see all you have, or is there more?”

Spencer bit his lip, watching his own thumb as he rubbed it against Derek’s fingers.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer shrugged, still unwilling to meet Derek’s eyes.

“It’s not just that. My face. It’s-...” He lifted their joined hands, but didn’t let go of Derek’s to gesture any better. Instead, he pressed their hands to Derek’s chest, just beneath the collar of his shirt, then slowly moved them down and around a little to Derek’s sides. The movement was awkward, but Derek appreciated the tight grip on his hands, and the touch Spencer was initiating, and the information being shared all in the way Spencer was capable of.

“It’s all over, isn’t it pretty boy?”

Spencer hesitated, almost nodding before deciding to try and move on. “I don’t know if I qualify for that. Not normally, or especially now.”

The shy smile was back, and too self-deprecating for Derek. But fighting Spencer on that too strong right now would push him away, so he let some of that anger slide away before he spoke.

“You callin’ me a liar, handsome?”

“No, I think I’m calling you a sweet-talker.”

“But a lying sweet talker, hot stuff?” Spencer pursed his lips as he looked up at Derek, finally, to suppress a smile.

“I’m starting to think you have a biased opinion.”

“I’m starting to think you do too, although on the other side of the spectrum. Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Spencer squeezed Derek’s hands before letting them go, turning back to pour hot water in his mug. Derek bit back a sigh when Spencer changed the subject again.

“So only two weeks before you’re done at the academy, huh?”

Throughout the night, as Spencer started melting into his more comfortable self the longer he was there, he was less aware of the bruising on his face. It wasn’t until he caught his reflection, or Derek staring, or felt it twinge when he smiled too wide, that he remembered it and grew self-conscious again. That he pushed his hair back in the way of it like if Derek couldn’t see it then Spencer could forget he was injured.

He’d foregone contact lenses and worn his glasses that night, like he did most nights, and Derek thought it might be so it felt like there was another barrier between his bruises and the rest of the world.

Derek wanted to kiss them better, and then all the other hurts Spencer seemed to have. And Spencer sure seemed to have a lot of hurts.

Hurts like how his expression tightened when Derek asked about his childhood, his parents, his friends, or his time at school. How Derek, in the earlier days, made a comment about Spencer missing social cues, and heard a bitter ‘well I can’t pick up on cues if I don’t have anyone to teach them to me’ in reply before Spencer tried to cover it up.

How if he had a particularly bad day, he was so jumpy near Derek that Derek almost wanted to sit on his hands to show he wasn’t going to use them for anything.

How on days when Spencer’s eyes were sunken with a lack of sleep, and the clothes he wore showed how thin he was, and he was so so close to the edge of the ledge on the roof above Derek’s apartment that he thought Spencer just might not care if he fell over the edge.

Like he’d had a lifetime of hurts and still had to face more each day, and Derek only saw little slivers of him and couldn’t learn enough to help him as much as Spencer needed; as much as Derek wanted.

God, he was going to make a terrible profiler.

“Derek?” Spencer looked hesitant, and Derek realised he’d spaced out; probably while staring at Spencer’s bruise again going by how he’d tried to angle his face away awkwardly, unable to fully turn and hide it while looking at Derek at the same time.

Derek couldn’t help it, he just kept on staring. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips again, and Derek’s eyes tracked the movement. He knew Spencer noticed that, too, by the way his breath seemed to stutter.

Slowly, he shuffled forward on the couch, eyes holding Spencer’s gaze as he did so.

This time, Derek’s name from Spencer’s lips was much quieter, like he was asking for something instead of questioning him.

“Spencer,” The younger man’s eyes dropped down, watching as Derek’s hand came up to his arm; his shoulder. Watched it still as it moved higher, cupping his unbruised cheek. Spencer turned his head, almost pressing a kiss to Derek’s palm as his eyes closed and his bruised cheek was fully on display.

“Spencer, I’ll be gentle. May I?”

Spencer didn’t open his eyes, just hummed in agreement, nosing at Derek’s palm. 

Goosebumps broke over Spencer’s neck when Derek’s breath hit his cheek, and Derek felt him shiver. Careful to avoid the worst of it, Derek skated his lips over Spencer’s cheekbone, pressed them just in front of where his earlobe met the back of his jaw, then trailed them down his jawline.

Spencer tipped his head, allowing easier access as Derek watched Spencer’s fingers grip the couch cushion beneath him. Unsure if it was entirely due to sensation or something going on in his mind, Derek didn’t push further. Using his hand on Spencer’s cheek, he turned the man’s head to nudge his nose to Spencer’s.

“This is alright?”

In lieu of an answer, slowly, Spencer lifted his chin and kissed Derek on the lips. Derek’s chest swelled and he smiled into it, his other hand coming up to Spencer’s side.

They shuffled closer to each other, to be able to press themselves into each other more comfortably. Spencer’s mouth opened beneath Derek’s lips, and he could taste that terrible decaf tea and honey, and the cashews Spencer liked to snack on while reading.

He wondered what Spencer would think he tasted like, the cheap vending machine snacks and the god awful protein water he’d bought without realising it was terrible.

Suddenly, he had the urge to brush his teeth. He made to pull away, but Spencer’s fingers curled in his shirt and his resolve weakened.

Their hands were slowly moving over each other, everything was moving so slowly. Sweetly, like they were learning each other and had all the time in the world. Derek’s fingers found the hem of Spencer’s shirt, and he tugged the man’s lower lip between his teeth as his fingers slipped under the fabric and brushed against Spencer’s skin.

God it was soft, but it felt thin, too. He became scared of hurting Spencer, especially when remembering he had some other injuries too. So he kept his touch light, fingers probably tickling as they travelled further up Spencer’s side as Spencer laughed into the kiss.

Spencer tugged at Derek’s collar, then his fingers slipped around to cup the back of Derek’s neck. Caught up in being able to touch, they quickly moved back down, trailing over his shoulder and down his chest, then Spencer’s hands lingered there. They would have moved further down, Derek thinks, with his hands now pushing Spencer’s shirt up, if it weren’t for his sister coming home.

They didn’t realise until they heard her laugh, surprised.

“Oh, Sorry! I didn’t text ahead, my phone died. Go about your business!” She laughed again, more of a giggle, then her bedroom door clicked shut. Spencer was rigid beneath him - when had he pressed Spencer into the couch beneath him?

‘Sorry, Spence, I didn’t-”

Spencer pushed him up and off, the heat flushing his face more than the usual shyness or what Derek might expect from making out on a couch could bring about. More than embarrassment of being caught, even. He scrambled to get up and right his clothes, walking to the door and scooping up his bag on the way.

“Spencer, wait! Where are you going?” He didn’t want to pull Spencer back by catching his arm, knowing the man wouldn’t react well. His eyes seemed watery and Derek was lost.

And he stayed lost, when, after three weeks, Spencer hadn’t come back. His texts went unanswered and when he called the number was disconnected.

And he kept right on being lost when Spencer didn’t come back to visit him before he had to move out.

–--- 2005

Derek scowled at the scene before them. 

“You’re saying someone was turning people into books?”

The local officer walking them through the scene nodded, nose wrinkled but face otherwise resigned.

“Yup. See, we had a couple people go missing here and there. Transients, runaways, you know the type. And we’d thought they went missing by choice. Sure, we looked,” not enough, Derek thought. “But we never thought they’d end up. Well. As books.”

“As books.” Derek’s skin crawled.

Aside from a specific wrinkle in his brow, Hotch didn’t even look perturbed. “These materials, would they be specialised? Potentially unique or traceable?”

“The tanning stuff? Not as far as we can tell. Out here, we got people doing this the normal way, tanning hides and such.  A lot of leather workers out here. As far as we can tell, it’s basically all the same stuff.”

Hotch looked back at Gideon who shrugged and looked at Derek. “He’ll take a breather now that we found his workshop; he’ll need time to set himself up again. Derek, you’re going to a library to speak to someone about human skin book binding.”

Derek and Elle looked at each other before Derek held his hands out, gesturing broadly.

“We just have someone who knows about human skin being made into books?”

Elle smirked at him. “And you get to visit them. How nice.”

Derek wasn’t thrilled about it, and the feeling that his skin was crawling and unclean hadn’t left since they found the workshop their unsub was using. It reeked in both usual and unexpected ways, and the forensic investigator on scene and all too happily told him that urine could be used in the tanning process.

Perhaps a clean, quiet, library would help in easing his mind, but the subject matter wouldn’t. Derek flashed his badge at the desk, and the librarian assistant he’d found nodded without him needing to explain.

“Agent Gideon called ahead, I’ll lead you through to the doctor now. The books were already here, we’ve held them for ages, but the doctor only arrived recently. Good timing, too, what with this horribleness happening.” She chattered as she led him through shelves, picking up carelessly placed books as she went and piling them up on her other arm.

“Wait, the doctor showed up for the books after the murders?” Derek frowned; Gideon hadn’t called that far ahead, had he?

“Yes, though it’s not his first time here. He’s such a joy to have.” She looked at Derek, then laughed. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Derek shrugged, and she shook her head. Then, they stopped outside a room labelled ‘staff only’, and she knocked before pushing the door open.

Derek patted down his pockets for his notepad and pen, then stopped short when he looked up.

The assistant kept talking.

“So this is the doctor Spencer Reid, the veritable specialist on these books. Our Margaret, who usually cares for these books and who we’d recommend you to normally for this, she’s been unwell. But we’re lucky to have Dr. Reid here,” After that, she looked between the two, and her smile slipped into confusion.

“Do you two know each other?”

Derek swallowed, and Spencer barely moved.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then.” She cast a hesitant glance at Spencer, who nodded to her, and she seemed to take that as a sign it was safe for her to leave them alone.

“Spencer?”

[wereoz]

trying to write a bsu era fic is so hard like. later in the series it’s implied that rossi & gideon founded the unit, and coined the terms but earlier in the series apparently max ryan and other guys were there first and gideon was a young new addition . . . AGHHHHH

[inkandpaperqwerty]

I had so many plans for this weekend. So many different things I was going to work on. And then Rehearsing Tragedies (my Slave!Castiel story) consumed my soul, and I spent my entire Saturday writing it. Somehow, I got from an incredibly amusing scene where Dean half-jokingly threatens to spank Castiel (in a non-sexy way) for being so violent and uncooperative all the time to an absolutely gut-wrenching scene where Castiel is terrified out of his mind but can’t do anything to stop what’s happening to him because he’s been drugged but is fully aware. Yet, it’s all linear. One thing leads to the next. Castiel’s constant resistance leads to… something that I’m not giving away right now. Point is, I gave myself whiplash, so I can’t imagine what it’s going to do to you guys. Ahem.

But I did manage to get some other stuff done, including some work on Through the Gate (Criminal Minds x Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood)! I’ve got about six chapters done, and I’ll be posting the first chapter on Wednesday, 05/22/2024. I don’t know if I’m going to be posting every Wednesday like I have been or if I’m going to do every other Wednesday, at least until I have more completed. We’re gonna see how it goes!

I got some work done on Sparkling Eyes and Cigarette Burns, though not as much as I wanted (because Slave!Castiel consumed my soul). I’ll be working on it throughout the week during my lunch breaks and when I get home from work, so hopefully I’ll at least have the chapter complete, if not ready to post, by next weekend.

I don’t want to talk about publishing. I just… don’t want to talk about it. Ugh.

Thanks for reading!

[cumulo-stratus]

guys i may be writing somethin...

[ri4naaa]

OH MY GOD GUYS / guys/ guys. my friend put me onto this manga and. it's been i wanna say 5 days since i started reading and i am on chapter 110 this thing is literally so beautiful. the story? wonderful. the pacing? perfect. the character development? on point. the character designs themselves? 10/10. like i cannot stress or gush about this enough it is SO good like genuinely oh my godddd please go read the fragrant flower blooms with dignity