#(and the house is being inspected at SOME point over the next few days)
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You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down | s5
pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 16.2k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, major character death, gun violence, drinking, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 5x01, 5x02, 5x06, 5x09, 5x10, and 5x21
a/n: This season was really hard to write at points (I think we all know which eps I'm talking about lol) but I'm looking forward to brighter days ahead:') Also we get some more tangible tension so yay! Title is from Look After You by The Fray
series masterlist
"We're not working a case," Derek states matter-of-factly when you arrive at the crime scene. You were woken up early the next morning after getting back from Canada, and on less than four hours of sleep, your brain is struggling to function.
"Why call us to a crime scene?" you ask, walking up to the front door of the house with the rest of the team.
He shrugs. "I was hoping you knew."
You look around, trying to find Aaron, but he's nowhere in sight. He had promised to put in the team request for a few days of leave, but you presume the call came in before he got a chance to do so.
The local police let you survey the scene, explaining that a Dr. Barton got a threatening letter that someone would be murdered everyday that he didn't give up his own son. Once you're done inspecting the body, you turn to JJ, lowering your voice. "Where's Hotch?"
"He's not answering his cell," she says, her lips thinning. "I assume it's on vibrate."
You nod. "I'll try him again."
You step away from the group and click his number in your speed dial, listening to the rings until it reaches his voicemail. It's unlike him to keep his phone on silent, but you know the previous night was tough on everyone. "Hey, it's me." You tell him the address you're heading to for the case, before turning towards the car and lowering your voice. "I know you're probably just asleep, but I don't know...I have that weird feeling again that you know I get...so please just call me back." You take a deep breath, hoping you're being overdramatic, and that you'll see him pull up in a few minutes. "See you soon."
When you get to Dr. Barton's house, he still hasn't called you back. You sit with the doctor, Prentiss, and Reid in his living room, going through his recent patient files, while Morgan, JJ, and Rossi head to the school to find his son.
"Something set this guy off," Emily explains as you start poring over the records. "Odds are it's in your files."
You manage to get through about a dozen before Dr. Barton stands up with a sigh. "My son is leaving school in five hours. There's no way we can get through all of these patients in time."
You check your phone again, mostly to see the time, but you also note that there aren't any new calls or messages. "He's right. We need more eyes on this. I can get Hotch and be back in a half hour."
"Keep us updated," Emily says, nodding at you. Concern flashes across her eyes for a millisecond, and you're sure it reflects the look in yours.
The drive to his apartment doesn't take long, and you stalk down the hall, all the way to the end, until you find his door. There's no answer the first time you knock, so you reach for the spare key he gave you, but before you can use it, you realize the door is already unlocked.
Your heart drops into your stomach and you pull your gun out, using it to push open the door carefully. "Aaron? Aaron, it's me."
When the door is ajar, the sight before you almost makes you drop your gun. There's a large bullet hole in the far wall, along with a patch of drying blood and bits of broken glass on the floor. His phone is on the ground as well, and his gun and holster are lying on his dining table.
You crouch down on your heels, trying to calm your breathing, as you take in your surroundings. You need to think logically about this, or you'll be no help at all.
A few things come to you as your mind clears.
His car is still outside.
No blood splatter around the bullet hole.
No drag marks.
You dig your hand around your back pocket and pull out your phone, dialing Garcia as fast as you can. "Overtime shift, Penelope speaking."
Her chipper voice usually calms you down, but right now you need to cut to the chase. "Garcia, it's me. Something's happened to Hotch. You need to get an APB out on him."
Her breath stutters. "What do you mean, something?"
"There's blood on the floor," you whisper, willing your voice not to crack as your throat thickens with tears. "There's also a bullet hole in the wall, probably a .44."
"I'll send the whole team," she says before you cut her off.
"No, don't call the team. They need to finish the case we were assigned. Just tell Emily, since she's expecting me back, but send every other agent in the vicinity."
"On it."
The line clicks off and you release your breath, before standing up again. While you wait for the crime scene techs, you poke around his things in the main area, trying to see if anything has been taken or moved. The only thing you notice before they arrive is that a page has been ripped from his address book.
"Agent L/N?" a voice calls from the doorway.
You lift your hand. "Yeah, in here."
They come inside and get to work immediately, so you step out, just in time for Garcia to call you back. "Y/N, I checked local hospitals for his name, and I didn't find anything at first, but then one of them told me something really strange."
"Garcia," you whisper through gritted teeth. You love her, but she needs to hurry up before you explode. "What was it?"
"Someone dropped off a John Doe at St. Sebastian hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."
Your vision turns black for a moment. He's back. Foyet's back.
You're rushing to your car before she has a chance to hang up.
***
He's still under anesthesia when you arrive at the hospital. He was stabbed nine times. That's what the nurse told you when you flashed your credentials and asked for any information she could give you.
Now, you're standing in his doorway, trying to build up the nerve to approach his sleeping form. Even with all of the bandages covering his arms and abdomen, he somehow looks peaceful. It's been so long since you've seen his brow unfurrowed, his forehead smooth, without the tension that invades his daily life.
After a few minutes, you take a step inside, then another, and suddenly you're right beside him, reaching out to clutch his hand over the bedsheet.
His skin is cold, and you wrap both hands around his to warm it up, if even by just a little. He's usually a furnace, generating his own heat even when it's freezing out, but whenever he gets hurt, his hands turn to ice.
After a minute, your phone buzzes in your pocket and you let him go to answer it. It's just Emily telling you that she's at the hospital with the rest of the team, and you walk out into the hall to talk to them.
Rossi is the first to reach you. He squeezes you into a hug before getting back to business. "You sure it was Foyet?"
"He had Morgan's credentials," you nod, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck. Derek glances at you then, and you press your lips together with a nod.
"Did they catch him on the security cam?"
"You could see him dropping Hotch off," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady, "but the camera's only on the entrance, so I have no idea what direction he went once he left the hospital."
Emily shakes her head. "It doesn't make sense for him to have brought Hotch to the E.R."
The nurse from earlier approaches you then, pulling your attention. "Agents, he's waking up."
You shuffle inside and take his hand again as everyone walks in.
His voice is soft when he opens his eyes. "Where am I?"
"In the hospital," Emily whispers, taking care to be mindful of her volume.
He shuts his eyes for a beat. "How did I get here?"
"Foyet drove you." Rossi doesn't frown often, but the lines of his face are clearer than ever. "Can you remember what happened?"
Hotch shakes his head, closing his eyes. "What did he take? The Reaper always takes something from his victims."
"There was an address page missing from your day planner," you whisper, finally finding your voice. "In the B's."
His eyes snap open and he tries to lift his head from the pillow, but he can only wince. "Where are my clothes?"
Emily hands him a plastic bag filled with his belongings, and he ruffles through them, until he finds his wallet. When he opens it, a photograph is stuffed inside, covered in blood spatter. Haley and Jack.
Your breath catches, and he seems to realize what it means at the same moment you do. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands."
You squeeze his hand involuntarily, and he exhales sharply. "He knows where they live."
***
When the rest of the team rushes off to his old house, you stay with him at the hospital. You get a call soon from JJ that Haley and Jack are just fine, and you are finally able to breathe easy for the first time all day.
"They're okay," you tell him when you hang up the phone. "That was JJ. She said Haley was home and Jack's at a playdate, but Morgan is going to pick him up right now."
He nods slowly, his body relaxing into the bed. "Good. That's good."
"It is," you say, eyeing his movements. It's still enormously difficult to look at him like this, but you won't be able to move forward if you don't know the truth. "Aaron, what happened? What did he do?"
"I don't remember all of it," he says slowly, clearly taking his time with each word. There's no rush, and he knows it. Even if it takes him hours to get it all out, you'll still be here. "I remember him being there when I got home, after I dropped you off. He fired off a shot into the wall, and then I tried to tackle him, but..."
He trails off, and you squeeze his hand tighter, as though trying to tether him to the present moment. After a few shallow breaths, he continues. "I tried to tackle him, and I got him on the ground, but then he overpowered me." You can almost see it in your mind. The picture he's painting as he weaves over the details with startling clarity. "The first one hurt the most."
The first stab. Your eyes close for a beat, like you're trying to hide from his words. The first of nine.
"I don't remember much after that." You can tell he's leaving things out, but you also don't know if you'll be able to handle it if he does tell you everything.
"That's okay," you whisper as his eyes droop down. "You should rest."
He nods slowly as the exhaustion takes over and his grip loosens around your hand as he falls asleep.
You wait by his side for about a half hour, until you spot a familiar face (with a new haircut) dawdling in the hallway.
You stand up in a fervor. "Oh, thank god."
You rush over to Haley and pull her into a hug, which she returns just as forcefully. "JJ called us when she found you, but it's still really good to see your face."
"It's good to see you too," she says with an exhale before letting you go. You look down and see Jack standing next to her, his mouth downturned as his fingers twiddle at his sides. "Do you mind staying with him while I go talk to Aaron?"
You turn around and see that he's blinking his eyes open again. "Not at all." You take Jack's hand with a smile and lead him down the hall.
"I'm sorry if the big men scared you," you tell him once you find a few seats in the waiting area. "I know it was all very sudden."
To your surprise, his face breaks out into a big grin. "Uncle Derek let me turn on the siren!"
"Wow!" you smile, feeling warm laughter echo around your chest. "That sounds super fun."
He nods ecstatically, before leaning his head over to look back up the hall. "Can I see Daddy now?"
Your smile falls as fast as it appeared and you take his hand again, pressing his fingers between yours. "Soon, baby, soon."
***
He wakes up to the sound of faint talking. He can vaguely see you hugging someone, and he blinks a few times to clear his vision as you disappear down the hall.
"How do you feel?" Haley asks as she walks into his hospital room. She doesn't come further than the foot of the bed, but he's just glad to see her here, in one piece.
He clears his throat quietly. "I'm gonna be okay." She doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't want to focus on him right now. "Did they explain to you what's happening?"
She nods slowly, looking at him for another moment. "They said the Marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody."
She looks upset, and it takes him back to the lowest moments of their relationship. "Haley, I'm sorry."
She looks down and the familiar urge to comfort her returns, even while lying in a hospital bed. "Do you know where they're gonna take us?"
"No, I don't." He tries to catch her eye but she won't look at him. "And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."
She finally looks at him then, and her sadness is tinged with exasperation. "Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now."
He doesn't know what else to say but: "I know. I'm sorry." He hopes he's conveying what he means, but it doesn't feel like enough. "We will catch him, and you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you."
She nods minutely, and he takes the small comfort. "Are you sure that we're in danger?"
"Yes." There's little else he's been more sure of.
"And what about you?" she asks, her voice small. "Are you gonna be safe?"
He doesn't want to worry her, but he also doesn't want to lie. "He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can't see him is better than killing me."
Her brow pinches and she pushes her short hair back from her forehead. "Jack wants to come in."
He tries to argue at first, not because he doesn't want to see him, but because it will only make it harder to let him go again, but eventually she convinces him to accede.
She leaves to go get him, and he leans back on the pillows, trying not to let himself sink inside.
~
Haley finds you in the waiting area, with Jack sitting on your lap, in the middle of a game of I Spy.
"Is he ready for him?" you whisper when you see her approach. She nods and you lift Jack off your lap and set him on his feet. "Off you go, buddy. Time to see Daddy."
"Yay!" he cheers before racing down the hall, you and Haley right behind him. She steers him into the correct room, and he jumps onto the bed before either of you can stop him.
There's a quiet chorus of 'be careful's before he grunts, "Don't worry. It's okay. The doctors made sure that I'm completely fine." He turns to the small boy with a smile you haven't seen in days. "Did Mommy tell you that you two are gonna take a trip?"
Jack nods once, moving his chin up and down dramatically. "Yeah."
"So I'm not gonna see you for a while."
Jack frowns. "Why?" The word sounds so small out of his mouth, and your heart cracks in your chest.
"Well, think about it like when Daddy goes away for work. Only this time you and Mommy get to go someplace."
Jack ponders this for a few seconds, before crawling up again and wrapping his arms around his dad's neck. "Are you okay?"
"I'm very proud of you." It's a father's answer. The kind of response that doesn't tell the truth, but hides the pain with love. "Every single day. I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Okay."
Haley says another goodbye and grabs Jack's hand before leading him out of the room. She gives you another hug, squeezing extra tight for the last second. "It's not his fault."
"Of course it isn't," you whisper, letting her pull back.
"No," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I mean, don't let him blame himself for this."
He's one of the most stoic people you know, but he can also be so transparent sometimes. "I won't. I'll be here."
"He needs you," she says with a sad smile. "He's always needed you, but he especially needs you now."
She doesn't let you respond before she's tugging Jack down the hall. You watch as she exits the side door of the wing, and only turn back when you can't see her anymore. She's one of your longest friends, and you won't be able to see her or her son for god knows how long.
When you step back into the room, you stand at the foot of his bed, trying to gauge what he needs from you, but then you see his expression. Tears prick the corners of his eyes and his mouth twists as you rush forward and grab his hand, squeezing it between yours with the grip of someone holding onto a life preserver.
"They'll be okay," you whisper, trying to keep your own tears back. "We'll get through this."
He nods, his eyes still shining. You move to sit in the chair beside him, but he tugs you back, pulling you closer. You understand the desperate look in his eyes, the need for connection and comfort from someone you care about that you've seen in yourself on so many occasions.
Slipping your shoes off, you tuck the sheet into his side and carefully climb onto the little hospital bed, taking care to avoid any of the wires and tubes. Once you're sure you're not pulling on anything, you curl up beside him and wrap yourself around his arm. His skin is warmer than it was earlier, and you take solace in the fact that he's going to be okay. Maybe not now, but he will be.
Your breaths synchronize with his and you listen to the beeping of the heart monitor as your own heart rate calms down. There's a feeling tugging at your spine, filling you up and threatening to spill over, but you shove it down, knowing it will be too much right now. You don't have the words to describe the emotions circulating through your brain, so you stick with what you know. "I love you." It's quiet, barely a whisper, but you know he can hear you. "Thank you for staying alive."
"You're welcome," he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the monitor. "I love you too."
***
You leave the hospital the next morning with a plan. He's still asleep when you wake up, so you get up carefully and thank the nurses one more time before heading out.
You make two stops on the way to his apartment, and this time, you use your spare key to unlock the front door. The crime scene crew cleaned the blood off the floor, and you told Rossi to get them to spackle the hole in the wall, for at least a temporary fix, but there's still an air about the place. It was just starting to feel like his home, and now it's soiled, once again.
You shut the door behind you and drop your bags to the ground, surveying the place one last time for any damage or mess you missed earlier. When everything seems fine, you get to work.
An hour later, you slump back against the wall and toss the packet of instructions to the ground. In front of you is a freshly installed security system, with a door proximity sensor and keypad for when he leaves the house in a hurry.
You can already hear the arguments coming, but you don't care anymore. You won't be able to sleep knowing he's in here, all alone, without anything to keep Foyet from coming back and finishing the job.
For someone who has as little of a technical background as you do, you're impressed with how quickly you were able to get the system running, and you test it a couple of times, turning it on and off and checking the doors, before you finally pull his door closed and lock it behind you.
***
The doctors don't release him until the end of the week, but once he's able to walk again, he calls you to get him from the hospital. By the time he signs his discharge papers and makes the phone call, you're already almost there, and as much as he hates putting you out on a weekend, he can't help the satisfaction that rumbles through him.
The drive to his apartment is mostly silent, with him just trying to stay still as you take the turns carefully, and drive five under the speed limit. When you arrive, you hold the bag of salves and ointments for him as you take his arm, helping him down the hall and to his front door.
He moves to grab his key, but you stop him with a forceful "Wait!"
"I can unlock my own door," he grumbles, but you just shake your head, taking the key from him and turning it slowly in the lock. The moment it swings open, a loud beeping fills the air, and you rush forward to type something into the keypad by his door. Wait...keypad? "When did tha-"
"Before you argue," you jump in, clearly anticipating his disgruntlement, "it's for me, okay."
He raises an eyebrow and you glare at him, but there's no effort behind it. "I mean, it's obviously for you, but still...it's for my peace of mind too."
You're rambling makes him crack a smile for the first time in days, and he nods slowly. "Okay."
Your mouth snaps shut and you look at him with a meek smile. "Okay."
You help him get settled on the couch, and he waits there as you scrounge up some food from the kitchen. He's not sure he has anything perishable, but you manage to put together a comforting bowl of pasta with jarred tomato sauce that makes him feel a little more at home.
As the evening turns to night, he catches himself glancing at his watch more often than not, and eventually you catch on too.
"Is it time?" you ask, your voice gentle.
After a breath, he nods, and you reach across the coffee table to grab his bag of supplies from the doctor. You lay the salve and extra gauze on the table, and wait for him to make the next move, a decision he accepts gratefully.
He's been injured before. He knows how painful it is to sanitize a wound, and especially one as deep and grotesque as his. He just needs a few moments to accept the fact that he's...scared.
"I can do it," he says once he's ready, before reaching for the salve. The simple motion makes him wince and you jump in right away, grabbing it for him and undoing the top.
"Let me," you whisper, your words somewhere between a statement and a question. "Please."
He can already feel his stitches pulling, just from the simple act of swiveling his body to face you, so he gives in with a quick nod.
He doesn't look at you as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. He's not embarrassed - you've never pitied him, even at his lowest moments - but he needs the semblance of privacy as he exposes his injuries to the open air.
The air feels cold as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and you get to work immediately, peeling back the old layer of gauze as slowly as you can. The sections directly over his wounds stick slightly, and he grits his teeth against the pain as you gently tug them free, making sure to avoid pulling his stitches.
"Do you want a break?" you ask once the gauze has been fully removed. He shakes his head, needing this to be over as soon as possible, but when he meets your eyes, he sees them welling up with tears.
He glances down at his bare torso, his eyes darting over the jagged scars ranging from his stomach to his collarbone. Your breath stutters as you take it in with him, and he looks at you. "He made sure we'd match."
He sees you rapidly blinking away the tears that rush forward, and he wants to comfort you somehow, but he doesn't know what to do. You help him lean back on the armrest, so you can apply the salve around each of his injuries, and as your fingers press into his skin, he can't help but be reminded of his childhood. The pressure of your hands as you wrapped him with bandages, the warmth of your breath when you leaned in to inspect your work.
It's usually a sad memory when he thinks back to his childhood, but with you, it was always good. He watches as you slowly tape the new layer of gauze around his abdomen, and even as tears slide down your cheeks, the way you look at him doesn't change.
"All done," you whisper after pressing on the final pieces of tape. "How do you feel?"
Anxious. Terrified. Lonely. Guilty. "Good. Thank you."
***
"Hey, it's Emily."
"What's up, Em?" you say, your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you hop around, trying to get your shoes on before work.
"How was your weekend?"
You pause. "Fine?" The question isn't out of the ordinary, you're just not sure why she called to ask you that when she's going to be seeing you in person in about twenty minutes. "How was yours?"
"Oh, you know." She sounds distracted, and you feel a smile pull at your lips as you realize she's avoiding something.
"Em...is there a reason you called? You know, given that we're both on our way to the same place."
She clears her throat, and you hear the indecision in her voice, even over the phone. "I know this is kind of a weird question, but would you mind if I picked up Hotch for work this morning. I left late last night, so JJ was able to brief me early, and I figured he could use a headstart."
You stop your movements, straightening up and lifting your hand to your cell. It's not at all what you were expecting her to say, but that's not all you're confused about. "Yeah, of course. You don't have to ask me first, though. We're all teammates."
She makes an little noise that you don't recognize. "Yeah...but you two are different."
You don't know what to say to that, so you just wait for her to keep going. Emily was never very good at uncomfortable silences, so after a few moments, she's back. "Anyway...I'll grab Hotch and see you in 30?"
You try to hide your grin, even though no one can see you. "Sounds like it."
"Bye."
The phone clicks off, and you tuck it back into your pocket, still smiling. You're already in a better mood than normal, because after 34 days of medical leave, Aaron comes back to work today.
You finish clasping your shoe and head out the door, more relaxed this time. With Emily picking up Aaron, you're not in a rush anymore. You take the drive at a leisurely pace, and when you arrive at the office, you run into Spencer by the front of the building.
"Wait up!" you call out, jogging over to him before he gets in the elevator. "Let me get that." You slide the strap of his book bag off his shoulder and sling it onto yours. He nods in thanks and tucks his crutch under his arm as he presses the button for your floor.
"I thought I'd be used to the crutches by now, but I keep tripping over everything." You scrunch your brow with amusement as he frowns down at his leg. "The doctors say it's healing well, though."
The elevator doors open and you step in front of him to get the door across the hall. "Does it hurt?"
He shrugs. "It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."
The statement isn't exactly comical, but his deadpan tone makes you snort as you hold the door, and he smiles as he passes by you. You follow him to Garcia's lair, and she perks up upon seeing the both of you.
"My babies," she grins, pulling out a chair for Spencer. "Sit, sit."
You let out a laugh as you place his bag on the floor next to him. "I'm older than you."
"Who's counting?" she throws back, typing something furiously into her computer. She turns around a moment later, just in time to swat Spencer's hand away from the tin of cookies sitting on her table. "No, no, no."
"What?" he complains, gaping at her.
She swats him again, before pulling the tin away from him. "Get away, you. These are for Hotch."
"Butterscotch?" you ask, glancing down at the box. His preference for butterscotch cookies was something you used to tease him about when you were kids. Butterscotch Hotch.
Penelope nods and lifts the edge of the lid, implicitly offering you a cookie. When you take one, Spencer throws his hands up into the air. "Why does she get one? I get shot in the leg and I still don't get any cookies."
You laugh and break off half of your cookie, which he takes from you the moment it's in your palm. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth, not bothering to swallow it before he pipes up again. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."
"It's cookies," Garcia pouts, "not cake."
Spencer shrugs. "He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."
"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."
You don't know how to weigh in to this discussion, mostly because you know more about how he's feeling than they do, but also because the idea of speculating on his recovery without him here feels like a betrayal.
"What do you think?"
You look up and realize that Spencer was directing this question to you. Swallowing down the last bit of your cookie, you cough once to clear your throat. "I think he's been through a lot, but sometimes coming back to work is the best way to take your mind off of things. Foyet was in his home. I don't think staring at the same walls that used to have bullet holes in them is exactly healthy either."
Spencer and Penelope both stare at you for a moment, before nodding and looking down. They remind you of two children who have just been reprimanded, and you smile to soften the sentiment. "I love you guys for caring about this, but we just have to trust that he's okay."
"Yeah," Penelope nods, reaching forward to squeeze your hand. "Are you okay? This can't have been easy for you, either."
"I'm fine," you say too quickly. "Nothing happened to me." It's not a lie, exactly. You weren't the one who was stabbed. Nine times. "I've just been keeping him company after work, and helping with some of his post-hospital care checklist."
"He's lucky to have you," Penelope says softly, to which Spencer nods.
"He was great too after I got shot," you add, feeling oddly defensive of your friendship. "He stayed with me for a long time when my dad was gone."
She smiles at you sadly, before holding the tin out for you. "Want another cookie?"
You let out a weak laugh as Spencer chuffs behind you, and you shake your head. "No thanks."
"Do you think he'll like them?" Her voice sounds earnest, and you nod, knowing what it's like to want so desperately to understand someone who's as closed off as he seems at times.
"Spence, Y/N, there you guys are."
You turn around to see JJ, her face lined with tension. "Are you ready for us?"
She nods. "Grab your go bag."
***
He's been erratic all day. When he snapped at Garcia earlier for missing the antipsychotics link, you wanted to throttle him, especially when you remembered the cookies she had waiting for him in her office.
The thought that maybe Spencer was right keeps flashing through your mind as you watch him get frustrated with everyone, including himself. When you all arrive at the Darrin Call's father's house, where he and a young boy he kidnapped are waiting, Aaron instructs Emily to speak with the lieutenant on scene to figure out what you're dealing with.
"The kid's in there," you hear him say, "We've got this. Tactical teams
are covering the exits. Call needs a distraction. He's focused on the old man."
Emily glances back at the house as she ties her hair back. "For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out."
"I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate."
"You do that and someone else dies."
The man just shrugs. "Either Call or a child murderer...flip a coin."
"It doesn't have to end like that." You can see how hard she's trying to make the lieutenant understand, but sometimes the locals just don't listen. "We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die."
There's movement behind you and you turn around at the last second as Aaron stalks past you and towards the house.
"Hotch," you call out, but he doesn't look back. "Aaron. Aaron!"
He's almost at the front door, and your feet start moving without you realizing it. You make it within a few feet of the front gate before two pairs of arms seize you from behind, halting your momentum.
"Let him go," Dave whispers as he and Derek release you. "We have to trust him."
"He's not thinking straight," you grit out, unable to tear your eyes away from the closed door as you step forward again. He wasn't wearing his vest, and you can't remember if you saw his gun in his holster. You close your eyes, wracking your brain. Think, goddamnit.
Derek grabs you again as you try to make a break for it, anticipating your movements before you even know what you're doing. "Rossi's right. We have to trust him. We can't help him if we rush inside now."
"We can't help him out here either!" Your voice sounds frenzied in your ears, but he doesn't loosen his grip, even as you try to shove him off of you.
"You know we're right." He looks at you sternly, and your resolve diminishes as reason starts to set in. "Going inside will only make it worse."
Emily comes up from behind you and takes your arm, leading you back to the street in front of the house. You back up, but you don't turn around, ready to rush in the moment anything changes.
"What's he doing?" she asks Derek, her voice quiet, like she doesn't want you to hear.
"Stalling," he says simply. "He's got nothing to lose."
Your breath catches and you lift your hand to your chest, clutching the top of your vest like it's a lifeline. You want to scream at them, scream that he has everything to lose. He has a son, and an ex-wife who loves him, and he has you.
"You got the shot?"
"Negative."
He suddenly appears in the front of the door, but you can tell he's angling his body to block the visual of the shot. What is he doing?
The door opens for a split second, and the little boy runs down the porch and into the arms of one of the SWAT members. It shuts as fast as it opened up, and you only manage to see his face for a moment before he disappears into the house again.
For a minute, there's only silence, until the air is pierced with the sound of three gunshots, one after the other. Your body visibly flinches and you throw yourself forward and over the gate, pulling out your gun at the last moment as you breach the front door.
When you storm into the living room, Aaron is putting cuffs on Darrin. The father is dead in his recliner at the center of the room.
"What happened?" Dave asks from behind you.
He purses his lips. "I couldn't stop him." It's then that he finally looks up at you, but all you can do is glare. You don't know if you've ever been angrier in your life, and definitely not at him.
His brow dips with a mix of confusion and remorse, but you just stuff your gun back in its holster, spin around, and stalk out of the house. The fresh air outside feels like a welcome respite from the emotions swirling around inside of you, and you turn your face to the sky as your brain fires off millions of questions at once.
When did he get so reckless?
Is this all because of Foyet? The need to feel like he's getting something done, with his family on lockdown?
He comes out of the house then, and you're practically shaking from the relief that he is okay, but the anger isn't fading. You can feel it flooding your veins with each breath you take.
He hands Call off and approaches you slowly, stopping in front of you with a look you don't recognize.
"This is the job," he says simply, his voice almost cold. "You know what you signed up for."
"I know what I signed up for?" Your face twists with disbelief and you look at him with contempt. "Fuck you, Hotch." His face drops slightly and it only feeds your fight. You know him better than anyone else in this world, and that also means you know exactly how far you can push him until he cracks.
"This is what we do." His voice is tight, and you see your anger reflected in his eyes. "You knew that when you joined the team."
Emily and Dave exit the house, and you can feel their eyes flickering over to you, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.
"No," you grit out, shaking your head. "You don't get to be angry with me. You don't get to say that to me."
He looks at you for a beat before his face falls and you see all the fight leave him. He sighs, his brow pinching. "You're right."
You can practically see the war going on inside his head. The battle between fear and action, where there are no winners.
You nod as you look down at the ground, and he reaches forward to take your hand. He squeezes it tightly, before lifting it to his chest. "Y/N." I love you, I'm sorry.
You nod. "I know." I'm sorry too.
***
You've been looking at the text JJ sent you for the better part of an hour. Something's going on. Strauss was in Hotch's office and it looked bad.
You're reminded of his suspension and the two long weeks you worked here without him, and you internally resolve that it won't be happening again if you have any say at all.
The next morning, you're one of the last people to arrive, and you walk into a conversation that Spencer is having with Emily at his desk.
"You're not gonna believe this," he says, turning to you and lifting his hands dramatically. "Some moron just posted a blog called 'What would Carl Sagan do?' and it's completely illogical."
"L/N, what did I miss?"
You spin around to see Derek strutting into the bullpen, his phone held up in his hand.
"What do you mean?" you ask with a frown.
He looks at you expectantly, and you start to feel like you're on the outside of something you should know. "All the emails from Hotch..."
You yank your phone from your pocket and refresh your email. "I don't have any new ones."
"Me neither," Reid chimes in from next to you.
Derek doesn't wait another moment before he's barreling past you and up the stairs to Aaron's office.
"What was that about?" Spencer asks, a confused look on his face.
"I don't know," you say honestly, "but I think we're gonna find out soon."
~
"You wanted to see me?"
He nods and you step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Ever since his private conversation with Derek this morning, you've been obnoxiously curious about what's been going on with the team, but you also know when not to overstep your boundaries.
"Take a seat." He beckons to the couch on the far wall, and he sits down across from you when you plop down. "We have to talk about something."
"If you say Strauss suspended you again-" He cuts you off with a lift of his hand. You look at him sheepishly and nod. "You were saying..."
"This is going to sound odd, but just hear me out." You're starting to get worried, but he doesn't look anxious, so that's a start. You nod, and he continues. "The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised. They've been questioning me since Foyet's attack, and they're not entirely wrong."
You want to refute this, but you've also been questioning some of his actions as of late. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that you won't have his back if it comes down to it. "They can't fire you. The whole team will fight back if they even try."
He looks at you with something that resembles concern. Concern? "They won't fire me...because I'm stepping down."
"What?" you burst out, unable to help your volume. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week, but I'm not leaving this team."
You think you have an idea of where this is going, but his eyes are still tracking your movements, like they do when he's worried about how you'll react. You don't know how it could get much worse than this, but then you realize he hasn't told you who will be replacing him.
"I told Morgan to take my place until we catch Foyet."
There it is. You don't expect it to sting as much as it does. "Oh."
Your voice sounds small to your own ears, and you clear your throat to keep the emotion out. This isn't a personal decision, it's professional. If Strauss was telling you this now, it probably wouldn't faze you. So why does it hurt coming from him?
"Strauss wasn't happy with your decision to not take the New York position," he explains, his eyes finding yours. "You know I think you deserve more leadership roles. It was her that suggested Morgan for it, and I couldn't argue when she was already so unsure about letting me promote internally."
"I get it," you nod. Your tone a bit sharper than expected, even though you understand where the decision came from. Derek deserves this position too. "I do, I promise."
He raises his eyebrows with a check in, and after a moment, you finally nod. It's okay. We're good.
"I'll see you in the morning?"
You dip your chin. "Good night."
***
"I can't believe Hotch is stepping down."
Penelope, Emily, Spencer, and JJ are all unabashedly watching Derek as he briefs Strauss on the case he chose for today. You've been trying not to look, but every few minutes, something snags your attention.
"Morgan said it's business as usual," Emily adds, her brow furrowed as she watches them converse.
Penelope doesn't seem eased. "So we're just supposed to move forward without any discussion?"
Spencer shrugs. "After Foyet, I think we'd have to be ready for anything."
Derek finishes speaking with Strauss then, and you stand up as he asks Emily to call Rossi for the briefing. He looks official with his ironed button-down, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to emulate Aaron.
You flash him a cheeky smile as he walks towards the conference room, but he just brushes past you.
~
Derek steps into his new role effectively, and you even notice him provide extra feedback to everyone throughout the case. Hotch has a bit of a difficult time stepping down at first, but you know it comes from habit, not distrust.
When you're back at the office later that night, you look up to see that he is still in his office, furiously jotting something down, even though his responsibilities have been greatly diminished. You don't know why you expected the demotion to make him want to cut back a bit.
Derek is the only person still in the bullpen when you take a seat again. You finished up the last of your paperwork, so you start to pack up your stuff, but then your interaction from earlier crosses your mind again.
Latching your bag closed, you stand up and perch on the edge of Derek's desk. "Hey, boss, how's the responsibility feel?"
"Fine," he mutters, his tone snippier than you've ever heard it.
"A lot more paperwork than you were expecting, huh?"
He doesn't look at you, so you reach forward to tap the back of his hand. "Derek, come on, what's going on with you?"
You brace for him to snap at you again, but then he just sighs, setting his pen down. "You're not angry with me, right?"
"What?" You don't know where this is coming from, seeing as how he's been the one who's been avoiding you all day. "Why would I be mad at you?"
"Why?" he repeats, his face twisted with disbelief. "I basically stole this position out from under you."
You shake your head forcefully, putting your hand over his on the desk. "Not even close, hon. Anything on my end was bureau politics, but that's just one side of it. You deserve this just as much as I would have. You've even been at the BAU longer than I have."
He's silent for a moment, before he turns his hand under yours and clasps it gently. You give his hand a squeeze before bringing your other one up to his cheek. "You're doing a great job. You were an amazing leader out there today. Hotch picked you well."
Derek leans into your hand for a beat, before letting out another sigh. "Thanks."
"Seriously, Derek," you say with a smile. "This might have been one of his best professional decisions yet."
That makes him laugh, before shaking his head. "Nah, his best decision was bringing you to this team."
Your chest fills with warmth and you lean forward to pull him into a hug. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, and you settle into the hug, turning away from the office light upstairs and trying to ignore the fact that Aaron hasn't looked up from his desk since you started talking.
***
"Agent Hotchner, before you go, there's one final thing I'd like to share with you."
Karl Arnold, the Fox, has been taunting each of you throughout the whole day, and right when you finally thought you were done, he drew you right back in. You follow Hotch and Prentiss back into the interrogation room.
"So you think you found my admirer."
"No," Aaron says simply. "We found the killer."
Arnold grins. "With my help, of course."
"Your admirer is exactly like everyone who contacts you..." Emily sneers, "lost."
Arnold turns to her, and the look in his eyes makes your skin crawl. "My love, your guy is far from lost."
Hotch shakes his head, turning to the door. "We're done."
"So is he." All three of you spin back around, much to his amusement. "'Look at what I have done.' It's quite brilliant, you know?"
"We will find whoever sent you that."
"No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he's already found you."
Aaron immediately starts flipping through the file on the table, shoving pictures and papers aside as he searches for something. Something about Arnold's tone sends your mind reeling and you grab the journal in front of you and start flipping through it as well.
"What's going on?" Emily asks, coming up behind you.
Arnold just laughs. "He's torturing him."
"Who?"
He ignores her. "It's great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner."
You reach one of the bookmarked pages, and the symbol that greets you almost makes you drop the journal. "Aaron..."
His eyes snap to your hands as his skin turns white. "Foyet."
The three of you rush out of the interrogation room, accompanied by the disturbing sound of Arnold's laughter echoing behind you.
Just before the door shuts behind you, you hear his final words. "He knew you'd come."
***
The whole team spends days with only one goal in mind: find and capture Foyet. JJ works with you and Garcia to track prescription medications that he would be on given his self-inflicted injuries, and Spencer, Emily, and Aaron put together a geographic profile using the letters from the Fox and the proximity of nearby pharmacies. Derek's role as acting unit chief keeps him busy all on its own, but he manages to keep the team on track as he turns any new cases that come in to other teams.
When JJ returns from a local pharmacy with the discovery that many prescription meds have over-the-counter alternatives, the focus shifts. Garcia narrows down the list, and brings back a list of names that is way too long to feasibly question.
"153 names," you huff, leaning over her shoulder as she scrolls down the list.
Emily frowns. "Well, he's not gonna use his own name."
"What kind of aliases should we be looking for?"
You all consider this, before Derek chimes in. "He could have easily stolen someone's identity."
Hotch shuts that idea down immediately. "No, he's a narcissist in love with his own mythology. He'd use a name connected with the case."
"A victim, maybe," you guess, "or a cop?"
Garcia doesn't find anything on the initial search, but thankfully Spencer suggests another approach. "Guys, Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The eye of providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him. Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."
Emily frowns. "Like an anagram or something?"
Spencer walks over to the white board and writes out George Foyet, before fiddling around with the spellings of possible anagrams. You walk up behind him and follow his movements along the board. "You see something, Spence?"
He shakes his head. "Not yet."
"Spencer," you interrupt as the realization comes to you, "he named himself The Reaper."
He pauses for a beat, before switching over to scrawling out possible anagrams for The Reaper instead. After a moment, he's done. "Peter Rhea."
Penelope is already searching. "There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington."
Rossi nods, a satisfied look on his face. "We found him."
***
Garcia sends out the address of an apartment in his name, and you drive over with Hotch, who doesn't say a word the whole way over. You keep glancing at him, trying to be discreet, but the tension in his posture doesn't fade, even after the breakthrough.
The apartment ends up being empty, but when you all go inside, there's a laptop sitting on the center table. Emily dials Garcia the moment you realize that the files on it are being remotely deleted, and when she hacks in, she comes across a series of surveillance photos that make you gasp out loud. "Oh my god, isn't that-"
"That's the US Marshall protecting my family." His face looks frozen with stress as he dials Marshall Kassmeyer's number. When the call goes to voicemail, Aaron stalks out of the apartment and to the SUVs parked out front. He doesn't wait for you to get in, before he's already driving off.
"Where is he going?" Emily calls out as she exits the building behind you.
"Kassmeyer's house," you say, almost certain that you're correct. With the knowledge that his family is most likely in immediate danger, there is nothing anyone could do to stop him from trying to save them. "I'm gonna follow him."
"Here," Rossi says, tossing his car keys to you. You accept them gratefully and speed off down the road.
~
Kassmeyer is bleeding out when you get to his house. Aaron is already inside, trying to get him to explain what happened, and when he describes how Foyet taunted him and stabbed him, you resist the urge to take Aaron's hand.
"Sam," he says suddenly, leaning over him. "I need to understand. Does he know where Jack and Haley are?"
Your heart rate skyrockets as Kassmeyer mumbles another apology. If Foyet knows where they are, you don't know if any of you will be able to get there in time.
The paramedics rush in then, and they carry Sam out to the awaiting ambulance as he refuses sedation. Aaron runs out after them and throws himself into the back of the ambulance before you can catch up.
~
Without any new leads, there's nowhere for you to go, so you wait out front in your SUV as you wrack your brain for where Foyet would have told Haley and Jack to go. You don't know how long it takes until another agent calls you from the hospital with the news that Marshall Kassmeyer died in surgery.
The news hits you like a ton of bricks. One more body you can attribute to The Reaper. "Is Agent Hotchner there?"
The voice is tinny over the line. "He took one of the SUVs and left a few minutes ago."
"Where?" You can hear how frantic your voice sounds, but you don't care. "Where did he go?"
"I'm not sure," the agent says. "He sped away before anyone could ask."
You hang up the phone and turn the car on, before pulling onto the street and calling the team line. Garcia picks up on the first ring.
"Sam died in surgery," you explain as you turn at the end of the street. "Hotch is already gone, but I'm gonna go to the hospital now in case someone has more info."
"Okay, honey," she says, patching in the rest of the team. When they answer, she repeats your statement, before she gets cut off. "Guys, Hotch is calling Foyet."
"Patch us in," Derek instructs over the line, before going silent. You mute yourself as well, before turning back to the road.
"Agent Hotchner."
Foyet's voice makes you nauseous, and you can practically hear the grin behind his words.
"If you touch her..." Aaron doesn't even finish the threat, but you can feel the rage within it.
"Be gentle, like I was with you?"
Your eyes prick with tears as you remember the scars that are now a permanent fixture on his body. The matching scars. The idea of Haley ending up the same way, or Jack-
"What the hell took you so long?" Foyet complains, his tone playful. "I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something."
Aaron doesn't answer him, and the anger is almost palpable over the line.
"Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."
"I'm not frustrated," he finally responds. "You're more predictable than you think."
"Am I?"
He starts to recount the tale of Foyet's life, weaving in details that you didn't know from his childhood and the pain he was causing before he was even old enough to drive. You suppose this was what all of those late nights at the office were for. You hope they were worth it.
"That's the thing, George," he continues, his voice suddenly softer. It's like he's pleading with him. "This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. Haven't you gotten what you wanted?"
There's silence for a few moments, and you can hear your heartbeat in your skull. Eventually Foyet comes back. "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair."
Your heart falls into your stomach. He has her. He already has her.
"She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her."
Just when you think that might be the worst of it, he continues. "Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America
because of you?"
He has them both. You can barely see the road through the anger and fear that is coursing through your veins. Another phone rings and Foyet answers it, leaving his line with Hotch on as well. "Mrs. Hotchner. I'm here. Open the gate and I'll drive in."
You can't hear her reply, before Foyet returns to the call you're listening to. "Aaron? I really gotta go."
The call disconnects, and you can't breathe. Open the gate. The gate. What gate?
Think, think, goddamnit think.
The answer hits you like a truck. "His house. They're at his old house."
Emily whispers something that sounds like "shit" and you swerve across the lanes to make a u-turn. "I'm heading there now."
Assuming Aaron was already heading back after leaving the hospital, he would reach the house before any of you. You can only hope he'll be there in time.
Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you're gripping the steering wheel, and when Garcia patches you all in for another call from Foyet, the tears are already flowing down your cheeks.
"Aaron?"
It's Haley's voice. You gasp out loud from the relief that she's still alive.
"You're okay?" She sounds so scared, but at least she's alive. That's all you can focus on right now.
Aaron answers with a defeated sigh. "I'm fine."
"But...he said that..." The realization hits her, and she lets out a small sob. "Oh, Aaron."
"He can hear us, right?"
"Yes."
His voice is softer then, wet with tears. "I am so sorry. Haley, show him no weakness, no fear."
"I know." Of course she does. She was married to a profiler for years. She knows what all of this means, but she doesn't deserve any of it. "Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh..."
"No," he says gently. "Sam is fine."
Foyet's voice is like the hiss of a snake as it joins the call. "Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up, because you're a liar?" His voice is too close to the phone. You want to scream for him to get away from her, but you're not supposed to be listening, and your car isn't moving fast enough.
"He's trying to scare you, Haley." His voice is trembling, and you can hear the tightness behind each of his words.
When Foyet mentions the deal, your stomach roils with nausea. You can picture the exact look on Aaron's face as he blames himself for this entire situation, even though it's happening to him, not because of him.
"Don't react."
Haley's voice is shaking too as she whispers, "What is he talking about?"
"Tell Jack I need him working the case."
"What?" She sounds confused, and that's when you remember the signal he told you about. The words that only Jack knows that are meant to keep him safe from situations exactly like this.
"Tell Jack I need him working the case," he repeats, his voice steadier. But all of it goes away the moment Haley hands her son the phone.
"Hi, Daddy."
"Hi, buddy." His voice cracks and you feel your heart crack with it. The tears are rushing down your cheeks now, and you wipe them out of your eyes with the back of your hand as you get closer to the house. But not close enough.
Aaron tells him to work the case again, and he gives Haley a hug before rushing out of the room.
"He's so cute. He's like a little junior G-Man." Foyet chuckles, before yelling out. "I'll be right up, Jackie boy!"
Aaron ignores him, and you feel his focus return. "Is he gone?"
"Yes." Haley's voice is strong, and you release a single sigh of relief as you press the gas pedal down as hard as you can.
Aaron's voice returns and you can hear the anguish as he speaks. "You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was."
"You'll hurry, right?" The fear in her voice breaks your heart, and you want to assure her that you're all doing everything you can, but you're still a few streets away.
"I know you didn't sign on for this."
Neither did you.
She echoes your thoughts. "Neither did you."
His voice breaks into a sob. "I'm sorry for everything."
"Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to
make me laugh."
"Haley..."
"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron." Her words sound so final, and you can't imagine what Foyet is pointing at her right now, but you can only hope that Aaron gets there before it's too late. "I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him." She sounds almost resolute, and your body floods with hope for a split second. "Promise me."
His breathing is ragged as he whispers, "I promise."
Three gunshots ring out and the wheel jerks in your hand as a painful sob wrenches from your throat. No, no, no.
~
You race out of your car the moment you pull to a stop in front of the house. There's only one other SUV outside, and you don't give yourself a moment to think as you rush inside, lifting your gun at the last second.
The front foyer is empty, but then a jagged thumping fills the air and you dart around the corner to find Aaron beating Foyet to a pulp. You can tell from where you're standing that he's already dead, but that doesn't seem to matter to him.
"Aaron!" you yell, hoping to break his reverie. His hands are covered in blood as he pounds the man's face in, and he doesn't look up until you grab him from behind and yank his arms back. "Aaron, he's dead. He's dead."
He stops moving, and for one single second, everything is still. Then his body pitches forward and he breaks down as he sobs, his hands coming up like he's begging for the pain to go away.
You clutch him as tightly as you can, like if you hold him close enough, he won't fall apart. You can hear the voices of your teammates as they enter the house, but then his head lifts and he pulls himself up, dashing down the hall. You follow after him, rushing past Morgan and Rossi, and you realize where he's going in real time as he runs into his office and kneels down beside his desk.
Please, please, not him. Just not him. He opens the cabinet and you all share a gasp of relief as Jack's little face peeks out, his skin unmarred.
"I worked the case, Daddy. Just like you said."
Aaron reaches in and picks him up, before squeezing him tightly, his little face glancing around the room in confusion.
"You did a great job, buddy." He releases him after a few moments, before handing him off to JJ to go outside and away from the carnage littering the house. You press a kiss to his forehead before she lifts him up and walks out of the room.
Emily looks at you then, concern flashing in her eyes, but you just nod, and she follows JJ, pulling the door closed behind her.
You turn back around just in time to catch Aaron as he collapses to the floor. The weight sends you both to your knees, and he crushes you to him as you hold him as tightly as you can. His sobs mix in with your own, and you try not to let your body shake from the force of your crying, because you need to be strong for him.
He buries his face into your neck, his tears mixing with the blood on his face as it soaks your shirt and vest.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper into his hair. It doesn't feel like enough, but there's nothing else to say. "I'm so sorry."
~
Derek and Emily come back with the paramedics eventually to take him outside to check for injuries, and you're about to follow after them when something catches your eye. A pair of feet invade your periphery as you glance through a doorway down the hall. Oh god.
Your knees buckle and Derek catches you before you stumble forward into her room. You fall to your knees beside her, and you vaguely hear Emily whisper something behind you before there's just silence.
Her eyes are already closed, and if you really wanted to, you could try to pretend that she was just sleeping, but there's too much blood. You reach out to push her short hair back from her forehead, so that you can see her face one last time. One last time.
A sob rips out of you and you take her hand, pressing it to your lips. The scene is suddenly too much, and you close your eyes before letting out a shaky breath. You don't know what your life is going to look like without her presence. What Aaron's life with look like, or Jack's.
You squeeze her hand again before laying it on her stomach, and Emily comes forward then to help you up. Derek holds the door open as she leads you outside, and helps you tear your vest off the moment you hit the fresh afternoon air.
You bend over, hands on your knees, gulping back fresh air and trying not to throw up. Emily pats your back as you take in deep breaths, rubbing comforting circles that help to calm down your heart rate.
When you look up, you spot Aaron sitting on the edge of an ambulance. The medics are cleaning his cuts, and one of them is holding an ice pack to his head, when you walk over to survey the damage.
He doesn't look up when you approach, instead staring at his bloody hands with a look you can't discern. You can't imagine what he must be thinking right now, but if you know him at all, you know that sometimes you don't need to talk.
You reach down and take his hands, holding them in yours with a tight grip that forces him to look at you. Neither of you says anything, but it's okay, because there is nothing left to say. There will be soon, but not right now.
***
"We'll be back in a couple of hours," Jess tells you as she slings her purse over her shoulder.
You nod at her as you pick Jack off the ground and swing him up into your arms. "Take your time. We'll be hanging out here."
Aaron beckons for Jess to walk out in front of him before he dips his chin at you. "Thank you again."
"Of course," you smile, shaking your head. They're going to make the last arrangements for the funeral, and the absolute least you can do is watch Jack while they're away.
"Can we watch cartoons?" Jack asks the moment the front door shuts behind them.
"Soon, baby," you laugh lightly, before placing him on the ground and leading him to the kitchen. "We gotta make lunch first."
You throw together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bring them to the breakfast table, where Jack is obediently scribbling away at his coloring book. "Here you go, Jack-o-lantern."
He takes a massive bite before you can sit down, but over the next ten minutes, he only manages to finish about half of the sandwich. "I'm done."
"You sure?" you ask, scrunching your face into a playful frown. "I think you got at least a couple more bites in you."
He shakes his head forcefully, before dropping the sandwich onto his plate. You know he doesn't usually eat much, but he hasn't eaten since breakfast hours ago. "Come on, hon, at least another big bite."
"No!" he yells, pushing the plate away from him. Before you can stop him, he jumps off of his chair and races out of the kitchen, towards his bedroom.
You hear the door slam shut behind him, and you heave out a sigh before clearing away both of your plates and wiping down the counter. You don't fault him for anything, you just can't believe he has to go through something like this.
He's so young. Younger than you were when you lost your mom. There's some comfort in the fact that he likely won't remember this pain when he's older, but then comes the nausea. The sickening reminder that one day he'll forget about her. Haley, his mother, your best friend's wife, your friend.
You slowly make your way to his room, knocking on the door twice before calling out his name. When he doesn't answer, you twist the knob and gently open the door. "Jack?"
He doesn't say anything as you cross the room and sit on the floor in front of him. He's fiddling around with a set of colorful wooden blocks, and he only looks at you once you pick one up yourself. The edges have been worn smooth from being tossed around, and you run your fingers against them as you wait for him to speak.
"Did Mommy want to leave?"
You can practically hear your heart crack in two as the block falls from your hand. Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them back, not wanting to scare him.
"No, baby, no," you say quickly, reaching forward to rub your thumb over his cheek. "She loved you more than anything in this world."
He still doesn't look convinced, so you rest your palms on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you. "If it was her choice, she would have never left you."
After a moment, his lips jut out into a pout, but he nods once. "Is Daddy gonna leave too?"
The tears rush forward again. You want to tell him that Aaron would never leave him, that he may be gone most nights until after Jack is asleep, and sometimes even before he's up for breakfast, but he would never leave. But you also know that Haley didn't want to either, but sometimes the job takes more than you're willing to give. "He's not going to leave you. Not if he can help it."
That seems to calm him down for the time being, so you take his hand and lead him back to the living room. Once he's situated on the couch, you switch on his cartoons for him, turning the volume down low.
He settles into the cushion next to you, his arm resting on your thigh as he focuses on the screen in front of him, while your eyes wander down to the small tv stand. They land on a framed photo of Haley and Jess together, smiling at the camera as the sun shines down on their faces, and you lift your hand to your mouth to stifle the tears that rush forward.
When your eyes pan over to the photo of you and her, with Aaron and Jess right behind you, the tears stream down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, trying to be quiet so as not to call away Jack's attention. But the cartoons are too quiet, and when a small sob escapes, Jack looks up, his brow furrowing with a look reminiscent of his father. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay, baby," you nod, forcing a smile onto your face as you look down at him and press a kiss to his temple. "I just loved your mom very much."
***
The ground is still wet from the rain. It squelches beneath your feet as Jess clutches onto your arm, letting you lead her across the cemetery for the service.
You walk behind the pallbearers as they bring Haley to the top of the open grass and set her down carefully with a reverence that brings tears to your eyes again. You don't know if your eyes have been dry at any moment today, but the tears haven't spilled over yet. It's only a matter of time.
Aaron is ahead of everyone, looking down at the small sheet of paper in his hands, with Jack by his side. The young boy looks so small in his suit, and his eyes dart around the procession with a mix of confusion and sadness that pierces your chest.
When Aaron is ready to begin, Jessica lets go and walks up to stand on his other side, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Your arm feels cold where she used to be, but it doesn't last long as another hand takes its place. You turn your head to see Spencer, one hand on his cane, and the other on your arm, as he holds you tightly to his side, his eyes brimming with tears as well. You don't expect that there's a dry eye in the crowd.
Aaron starts his speech with a quote, but the steadiness in his voice starts to waver the moment he says her name. "Haley was my best friend since we were in high school."
You remember how fiercely he loved her, even back then. The tenacity with which he pursued her when he realized that she was someone he wanted to spend his life with.
His voice continues as his eyes dip down. "We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son Jack." Your tears surface again, but you suck them back with a deep breath. "Haley's love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today."
Aaron looks up then, and his eyes land on the casket in front of him. "A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature. And we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life."
His hand flexes at his side, and you wish desperately that you were up there with him, holding his hand like he held yours when your mother died.
"I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her."
His voice breaks and he reaches into his pocket for the scrap of paper he was looking at earlier. "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of 'The Pirates of Penzance'. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment."
The quote comes back to you as he recites it, and your mind flashes back to those adolescent afternoons when you would watch him make a fool of himself trying to impress Haley at play practice. You can't help yourself as the tears finally fall, and you feel Spencer squeeze your hand tightly, acting as the lifeline you so earnestly need.
When he finishes his speech, everyone comes forward to place white roses on her casket before it is lowered into the ground. You wait as the crowd slowly dissipates, as everyone heads to the repast, and you hold Jess's hand while Aaron picks Jack up, holding him tightly.
"Blow Mommy a kiss," he whispers, before leaning over to let Jack place a rose on the casket.
His brow furrows as he straightens again, and you watch as the familiar stoicism returns to his posture. He isn't pushing all of his emotions down, exactly. He's just tucking them away, so as to be there for his son, who needs a solid figure in his life, now more than ever.
And that's what he'll be.
***
The repast is bustling with people from all eras of Haley's life, and you sit with the team at a large table, staring at your plate of food. When Dave pulls Aaron outside to talk, you watch them leave, noting the stiffness in his shoulders as he's forced to leave Jack with Jess again. She has been nothing but grateful to see her nephew more often than usual, but nonetheless, he wears his guilt like a jagged scar across his face.
Penelope clutches your hand under the table and you give her a weak nod, unable to do more with all of the energy drained from you.
"It was a beautiful service," Emily says, her eyes big and soft as they look at you.
You nod again, before turning back to your full plate. You can't bear the thought of stomaching any food right now.
Then just when you think the day can't get any worse, Derek and JJ's phones chirp with a message at the same time. No. No.
"They can't be calling us in," Emily sighs, her lips thinning, "not tonight."
JJ shakes her head. "I'm on it." She returns from her phone call a minute later with a forlorn look. "There's no other team available."
Derek gets up with a sigh. "I'll get Rossi."
When he returns with Dave, leaving Aaron alone on the deck, you squeeze Penelope's hand before walking outside. The air is cold, and you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you approach him.
"It's okay," he says before you can open your mouth. "I'll see you when you get back."
Mind reader, you think for a split second.
He has already given you the blessing you assumed you needed when you came out here, but it still doesn't feel right. "I don't want to go."
"It's your job," he shrugs. Like it's that simple. "It's okay."
"Are you sure?" You won't be able to do your job with him here, but even less so if you're feeling guilty the whole time. "I can take time off."
"No," he says quietly, shaking his head. He looks out into the night air, and you take his hand, squeezing it between both of yours. "It'll be good for me to have some time with Jack."
You can understand that. You pull him into a hug, before dipping your chin into a nod and leaving him out there again.
***
His return to work hasn't been easy. When Strauss gave him the option to retire with full pension and benefits, it should have been an easy decision, but something was tugging at his gut, telling him that would be the wrong choice.
Now he's sitting in his office, and all of his recent life choices are swirling around him like a hurricane ready to close in. He misses Jack like he's missing a limb, and he feels terrible for how often he's been relying on Jess to take care of him, even though she readily offered her help.
His emotions are a tumbling mess, and he doesn't notice that his fingers have been tapping the edge of his desk until you enter his office.
"Coffee?" He looks up with a nod, accepting the steaming cup you hand him, before you flop down on the couch across from him. "What are you thinking about?"
He swallows back a scalding gulp that likely scorched his throat on the way down. He wants to push his emotions down and say something quippy that won't distract you for more than a few moments, but tonight he needs reassurance more than he's willing to admit. "Did I come back too early?"
He expects an immediate and bombastic denial, but you just sit there, stirring your black coffee as you tuck your legs under you. "I can't decide that for you."
It's a diplomatic answer, but he needs guidance, and he doesn't have anyone else to go to. Not that he would go to anyone else even if he did. "Do you think I'm jeopardizing the team by being here?"
This time, the answer is immediate. "Of course not. You've been doing your job effectively, and no one can say otherwise."
He pauses for a moment, ruminating over your words. He knows he's not asking the right questions. He's just delaying until he has to accept what he's feeling.
With a shaky breath, he sets his coffee down and looks at you. "Am I jeopardizing my family by being here?"
Your brows pinch. "Jack will be okay. He's young, and he'll miss you, but you're his hero, Aaron. He loves you because you keep him safe."
"But I'm never home." His voice sounds ragged to his own ears, and he's certain you can hear the pain clawing out of his throat. "How am I doing my job as a father if I'm never there?"
"Aaron," you whisper, drawing his eyes back to yours. "You're keeping him safe by catching the bad guys. He knows that. And that's what he needs." You fix him with a look that makes his back straighten. "Okay?"
After a moment, he nods. "Okay."
***
"Hi, Hales."
You sink down onto the bench in front of her headstone, before pulling the baggie of peach rings you brought from your pocket. They were the only candy you liked from your high school's vending machine, and the two of you would share them between classes during your senior year.
"I should've come sooner, but work's been really busy."
You've only visited her once since the funeral six months ago, and you wish you could've come by more, but sometimes being here is just too much. It's too stark of a reminder that she's never coming back.
You pop another peach ring in your mouth, before breaking into a grin. "Jack's growing up so fast. He's so resilient, it's amazing." He has already adjusted to living in his father's apartment full time, and he seems to like hanging out with you or Jess whenever he's stuck at work late. "I wish you could be here to see it all."
You wish for a lot of things these days. The loss seems to keep piling up, and you don't know what to do or how to feel most of the time, but time keeps passing. And with it, so does the grief.
"Aaron's starting to get better too." You don't know what you believe, but a part of you suspects she knows all of this already. "The transition back was hard on all of us, but he doesn't look as defeated all the time anymore." Your lip twitches. "He even smiles at my jokes sometimes."
You swear you hear her laughter over the rustling of the wind, but it's probably just in your head. "Anyway, I just wanted to come see you. Let you know how much we miss you."
You stand up, grabbing the bouquet from next to you, and walk over to the headstone. Without thinking, you reach into your bag of candy and drop a peach ring into the dirt. It feels juvenile, even as you're doing it, but you can't help yourself. She would find it funny. You know she would.
You tuck the rest into your pocket and walk across the grass to another row of stones. It's not a quick stroll, but it gives you enough time to take a few deep breaths before you face him again.
Jeff Adler. The letters jump out at you like flashing lights, and you blink a few times as the magnitude of your loss washes over you. So many lives, so much love and warmth gone from your life.
Bending down, you place the bouquet of carnations in front of his headstone, before kissing your fingertips and pressing them to his name.
***
"You've got to be kidding."
He just shrugs, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. You make sure to keep your voice down as you toss your cards into the center pile and lean back against the bottom of his couch.
After putting Jack to bed, neither of you could think of anything quiet to do until Aaron pulled out a deck of cards from below the tv stand.
"I hate that you're so good at this," you grumble, watching as he deftly splits the deck and starts shuffling again. This being Go Fish.
"You're good, too," he concedes, flashing you an amused look that you don't share.
"Yeah, but you're better."
"As with most things."
You throw a card at him, but he dodges it easily. When he's finished shuffling, he deals out a card, before pausing. "We can play something else if you don't think you can beat me."
"Just deal the cards."
He lets out a low laugh and deals out another card, just as both of your cellphones chirp at the same time. You share a look before dropping the cards on the table. He stands first and gives you a hand up, which you accept.
"I'll call Jess," you whisper as he strides over to his bedroom to get his go-bag. You dial her quickly, and get the confirmation that she's coming over, before grabbing your own bag and heading out to his car.
***
"Sorry to ruin your night."
Everyone is in casual clothing when you walk into the briefing room with Aaron on your heels. JJ shoots you an apologetic look which quickly turns to surprise when Rossi walks in wearing a full tux.
"What, are you working on, wife number 4?" Derek laughs as he sets his bag down.
Dave just grumbles. "I see you people way too much."
"I hear that," you grin before taking your usual seat between Aaron and Spencer.
"Let's get started." JJ hands out the case files and clicks the screen on. "All right. Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska. There's 3 people dead in less than a week."
You scan the file as fast as you can, but Spencer beats you to it. "For a town with a population of 1,476, that's fairly significant."
JJ nods. "It's their first murder investigation on record."
"Who are the victims?" Dave asks, his eyes darting back and forth between the file and the screen.
JJ looks down at her notes. "Uh, Jon Baker, a hunter. Dedaimia Swanson, a schoolteacher. Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat. There's a new victim every 2 days."
Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but Emily gives it a voice. "Any connections?"
"Unfortunately, in a town this small, everyone's connected."
When JJ finishes up the briefing, Aaron stands up and grabs his bag. "We'll fly out tonight. Everybody can sleep on the plane. Garcia, I need you with us."
She shoots him a confused look. "Sir?"
"I've tasked a satellite uplink and it's your job to keep us connected."
"Yes, sir."
"This town's already on the brink," he continues with a sigh, "and if this pattern continues, we've only got another day until the next murder. Let's finish this fast."
***
After barely getting any sleep on the plane ride over, and a long day in the cold, the team holes up in the lobby of a local inn, warming up around the fire.
"I'm gonna pull an all-nighter," Garcia announces when you stifle a yawn behind your fist. "I'll finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise."
"Good," Aaron nods, sitting up on the couch. "The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning."
At his suggestion, the innkeeper steps out from behind her desk. "I've got four of the upstairs rooms available."
"Uh, 4?" Spencer squeaks, his eyes darting around the room.
"Come on," the sheriff sighs as he stands up, "that's the best we can do. Your team is double the size of my department." He glances at Aaron and they share a nod. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Good night."
The sheriff walks out of the inn and you lean back on the couch, turning your head to the side to look at Aaron. The question in your eyes is implicit. What's the plan?
"It looks like we'll have to double up," Emily answers for you, her lips stretching into a grin.
Derek speaks up immediately. "I'm not sleeping with Reid."
Penelope reaches over and grabs Derek's arm. "Dibs."
Emily and JJ stand together and head upstairs, and you glance at Aaron with a nod. "Let's find one of the double rooms before Emily snags it."
"Guess it's you and me, kid," Dave says to Spencer as you grab a key from the front desk and pick up your bag. The inn is so small that all of your rooms end up being in the same hallway. You leave the door open behind you as you step inside and toss your bag onto the nearest bed.
Aaron enters after you and locks the door, before wordlessly moving your bag to the other bed, away from the door. It takes you less than a second to realize why. His protective nature was always strong, but over the past year, it has kicked into overdrive, especially around you and Jack.
"Do you want first shower?" you ask as you unzip your bag and pull out a tee shirt and some sleep shorts.
"You take it," he says, shaking his head. The chilliness of the outside air hasn't left your bones, so you don't wait for him to change his mind before grabbing your toiletries and rushing into the bathroom.
While you're in the shower, Aaron takes his time fluffing out the comforter and pillows on his bed. The room itself isn't very spacious, but he doesn't mind sharing with you. The close quarters remind him of his youth when he would sneak into your room late at night to get away from his family. Just the sight of the lights through your bedroom window used to bring him peace. When he glances over at your side of the room, a tranquility washes over him, and he realizes that the feeling hasn't really gone away.
"Your turn," you say a little later when you emerge from the bathroom. Your skin is still slightly damp, and your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, and he has to tear his eyes away as he nods and steps around you.
The tiny mirror in the bathroom is still steamy when he shuts the door behind him and pulls off his shirt, and he lifts his hand to wipe it off, before pausing. His scars aren't something he likes to think about often, but after saving Jack, they took on a different image in his mind. He felt less like a victim.
He rubs his hand against the mirror to wipe off some of the condensation, and his reflection looks tense as it stares back at him. Back in the room, your presence felt warm and comfortable, but in here, with the steam fogging up the glass, and the scent of your perfume lingering in the air, something else roils in his gut.
It's a not-so-unfamiliar feeling that used to be commonplace when he was younger. It hadn't reared its head in years, but lately, it's been so much harder to push it down. When he sees how much his son loves you, how much he looks forward to finding you in his apartment when he gets back from a late meeting. It's been...hard.
He turns on the shower and steps in, letting the hot water wash away the notions tickling the edge of his brain. When he walks back into the room, you are tucked into your bed, the covers up to your chin.
"You look like a burrito," he notes with a small laugh.
You shrug, though it's barely visible from under the comforter. "I find this is the best way to keep out the Arctic chill that seems to have invaded our lodgings."
"Fair enough."
He slides into his own bed and clicks the switch on the wall to turn the lights off. He tries to sleep for a few minutes, but even though he's exhausted, it won't come.
It's dark enough that he can't see his fingers in front of his face, but the uneven sounds of your breathing let him know that you're still awake.
"You should really sleep," he whispers into the darkness.
"You first," you say after a moment, before your voice lowers. "How are you doing? How are you holding up, I mean."
"How are you doing?" he asks, knowing he's being unfair.
You don't let it slide this time. "You're deflecting."
"I know."
There's a pause before he finally concedes. "I think I'm okay. The normalcy is coming back, and Jack is doing a lot better, which helps immensely."
"Me too," you say after a beat.
He wants to let the subject go and try to sleep, but the words are pulling at his throat. "I miss her all the time."
"Me too," you repeat. You huff out a husky laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "God, me too."
There's a tinge of bitterness in your voice that he recognizes in himself, but it's not something he knows if he can explain. He remembers how a small part of you blamed Jeff after his death, but that's nothing like what he's feeling. He blames himself for everything but the act itself, knowing that if he had just gotten there quicker, or taken the deal, or taken the transfer-
His breath catches and he hears you rustle under your covers. He imagines you turning to face him, and as his eyes slowly adjust he sees that he was right.
"Do you remember that time in high school," he says suddenly, not entirely sure where he's going with this, "when I got detention."
"I'm gonna need you to be more specific."
He laughs, in spite of himself, and turns over to face you as well. You're so far away, but he can just barely make out your face from across the room. "When you broke me out."
Your laughter is sudden and it echoes around the small room as the memory hits you. "I do remember that. I told them your grandfather was in the hospital so that they would let you out. God, Mrs. Parker was so upset when she went to get you."
"I think my favorite part of the story was that both of my grandfathers died before I could walk."
You chuckle, your voice softer now. "I know."
His chest warms at the memory of the two of you running out to your car and driving to get a scoop of chocolate at your favorite ice cream shop. Even afterwards, you had driven around town for hours, without a complaint, and he hadn't mentioned the time once. It was so soon after his dad's death, and he hated going home for so many reasons. Sean hated him, and his mother was sad all of the time, and it was like you just knew.
"You were good at reading me," he whispers, almost to himself.
"Were good?" you ask with mock offense.
He snorts. "Fine, are good at reading me."
"That's more like it."
***
You drop your empty glass back on the table, feeling the burn of the liquor as you swallow it down. It's your second drink of the night, and while you usually don't indulge in more than one, you welcome the chance to let loose.
Everyone else seems to be in the same mindset, because JJ, Emily, and Penelope are in various states of drunkenness around the booth, and the men are either nursing a drink or driving.
"Let's dance," JJ shrieks, lifting her head off of Will's shoulder and pushing herself up from the booth.
"Hell yeah," Emily grins, pulling you and Penelope up with her.
JJ tries to corral the guys to join, but they all stay firmly seated. Dave and Will look content as they sip their whiskey, and Spencer doesn't budge, citing his leg hurting (a lie). After a bit of targeted shoving, Derek chuckles and gets up for one dance, following Penelope and JJ onto the dance floor.
"Aaaaaron," you slur, tugging his arm. He doesn't move even an inch, but the corner of his lip twitches when you don't give up.
"You used to dance in college," you point out with a frown.
Emily hoots as she saunters over to the floor. "This I need to see."
Aaron just shakes his head with a smile, and you eventually oblige, joining the ladies (and Derek) for a few dances. The dark atmosphere of the club has you feeling looser than you have in a long time, and after the next song, you join Dave over at the bar to get another drink.
You down half of it before you leave the counter, and by this point, JJ has coaxed Will out of his seat, while Spencer rushes off to find the bathroom. The tiredness hits you as soon as you finish the drink, and when you spot Aaron by himself at the booth, you glide back to keep him company.
He doesn't notice you at first as you walk over to him, and you can't help but register that he looks good in his undone button-down. You take another step forward and a thin glint of metal around his neck becomes visible. A jolt of heat shoots down your body and you set your glass down on a nearby table without looking as you approach him.
When you reach the edge of the bench, someone walking by bumps into you and you stumble forward. Aaron grabs onto you as you fall forward, and you end up crushed in his arms, your face just inches from his. Your thoughts cut out and you don't make a sound, your breaths coming out in quick spurts.
Neither one of you moves as you look at each other, so so close, so much closer than you've ever been, than you've ever gotten to be. The faintest impression of a thought - the thought - crosses the deepest edges of your mind as you lean in infinitesimally. He doesn't notice, and you barely register it either, but you can't help but notice how easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him.
Kiss him?
Your brain short-circuits and you just barely manage to keep your eyes from widening. You have no idea where that came from, but then again, if you are honest with yourself, it has always been there, buried deep down beneath years of friendship and history.
The question invades your brain again, and this time, you're unable to stop it. What would it be like to kiss him?
You can't keep your breath from catching, and he pulls back immediately, tugging you to the side and depositing you on the booth beside him.
Your mouth falls open as you try to meet his eye. "Aaron-"
His head turns and he stands up, his eyes dark under the soft lighting. "I'm sorry."
Before you can get another word out, he's gone.
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#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#hotch x reader#hotch x female!reader#aaron hotchner#hotch#criminal minds#penelope garcia#spencer reid#derek morgan#jennifer jareau#emily prentiss#david rossi#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner series#criminal minds series#criminal minds season five#hotch fic#criminal minds fanfiction#anchor series#anchor
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"i'm home" megumi barely even makes it through the front door. he closes the door with his leg before throwing his backpack on the ground. he didn't even notice you that you were anxiously waiting for him to come home
"jesus christ, megumi! what happened to you?!" tsumiki basically screams, running over to megumi to check his well being. he had a black eye, a few bruises on his cheek and a bloody lip. megumi also looked like he was limping when he entered
megumi could only hiss and narrow his eyes at his sister before pushing her out of the way. tsumiki pouts and could only look at her brother from behind.
tsumiki then turns to you. it was a silent plead that you'd be the one to talk some sense into him. she knows that you are the only person megumi would listen to the most.
you let out a sigh and followed the limping boy to where he was headed. still unaware of your presence.
megumi limped towards the nearest bathroom. you slid in between the cracks right before he could close the door, making your presence to him known.
his eyes widened when he realized you were at his house the entire time.
"what are you doing here–"
"sit at the counter"
"but–"
"sit down, fushiguro" you say sternly, glaring at him. megumi purses his lips but follows. he winces as he sits. his posture slouched, as he cradles what seems to be another wound near his abdomen.
after gathering all the things you need to patch up your friend, you settled in between megumis legs.
"what?" megumi raises his brow after hearing you click your tongue in annoyance.
“nothing” you say rather quickly, grabbing the now wet cloth and started to wipe the blood away from megumi's busted lip.
you now move on to megumi's abdomen where you slowly lift up his stained uniform. there you see a bruise. you inspect it a bit, seeing that it was a little bloody.
with a deep sigh, you start to dab the bruise but megumi's hand flies to your wrist, preventing you to proceed.
“careful. it hurts” megumi hisses, closing his eyes as he tries to take in the throbbing pain. you drop the now dirty towelette next to you. "and who's fault is that?!" you snapped.
megumi widens his eyes at your sudden outburst. totally not expecting your reaction. you hated seeing fushiguro all battered up.
"sorry" you mumbled, looking down. megumi doesn't say anything but pulls you against his chest. "it's okay" megumi strokes your hair. "i deserve it"
you pull away from his chest to give him a puzzled look. megumi softly chuckles, playfully hitting your face with his hand. "don't look at me like that"
"then stop getting into these stupid petty fights. people will start thinking that you're a bully" you nag, pointing a finger in front of his face, to which megumi only rolls his eyes but he knows you mean well
megumi tucks some of your stray hairs away from your face, "i'll try not to, okay?"
"promise?"
"i can't say"
"megumi!"
megumi lets out a laugh, "i'm joking. i'll try though" he raises his hands up in defense as you hit him with the towelette you used to clean him up.
"you're gonna give me a heart attack one day, 'gumi" you complained, resting your head again on his chest. megumi wraps his arms around you, keeping you in place for a while. just basking in your presence as you were his rock, his peace of mind
that is until gojo decides to start banging his fist against the bathroom door
"ARE YOU TWO LOVEBIRDS DONE IN THERE? I NEED TO TAKE A SHIT" gojo yells from the outside.
"fuck off, gojo!" megumi snaps back
you hear gojo stomp his foot outside like a child, not missing his comment about how kids these days have no respect for elders before you hear him walks away to another bathroom in the house.
⸻ a/n: another rewrite from an old blog :] highschool!megumi
#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#fushiguro imagines#fushiguro x reader#megumi imagines#megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi imagines#jjk scenarios#jujutsu kaisen scenarios
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all up in smoke
masterlist
pairing: frank castle x f!reader
summary: based on the prompt: 'sit on my lap and let's smoke a joint'
warnings: alcohol, weed (rolling a joint, smoking, shotgunning), frank being a cute little whore, heavy petting/teasing but no sex, high epiphanies (mostly fluff!)
a/n: happy late birthday to the ever lovely @chelseasdagger , this one is for you babeyyyyy 💗
Home is a solace on your lips as you step inside, your keys joining the others in the bowl by the front door. Despite the events of your day, still fresh in your mind, you feel the knotted tension in your body begin to dissipate, the pressure easing in your temples. The few lights that have been left on are dimmed, filling the house with the kind of ambient coziness you’ve been longing for all day.
You round the corner, and there he is on the couch: feet kicked up on the coffee table, immersed in a hardcover book you swore he’d never touch. A pang of emotion stirs in your stomach — a cross between yearning and consolation; something you just can’t place, but are grateful for nevertheless.
“Hi, Frankie,” you smile, drawing the curtains open, letting the cool night air filter into the living room.
He lifts an eyebrow, glancing up at you from behind the book. “Hey, sweetheart. Long day?”
You stretch your arms over your head, nevermind that his voice stirs something in you, and set your bag up on the kitchen counter. “Mmhm. Glad to be home.”
Frank leans forwards, fingers closing around the drink he’s left on the coffee table. His eyes flick to yours as he takes a sip, caring not to break contact, before jerking his chin at the bottle of scotch next to your bag. “You want some of that?”
He points at you, clicking his tongue as you move to pick the bottle up. “Don’t move. Stay right there.” Setting his book aside, the pages splayed face-down onto the table, he makes his way over, utterly impervious to your flurried attempts in getting him to remain where he is.
“D’ya really think I’d let you pour your own drink?” Frank says, looking affronted, but a furtive smile spreads along his face as you shake your head.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take care of ‘ya,” he adds, delicately.
Carting you gently to the side, he digs around in the freezer, reaching for a couple of ice cubes that clink mellifluously in the glass. You watch intently as they bob in line with the whiskey streaming in, and then as he inspects the amber liquid closely, as if to examine its quality.
When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, and raises the rim of the glass to your mouth. “Here,” Frank murmurs, condensation collecting around his fingertips. “Drink up.”
You shudder as the whiskey cascades hotly through your veins — each note of pepper, caramel and nutmeg lingering on the surface of your tongue like molten honey. You swallow another mouthful before pushing the glass away, not taking your eyes off of him for a second as he sets it down.
Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, raking his eyes across your face. He focuses on a stray drop of whiskey at the corner of your mouth, using a knuckle to brush it away. Your heart thunders at his calloused touch; as he pauses to swipe his broad thumb over your bottom lip. There’s a faint throbbing within you — a wild drumbeat steering you towards nothing but desire — so you flick your tongue out, circling his fingertip, relishing in his taste of salt, earth and whiskey.
He lets out a soft groan, mumbling something that sounds like your name; maybe even a plea to slow down. You’re attentive, knowing he doesn’t want this night over yet, that he wants to wait before taking you to bed.
It’s a good thing then, that you have something planned.
You inch forwards, swallowing as Frank’s hand sweeps over the contours of your face, coming to rest at a spot near your ear. He tips your chin upwards, letting his ragged breathing fan over you. He stalls, allowing his dark eyes to bore into yours, and for a moment you forget where you are, the stressors of the day long gone.
All you know is him.
His beard prickles your skin as he captures your mouth with his own, but you lean into the kiss, savouring his ardent warmth. He moves with you, deepening the kiss as you slide a hand into his hair, curling your fingers at the nape. Your thighs squeeze together as he pivots you around, pushing you against the counter while his tongue melts against yours. Using his leg to knock your knees apart, you arch into his touch, gasping as the bulge in his jeans settles where you need him the most.
You won’t be able to stop if you don’t pull away now.
“Frank,” you whisper. “Frank.”
He looks at you, placing a small kiss to your jaw. “Mm?”
“Before… uh,” you start, lightheaded and fuzzy, unable to comprehend anything but the heady weight of the whiskey and the ache between your legs. “I've got something for us. A little surprise. And I think,” you indicate, wagging a finger from him to you, “we should save this for later.”
He arches his eyebrows, smiling inquisitively. “Yeah? And what’s that?”
You step aside to rummage through your bag, taking only a few seconds for you to find what it is you’re looking for. You hold up a clear plastic container, giving it a little shake in front of Frank’s face. His eyes widen in comprehension.
“God, I love you.”
“Hey,” you smirk, “not God. Just me.”
He chokes on his own laughter, draining the last of your whiskey. “You got it, sweet girl.”
You bite down on your growing smile. “Anyway, I was thinking the plan could go something like… get a little high, have some fun. You know what I mean, right?”
“S’that right?”
“We both deserve it.”
“You need some help with that?” he asks, pointing at the rolling papers you’ve set down on the counter.
“Nope. Walk away.”
You’re an image of rapt focus with your tongue between your teeth, cautiously grinding the weed before packing it into the rolling paper. You slip a filter on one end of the joint, and using your thumb and forefingers, you roll it into place. Bringing the free edge of rolling paper up to your mouth, you skirt your tongue along the narrow strip of glue, quickly moving to seal the joint.
You shoot Frank a resolute look of determination. “Not bad, huh?”
He folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch. Almost hidden in the tangle of his beard, the corners of his mouth tick upwards. You can’t quite tell if he’s astonished, impressed, or a mixture of everything in between, but the expression on his face is a priceless ego boost. “Attagirl.”
“Mmhm,” you reply drily, admiring your handiwork from up close.
“Baby?” Frank calls, breaking your tethered focus. A glimmer of a smile in your periphery catches your eye.
“Yeah?”
There’s a sound of rustling fabric as Frank spreads his legs, motioning you over to him by patting his thigh. “C’mere.”
Your gaze softens at his request. “That sounds good, Frankie. Let me grab my lighter.”
“Got it right here,” Frank chuckles, holding it up and thumbing it open.
Twirling the joint in your fingers, you meander over to his spot on the couch, watching the tiny orange flame dance in his eyes as he holds down the lighter button.
He’s a solid comfort under you as you sit down on his lap, shuffling back until the side of your body is angled to his chest, using the armrest as additional support. His scent is a blissful, pacifying force – distilling in you where it matters.
Frank wrests the joint from your grip, assiduous in the way he places it between your lips, then as he lights it for you. The lit end glows as the papered edges begin to burn, flickering in its reflection in the window ahead. You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your mouth before inhaling it into your lungs. Maybe it’s in your head, but your body feels lighter already; even more so as you exhale.
The grey-tinged smoke remains opaque for only a second, vanishing into the air as soon as you pass the joint to Frank. You breathe out again, more deeply this time, allowing the grassy, herbal scent of the weed wash over you in waves of tranquil calm.
You cock your head to the side, studying the normally terse man before you leisurely smoking the joint, taking two drags instead of one. Gratitude forms a lump in your throat — nights like these are rare, and to see him so carefree, his mind unoccupied by the workings of the larger world, is a luxury you’ll never get tired of.
After tapping the gathering ashes into his empty whiskey glass, Frank hands the joint back to you, closing his eyes while he waits for your next pass. As the weed-induced euphoria starts to take effect, you wrench one of Frank’s hands from its spot on your thigh, interlacing your fingers together. You take your time in mapping his knuckles, tracing over every crease, scar and perfect imperfection.
You tap on Frank’s shoulder, wanting him as a credible witness for a successful smoke ring, but like all your past attempts, it morphs back into a cloud, hanging there in contempt.
He laughs softly, putting you right to shame with a series of flawless rings that fall forwards in an arc towards the coffee table.
You giggle, jabbing him in the chest with an expertly-placed elbow. “Don’t get too cocky now, Castle.”
His mouth quirks to the side. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, hm?”
“I’ll…” you search around the room for something to say. “I’ll withhold sex!”
He gasps, feigning an expression of outrageous offense. “That’s cruel, darlin’.”
Laughing, you reassure him you wouldn’t, really, but he takes the opportunity to soar through the cracks of your defense, hauling you backwards until his face is flush with the shell of your ear. “Really think you could resist it? Not havin' sex?”
The retorts crumble away as he tells you to ‘open up, sweetheart’, lifting the joint back to his lips. He breathes in deeply, turning his head to then exhale the smoke into your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back as he seals it with a kiss, and it catches you a little by surprise, but you run with it, inhaling as much as you can.
Not quite ready to let go of your earlier comments, Frank does it again, shotgunning into your mouth until you're left with nothing but a dreamy expression and no thoughts left in your mind.
You let out a contented sigh as the weed goes to your head, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his beard scratched your lip.
Eyes drooping, Frank wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as he can, trailing kisses along your shoulder blades, down your arm, whispering sweet nothings and notes of ‘I love you’ until you slacken in his grip. You touch your lips to his forehead, now resting in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing keeping you anchored to your reality.
The next hour passes by in a haze — you’re mildly aware that there was another joint rolled in that time, courtesy of Frank, probably, but your memory retains the best parts: the giddy, high epiphanies, the smoke-filled kisses, the long-drawn-out touches… the fact that his skin has never felt so soft.
Exceptionally and utterly stoned, you move, draping your legs over his lap, clinging onto his neck so you can bury your face in his shirt – so spaced out that you barely register him talking.
“...Who the fuck is “Drake” anyway?”
“What?!” you sputter, snickering as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “He’s a rapper, Frankie.”
“He’s off limits, so don’t even try” — you stumble over your words — “enacting your justice or… whatever.”
Frank frowns at you, pressing his lips into a thin line.
And then he bursts into laughter. Unequivocal, heaving sobs of hysterical laughter. And it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.
“Enacting my justice? That what you think it is?” he howls, bringing his fist down onto the couch. “You really think I’ve got nothin’ better to do than hunt down rappers?!”
“A little bit,” you sniffle, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down your face. “You know who’d love this conversation?”
He shakes his head as you continue. “Micro.”
“Micro,” he nods, affirming your point. “Bet he’d know more about “Drake” than me.”
You chortle at his aggressive hand gestures. “You don’t need air-quotations every time you say Drake, you know.”
He waves a hand in the air. “Ahh, I know.”
“Frank Castle,” you say, kissing his cheek once, then twice, “I think this is the wisest you’ve ever been.”
“Oh, c’mon. Really?”
You gesture at the stub of your second joint, floating in the bottom of his whiskey glass. “Yep. You might have to do this more.”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”
“Better me than what’s out there. Right, Frank?” you croon, batting your eyes at him.
“S’right, darlin’. That’s right.”
tags {x} @darlingshane @castlesnchurches @reborn-rekall @marvelswh0re @itwasthereaminuteago @simple-lovebot @chvoswxtch @pedrito-friskito @chellestrash @theradioactivespidergwen @twilightbarnes @splendiferous-bitch @bl4ckpr1ncess @kaybeeboop @kdogreads @swearwolf13 @rqgnarok @qu1etwolf @honeyedheartss @runa-falls @whistle1whistle @awkwardalie
#frank castle x reader#frank castle#frank castle smut#frank castle fluff#frank castle fanfic#the punisher#the punisher x reader#the punisher fanfic#frank castle fanfiction#x reader#rhi writes 💻#tw weed#cw drugs
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I READ SOME OF UR STONE X READER STORIES AND I LOV EMMMM^^
May I request a stone x rich reader where stone n reader r close friends/like each other,and the reader lets Stone in their house(guess their parents r on vacation or smth LMAO) bc stone was bein chased by the police after he was caught pickpocketing/robbing,,,,,and they just wait till the police leaves(maybe the police even knocks on reader's door n the reader lies to the police that they haven't seen seen any hobos running around,,,MAYBE THE POLICE EVEN INSPECTS THE HOUSE N STONE IS TRYIN TO HIDE IN READER'S APARTMENT???MAYBE PRETENDS TO BE A LAMP LMFAOOO)
but basically Stone n reader just talking in reader's place,,,,
SRY IF ITS TOO MUCH,,,UUWAAAAAAAAAHHH
hope u'll have a gr8 day/night:3
YOU BROUGHT THE POLICE TO MY HOUSE
Stone x Rich! Reader
a/n: HELP I CAN SEE HIM BEING A LAMP AND STILL NOT GETTING CAUGHT 💀💀😭
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“Stone?” You opened the door, confused. Stone was standing on the other side, holding a bag full of just random shit he had just stolen. “Hey.” He said, looking around before he walked passes you. “I—okay…” You sighed, before shutting the door. “What brings you here today?” You asked, watching him laid down on your couch. “Oh, I’m running from the police.” Stone said as he kicked off his shoes.
“Again?!” “Yeah…the lady caught me. She was super pissed.” Stone said as he light his cigarette. “Your parents not home?” He asked as he held his cigarette between his fingers. “Nope, they’re on some trip.” You sighed leaning over the couch. “If you bring the police to my house I will kill you.” You said, pointing your finger at him, your eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah yeah…I doubt they would come look over here.” Stone said as he got more comfy on your couch. “What did you even steal anyways?” You asked, titling your head to the side. “A few bracelets, not sure why the lady was literally having a stroke.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“How long are your parents out of town?” Stone asked, looking up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Two weeks.” You said, walking over and sitting in a chair next to the couch. “For their jobs…which is lame.” You sighed, leaning back against the back of the chair. “But it just means you can probably stay here, along with Vinnie and Skipp.” Stone nodded, puffing out smoke from his lips. “Thanks. It’s been getting chilly at night. Maybe you could warm me up.” “STONE!” “I’m kidding…kinda.”
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The two of you talked for the next thirty minutes, before hearing a loud knock on the door. “Ramshackle police open up!” A male voice yelled from the other side of the front door. You and Stone jumped.
“Really?!” You whispered yelled to Stone, who only groaned. “Damn it…” He muttered as he slowly sat up, running his fingers through his hair. “Go—hide or something!” You said, before you stood up and walked to the front door.
You opened it, being greeted by over ten officers. You gulped. “Officers—what can I do for you?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowed. “Good day, we have had several reports of people being robbed today. And we have a reason to believe that you are hiding the suspect in your home.” One officer said, his hands resting on his hips.
“Oh my, no not at all sir.” You gasped, placing your hand over your chest. “I’m alone here, no one else is here.” You said, shaking your head. “May we just check?” Another officer spoke up. “Don’t you need a—“ The officers didn’t care for an answer, only shoving themselves into your home. “I—okay then.” You grumbled frowning. You watched as the officers looked around the place. Your eyes landed on Stone, who was standing in the corner of your living room with a lamp shade over his head. You face palmed, shaking your head. “Fucking idiot…”
You noticed the officers noticed him, but they didn’t say anything. “Hah! No idiot would ever be a lamp.” One officer chuckled as he stared at Stone, not realizing it was a whole person. “Yeah, someone stupid would believe that.”
“How did you get jobs…let alone get this far in life.” You muttered, leaning against your couch.
After ten minutes, the officers left. “Stone. How do you do it?” You asked, lifting the lamp shade off of his head. He had a smug grin on his face. “No idea.”
#x you#ramshackle x you#ramshackle x reader#stone x reader ramshackle#oneshot#stone x reader#fluff#silly#x reader#ramshackle stone
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One Little Thing, A Ring Part IV | Mammon x Reader
1.1K Words | GN! Reader | CW: Angst
You came home late again that night from work and were surprised to find Mammon already asleep. The past few weeks you’d been working extra hard, Mammon had stayed up for you and offered you a rose he’d stolen from a bouquet somewhere in the house. But tonight he was sprawled out under the covers and his cheek was pink and puffy.
You inspected closely without waking him up and felt the skin had liquid beneath. Using your magic you identified the perpetrator and healed his wound, draining the last bit of magic you had in you for the day.
Not bothering to change out of your old clothes you lifted the blanket and fell asleep next to Mammon.
Mammon was practically comatose but he could sense your presence and his pained face grinned as he snuggled closer to you, head on your chest.
You smiled and held onto him as you drifted into sleep.
Mammon was sad the next day to see you’d left early again. He noticed your slippers by the bedside and began to wonder if you’d actually been there or if he’d dreamed it up.
He pulled out his D.D.D. to call you but you couldn’t answer and he gave up after a few tries and sighed.
He scratched his back and stretched, trying to wake up his body before being put back to work. Despite the cheer of the holiday season, Mammon stayed occupied only with work and didn’t enjoy it as he normally did. All he could focus on was money and this time it was for a good reason. All of this was for you.
Mammon’s brothers had all learned what was happening and dealt with it in their own ways. Lucifer’s way of dealing was to occasionally ensure Mammon had more work to do but he remained at the castle a majority of the day to make sure he wasn’t worked too hard.
His brothers began to randomly appear at the castle and soon after some kind of disaster would occur that they’d never be punished for.
Eventually, Mammon caught on and he wasn’t happy. He put up with a lot of shit from them over thousands of years but he wasn’t having it and called for an intervention.
They didn’t listen to him so Lucifer forced everyone to come together and hear him out. Mammon got a pardon from work so everyone could meet up at an acceptable time of the day.
“Okay, why’d you call us here?” Leviathan asked annoyed and focusing more on his D.D.D.
Mammon growled, “Dammit, you know why. All of ya do!” He pointed his fingers at his brothers.
Asmodeus gasped and placed his hand over his chest. “I’ve done nothing wrong, how could you accuse me!”
Mammon glared at him and Satan nudged Asmo to cool it with the theatrics.
Belphegor rolled his eyes at Mammon’s declaration. “What did you expect?” He hissed, in demon form.
Beelzebub put a hand on Belphegor’s shoulder trying to ease his anger but it was palpable.
“You guys know damn well why I’m working and you’re makin’ it harder what gives!”
Satan glared at Mammon now, “as Belphie said. What did you expect?”
Mammon clenched his fists and his demon form slipped out which surprised his brothers. Mammon didn’t often lose control like the rest of them, even when they beat on him, called his names, or won their money back, Mammon would stay calm. But not now, Mammon was beyond pissed.
Lucifer remained silent, he knew what Mammon was going to say and he knew that Mammon would be right too.
“Do ya realize that by gettin’ in my way, you’re really just gettin’ in ___’s way!”
They froze in silence.
“I get that you’re all mad they didn’t date you instead! I get that cause I’d feel the exact same way! Y’know how pissed I got all those times I thought they were dating one of you! Or when they kissed Lucifer that time he got amnesia!”
Lucifer chuckled and earned hateful glares from each brother.
“Anyways, I get it! But this isn’t about me, it’s about ___! And if you really care about them then you should want them to be happy and like it or not, they’re happy with me! And I’m tryin’ to give them a ring they deserve and I’m doin’ honest work! So quit comin’ into the castle and screwing everything up! It’s not cool and you know that!”
Everyone was silent for a while and Mammon finally tucked away his wings and sat on the couch facing his brothers.
Lucifer finally spoke with a small nod. “I know.” He relented. “You’re right. All of us are making things harder on you.”
“Hey! You don’t speak for me,” Belphegor snapped but Satan shook his head.
“Give it up Belphie. We’re too obvious.” Satan looked Mammon in the eye. “Fine. We’ll stay out of your way and we’ll do it for ___ not for you.”
Asmodeus nodded and Beelzebub looked at the ground.
“But know this,” Satan continued. “I’ll be waiting for the moment you slip up and when that happens I’ll be the one by their side.”
Leviathan set his D.D.D. down and glared, “That goes for me too.”
Everyone agreed and Mammon sighed. “Whatever, that’s not gonna happen so you’re all gonna have to suck it up for ___’s sake. You really think they want you guys trying to ruin their relationship the second you can?”
Satan turned red and Beelzebub blushed in some sense of shame. They wouldn’t admit to it but they still intended to romance you any chance they could get. Similarly to Diavolo, they were hoping that after hundreds or thousands of years with Mammon, polygamy might be on the table.
Mammon knew this and stayed wary of his brothers but took solace in the fact they wouldn’t dare upset you, so his relationship was safe as long as you were happy. That scared him at the same time.
The closer Christmas got the more he panicked. Was he really good enough? Could he really make you happy forever? He couldn’t even make up his mind on a ring because everything looked so damn perfect when you wore it and he couldn’t afford to get them all.
Mammon looked at the calendar one more time before collapsing into your bed, “the twenty-third already…” he sighed and covered his face.
He was so close to eternal happiness but at the same time feared letting you down. Mammon had nightmares that night until you shook him awake.
“Huh! What’s happening!” He shouted with a start, his cheeks stained with dried tears.
“Mammon…” you said in a gentle tone and wrapped your arms around him. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
Part I • Part II • Part III • Part V
#obey me shall we date#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me satan#obey me leviathan#obey me belphegor#obey me beelzebub#obey me asmodeus#obey me mammon x reader#obey me x reader#one little thing series#obey me angst#obey me fluff#25 days of obey me christmas#obey me 25 days of christmas
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I know it’s late foe Christmas, but maybe this with Bucky? Any Bucky you want. Reader didn’t celebrate Christmas the way Bucky did when he was small, so both reader and their kid are so excited for experiencing Christmas in a new way, choosing Christmas tree, decorating it, preparing gifts, having Christmas dinner, and so on.
Thanksssss!!!!
18+
NEVER TOO LATE, in fact there's just 357 days left until next Christmas, so lets get an early start shall we? This is not a late Christmas fic okay, we’re just super early.
So much flufffyyy fluffff and bonus smutttt (breeding kink, pregnancy kink)
Imagine Bucky loved Christmas when he was little because his Ma would always have the perfect dinner ready, a knitted sweater along with a few small presents under the tree. He’d leave milk and cookies out for Santa with his sisters and being the sweet big brother he is, he’d make sure to wake up in the middle of the night to drink half the glass and finish up what they’d left out.
As he got a little older, he got excited to be able to buy presents for them too. He’d save up for the entire year so he could get them something nice. He’d find the perfect doll for his sister, jewelry for his ma, a watch for his dad. He’d make sure Steve joined them every year along with his family.
He adores the holidays because it brings family together and now that he has one of his own and a home, he’s ready to go all in.
Buying the tree
Bucky grinned, carrying Becca on his shoulders while you walked though through the tree lot, inspecting which one would be the best for this year. You smiled at the scent of the fresh pine needles that lingered in the air. You couldn’t tell who was more excited; Bucky, you or your daughter. You walked past a number of them, some super tall, short, narrow and scanty.
“Daddy that one!” She pointed to a plump full tree, her tiny hands patting Bucky’s head so he’d know where to look. “That one please!”
“You like that one jellybean?” He walked over to the large tree, chuckling to himself hearing her excited sequels from above his head. After picking the tree, Bucky strapped it to the hood of the car, excited to go home and start decorating. He pulled up to the drive way, easily grabbing the tree and shaking it a few times while you gave him an odd look.
“Gotta shake it or we’ll have spiders in here” Bucky snorted, giving the tree a few more precautionary shakes, knowing full well if he failed to do so, he’d be on spider duty for the next week. The human spider he had to work with was enough for him.
“C’mon bub, lets get the durations out!” You scooped your daughter from her car seat, the both of you running into the house and changing into some comfy clothes before setting out some decorations and crafting supplies. Bucky brought the tree in, deciding to set it up in the living room near the fire place while Becca got started on crafting.
“This is the first real tree I’ve ever decorated” You looked at the perfect tree in awe, while Bucky smiled, kissing your temple and untangling the Christmas lights.
“What did you used to do for Christmas, baby?”
“Hmm, we always had a plastic tree” You thought back to the sad tree your family pulled out year after year, the scanty branches nearly nonexistent. “Never had a real one”
“Daddy, help me make a weindeer” Becca was splayed on the floor, felt sheets and markers surrounding her. You smiled, watching Bucky hold her tiny hand to trace the brown felt sheet, the both of them with identical expressions, fully focused on making the perfect reindeer decoration. By the end of the night, you had a felt snowman, felt reindeer and your absolute favorite; a little white wolf.
“Just like daddy” She grinned, handing it to him, insisting he put it up. Bucky swallowed the lump that tried to form in his throat, kissing her chubby cheek before carefully hanging it on the tree. “Can we put the star up now, please?”
“Of course angel” Bucky lifted her up, as she placed the star on top of the tree, his eyes wide with amazement at the finished Christmas tree.
Wrapping presents
You snorted, watching Bucky grumble under his breath, another piece of tape stuck to his arm while he tried to wrap Steve’s gift. Of all Christmas activities, wrapping gifts was his least favourite. He was happy to cut paper, ribbon and tape but he wasn’t a fan of figuring out how much paper you needed and why all of his folds were soo crooked.
“You okay there Buck?” you asked teasingly while he looked at you with puppy eyes, nudging the box towards you, hoping you’d finish while he focused on the gifts that went in bags. You wordlessly took the box, switching so he could add tissue paper to Tony’s bag instead.
“How ya doing there jellybean?” Bucky looked over his shoulder to see Becca huff on the floor, unrolling even more paper so she could wrap the skateboard she had picked out for Morgan.
“I can do it!” She stated, determined to wrap the present for her best friend all by herself without help.
You added name tags and bows to everything, using your husband as a human wall while you quickly got started on your daughters gift and she was thankfully too distracted to see what you had been up to. You had both bought her her first doll house, one that was as tall as her (there was no convincing Bucky to get a smaller one, his babygirl would get the nicest doll house to play with)
“You never told me what you wanted for Christmas doll” Bucky playfully nudged you while you giggled, adding a few bows to the gift.
“Hmm, do I get to have my super solider for Christmas this year? That’s all I really want” You look at him with hopeful eyes, worried a last minute mission would take him away.
“Nothing could take me from you on Christmas, I’ll be right under the tree with a bow in my hair if you asked me to baby” Bucky smiled, “Now what does my angel actually want” You shook your head, swatting him away as you started to clean the table. There truly wasn’t anything you wanted but to have him with you.
(Of course what you don’t know is he’s already wrapped your gift and hidden it in the closet)
Christmas Eve
“Does Santa like Oreo’s or Gingerbread men?” Becca rummaged through the boxes of cookies, carefully inspecting each one so she’d have the perfect assortment by the tree.
“I think Santa like’s chocolate chip cookies, maybe even some of the sugar ones and if you’re feeling generous tonight, maybe Santa would appreciate a glass of daddy’s special apple juice” Bucky
“That’s what you and mama like!” She got to work getting out two of each cookie before grabbing a glass for the milk. “Daddy you pour the apple juice”
“Oh my god” You snorted while Bucky grinned to himself, adding a glass of whisky beside the milk.
“Time for bed now baby, Santa will only come by if you’re asleep” Your baby gave you grabby hands, happily cuddling into you while you carried her to her room, tucking her into the sheets.
You went back down, giggling when you say Bucky with a Santa hat, munching on the cookies, patting on the seat for you to join him while he sipped on the dark liquid.
“Naughty Mr. Clause” You pecked a kiss onto his nose, squeaking when he pulled you onto his lap.
“Naught for you Mrs. Clause” He winked, bringing you down for a kiss, the both of you cuddling by the fire place. He couldn’t help but run his hands through your hair, humming at the softness of your lips, chasing more of you each time you pulled away for air.
“What if Becca wakes up” You panted, your forehead resting on his.
“Then she’ll understand the song I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause” He smirked, pulling you in for another kiss.
Christmas day
“Merry Christmas sweet heart” Bucky mumbled, his voice still low and laced with sleep. He slung his arm around, pulling you close so he could cuddle with you for a while before opening presents. He whined as you wiggled out of his hold to grab him something from the closet, stroking his hair to coax him awake.
“I wanted to give this to you now” You whispered, placing a soft wrapped gift on his lap as he sat up, curiously inspecting the present. His eyes grew wide as he took apart the paper, a thick warm knitted sweater with the initials JBB embroidered on the inside of the neckline. “I made it for you, just like how you Ma used to”
Bucky blinked back the tears that welled in his eyes, running his hand over the soft material. Ever since he had been telling you about all the Christmas traditions he had with his family, you wanted to give Bucky something that came from his childhood.
“I love you” Was all Bucky could muster, biting his lip, throwing it on before kissing you deeply and then slipping out of bed to get Becca.
Your eyes grew wide at the large pile of presents, there were easily 6 more than what you had remembered.
“Bucky, what-”
Bucky gave you a cheeky smile, proud of himself for sneaking away as you slept, placing the extra presents under the tree in the middle of the night.
“Merry Christmas mama!” You felt her tiny arms wrap around you thighs, her face squished against them.
“Merry Christmas babygirl” You kissed the top of her head, her full focus on the large pile of gifts under the tree.
“May I open them now?” She bounced on her heels, “Please?”
She didn’t waste a second as soon as you nodded, grabbing the large red box with her name on it, squealing and jumping into your laps, peppering as many kisses as she could on both of you.
“Mama, daddy, you bought me a doll house?!” Her large eyes twinkled, her hands grasping onto Bucky’s cheeks.
“Do you like it bub” He smiled while she scrambled out of his lap to assemble it. You shook your head at the little pile of gifts that all had your name on it while Bucky waited for you to open them, excited to see you smile.
“Bucky, what did you do” You shook your head, gasping as you opened the first box; a dainty gold chain sitting on a velvet cushion.
“Spoiling my little girl and my wife” He shrugged, taking the chain out of the box so he could clasp it around your neck. “Here, I think you’ll like this one the most” He grabbed the last bag, plopping it onto your lap, his heart racing as he watched you pull off the tissue paper. You gasped, pulling out a soft blue teddy bear that was made from the material of one of his Henley's.
“My ma used to make them if we couldn’t fit into our shirts anymore. I know you like to wear them but I thought you might like this too” He blushed, while you looked at him with teary eyes, clutching the bear to your chest. “Maybe he can keep you company when I go on long missions”
“I love it so much James” You kissed his scruffy cheek, bringing the bear to your face, humming contently at the way his scent lingered on the material. “and I love you”
Christmas dinner
Bucky poured drinks while you carried appetizers to and from the kitchen; the house filled with music, laughter and all of the team and their families. The kids had gathered by the TV to watch a movie while everyone else piled in your living room, a mass of wrapping paper and ribbons all over the place from unwrapping more presents.
You giggled to yourself, watching Sam and Steve team up with Tony and Nat for an intense game of flip cup; Thor made sure he brought bottles of mead so the super soldiers could drink.
“Someone looks happy” You snorted as Bucky made his way over to you, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
“Very happy angel” He pulled you to a quiet corner to sneak a few minutes with you, his hands roaming up and down your waist before playfully grabbing your ass. “Can’t keep my hands to myself when you’re walking around tempting me in this dress”
“Trying to have fun already?” You sassed, poking his side. He pulled you flush against him, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, enjoying the warmth of your body. He peeked up for a moment to check on the guests, his heart swelling with seeing everyone together. At his home. With his family.
“YO BARNES STOP DRAGGING YOUR WIFE TO THE MISTLE TOE AND BE MY PARTNER” Bucky snorted hearing Sam’s voice carry through the corridor, reluctantly pulling away from you. “I’ll have to sneak you away again in a bit doll” He kissed you once more before joining by Sam’s side.
Of course the rest of the night goes by with more antics, plenty of food, more of sneaky love struck Bucky and you both wouldn’t have it any other way. After everyone had left, you curled up on the couch with Bucky, Becca tucked to your side, nodding off, her eyes heavy with sleep.
“Hmm, bed time bug” Bucky plucked Becca from your lap, carrying her over to her room and tucking her in carefully. He kissed her forehead while she snuggled into her sheets, cuddled up with her newest falcon plushie.
“Night daddy”
“Sleep tight baby” Bucky was about to make his way out until he heard her little voice again.
“Daddy?” He turned around to see her curious face thinking about what she wanted to ask, blinking up at him before speaking. “Can Santa bring me a brother?”
“A brother?”
“Uh huh. We don’t get to see Cass and AJ or Morgan all the time. I have no one to play with at home”
Bucky melted at her pouty face and puppy eyes, a signature look she had 100% inherited from him. He chuckled, giving her one last kiss before turning on her night light.
“Maybe for next Christmas, does that sound good?”
Bonus: Making Becca’s second gift
You were curled up in bed with a book while Bucky walked in, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Y’know, Becca actually wanted a different Christmas gift” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows while you cocked your head, gasping when he grabbed your thigh and pulled you to lie down against the pillows. He crawled on top of you, setting your book aside before settling himself between your legs causing your oversized t-shirt to ride up.
“Yeah? And what’s that”
“She wants a little sibling to play with” Bucky smirked, trailing a few featherlight kisses on your neck.
“Does she now?” You could feel your heartrate pick up, warmth already pooling between your legs.
“She does” He ran his tongue down the column of your neck. His cock was hard, pressing against your needy core, gently rocking his hips, groaning at the way your thighs squeezed around him. You moaned, spreading your legs further for him, bucking your hips up slightly to chase the friction of his cock rubbing on you. “What do you think mama? One more?”
“One more” You whimpered, desperate to have him in side you. Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling up you to strip your shirt off, and raising your hips to toss your panties away. He wasted no time throwing his boxers off, settling between your legs again, rubbing his bare cock against your entrance.
“You gonna let me put a baby in you?” There was no time for foreplay or prepping for tonight, the both of you now desperate. You whined, frantically nodding, waiting for Bucky to do something but he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Say it, tell me what you want me to do”
“Put a baby in me daddy” You moaned, clinging your arms around his neck, your arousal soaking the tip of his cock.
“You want daddy to put a baby in you?” He nudged the tip inside, teasing you, loving the way your eyes pleaded with him, your desperate moans spurring him on more.
“Please? Please daddy”
“Don’t worry doll, m’right here” You both gasped at the feeling of him filling you, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you. “M’right here angel” Bucky could feel his cock already throb, the very idea of getting you pregnant again made him extra sensitive.
“Move Bucky, please” He started to slowly rock his hips, placing soft kisses along your hairline, resting his forehead against yours. He loved the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body, your legs tight around his waist. He loved the sweet sounds that left your lips, moaning with you over how perfect you felt, how desperately in love he was with you.
“M’so lucky, you know that doll?” He pulled up slightly to look at your eyes, rolling his hips a little faster, chasing more of your warmth “Can’t believe your my wife, mother of my child-fuck-how did I get so lucky”
“I l-love you” Your nails dug into his back, pulling him so his full body weight was on you, the coil in your belly already starting to build feeling him so close. Bucky groaned, giving you deeper thrusts, angling his hips slightly to pull all the way out before slamming back in. You cried out in pleasure, his lips coming down to swallow your moans while he started to drip in your cunt. “Want a baby like you Bucky”
“Yeah? You want a little baby like me?” Your words made his cock throb, nearly cumming on the spot while you gazed at him with heart eyes, nodding while moving your hands to cup his face.
“Fuck-just like you Bucky!”
“Wanted-fuck-wanted to make love to you baby, get you pregnant with my babies while I feel all over you but you make it so hard baby, I just-I just-m’already gonna fucking cum, you feel so good”
“Oh fuckkk-keep-keep going Bucky don’t st-stop” You could feel the hair at the base of his cock rub against your clit, the veins in his cock pulsing.
“Never, I love making babies with you, mama” He panted against your neck, his hand coming to lace with yours, pinning the on the bed. “Prettiest mama ever, not gonna be able to keep my hands to myself when you’re pregnant angel, tellin you right fucking now, m’gonna fuck you and make love to you even when your all swollen and round”
You moaned, your pussy clenching and fluttering at his words while he lost himself further, grunting and panting with each thrust.
“You feel that huh? How hard my cock is for you baby, fuck-how swollen it is when I get to knock this pretty pussy up”
“Get me pregnant Buckyyy” You could feel your orgasm right on edge, your pussy gripping onto his cock with a vice like hold.
“Yeah? Daddy’s gonna get you pregnant angel, can fell my balls throbbing-shit-so heavy baby-almost hurts”
“Cum daddy, cum in me” Your needy voice threw Bucky over the edge, his pace growing sloppy. His hands moved to wrap around your body, holding you as close to him as possible, the head of his cock desperate to release.
“M’gonna get you pregnant baby-fuck get ready, gonna cum, gonna fucking CUM OH FUCKKK-” Bucky stilled, moaning into your neck, struggling to keep his voice low, as his cock spilled endless ropes of cum into you. He could feel each spurt make his cock jump, grinding his hips into you, pushing you against the mattress, making sure you got every single drop.
“Take alll my cum sweets, take it” Bucky kept his cock in you, his hand snaking down to rub your clit. His eyes locked with yours, pupils blown with lust and love as you bit down on his shoulder, your orgasm crashing down on you. “Thats it, cum when you’re all nice and full of me baby” Bucky groaned feeling your walls pull and clench around his softening cock. “God that feels good” The both of you took a moment to catch your breath, cuddled under the sheets, with kisses in between.
“So, we’ll have a little Bucky around for next Christmas?” Bucky smiled down at you, softly caressing your body while you laid on his chest.
“Hmm, we just might” You giggled, nodding, shifting up slightly so you could kiss him. You squealed as he grabbed you, rolling you over so you were under him again, his cock hardening almost instantly.
“James!”
He bit his lip, thrusting into you again as your eyes rolled back, he was going to make sure you were pregnant by the end of the night.
“I mean, our princess did ask for a sibling and she gets what she wants...”
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#bucky barnes holiday#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x female reader#bucky x f!reader#bucky x nurse reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fandom#bucky fan fiction#bucky fan fic#bucky fanfic#bucky fan fics#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes smut#bucky x you#james bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#james buchanan bucky barnes#james bucky buchanan barnes#soft bucky barnes#bucky barnes x family
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Hey peeps. I'm really sorry but I actually have bad news and not a Valentine's Day chapter for today. I got diagnosed with tendonitis and I need to rest my hand and not write too much. I'm currently also working on my Master's thesis and that has priority, for obvious reasons I think, and I'm having a really hard time not being able to write some more König stuff, because really that's all I want to do.
I mean, I have found some speech to text programs that work pretty well (I'm actually using it right now to type this out), but it still takes a lot more time and then I still need to proofread manually, so it will take until the weekend or next week to post some more.
I have some chapters already written out that I finished some time ago that might not fit the plot exactly, but will work as random scenes. So I might fall back on some of those for the time being.
I hope you understand and thanks for your patience!
I actually wrote a little scene about it when my wrist first started hurting, so I'm just going to post this today (I also read through it again and the big guy is still my comfort character), maybe some of you can also use a little fluff with König today <3
kissing it better <3
(domestic fluff, hinted-at smut, mdni)
Monday at 8, I go to work after drinking my morning coffee with him and I return to his house again in the late afternoon, finding him and Mimi cuddling on the couch, the little ball of fur snuggling into his broad chest. Seeing them like that, squeezes my heart a little bit.
I hop onto his lap, Mimi meowing because now she isn’t the only one occupying this space anymore. We laugh and I can finally give him a kiss. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around my waist and thighs.
Next to him on the end table, there are three new bottles of black nail polish. “They didn’t have the brand you normally use, so I just bought a few.”, he explains, smiling at me apologetically.
And this small gesture makes me melt a little. I picture him, the ridiculously tall, scary looking metalhead standing in the boutique in front of the shelf with all the tiny bottles of nailpolish – and then picking out three of the same colour because he didn’t know which one I would like.
“Thanks, even though that wasn’t necessary.”, I say, pressing a little ‘thank you’ kiss onto his nose. I reach for one of the bottles but pull back when a pang of pain shoots through my wrist.
His eyes widen, just a bit, his look fixed on the spot where I hold it against my chest, slowly massaging it. “What happened?”, he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know, my wrist just hurts.” I sigh. “It started today at work and it just doesn’t go away.”
He catches my hand, pulling my wrist from my hold, and inspects the joint, softly moving it. He stretches it down gently, my small palm between his huge, tattooed fingers. “Does that hurt?”, he wants to know. I shake my head and he pulls it into the other direction. I hiss slightly, as the light sting of pain spreads, and he lets go immediately.
“I think, you may have overworked it a little bit.”, he mumbles, softly massaging the muscles and tendons around the wrist. Pushing his thumbs into the sensitive skin, until I sigh and relax a bit.
König pulls my wrist closer, up to his lips, pressing them onto the joint. Placing soft kisses where it hurts. Kissing it better. I can feel his warm breath coasting over my skin as he slowly makes his way to the inside of my wrist, still rubbing the spots that hurt lightly with his big strong fingers. His eyes snap up to mine, holding my gaze that is already on him.
His tongue darts out, licking over the pulse point, like he can’t help himself. The soft wet touch sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. My mouth drops open just a little bit as he puts his over the sensitive spot and sucks, gently. A little moan escapes my lips, and I can see the heat in his eyes intensifying.
He pulls back, pressing another kiss to my wrist, lingering a little longer than he needs to. Still holding my gaze. “A little better?”, he asks, with a soft smile. His little kisses seem to be the best medicine, even though they are pure placebo.
“Yes, thank you.”, I say as I lean forward and give him a proper kiss on the lips.
“Just let it rest the next few days and it’ll get better, okay?”, he suggests then.
I nod, but I can’t help myself, as I add-on: “So, no handjobs?”, biting back a grin.
He shoots me a look that tells me to stop being such a brat, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Exactly, that was my point, Fräulein.”, he answers sarcastically, patting my ass.
His demeanor changes again before he asks: “Are you hungry? I cooked some pasta.” He already kinda knows the answer to that (I can always eat, especially carbs) as he’s getting up, just lifting me up in one swift motion, only to set me down on the floor next to him.
“Starving actually, I didn’t really have lunch today.”, I sigh. “More exhausting clients instead.”
“We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound, hm?”, he suggests. His arm snakes around my waist while he presses a little kiss on the top of my head.
“That sounds great.”, I tell him, a small smile on my face, as I take his hand – with the wrist that doesn’t hurt – and follow him to the kitchen.
Mimi gets up as well and tipples after us, her tail flicking up in the air, as she meows again like she wants to say ‘I’m hungry too!’.
~ more stuff in the Masterlist~
#metalhead!könig#könig#könig cod#könig mw2#konig#konig cod#konig mw2#könig fanfiction#cod mw2 smut#könig smut#konig smut#cod smut#könig x reader#tw: age gap
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Pinky Promises | Clark Kent x Reader
↳ Pairing : MAWS Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
↳ Rating : PG
↳ Summary : childhood friends meet again under unlikely circumstances
↳ W.C : ~1.3k
↳ Tags: fluff, mild language, flashback, childhood friends, extrovert!reader x introvert!clark, reader giving manic pixie dream girl vibes, heat vision when excited/agitated/stressed, mixed in some MoS backstory
“Give them back!” Clark swiped at the older boy who was now dangling his glasses high above his head.
“Or what, four eyes?” His bully since the first day of middle school, Billy sneered. “I just wanna see ’em.”
Clark knew that wasn’t true. Every time Billy wanted to “see” something he’d just outright take it without giving it back. It started with his pencils, which was innocuous enough, until it moved on to the lunches his mom packed, and even his new sneakers at one point.
Clark was okay with losing those things. He had plenty of pencils, and he was never really that hungry. He could try and fly home if worst came to worst too, but his glasses were the one thing he couldn’t give up to Billy.
The first time his heat vision had flared up, Billy had spilled his carton of milk in his lap on purpose, making it look like Clark had peed himself in front of half the school. He’d almost burned a hole into the school lunch table out of embarrassment. The second time happened on that same day, after school when he’d snapped at his mother for prying too much, singeing the doorframe.
A few days later Martha Kent would give him a special pair of glasses that she’d made herself using the glass of the spaceship he landed in. And upon seeing her gift, he’d bury his face into his mother’s arms as an apology and a ‘thank you’.
“How the hell are you even seeing through these?” Billy inspected the glasses, all the while avoiding Clark’s reach. “They don’t even work. Just a piece of garbage.”
Clark could feel his anger rising and a prickling heat behind his eyes. Reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled, tripping backward from Billy’s rough shove.
“What? You crying, loser?” He taunted. “Don’t worry I’ll take out the trash for you.” Billy wound up, preparing to throw the glasses like a baseball.
“Hey! Leave him alone you big bully!”
Clark peeked his eyes open to see you barreling down the road wielding a baseball bat and already swinging wildly.
Clark had heard about you offhandedly from his peers. You were like a Smallville Middle School urban legend mostly for your weird outfits and lack of filter. Unlike Clark, no one dared to bully you for fear of your unpredictable nature. Even Billy, big as he was, knew better than to stick around to test it.
“That’s right! You better run!” You shouted as Billy escaped.
Clark blinked dumbly back at you, and even more dumbly when he felt his glasses being placed back on his face. Your face was close, and your mouth was moving but he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Your tugging him to his feet was what finally pulled him back to reality.
“—and if any one bothers you again they’re gonna have to go through me! And if I’m not there you better fight back and kick his butt, Clark!”
You held out a pinky, the look on your face leaving no room for Clark to refuse it. He linked his pinky with your own, marking the beginning of your friendship along with the unofficial beginning of Clark’s crush on you. The next day you would sit next to him at lunch, naturally, as if you had always been friends.
The Kents began to notice that their usually quiet son was visibly happier and becoming much more talkative. Imagine Martha Kent’s surprise when a phone call for Clark came into the house phone, and a female voice was on the other end.
Jonathan Kent would be equally surprised when he accidentally picked up the house phone and overheard Clark talking to you excitedly about his favorite book series. Needless to say, they would hint incessantly to Clark that he should invite his new “friend” over for dinner.
It wasn’t long before you were inseparable; and for all of middle school everywhere he was, you were not far off. Until one day you told him you were moving away, 100 miles away to be exact, to Metropolis.
You would pinky promise each other to keep in touch but as you both got busier and Clark discovered more about his own origins, the letters and phone calls became more sparse until communication stopped entirely.
10 years later
The one day you decided to get your hair done was the day some eldritch abomination decided to descend upon the city of Metropolis.
You were used to it by now; you had your fair share of close calls. Most people would hole themselves up in their apartments and never come out with all the intermittent attacks lately, but you weren’t most people and in your opinion, living in fear was not living at all.
So when you found yourself falling to your death from a building, you accepted your fate and braced yourself for the inevitable impact. Only...it never came. You did feel your cheek resting against something hard though, and when you looked up at what seemed to break your fall, you found yourself face to face with the “Man of Steel” himself: Superman.
“Fear not, citizen. You’re safe now.” You could hear his deep voice rumble from his chest to your ear as he spoke.
When Clark finally got a good look at your face, it felt like he was back in Smallville again, back to the day you’d chased Billy off. Back to the moment your face had filled his vision entirely; All he could see was you. He almost blurted out your name out of surprise until he remembered he was supposed to be a hero now and not Clark Kent, the farm boy.
“You look…” You began but then trailed off as you stared at his face. You were breathless from everything; the fall, the chaos, and now the handsome man who made you feel safe in his arms. You couldn't quite place it, but he looked oddly familiar. “You look a lot like someone I know.”
“I…get that a lot, Ma’am.” Clark tried to sound professional and not alarmed at the fact that there was a chance you’d recognize him. “Get to safety quickly.” He recovered the authority in his voice, but it was now clashing with his reddening face. When he set you down, you wondered why the charismatic superhero you’d seen on TV seemed much shyer in person.
“Well, I would but--” Your eyes both drifted to where he still had a protective arm circled around your waist, pulling you close to his body. Upon realizing he hadn’t let you go, he jerked his arm away to give an awkward salute.
You gave him a curious look; He was so jumpy and…cute? Oh god, it was killing you. Where had you seen that face before?
A loud crash accompanied by a guttural roar from the 50-foot-tall monster in the background saved Clark from further embarrassment. “Well, uh, that’s my cue.”
“Hey, Superman?” You suddenly spoke up as he turned around.
He paused to look back at you, mid-preparation for flight.
“Kick its fucking ass!”
And with that, he returned you a bashful smile with a thumbs up and took off into the air.
That night, after a long fight with the inter-dimensional threat, Clark had gotten a voicemail from his Mom saying that you had called her asking for his number. Not shortly after, his phone vibrated, an unknown number with a Metropolis area code filling the screen. It must’ve been you.
“Hey, it’s me, Y/N. Something reminded me of you today." His heart leaped. Ten years later and yet your voice still made his heart rate erratic; a form of muscle memory.
"I got your number from your Mom," You continued. "Do you…still remember that promise we made when we were kids? The day before I moved.” You talked to him like you’d never left. Like you were picking back up a conversation that began yesterday and not a decade ago.
How could Clark possibly forget? And what happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’ But being too embarrassed to say it out loud, he could only breathe out a shaky “Y-yea. I remember.”
On a warm summer day, you made rings out of dandelions and a half-joking pinky promise that you would marry each other someday.
You were kids who didn’t know much about marriage or how it worked exactly, but you knew that’s what people did if they liked each other enough. And there was no doubt that you both liked each other because that pinky promise was the first and only one that had been sealed with a kiss.
©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers
#reader figures out he’s Superman pretty quickly later on offscreen 🤭#needed to write fluff after all the smut lol#cross posted on ao3#maws x reader#maws clark kent#maws x you#clark kent x reader#my adventures with superman#maws imagines#brfwrites
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some unspoken thing
john price x fem!reader
synopsis: price does his best to keep you away from a dangerous mission, but against his best efforts, you tag along anyway. when you find yourself injured, some interesting feelings are brought to the surface.
tags/cw: graphic depictions of violence (I based the beginning of this on the “clean house” mission from mw19 but changed a few details), angst, fluff/comfort, mutual pining
word count: 4.0k
a/n: i love price... also! if you would like a spicy part 2 of this…let me know bc i may or may not already have most of it written hehe.
The house - an unsuspecting little thing, sat in the middle of what everyone would agree to be a normal London suburb - was now coated in darkness. You had just reached the back door of the house from the fuse box, having carried out your orders to kill the power. Voices could be heard from inside the house now. You can’t make out exactly what they are saying, but imagine their hushed voices uttered words of confusion. Confused whispers became urgent, alarmed calls to each other and suddenly, all was quiet from inside the house.
Slipping your night vision goggles over your eyes, what should have been a pitch black scene was coming to you in various shades of green. Amongst the other soldiers gathered around the door, you catch a glimpse of your captain, John Price, and sgt. Garrick.
You study your captain’s face momentarily. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips shut in a thin line as his attention is solely focused on the door ahead of him. His hand grips his gun and you note how one particular vein seems to pop out in response to him flexing his hand. Price has an exceptional talent for being able to zero in when on the field - something you currently found yourself struggling with. He also had a talent for popping into your head at the most inconvenient times. Although, that was no fault of his own. Price catches your stare from the corner of his eye, causing you to quickly look away.
A wave of shame makes your face heat up. Focus, you scold yourself. You’re gonna get yourself killed in there. You direct your attention back to the door ahead of you as everyone has begun to take their place. Gaz offers you a small nod and turns back to the door, waiting for Price to give a signal. You suck in a breath and take your place, pointing your gun to the entrance. Its green laser marks a spot on the wood that would surely be meeting someone on the other side.
A quick nod from your captain, and the door is bashed inwards, wood splintering and flying into the air. A man stands in front of you on the other side and your laser meets a spot on his chest, the bullet that follows sending him to the floor. “Move in,” a gruff order from your captain sends you and the other soldiers into the house. Trailing behind Gaz and Price you make your way up the stairs of the house to the second floor as muffled shots ring out below - the rest of the team clearing out any threats on the first floor. “Gaz, first door on the left. Y/N with me,” Price whispers. The captain’s command puzzles you, considering what had transpired days before the mission. No matter. “Copy,” you mutter, creeping along the hall to the door next to Gaz’s. You catch a glimpse of him nudging the door open and hear an accompanying bang and thud. When you reach your door, Price stands at the other side of the entrance and slowly turns the knob - raising his gun to point into the cracked space.
Another muffled shot and a thud.
He moves into the room and you follow behind. As Price inspects his side of the room, you turn a corner to see a frantic man waving a gun around, holding a woman in front of him.
The sight makes you hesitate. “No! No - don’t shoot! Don’t kill me please! Please,” the woman is shrieking at you now, tears in her eyes as the man tells her to shut up. He has her in an iron grip, keeping her in place. In a split second you aim at the man’s head and send him crashing down, his human shield released and landing next to him on the floor. Before you even realize what’s happening, the woman is turned around reaching for something in the darkness.
“Y/N GUN!” Price yells behind you, watching the scene play out before him.
He sends a round into the woman and she crumples to the ground, but not before a bullet of her own finds its way into you, digging into your shoulder.
“Fuck-” you stumble back, pain exploding across your chest, shoulder, and arm. Red blossoms across your uniform, painting the military camo a bright crimson. Price is behind you now and steadying you to sit on the floor, his breathing uneven.
You try to collect yourself, despite the searing pain ripping through your body. The adrenaline from the altercation is the only thing keeping you grounded. “It’s not so bad,” you mutter, grimacing “she got me in the shoulder, just above my-”
“Enough,” your captain’s tone ties your tongue in a knot, “Garrick, get her out of here and call for a medic. Now.” His eyes are dark and you suddenly feel very small in your place on the floor.
-
Sat behind the house, you watch intently as the medic dresses your wound. The bullet had thankfully - and painfully - went clean through your shoulder. The combat medic skillfully wraps cloth around your arm and shoulder area; you wince as she tightens the dressings and ends it in a neat knot. “You’re quite lucky you know…” her eyes scan over her handiwork, seemingly satisfied with it for now, “We’ll stitch this up back at base, sounds like they’re almost done in there anyways” she says, putting her supplies back into its kit. “Yeah… thank you,” you reply hoarsely, the adrenaline wearing off and the pain beginning to catch up with you. Your frustration at the situation bites at you almost as hard as the intense ache radiating throughout your body.
Of course it had to be me, you thought.
Price will boot me off the team for this.
He was right.
I’ve caused problems for everyone else.
I should have noticed her grabbing his gun.
What if she had shot him?
What if I compromised the mission?
I really am slipping.
What if Price-
The sound of boots coming down the stairs breaks you out of your thoughts. Looking up, you see Price, Gaz, and the rest of the team exit the house. You note Gaz is carrying a laptop and sigh, knowing it to be a sign your mission was successful. You had the intel you came here for. Getting shot had been worth it.
You suppose.
“Evacs on its way - let’s move out and…,” Price’s orders reach your ears but the tail end of his sentence becomes muddled. Your ears begin to ring and a feeling of panic settles in your chest. Now, a warm sensation creeps down your front. Looking down, you see that the cloth wrapped around your formerly stable wound had become soaked with blood. You open your mouth:
“Oh…”
“Shit!” the medic yells - her attention back on you. Cementing herself on the ground next to you, she eases you back onto the ground. Her hands come down hard on your shoulder to apply pressure and it takes everything in you not to scream out in pain. You try to watch as your blood stains her hands but black, hazy dots begin to cloud your vision.
“You get her on that med-evac NOW dammit!” Price must have moved closer after the commotion. You struggle to make him out, even though he is looming directly over you. His dark, unreadable expression from earlier has been replaced by one of anger and worry. Maybe even fear. “Fucking hell she’s pale…” his remark isn’t heard by you - now fading in and out of consciousness and struggling to even keep your eyes open. A calloused hand brushes across your sweaty forehead, sweeping your hair out of your face. You can’t tell whose is.
“We need to move her now,” the medic states gesturing for Price to help lift you from your place on the ground, “On three - one, two, three-”
Amidst the uproar around you, you feel fatigue tug at your eyes and slip into a surprisingly comforting state of unconsciousness.
-
A rapping knock sends Price’s attention to the door of his office. He shuts the file he’s currently reading and clears his throat, “Come in.”
When your frame comes into view, any traces of a smile immediately disappear from his face. In any other instance, the captain would be more than happy to see you.
Years ago, Price had taken you under his wing as a new recruit at Laswell’s request. And as much as he had tried to prevent it, Price had taken a strong liking to you - too strong for his own comfort.
This liking had become even more of a problem for the captain lately. Recently there had been several occasions when Price was filing reports and he found himself staring into a corner of his room wondering what you were up to. When you were actually together, his focus was poured solely into his work or whatever task was at hand. He knew the importance of what he did, and you devoted yourself equally as much to your job. Anything else between you two would be unprofessional. But at night, when he was alone - laying in bed and unable to sleep, John Price thought of you. If you were also lying in bed, struggling to fall asleep. How you were never afraid to offer your feedback, no matter who you spoke to. How you always had his back and how he always had yours. John Price knew he had feelings for you, but that didn’t mean he would - or even could - act on them.
His main priority was work. It had to be. He takes pride in his role - he loves what he does. And so do you. He understands everything his job entails, meaning he understands how one day he could be gone from this earth in the blink of an eye. And so could you. So, why would he ever act on those feelings? It was no matter whether or not you shared the same feelings - he knew for a fact you did.
Price was an observant man. He saw the way your posture changed when he walked into a room. He noted the way a blush crept across your cheeks whenever he called you “love” (which admittedly started as a joke, but now he does it to get a rise out of you) - noticed even more so the way you would immediately look away to hide the red on your face. Had tried not to pull you aside to another room and just bare his heart to you right then and there after you had brought him a pack of imported cigars from one of your missions - even after he specifically told you not to worry yourself about picking something up for him.
But why would he risk putting you in even more danger than you face everyday? For some probable short-lived relationship that may end up leaving one of you irreparably scarred, to no fault of your own? You could be used against him, and him against you. The man couldn’t rationalize it. And if he couldn’t have a relationship with you, he would do everything in his power to keep you out of trouble while he still could. So when he had gotten word that his and your efforts had paid off - had led you to a house where affiliates of Al-Qatala were harboring weapons and intel, he took you off the raid that was soon to come. It was selfish, he knew that. Even Laswell had questioned his request. But the thought of you in a close quarters mission encountering terrorists armed to the teeth filled the man with dread. He wouldn’t have it.Your voice finally reaches his ears.
“I’m off the mission?” you say, hurt and bitterness evident in your voice.
“Y/N-”
“I’m off the mission and I didn’t even find out through you? Fucking Gaz had to break the news to me?”
“Love, I would suggest you calm down for a moment and watch your tone,” his voice is low, stern.
You scoff, “Sorry sir -” your voice is dripping with attitude and it stirs something inside of John’s chest. You continue, “But seriously? We’ve been tracking these guys for months - I’ve been gathering so much intel. For you! Just for you to take me off this breach when we finally know where they are? And I get no explanation?” you look up at Price, searching for something in his eyes. He stares at yours, noting the dark bags under them. He wonders how you’ve been sleeping lately. Not the time, he thinks to himself.
Price pauses for a moment. “You want an explanation?” he looks down at you, “You’ve been slipping lately. I saw you during our last outing. You’re unfocused. Bloody miracle you got out as unscathed as you did - and if you keep it up, next time you won’t be as lucky” his words reverberate throughout the room and are followed by a tense, punctuated silence. Price struggled to keep his eyes on you, struggled even more to throw such exaggerated criticism your way.
You sit there, stock still. Silence, and then -
“Wow…Sir that - that is…the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“And that attitude is another reason in itself why you’re sticking behind.” Price booms, knowing damn well he would be just as upset if he was in your shoes.
“You taught me all I know about having a bad attitude.” you whisper.
It seems almost impossible for the office to grow quieter but it does. Price is mad. Not at you, but rather mad at the situation he’s put himself, and you into. “Captain. I mean it. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s to call people out on their bullshit. No matter who they are.” you stare into his eyes now.
You can feel his frustration but observe something else you can’t quite place, “So, I’m calling bullshit. I’m going on this mission. I deserve it and I can handle it.”
The man chuckles dryly. Truthfully, he finds himself increasingly annoyed yet drawn to your stubbornness. “Well, it’s already been decided-”
“I spoke with Laswell before coming to see you. I suggest you go do the same - seems like she sees more eye to eye with me on this issue. Unlike you I’ve got enough courtesy to give someone a heads up when their plans change.”
And before he can even say anything, you’re up. Chair loudly scraping across the floor as you stomp out and slam the door of his office closed.
Price hears your footsteps retreat down the hall. As soon as you’re out of earshot, a string of curses leaves his mouth and he slams a fist down on his desk. All his efforts to keep you at bay - whether that be away from danger or away from his heart had failed.
“Fuck.” he breathes.
-
You’re pulled out from your sleep by the sound of beeping. A high pitched, rhythmic beeping stings your ears and you try to force your eyes open. Immediately, your sight is flooded by an overwhelming brightness. You groan and something stirs beside you.
“Y/N?” a gruff voice you could place anywhere asks.
“Price…” you croak, throat dry. You squint your eyes and attempt to take in your surroundings.
You lie in a hospital bed, adorned with a plain gown and covered in white blankets. Turning your head slightly, you see a vase of flowers next to you. Sunflowers. Your favorite.
Captain John Price sits in a chair next to your bed. His eyes are bloodshot.
You try to sit up for a better view but your movements become halted as a searing pain rips at your shoulder and arm. Oh, right.
“Careful, love” John is standing now, helping you to sit up properly. He gingerly straightens you, careful to avoid your newly stitched up wound.
You don’t meet his gaze, though you can feel the way he looks at you - as if you’re made of porcelain.
“You can go ahead and say it” you begin, “Tell me how you were right and I was wrong. How I fucked up back there and almost got both us kill-” you sputter, throat still dry. Price grabs a water bottle sitting on the nightstand next to you. Wordlessly, he unscrews the cap and places a hand on your chin. Now you’re looking at him. You dip your head back and he places the tip of the bottle on your lips, allowing you to drink. The water is cool and chills your throat.
“You really are something,” Price says, “gabbin’ off to me after getting bloody shot - almost bleeding out.” he almost laughs. You swallow and look away, your attention turned towards your flowers.
“Something was bound to happen, it was inevitable. I’m slipping just like you said.” you whisper and he swears he sees your eyes get glassy.
Price sighs. “Y/N…I was wrong to say that. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re one of the best damn soldiers I’ve worked with. These things happen - it’s inevitable in our line of work.” he looks up to see your attention still fixed upon the sunflowers on your nightstand. “But this happened on my command, you wanna blame someone - blame me. Not yourself.”
That has you turning your head to him, head tilting in confusion.
“You’re not responsible for me.” you’re quick to reply. Price understands what you mean, but that doesn’t stop the pang in his heart from your words. He looks down, shaking his head. “I am.” he says bluntly.
Silence fills the room again, making you think back to the ordeal that transpired in his office right before the mission. You both feel unsure of what to say now.
“How long have I been asleep?” you finally ask.
“About a day and a half.”
You think for a moment.
“Am I gonna lose my arm?” you attempt a joke.
He stifles a laugh, but feels a little guilty after. You shouldn’t be making light after such an ordeal, but he decides against lecturing you. “You’ll keep your arm another day. They cleaned the wound and stitched it up. Lost a lot of blood - had to have a transfusion. You almost went into shock.”
“Oh…” Silence. “Well, did we get the intel we needed?” you question, remembering the laptop you saw Gaz carrying right before you passed out.
“We did. That’s all you need to know right now. I’ll brief you when you aren’t hooked up to all these machines." His answer seems to satisfy you.
“Who are the flowers from?” you ask, trying to move on.
“That would be me.”
More silence.
“I love sunflowers.” you mutter, dumbly.
Price chuckles at this, “I know, love.”
“...Why…did you do that for me?”
Price pauses, considering how best to answer your probing, “Because I know you love them.” A simple answer. Your heart beat is picking up slightly, the beeps from the monitor increasing in frequency.
Thoughts swarm in your head. The same ones that buzz around on sleepless nights when you wonder what your captain happens to be doing in the same moment. You think for a while and Price watches you.
“Why did you…say all those things - before, in your office? If you clearly don’t believe them.” you ask finally.
John takes in a deep breath and takes one more look at the bright yellow flowers, then into your eyes. “I don't…” he has to think carefully about his response, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. I wanted to leave you behind for this mission. Wanted to keep you out of harm's way - but I know - I know I can’t. You run head first into danger every day, I know that. And I know you’re going to help anywhere you can. That’s who you are.” he exhales, “I know it’s inevitable things like this will happen on the job - to both of us. Know it’ll catch up with me one day,” you wince at this and he feels his heart sink again, but continues, “I’m sorry for what I said. More for what happened. I was so angry when you got hurt, still angry-”
“It’s not your fault,” you stop him.
“I’ll hear none of tha-”
“John.” you breathe, something different about your tone. “When are we going to talk about this?”
“We are-”
“This unspoken thing between us.”
He feels like the breath is knocked out of him. John Price has fought in wars, fallen out of helicopters, faced horrors normal people couldn’t even dream up - but nothing could prepare him for this conversation he’s desperately been trying to avoid.
Despite his best efforts, his walls slowly start to fall.
“We’re certainly not gonna talk about it with you in this hospital bed,” he says
“So when?” you quip, “When I inevitably end up in one again? In an even worse state? Or when you find yourself in one?” He shakes his head at the thought. “When, Price?” Your persistence stirs him and before he knows it, the captain extends a hand towards you, resting it on your own.
When he can’t find any words, you continue: “When she shot me…all I thought about for a moment was you. If it hadn't been me it would have been you. I thought about you…I find myself thinking about you a lot these days…and I was thanking whoever happens to be listening up there that I got caught in the shoulder instead of the heart, so I didn’t have to leave you…so I need you to know how I feel. And it’s okay if you don't feel the same - though I think you do - but if you don't, I’ll deal with it and we’ll move on and you can laugh at me but I need you to know.” you close your eyes after rushing through the tail end of your confession. You wish the hospital bed would just swallow you whole.
You feel his hand close over yours, moving it up to his lips, still careful not to strain your shoulder. A kiss is pressed into your fingers. Your eyes snap open and a soft gasp leaves your mouth.
“Well I don’t know how you expect me to follow that up, love” Price says, meeting your surprised expression. “And I would never laugh at you - probably.” That has you giggling. He smiles at the noise. “I think of you all the time too love. How couldn’t I? You’ve been in my life for years now. We’ve worked together for years…I want to be with you all the time. So, if we’re going to do this, we need to understand what we’re getting ourselves into and what-”
You cut him off, “Oh please - you think I haven’t thought of this? John, I know what a relationship with you would mean. Probably more than anyone else in this world,” you make sure to look into his eyes before your next words, “but I would choose it - over and over again I would choose you.”
Price doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how someone with as much blood on his hands as he has could ever be graced to hear this. Graced to have you.
He cups your cheek, moving some hair out of your face. “You better get well and out of this bed soon, love. We have a lot of lost time to make up for.” He moves his face closer and studies your eyes. His gaze flickers down to your mouth. He closes the gap between you both and presses his lips against yours.
The machine monitoring your heart rate begins beeping rapidly. You both laugh, “Do I get you that riled up, darling?” Price teases you. Not a moment later, a nurse comes bursting through the door. You quickly pull away from each other as she rushes over to you. “Are you alright dear?” she asks, looking over the heart monitor. It begins to slow now, beeping at a normal pace. “What happened? What had you all worked up?” she continues, clearly confused. You and Price share a look, beginning to laugh all over again.
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#john price x reader#john price#captain price x reader#captain john price#modern warfare 2#barry sloane#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish
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aita for getting into a screaming match with a neighbour after he harrassed me for months for being sick?
im gonna start this by saying i dont *think* im the asshole. i more just wanted to share this insane story and maybe get some other points of view on it.
i (22nb) got really sick back in april. like rush to a&e multiple times sick. i tested multiple times but it wasnt covid. it later turns out my cold-like symptoms and my horrendous cough were caused by allergies. it took about 3 months to finally dull it down and feel okay again. i take meds everyday and im still not 100% because the allergen (pollen) persists.
but in this 3-month period of me being sick we found we kept getting knocks on our door. it was our upstairs neighbour (approx 50m). the first time he knocked at 3 in the morning to complain about how my coughing was keeping him awake. he rambled through the door for like 15 minutes about my coughing and demanded we move our bed to the front room so he couldnt hear my coughing anymore.
i, having already been feeling guilty and anxious about being sick because my fiancé (27m) had to take care of me and i lost my job over the situation, decided i was gonna go for a walk. i was really upset and i wanted some fresh air (which at the time i thought would help).
the next morning, the neighbour came down again to inform us that we should keep sleeping in the front room until i recover because he slept so great that night. we informed him that we in fact did not sleep in the front room and i hadnt even been in the flat.
a few days go by and we get another knock at the door. its thankfully daytime and hes talking through the door again. hes demanding that we move into the front room because we are the ones causing the noise disturbance. (once again, i am very sick. paramedics were round at our house 2 days prior to look me over).
we say no to this and he says hes going to get our estate agent to resolve this because we, and i quote, "are being selfish".
a few more days pass and our estate agents inform us that theyre coming to do an inspection. naturally they get here and they want to know my fiancé and i's side of the story. we tell them im very sick and they are very understanding because the neighbour said as much when they put in the noise disturbance complaint. they tell us not to worry and theyll tell the neighbour that hes being silly.
two or three weeks go by and we hear nothing. until one day, whilst my fiancé is at work, he decides to harrass me personally because he knows im home alone. he demands to know exactly what im doing to fix this, tells me how its bothering our other neighbours (who had said nothing to us) and tells me its affecting his quality of life. (i was the one coughing so hard i was vomiting for about two weeks but his quality of life was the one inconvenienced???) in the end, he slinks off back upstairs like usual and i then ring the estate agents to complain about his continued harrassment.
this happens again another time when my fiancé and we start arguing through the door again. it was pretty much like the last few times.
but then, heres where we might be the assholes of the story. after weeks of repeated knocks and lengthy complaints and demands, he knocks again. it was 8am, my fiancé was still sleeping for work. my fiancé woke up to him complaining at me through the door again and lost it. this man was knocking to ask if it was okay to move back into his bedroom because the coughing seemed to have gone down. he wanted us to assure him that i wouldnt get sick again. we opened the door to him for the first time (after giving warning) and got into a screaming match with him. of course in the time it took between giving warning and opening the door, he had scurried upstairs and was yelling at us from there.
i think theres a possibility we are the assholes because the screaming match would have been heard by our downstairs neighbour who was not involved in this at all. we did write him a letter to apologise for this but i still feel kinda shitty about it.
i went back to the estate agents after and reported him again saying if they didnt deal with him, id look into taking legal action for harrassment. its been about a month now and weve heard nothing from him since.
What are these acronyms?
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Don’t Blame Me
Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader (AU)
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Swearing, Alcohol, Parent Loss (flashback), Bullying (flashback) MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!
Summary: What would have happened if instead of Billy being flayed, it was his girlfriend? (Title and ending inspired by “Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift)
A/N: I apologize for not posting in such a long time! I just needed the time to sit down and write this fully because who would want to read a part 2 when I could easily finish it in one part? Anyways, I hope you guys really enjoy this, it has been in my mind for a long time now.
“Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'll be usin' for the rest of my life, Usin' for the rest of my life”
You had made plans for after graduation. Work hard all summer, move to California the day after Labor Day. You knew the day he asked you out formally that the two of you were endgame.
He got a job at the pool, you got a job at the new record store in the mall. Some days, he’d meet you at the mall for lunch, or you’d drive up to the pool to see him on your break. Sometimes, the two of you even rented a hotel room to spend the night together without fear of your families noticing. That’s what you were doing that night.
After stopping at your house to get some clothes for the night, you were driving to Motel 6, where Billy was waiting for you. Singing along happily to the Blondie song on the radio, you knew tonight was going to be a good night, until it wasn’t.
It came out of nowhere. The object shattered the windshield of your silver Ford Escort, sending your head straight into the steering wheel. Stepping out of your car to inspect the damage, you notice a weird gooey substance on the windshield.
“What the fuck…” you mutter to yourself when a random squeal and rustling in the bushes sounds out just a few feet from where you are now.
“Who’s there?” You say, suddenly becoming more panicked.
You move towards the bushes to investigate the sound but you suddenly get swept off your feet and you start getting pulled towards the steel mill.
“Let me go! Please, let me go!” You scream as you’re pulled down the stairs, gripping onto the top stair for your life, but the force is too strong. The creature now towers over you, like a giant tentacle. It latches onto your face and drowns out your screams.
Somehow, the creature lets go of you long enough for you to sprint out back to your car and drive away. You don’t know what the fuck just happened, but you know you HAVE to get away from that steel mill.
Eventually you spot a pay phone on the side of the road, and you pull over and sprint to it as fast as your legs can go. Dialing 911, you start getting flashbacks to being pulled down to the steel mill.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
As the flashbacks get more rampant, the lights start flickering more and more, when suddenly, it goes dark. It’s too quiet, not even the dial tone of the phone can be heard. Stepping out of the pay phone, you look around cautiously. As you walk back out into the road you spot a group of people hiding in the fog.
“What do you want?”
Dead silence.
“I said, what do you want?”
Suddenly a figure starts walking towards you. As they get closer, it’s a clone of yourself.
“To build. I want you to build.” Your clone says in a distorted voice, much different from your own.
“To build what?” You say, scared for your life.
“What you see.”
“I don’t understand.”
A crack of lightning sounds and the next thing you know your clone and the crowd are gone.
“I don’t understand! What do you mean, I don’t understand!”
Billy waited all night for you to show up, but you never did. He knew this was unlike you, and figured you’d have a good explanation when he came to visit you at work today. As he walks into the record store, he sees you wearing short shorts and a tank top, something you never wore unless it was incredibly hot out (which it was not that day.)
“Where were you last night?” He says, point-blankly.
“I had a change of plans.” You say, with no emotion in your voice.
“Take him, Y/N. He’s perfect” The voice says in your head, and you feel yourself losing control.
“Please, Y/N, tell me what I did wrong.” He says, looking into your eyes, which just feeds the monster’s desire to take him as the next victim. Feeling your control start to slip almost completely, you realize you have to get Billy out of here, quickly.
“GO AWAY BILLY, PLEASE!” You yell at him, and you see the hurt expression on his face.
“Fine.” He says, leaving without another word, and you mentally sigh of relief. He’s safe, for now. The black veins go back into your skin, and you run to the break room and grab one of the water bottles out of the fridge and chug it, grabbing the other one to cool your face down.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Your co-worker, Daniel says as he checks back in from his lunch break.
“Take him instead.” The monster says into your head. Without thinking, you approach Daniel and grab him by the neck.
“Y/N what the fuck are you doing?” He chokes out as he starts to lose consciousness.
“Relax, it will all be over soon.” You say with a soothing voice.
The days blend together, where your body is moving without you even knowing. Taking whoever the flayer tells you to take. The old lady at the grocery store, the little boy throwing a baseball against a brick wall downtown, anyone. You don’t even feel like yourself anymore, a shell of a girl who once had it all.
Meanwhile, Billy was working hard to figure out how to get you back. Max filled him in on the supernatural beings of Hawkins, so now he knows what happened to you.
“So, what worked for Will was getting him super hot. Is there a way to do that?” Max asks Billy.
“I don’t know… maybe trapping her at work?” He says, trying to come up with a way to save his girl.
The plan is to trap you at work on the day you work by yourself. Billy will barricade the doors from the outside while Eleven turns the thermostat up from outside the shop, while Max and the rest of the party stand outside. As Billy hauls all the materials to the back door, he feels his anxiety rush over him, worried for how you’re going to react. He shoves that feeling aside and quickly barricades all the doors beside the glass front one so you don’t see him until it’s too late. After returning to the front of the store, Eleven starts turning the thermostat up. As the numbers get higher and higher, the control over your mind is lower and lower. It’s getting too hot, and you know that he will be angry.
“It’s up all the way.” Eleven says, wiping the blood from her nose.
“Now we wait.” Max says, standing just behind her brother as he nails the wood planks into the walls of the store to barricade the door.
Your hands clench under the counter, fighting to keep any sanity you have left, but it’s getting to be too much to bare. Meeting Billy’s eyes through the window, your eyes start to water. Walking over to the door’s window, you desperately call out to him.
“Billy please…”
“Y/N…”
“I didn’t mean to!! He made me!”
“Who made you do what?”
“The.. the.. the black thing… the giant shadow!”
“Y/N, please, we only want to help you.” Billy rests his hand against yours through the glass window, and that’s when it snaps. Punching through the window, Billy jumps back in shock. Kicking the wood planks away from the door, the group knows they need to act fast. Lucas fired his wrist rocket at her head, but that just made it angrier. The veins blacken all over your body and you smash through the door, but Eleven slams your body hard against the back wall of the store. Getting her weak enough, you reach your hand out and strangle her but that’s when Mike slams one of the wood planks against your head, giving Eleven enough time to throw you through the back wall of the store.
You walk down the steps to the basement of the mill, where Daniel is waiting, with all the rest of your victims.
“What happened.” Daniel says calmly.
“They know. They know I’m the host.” you say angrily.
“Who attacked you?”
“The girl. Nearly killed me.”
“She cannot kill all of us though.” He says, gesturing to the large crowd behind him.
A few days later, after meeting up with Nancy and Jonathan, the group decides to search for the flayed in the void. You, Daniel, Daniel’s Parents, The Holloways, and Doris Driscoll are all confirmed victims of the mind flayer.
After the attack at the hospital, you and Daniel stand waiting as the mini flayer, comprised of Daniel’s father and Tom Holloway’s bodies, returns to the mill, you look at him and say, “It’s time.”
Back at the cabin, Eleven is deep inside the void searching for the flayed. While the kids argue about why she shouldn’t be in the void for as long as she has been, Billy and Nancy are busy calling local businesses to ask if they have any missing chemicals. Suddenly, Eleven removes her blindfold and says, “I found her.”
You’re sitting alone on your bed in your bedroom, surrounded by floral wallpaper and music posters. Suddenly, you look up and see Eleven. A tear slips from your eye as you show her the possessions you caused, before slipping into an old memory of your own.
It’s the day of the annual Halloween party at Tina’s. You park your car and walk up to the party, dressed in an angel costume. Sipping on red punch, you bump into a shirtless Billy behind you.
“Excuse me, angel.”
“Sorry…-“
“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”
“Y/N. Y/N L/N.”
“What do you say we leave this lame party and you can show me what heaven looks like, doll.”
Suddenly, the memory starts to fade away as a new one starts. In this memory, there’s a much younger version of you, kneeling beside a hospital bed. She sees it’s a woman who looks a lot like you… your mother.
“Daddy, when will mommy wake up?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Daddy?”
That memory fades into a new one, where you’re no older than 8 years old, where you’re sitting on a bench outside at recess, when a group of girls come up to you.
“You know L/N, you’d be a lot less ugly if you actually tried.”
“Yeah, you need a makeover.”
Looking up at them, you say, “No thanks…”
“Too bad.” One of the girls pulls out a pair of scissors, cutting a chunk of your hair off. They laugh as tears fall from your eyes and that’s when it fades to one last memory: the night you were flayed.
She watches as the object hits your windshield, to your desperate call to 911, to getting dragged down the stairs. Not being able to take it anymore, Eleven returns to the cabin to find it empty. Lights flickering, Eleven calls out to Mike.
“He can’t hear you.” You say, in a deeper voice than normal.
She gasps as you step out from one of the rooms.
“You shouldn’t have looked for me.” You say, stepping towards her menacingly. “Because now I see you. We can all see you.”
Eleven backs away, scared.
“You… let us in. And now, you are going to have to let us stay.”
Eleven trembles as you step close to her.
“Don’t you see? All this time, we’ve been building it…. For you. All that work, all that pain, all of it, for you.”
Eleven sobs as you stare at her, intimidating her.
“And now it’s time. Time to end it. And we are going to end you. And once you’re gone, we are going to end your friends.”
“No!” Eleven yells, sobbing.
“And then we are going to end everyone.”
Eleven returns back to the cabin she came from, sobbing. After telling the group everything, they hear a snarl from outside. Will’s neck flares up, and he says, “He’s here.”
Nancy arms herself with a shotgun, and Jonathan and Billy arm themselves with axes. The cabin shakes and then suddenly stops, and that’s when a tendril slams through the window towards Eleven. Billy slams his ax down on it, but it turns to attack Billy. Nancy distracts it long enough for Eleven to tear it apart, but then 2 more fly in. Struggling, she finally tears them apart, but then the mind flayer itself destroys the roof, wrapping one of its tendrils around Eleven’s ankle. Jonathan severs the tendril with the ax while the rest of the group pulls Eleven away from the monster. The piece wrapped around her ankle embeds itself in her leg but Mike rips it out. After Eleven tears it apart, they flee the cabin in Nancy’s car.
After stopping at the supermarket, they flee with fireworks in tow. The flayer sends you out to find them there, but you were too late. Dipping your fingers in the blood left behind from Eleven’s leg, you use it to track where they’re headed— Starcourt.
When you arrive, they are outside working on Nancy’s car, which was tampered with. You rev the engine of your car, getting the attention of the group. They hurry back inside while Nancy fires at you as you floor your car towards the mall, when suddenly a car slams into yours- Steve Harrington slammed the rich guy’s car into yours, giving them time to escape. Spotting Mike, Max, and Eleven trying to escape through a back entrance, you hurry out of the burning car to get them.
“Take the girl, ignore the others.”
Cornering the kids in the hallway, Max starts telling you positive memories, like when you and Billy went to prom together (you promised him you’d make it worth his while afterwards…), and when you helped her get ready for the snowball. None of it works though, and you slam both her and Mike into the wall, knocking them out cold. Knocking Eleven out as well, you hoist her over your shoulder and carry her out to the center of the mall to present to the mind flayer.
Leaning over her, Eleven starts to wake up. She starts telling you details from the memory she saw— the one of you and Billy on Halloween.
“It was Halloween… Billy was there… he called you angel… your little halo and your wings gave it away…. You were pretty, very pretty. Billy loved you the moment he saw you…”
Hearing the memory, a tear slips from your eye. Climbing off of her, you turn to face the mind flayer. As it shoots a tendril out to take Eleven, you stand in front of her, taking the tendril in your chest.
“NO!” Billy yells out, watching the tendril sink into your body as you fall to your knees. The flayer lets go of you because Lucas begins firing fireworks at it, distracting him. Billy runs over to your shaking body, barely conscious.
“Angel, please, don’t leave me…” he says, caressing your tear-stained and blood covered face.
“Billy, it’s okay…” you say softly. “I’ll be okay…”
He lifts you into his lap and holds you close. “But I won’t…”
“I’ll love you forever… just put the blame on me…”
“It’s not your fault, Y/N. Don’t blame yourself.”
You cough up blood. “Billy please, let me go… I love you…” you say, holding his hand before slipping into unconsciousness.
He stays right there, feeling the muscles in your hand fall weak as he still holds your hand, even when the paramedics try to remove you from his grasp. He sits in front of your grave, knowing you wanted him to move on, but he just can’t let you go. You were his drug, and he’ll keep on using the memories of you for the rest of his life.
#billy hargrove x reader#Spotify#billy hargrove x f!reader#billy hargrove x fem!reader#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove fanfic#billy hargrove#billy hargove x reader#billy hargrove x female reader#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#stranger things season three#billy hargrove au#Billy hargrove imagine
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@oneforthemunny's Summertime Writing Game
The Title: Bad Apples
The Eddie: Janitor!Eddie (and a lot of Oliver)
The Prompt: 🃏 Wild Card
The Summary, Since I Went Off-Script: Someone called your sweet little Oliver a "bad apple" so now you're gonna have to make a point. A sweet, delicious point.
The Words: 2k
Author's Note: Oliver's pretty quiet in this. It's his first summer with Teach and Janitor!Eddie, he's still getting used to them.
"Are our apples bad?"
You looked to Oliver and then to the bowl of fruit on the counter in confusion. You'd only just walked in; could he smell a rotten apple already? Has pollen season officially claimed your nose as a victim? You step closer and pick up an apple to inspect it.
"I mean, they might be a few days past their prime, but I don't think they're bad. Why do you ask?"
He shrugs. "I'm gonna go read," he mumbles and goes to his room, closing the door quietly. You pick up another apple and give it a sniff. Nothing. You turn over each apple in the bowl, looking for any sign of rot. Not even a bruise. What the heck?
And then the phone rings, and the art teacher ranting about the incompetent music teacher who better not come back next year makes you forget about the apple problem.
She keeps you occupied for the next hour with a conversation that couldn't be had on school grounds - even a nearly childless one, since you were just there today cleaning out your classrooms - and then you start fixing dinner. Oliver usually wanders in when he starts smelling food, but today, he stays put. A little odd, but maybe he's just tired. He'd spent most of the afternoon on the playground with other newly-freed kids who either belonged to fellow teachers, or been so conditioned to school that they'd gravitated toward it even now that summer had officially started. You decide not to bother him; he knows he can hang out with you whenever he feels like it.
When Eddie comes home, he greets you with a kiss and asks what's for dinner. You inform him of tonight's menu - one of his favorites, to celebrate the end of the school year - and his face lights up.
"Where's the little guy?" he asks, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms, looking gorgeous doing it.
"In his room. He's quiet today."
"Any idea why?"
You shrug. "Go check, maybe you'll have better luck."
"Kay," he pushes off the counter, give you another peck, and goes to check on Oliver.
You hear a knock and then muffled voices. Can't escape the boys' club, even in your own house, you think as you clear the table.
You call when dinner is ready, and the boys enter the kitchen together. You notice that Oliver has changed his clothes at some point, but don't question it. He's a big boy, he can decide what he wears and when.
Oliver is still quiet during dinner. He'll speak when he's spoken to, but doesn't volunteer any information about his day or chime in like he usually does. You're growing more curious by the minute, but you don't get any answers until Oliver is safely tucked in.
"Alright, spill," you order, the second your bedroom door closes.
"Spill what?" Eddie asks.
"What's up with Oliver?"
Eddie heaves a sigh and comes to sit next to you on the bed.
"Somebody called him a bad apple."
"What." Not a question. You're seething already.
"Some kid on the playground asked another one if he smelled something funny, they went back and forth like a bad comedy routine, punchline was that there must be a bad apple around."
"Who was it?"
"He didn't say."
"Well those little brats better hope I don't find out." Eddie gives you an affectionate smile for your over-protectiveness.
"He's alright. He thought they meant he smelled bad."
You roll your eyes so intensely, your whole body flops back on the bed in frustration. Eddie joins you, less dramatically.
"I explained it to him… but I wish I didn't have to."
"What is wrong with these damn kids, Eddie?"
"They're being raised by the people who did the same shit to me."
You reach for his hand, fumbling for a moment before he realizes what you're doing and helps you out.
You stare at the ceiling and sigh together, breathing out all of today's frustrations.
"What are we going to do?" you ask, helplessly.
"Keep taking care of him. Hope he values our opinions more than theirs."
You turn your head toward him, and he turns his toward you. It's a comfort, knowing that Eddie understands exactly what Oliver's going through and how to take care of it, but it's also infuriating that this cycle never ends. Kids are doing the same shit now that their parents did twenty years ago, and probably their parents before them. What's the point of even trying to teach them better?
You eventually get up, dress for bed, and turn in for the night.
It's not until the next morning that you have a brainstorm.
Oliver wanders into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, when he smells the bacon and eggs. He smiles when you tell him good morning. That's a good sign, at least. You fix plates, Eddie pours drinks, and you have a nice breakfast together.
"What are you two gonna get into this morning?" Eddie asks.
"I thought we might drop by the grocery store, pick up some summer necessities and a few things for Steve's tomorrow."
Eddie's mission today is to help Steve assemble a pool. Not the fancy, heated, in-ground kind his parents had; but a modest above-ground pool just for the summer. It would probably take the rest of the night to fill; Team Munson had been invited to a soft open tomorrow, just a quiet get-together for the boys to pat themselves on the back for following instructions and sticking a hose in the four-foot pool.
After breakfast is eaten and the dishes are in the sink, Eddie takes off and Oliver goes to get dressed for today's shopping trip.
Oliver is a great shopping companion; he's great at pointing out sales you may have missed, and never tries to deviate from the list. (Eddie's a bit of an impulse shopper. Oliver is the list when he accompanies Eddie on an emergency grocery run.)
In the store, you grab a few staples that need replenishing, and then head for the produce section. You visit the discount rack, and find exactly what you're looking for. Thank you, Bradley's Big Buy. You lift a sack of apples with a fast-approaching sell-by date, and spin them around for a quick inspection.
"Aren't they bad?" Oliver whispers.
"They look fine to me," you answer, placing them in your cart. They're a little bruised, and probably mealy, but there's no obvious rot. You grab a few decent-looking lemons off the discount rack too.
You check out, carry your bags to the car, and talk about what you're gonna do this summer all the way home. When you get there, you hand Oliver one light bag and the keys, and he rushes ahead to open the door for you with your armful of groceries.
"Thank you, my good man," you say affectionately as you pass, heading straight for the counter and depositing your bags. Oliver closes the door and follows with his own, sliding it onto the counter. You pull out your bag of apples, and he side-eyes them.
"I thought we might have a pie tonight, what do you think?"
He shrugs.
"You want to wash these for me?" you ask hopefully. He shrugs again, and you smile at him. You open the bag of apples and take them to the sink, and Oliver follows. You turn the water on and demonstrate how to rinse them and then put them in the dish drainer, and Oliver pulls up his little step-stool picks it up in no time.
Oliver washes, and you begin peeling the clean apples by his side, dropping the peelings and the slices into two different bowls.
"You know, when I first met Eddie, he used to bring me an apple every day."
"He did?"
"Yup. Mr. Harrington told him that the saying is 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away', but he kept bringing them for the teacher anyway. I thought it was cute."
Oliver smiles and finishes washing the last apple, reaching forward to turn the sink off.
"You wanna help make the pies, or go play?"
"I'll help," he responds.
"I was hoping you'd say that," you wink. "Fetch me two of the glass pie plates from the bottom cabinet?"
Oliver hops off his stool and starts digging, emerging with a clink of glass and a triumphant "Aha!"
By the time he returns to your side with the pie plates, the apples are peeled and sliced and you're ready to unroll the pie crusts that have been sitting on the counter since you got home. You wipe off the glass with a dish towel and place them on the counter side by side.
"Some people think this is cheating," you explain, fitting the crust into the plate, "but I think it's one of the greatest modern inventions. You know in the old days, people spent hours measuring and mixing and blending and rolling just to make a mediocre pie crust? These taste great, they save us time, and thanks to someone's sharp eyes, we even saved $1!"
Oliver grins and watches you add sugar and spices to the bowl of apple slices. After everything is mixed and coated, with Oliver's help of course, you offer him a piece. He shakes his head, so you shrug and pop it in your own mouth. You'd been a little worried, but the apple tastes fine, and honestly… you could load just about anything with sugar and your boys would love it.
After the pies are assembled and in the oven, you and Oliver turn your discounted lemons into a pitcher of lemonade to take to Steve's. After a few taste tests and minor adjustments, you and your assistant determine that it's perfect, and you put it in the fridge to chill.
You play cards at the kitchen table until the oven timer dings. And then you pull out two gorgeous pies and set them on the counter to cool. Oliver inhales deeply from his place at the table, and you try to conceal a grin. You play another few hands while you wait for them to stop steaming, then decide to go for it.
"What do you think, should we sample it before Eddie gets home? Make sure it's okay?"
Oliver taps his chin as if he's thinking, and then grins.
"That's what I thought," you laugh, getting up to cut two test slices. You bring them back to the table, wondering when Oliver is going to bring up bad apples again. The intoxicating smell seems to have banished the thought from his mind, because he reaches for his fork and takes a bite as soon as you set the saucer down.
"Is it good?" you ask, before cutting into your own slice. Oliver nods enthusiastically as he chews.
"Still think the apples are bad?" His face falls, and he looks at the pie warily, remembering that it was made with subpar produce.
"You know, I think apples are a lot like people," you say gently, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Sometimes the ones that look pretty and shiny on the outside are rotten inside. And sometimes the ones that look a little different are the sweetest. Even the ones that are imperfect, or bruised, or have been banished to the discount rack at Bradley's Big Buy can surprise you... they just need a little love. And a lot of sugar." You go in for a second bite. "Oh yeah, nothin' wrong with these. Perfection. What do you think?"
Oliver stares at you for a moment, letting the speech you've been planning all morning sink in, and then a smile grows on his face. He nods and goes in for another bite. This kid is amazing.
About halfway through your pie, you hear a car door slam. A moment later, Eddie steps inside and inhales dramatically. "Is this Heaven? Is that where I am? Is that what this smell is?"
Oliver laughs and says, "we made pies!"
"You made pies?"
"Yup!" Oliver chirps.
"Apple pies?"
"Yup!" Oliver repeats.
"Multiple apple pies?"
"Yup!" you confirm, getting up to cut him a slice. "One for us, one to take to Steve's tomorrow."
"Yup. Heaven. This is Heaven."
"Come on, angel, have a slice," you place his pie on the table, and he looks at it with hunger… and then pulls you in for a kiss.
There's nothing bad about these apples.
#writings of despair#munnysummergame#janitor!eddie#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#...not a lot though#oliver munson#that's my boooy#who wants to guess what i was making when this one came to me#high five yourself if you caught that little rascals reference#and don't you come at me about my pre-made pie crusts#ain't nobody got time to be measuring flour like a pioneer
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⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••Just a Taste?••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
Christmas Week day 3
Yoongi and Y/N are baking cookies for Christmas together for the other members! What could possibly go wrong? ;)
My first Yoongi fic!!! I have another in the works for a bit so expect more of him to come!!!! This one is a bit shorter, but I actually really liked how it turned out!
Tags: dom Min Yoongi x sub male reader, smut
Warnings: 18+, food play, edging
The sound of pots and pans rustling catches your ear, ringing out through the house and causing you to turn in your bed. It's not early in the morning, but it isn't late either, only being 11:20 AM. You decide to investigate and sit up. You don't bother changing out of your silky pajamas (Jin had gifted them to you before and you actually really liked it). You thought it was just you at home today, since the other members had been talking about going Christmas shopping all day, and you weren't that interested, so you volunteered to stay home. If any of them stayed home however, you have a pretty good guess at who it is. Once you make your way to the kitchen, your theory proves correct and you are greeted with the one and only Min Yoongi still in his sleep clothes busy getting together ingredients and bowls.
"Whatcha doin?" You ask, leaning on the counter.
"I didn't feel like going out. It's probably busy." Yoongi replies without looking up. "Thought I would surprise you guys with some cookies. Plus, I didn't want you to be alone..." His voice falls off quieter at the last part. You smile. Yoongi cares for you all so much, but still gets shy about it.
Such a tsundere.
"Awe, you do care!" You laugh and go over to stand next to him. "Can I help?"
Yoongi looks up to your face, an unreadable expression on his face. "I don't need help, but you can if you want to."
"Perfect!" You roll up your sleeves and wash your hands. Yoongi brings over a bowl and a few measured out portions of flour, sugar and other ingredients.
"Here, blend the dry ingredients while I measure the vanilla and stuff."
You blend the ingredients and get together a nice mixture as Yoongi pours in the milk, eggs and vanilla. You start to mix it together, but it quickly gets thick and difficult to mix with one hand. You struggle for a moment before realizing Yoongi is standing watching you, smiling and laughing silently at your pain.
"Ah hyung, don't just laugh!" You pout.
"Okay okay, here." Still grinning Yoongi reaches over and helps adjust your grip on the bowl and spoon, placing his hands over yours. Your heart flutters for a moment, but you brush it off. "We can do it with our combined strength!" Yoongi laughs as he helps you mix the cookie dough, standing behind you with both hands on top of yours. You love hearing him laugh, love seeing him smile. It's not that Yoongi isn't a happy person, it's just that he tends to hide his expressions and feelings around other people, so hearing him laugh so freely like this is...
"Now we have to roll them out and cut them, like this." Yoongi interrupts your thoughts by forming the dough into a blob and setting it on a mat. He then rolls up his sleeves and starts rolling and kneading the dough. You can't help but stare as his beautiful hands as he works, his long fingers so delicate yet strong, doing the work.
"Y/N?"
"Ah, what? Sorry, I must still be tired." You snap out of your daydream. "Now we cut them from the roll, right?" Yoongi nods, and the two of you shape and cut out the cookie shapes from the dough and place them on the baking sheets, then place them in the oven.
"How long do they bake for?" You ask.
"Twenty five minutes, or until they don't look doughy in the center."
"So do we just wait then?"
Yoongi points to more ingredients on the counter. "Perfect amount of time to start making the frostings."
"Damn, cooking sure is a lot of work!" You go over to inspect the food coloring and ingredients.
Yoongi chuffs. "Yeah, that's why you all make Jin and I cook for you." He starts gathering the ingredients, instructing you on measurements, letting you try doing it on your own.
"Oh, geez!" You exclaim as powdered sugar goes everywhere. Yoongi laughs.
"You have to add it slowly or else it goes everywhere like flour." He rustles your hair, releasing a cloud of powdered sugar in the air. "Cute," he says under his breath. You blush.
Eventually you get some decent frosting out of the whole debacle, ending up with separate bowls with different colors for decorating. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, because the timer to the oven goes off and Yoongi pulls the cookies out of the oven.
"Wow, they look perfect!" You exclaim, admiring the golden cookies.
"They did come out pretty great! We just have to wait for them to cool." Yoongi looks satisfied and sets down the oven mitts. He turns to look at you. "Ah, you have some frosting on your face."
"Oh really? Where?" You bring your hand to brush your face. "Did I get it?"
"Not in the slightest." Yoongi smiles, and you swear you catch his face turning pink. "Here, let me get it." He takes his finger and swipes your cheek, then to your surprise he puts his finger in his mouth. "Mmm, You did good." He looks away, as if embarrassed.
You stand there for a moment in shock, then muster up enough courage to respond.
"Actually Yoongi, you have some on your face too." He turns to look at you. You take one of the spoons and smear white frosting on his cheek and mouth.
"Ack, Y/N!" He laughs and retaliates, grabbing another spoon and smudging frosting on you, getting it on your forehead and lips. After a moment of giggling, you look into Yoongi's eyes. His expression is deeper, his smile falling into something more thoughtful and his cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. You find that your faces are much closer than they were moments ago. Before you can process what is happening, your lips collide and you kiss Yoongi, a quick kiss at first, but upon separating Yoongi goes back into it, deepening the kiss. You feel your stomach do a backflip and savor the taste of frosting on Yoongi's soft lips, whimpering slightly as he bites your bottom lip. Finally you separate, Yoongi hovering for a moment before licking his lips.
"...tastes good..." You can't tell if he is referring to the frosting or you. Then Yoongi presses your back against the counter and looks you up and down with hungry eyes.
"Y-Yoongi, I..." You stutter. You can feel your face burning up. Yoongi runs a hand along your side and looks you in the eyes.
"Is this okay?" He asks in a low voice. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
You are surprised, sure, but you definitely like what is happening. You swallow and nod. "Yes, Yoongi."
He bites his lip and starts undoing the buttons on your sleepshirt. He takes the spoon with frosting on it and examines it for a moment, thinking, before he smears frosting on your chest and uses his fingers to run it down your stomach and below your belly button. He then starts kissing and licking the frosting off your chest. You have never felt anything like this before. The feeling of his tongue on your skin drives you wild, and you moan softly under his mercy.
"Ah, Yoon... That feels good..." You squirm slightly as Yoongi continues licking you clean, trailing lower and lower until he reaches your boxers, holding back your very aroused member. He looks up at you one more time, checking to see if you stop him or not, before he gets on his knees and pulls down your underwear. You hiss slightly at the sudden cold air and blush. Yoongi takes his finger and ever so lightly traces along from your center along your shaft and stops at your tip. He then looks you in the eyes and pumps your cock a few times, getting you harder.
"Y/N, I want to taste you..." He eyes your cock and throws you a serious look. "I won't do it until I have your permission."
You smile, loving how polite he is. "Please do." You huff the words, already extremely aroused and a bit impatient. At your consent, Yoongi licks his lips and grips your thighs as he kisses the tip of your cock first, sending chills down your spine, then putting it in his mouth.
Oh fuck, he's good.
Yoongi uses his tongue to stimulate you while also moving his head, making your mind draw blanks and giving you goosebumps.
"Aw fuck Yoongi, you're really fucking good, hnnn..." You try to keep your voice as composed as possible, which is hard to do considering you are currently getting the best head you have ever had. Yoongi quickens his pace, going harder and deeper while you slightly buck your hips into him. You can't believe how stunningly beautiful he is when you look down at him, his long black hair and perfect skin and beautiful mouth taking your cock. "You're gonna make me come soon, fuck!" As a response, Yoongi goes even faster and harder, trying to get you to your edge. You can't take it anymore.
"Ah, fuck, coming soon, ah, aah, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuCK-" Just as you felt your pleasure peak, Yoongi stops and pulls away, then grabs your dick and puts his thumb on your tip, preventing you from ejaculating. You cry out from the ruined orgasm. "Ohhhhhh fuck, come on, why? Ohhhhh fuck, please." You look down at Yoongi desperately. He gets off his knees and stands up to your level once again.
"Don't panic baby, I just want you to see how good you taste." Yoongi then pushes up against you ad kisses you again, this time snaking in his tongue to explore you. While the two of you make out, his hand goes to your abused cock and starts to pump.
"Hng, hwah, haah..." You moan into Yoongi's mouth at the sensation, still sensitive from how close you got moments ago.
"Don't worry, I won't be mean this time." Yoongi breathes into your mouth as he speeds up the pace of his hand.
"Aw fuck, Yoongi you're killing meeee..." You let out high pitched whimpers as Yoongi brings you closer and closer to your peak for a second time that morning.
"You close baby? You feel good?" Yoongi smirks and attacks your neck with kisses. It's obvious how much he is enjoying watching you at his mercy and disposal.
"Mhm, fuck yes, your hands feel so good round my cock, fuck, I'm gonna come soon..." You tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling before Yoongi uses his other chin to redirect your attention to him, planting another sloppy, open-mouth kiss. You do your best to warn him while you make out.
"Hnng, gonna come, gonna come, coming, coming, ah fuck, oohohhhhhhh!" You moan as you come into Yoongi's hand. You stand there, riding out your high and admiring oongi in front of you, steely gaze and eyes locked on yours as he takes his hand to his face and puts a finger in his mouth.
"I knew you'd taste good."
Send me suggestions on what to write next! ~ <3
--Masterlist--
#min yoongi x male reader#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi#yoongi x male reader#yoongi x reader#yoongi#bts yoongi#suga x reader#suga x male reader#min suga#bts min suga#bts min yoongi#bts x male reader#bts x reader#bts fanfic#min yoongi smut#yoongi smut#suga smut
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Encantober Day 21: Age
She was twenty-five years old. One day, she had been married to the love of her life; eagerly awaiting the arrival of their little blessing, which turned out to be little blessings. The next, she was widowed and alone with three babies, far away from the home where she had grown up. How she was supposed to do this alone, she couldn’t say. It would have been hard enough raising triplets with help. Every day, she passed by the portrait of Pedro that had somehow been hanging up in the house as soon as it rose out of the ground, running her hand along the frame lovingly. Whenever she did that, the stairs did a tap dance in response. She had a sneaking suspicion that the house and Pedro were connected, but she shook it off, figuring she was just sleep deprived. Taking care of three babies was hard, but to see them growing every day, discovering the world around them…
He should have been here for this.
___
She was twenty-six years old. Today was her birthday. The first one since…well. Since they had moved to their encanto. She didn’t feel up to celebrating, but the townspeople had graciously dropped off some food and a cake they had made for her. Chocolate, her favorite. Pedro’s favorite too. He’d had such a sweet tooth. Alma could barely finish any sweets she had without him trying to steal them from her. Still, she thought sadly, she would give him this entire cake just to have him back again. She would give anything.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was twenty-six years old. The triplets were turning one. They had grown so much! Despite being the same age, they were so different. Pepa was the easiest to tell apart. She was fair and had tufts of red hair sticking out all over her head. Out of the three, she’d been the first to talk, and she cried the loudest. If you dared ignore her, she’d scream like la Llorona. Bruno had started walking first, but he was by far the quietest. Alma had to keep a special eye on him to keep him from getting hurt. Julieta had beautiful big brown eyes and dark brown curls. She’d burbled happily before she could talk and kept reaching out her chubby little hands towards others. Oh, the townspeople adored them! The celebration they gave to the three miracle babies of the encanto was unforgettable. But there was one part she wished she could forget.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was thirty years old. Somehow, she had made it through the triplets’ infancy and toddlerhood. Surely it would be easier from here on out. If anything, all four of them were sleeping through the night, even Pepa, who’d had a few rough months. Of course, hope was futile; a lesson she should have learned five years prior. On the triplets’ fifth birthday, she awoke to three brand new doors, shimmering mysteriously in the hallway. When she went to inspect them, she saw that each doorknob had a different letter carved into it- the triplets’ initials.
By this point, the children had woken up and followed her to the doors. Pepa’s big green eyes lit up with joy as she opened the door to her new room. Suddenly, she realized she had her own personal rainbow hanging over her head. Shouting in shock, she backed away.
That was when Bruno unexpectedly warned her that she’d trip over the banister.
Indeed, Pepa went tumbling over, sliding down the stairs and skinning her knee. Immediately, she broke out into tears, and was even more surprised to feel rain rolling down her cheeks alongside her tears.
Julieta ran down the stairs and went into the kitchen, grabbing an arepa that had been waiting for breakfast. She offered it to Pepa, the way she’d seen Alma do when they got hurt, to distract her from her pain. As soon as she took a bite, the redness on her knee cleared up and the skin healed over.
Alma almost fell over in shock herself. Without any rational explanation, her children had somehow seemingly acquired abilities that were nothing short of magic. Pepa affected the weather. Julieta could heal. And Bruno…could he see the future? Ay. She rubbed her temples. Things wouldn’t be easy after all.
That night, when she brushed her hair before bed, she noticed her first gray hair. The first sign she was getting older.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was forty years old. Amazingly, she had managed to keep her three magical children alive and they getting ready for Julieta and Pepa’s quinceañera. A joint party, of course, but one so lively that no one would miss a second party. Sometime in the last few years, it felt like the veil over Alma’s life had lifted. Colors brightened. Shapes sharpened. And music sounded sweet again. For the first time in a long time, she had allowed herself to dance again. She missed her Pedro, but there was nothing she could do to bring him back. Besides, she and the children had survived. They were safe, and more than safe- they were thriving! Thanks to the triplets’ magical gifts, Alma could give back to the community that had supported them through those first few perilous years. She could try to pay back the massive debt she had accumulated that weighed on her for all those years.
And so she danced! Despite the many quiet years, her feet remembered the steps and carried her from one song to the next. The twinge of pain in her knees was new; she’d certainly never experienced that before while dancing. But no matter; she wouldn’t let it ruin her night! Just like she wouldn’t let the way Pepa swished her skirts around when boys were watching ruin it. Or the way Bruno danced with Julieta because otherwise she’d spend much of the night sitting. These girls needed their papá around; to raise them, to love them, to show them what a man was supposed to be. To dance with them on their special night.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was forty-seven years old. It was Pepa’s wedding day. Pepa would be marrying a wonderful man; one who loved her and would take care of her like Pedro promised to do for Alma. Her heart was overflowing with joy for her daughter. Even though the hurricane had been catastrophic, at the end of the day, Pepa had gone home with her husband. And Alma had not.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was fifty years old. This time it was Julieta’s wedding day. She too was marrying a man who promised to love her and cherish her, through anything life would throw at them. Her wedding had been a calmer affair, though no less joyous. Alma laughed, and she cried, and she wasn’t sure which one was giving her more wrinkles around her eyes. But just like Pepa, Julieta did not have her papá at her wedding.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was fifty-three years old. Her first grandchild, a beautiful baby girl, had just been born. Julieta cradled her proudly, humming to soothe her as the baby cried. Alma couldn’t keep the tears out of her own eyes. She was a grandmother. Soon, any day now by the looks of Pepa’s belly, she’d be one again. A joy she should have shared.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was fifty-five years old. Another granddaughter was born. Alma rocked her to sleep in her arms, ignoring the way her joints would seize up sometimes. Their family had been so blessed over the years.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was fifty-eight years old. Isabela, who had just turned five, got a gift of her own! She could make the most beautiful flowers appear. Just like the ones Pedro gave to her. Shortly after, little Dolores also got a gift; able to hear anything no matter how quiet. The magic was growing.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was fifty-nine years old. Her eyesight was growing weaker, but there was no mistaking that this newest Madrigal baby, with his crooked grin and floppy curls, would be beautiful, just like his mamá and papá. Even after all these years, Alma instinctively turned to her side to hand him the baby.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was sixty years old. Another wonderful baby girl. Alma felt something special as she held her in her arms. The girl looked up at her with large inquisitive eyes. She would have been Pedro’s favorite, Alma knew in her heart.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was seventy years old. They had not been expecting any more little blessings, but Antonio had decided to surprise them all, with his wild curls and infectious smile. Alma felt her back stoop as she held him. Even at such an old age, she was blessed to see new life begin. But she wished she could have been blessed to share that old age with her love.
He should have been here for this.
___
She was seventy-one years old.
She was seventy-two years old.
She was seventy-three years old.
She was seventy-four years old.
She was seventy-five years old.
He should have been here for this.
He should have been here for this.
He should have been here for this.
He should have been here for this.
He should have been here for this.
#alma madrigal#pedro madrigal#pepa madrigal#bruno madrigal#julieta madrigal#isabela madrigal#dolores madrigal#luisa madrigal#camilo madrigal#mirabel madrigal#antonio madrigal#encantober#alma x pedro#foreveranevilregal writes#writing encanto#encantober 2023#age#tw pregnancy mention#trying something different with this one#i mathed out the ages from numbers i got online#so if i got them wrong no i didn't#made myself real sad writing this#an influx of sympathy for alma was not on my bingo card for this year
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little one ; hunter
requested by ; anonymous (07/04/22)
word count ; 759
content ; reader is assumed as being 5-7 years of age, reader gets injured, golden guard hunter
fandom ; the owl house
pairing ; platonic hunter x younger sibling reader
read also on ; ao3
‘… and honestly you should be thankful that I was the one sent down to talk to you. The emperor is not a merciful man and Titan knows what he would have done to you if he was in my shoes right now.’
This lecture had been going on for nearly half an hour now and the three coven scouts that had earned his ire had all pretty much zoned out by this point. He wasn’t quite so full of himself that he didn’t realise, but, still, for the sake of appearances he kept it up. Couldn’t have his reputation come under threat, now could he?
‘He might have just had you petrified on the spot — me giving you the time out of my day to set you straight is a blessing. So thank me,’ when they didn’t respond immediately he coughed purposefully into his fist, ‘Thank. Me.’
A quiet chorus of ‘thank you sir’s soon followed before the underperforming trio made themselves scarce — giving Hunter the free reign to relax for a few minutes before his next assignment was to be delivered. Or, at least, it should have provided him such an opportunity had he not heard a very sudden bang followed by a shrill cry that made his stomach drop as he suddenly took off running in the direction the sound was coming from.
————
‘Are you okay? What happened?’ He exclaimed as he burst through the door, throwing himself to his knees as he carefully looked you over for any injuries.
‘I tripped, brother, it hurts!’ You wailed in return, wiping your eyes with your tiny fists as you hiccuped and gasped and sobbed. Screaming when he gently grasped your leg and began to try and inspect the wound through your torn pants.
‘I’m only trying to help,’ Hunter assured, taking his mask off and placing it to one side as he gave you an awkward grin, ‘but I need to see what’s making you hurt so that I can make it better. Okay?’
‘Okay…’ you returned, still reluctant and unable to look at your scraped knee — holding onto the edges of his cape as you stared daggers at some random spot on the floor.
Then, with a furrowed brow and a low hum, your brother began to properly inspect the injury. Taking mental notes of the scrapes and cuts as he used his free hand to summon his staff and use it to bring him some disinfectant and a bandaid with your favourite character on it.
‘This is gonna sting, but that just means that it’s doing it’s job,’
‘Pinky-promise?’
You offered up your hand and looked up at him with teary eyes and he chuckled and linked his pinky with yours.
‘Pinky promise.’
The determined nod you gave made him smile as he reached for the potion and poured a few drops onto your knee, wincing when you whimpered. He hated seeing you hurt and he felt like a monster for making it worse, even if he knew that he wasn’t really hurting you — but that guilt soon melted away when you gasped and giggled excitedly once you noticed your beloved (character) adoring your knee.
‘Hunter! Hunter! Look!’
‘I see them, I promise,’ he laughed, helping you to your feet and brushing the dust and detritus off of his uniform. Then, after taking a moment to put his mask back on, he tightly squeezed your hand and started to lead you out into the palace hallway. ‘Hey — how about you stay with me for the day? We can talk all about them while I’m working,’
He saw you frown and stop in the corner of his eye, your little face scrunching up in confusion as you stared up at him.
‘But uncle said that your job is super important and I’m not allowed to di… di…’
‘Distract me?’ He offered.
‘Yeah! Distract you,’
‘Well you won’t be distracting me, just making my work more fun. Besides it gets pretty lonely out there and you’re the best company in the world,’
‘I am?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Then let’s go, let’s go!’
And you were off like a whippet, with Hunter struggling to keep up as he kept a tight grip on your tiny hand. Smiling down at you with relief because, for as much as he loved your company, he really just didn’t want you getting hurt again — his heart couldn’t handle it.
But he’d never tell you that; not when you were so excited to go and work with him. A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?
#sleepingdeath#gender neutral reader#child reader#platonic x reader#platonic fluff#fluff#toh fluff#the owl house fluff#platonic toh x reader#platonic hunter x reader#toh hunter x reader#hunter toh x reader#hunter wittebane x reader
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➫ A SCHOLAR'S LOVE (2)
♡theme/warnings: cyno/reader, fluff, slight jealousy
♡summary: cyno is terribly smitten by you. absolutely head over heels. thinks everything about you is great- but has no confidence to actually say it to you. you've picked up on his antics and so has your friend group... so will he stay love-sick, or tell you the truth?
"kaveh, those balloons don't go there." you stated, pointing to a bunch of coloured balloons stuck behind your couch. "i know you're into interior design, but..." you put a finger to your chin, squinting your eye at his choice of decoration. "it really looks like a clown threw up behind our couch."
kaveh raises a brow at you, setting down the last group of balloons with a weight attached to their strings. "oh really now? since when did you spend years researching the ideal grouping of indoor decorations, miss decorator?"
"since it was my birthday, mister."
kaveh groans, moving the balloons back to their original position. "thank you, kaveh~" you sing, walking into the kitchen of your small dwelling. as students of the akademiya, you were given homes to share with each other for the duration of your schooling. you and kaveh shared a house along with al haitham, and cyno and tighnari shared a house with one of their acquaintances.
earlier that day, kaveh had helped you prepare some desserts and appetizers for your birthday party. it was lucky your birthday came on a saturday, leaving you some much needed space from your studies and some time to relax on your special day. some friends and family would be over to celebrate soon, and the after-party would consist of you and your buddies having a sleepover.
everything was perfect, until you realized after looking at what kaveh had made for you; you didn't have a birthday cake.
"kaveh? y-you never made a cake, did you?" you shouted from the kitchen, a little panicked at this discovery.
kaveh walked into the kitchen, analyzing the food on the counter. "shoot. i- sorry, y/n. i must have forgotten… the grand bazaar might have a few stalls with some ingredients- but al haitham said most of them were shut down for a performance." kaveh explained with a hint of regret. he had previously made a list of things to make for the day ahead- yet threw it out thinking he could rely on his memory to finish everything.
"this is because of you getting cocky again, isn't it? listen, i told you to stop being so competitive with al haitham! you can clearly plan a party better than him, i know that, there's no need to prove that to me." you scolded him, putting away the other food you inspected.
"really, y/n, it's nothing like that! i honestly forgot about that stone-faced al haitham today, he's been out all day since the morning doing who-knows-what. i just impulsively threw away the list of food i was supposed to make." he shook his head with his palm on his forehead, disappointed with himself.
"okay, kaveh. i forgive you. we'll just...have to go without one. i'm sure i can whip up some small tart or find a pie stall-"
a knock on the front door cuts your sentence short, some muttering outside catching your attention. kaveh stays in the kitchen, panicking at the leftover mess he forgot to clean up as well.
opening the door, your eyes light up when you see cyno next to tighnari, cyno's hands full with presents and an oddly large square box. "cyno, tighnari! you're here early! come on in." you smile, opening the door fully. cyno says hello and blushes after walking in, tighnari throwing you a wink as a greeting.
having your friends’ company was just the type of pick-me-up you needed after hearing your party wouldn’t be having a birthday cake. it was an integral part of the celebration, after all! kaveh definitely owed you one. after getting everyone situated in the living room, you helped cyno place the presents onto the coffee table.
“oh, ah, y/n. that one-“ he points to the large box, “it needs to be refrigerated.” tighnari quirks a brow at him, wondering what the box’s contents are. “sorry if it’s any trouble, i know it’s quite large.” he deadpans, making you chuckle.
“no, not at all. here, come bring it to the kitchen, we can put it in the fridge. just what is it, exactly?” you inquire, your brain brimming with curiosity. maybe a fruit platter? no… he would have let that stay in plain sight. a new type of mechanical device? nah, he knows you better than that.
“it’s…nothing too special, i’ll let you know when you can look inside.” cyno sounds unsure as he tells you, following you to the kitchen.
kaveh greets him immediately, jumping at your entrance. “ah, cyno’s here! and i’m guessing tighnari tagged along with you?” kaveh nervously asks, tucking his dirty cloth behind him. you roll your eyes, snatching the cloth from him and tossing it into the sink.
“don’t mind him, cy-cy. he’s just embarrassed he managed to make this much of a mess yet didn’t bake me a birthday cake like i asked.” you informed him, throwing a light fist bump to kaveh’s shoulder.
cyno’s eyes lit up at your nickname for him- did he hear you correctly? cy-cy? he could feel his heart begin to swell with joy, a small cough erupting from him out of shock.
“ah- cyno, are you feeling okay? that cough sounded a little dry. anything you wanna drink?” he shook his head, refusing the offer. “okay. just let me know.” you smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. he shuddered at the action; when did you get so friendly towards him? were you always so attentive like this… ?
at this moment, cyno realized tighnari was right. his worries had definitely caused some clouded judgement.
at around 4:30pm, al haitham returned home with a bouquet of flowers and a couple bottles of wine to mark the occasion. closing the door behind him, he met with you all in the living room and set down his items on the coffee table, discussing everyone’s day so far.
after talking for some time, it was now around 5pm; the sun painting the sky a beautiful shade of blue with streaks of orange dawning the horizon. everyone gave their greetings to you, wishing you a happy birthday and all the best ahead. you beamed at the energy in the room, it was overwhelmingly positive.
cyno however, was lost in thought, imagining a million different ways this evening could go. would you enjoy your gifts? was what he prepared… too bold? tighnari had told him to make a passionate and sincere gift for you; explaining that when you don’t have the words, sometimes a handmade gift can communicate a message a lot easier. of course he would still have to clarify what his intentions were, but tighnari was sure you would love whatever cyno made. even if it wasn’t the prettiest.
still, the dark haired student had no idea what cyno ended up doing for you. he was just as confused as you when you saw the box, almost second-guessing his advice when he saw how large it was. but remembering how carefully cyno treated his interactions with you; in his heart, he had faith in his friend to make the right decision- to really put his heart into this gift. whatever it may be, tighnari trusted cyno’s judgement.
eventually, people started to filter in and out of the party, parents and grandparents parting a little earlier due to their older age. some presents were opened and others were left to be opened later, as you had gotten pretty tired from all the dancing you did and all the food you consumed. despite kaveh’s oversight of the cake, you would say your party went just as planned!
after all the excitement died down and the sun had finally set for the night, al haitham noticed you had fallen asleep on the couch, laying a blanket over your body. it was just the five of you once more; everyone taking a separate position in the house. cyno was sitting on the other sofa opposite you, head buried in a book al haitham had left on the side table. al haitham was checking to see if you had drank too much- kaveh was cleaning up the decorations strewn across the living room, and tighnari was packaging the leftover food.
as he put some containers of food away, tighnari noticed the box cyno had brought sitting in the middle of the fridge, a pang of guilt hitting his stomach as he forgot to remind cyno to take it out. “ah, dear me. he’s probably got his legs between his tail over this being left behind.” tighnari sat the leftovers down, grabbed the box and brung it to the living room.
“cyno, i think there’s something you forgot to give to miss y/n.” he smiles, setting the box down to poke you awake. you stir in your sleep, making a cute whimper sound that cyno can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at. you were just… way too cute. it felt out of character for him to be so affected by your actions… but he nonetheless welcomed this warm feeling inside of him whenever he looked at you.
“hwaaa~ hey eweone, whad did i miss?” you yawned, your distorted voice causing kaveh to laugh at you. “don’t laugh, your words are barely comprehendable when you’re awake!” you retort, half smiling at him.
“well, cyno still hasn’t given you your present, you know.” al haitham explains, curious as to what this will lead to. his friends had clearly been planning something behind his back… and it seems behind yours and kaveh’s as well.
“ah, that box! well, come sit everyone. i’ll open it right now.” you smiled, tearing into the wrapping paper. cyno watched with anxiety, nervous about your reaction. tighnari just smiled at him, a silent plea for him to calm his nerves. you can do it, cyno. trust yourself with this.
“wow- oh my goodness, c-cyno, did you really make this…for me?” inside the box was a decorated cake with two layers, the words ‘happy birthday y/n’ written in cursive draped along the top. adorning the rest of the cake were stick figures made of pretzels and frosting, flowers and animals beside them representing you and your friends. “it’s so lovely, when did you have the time to make this?”
cyno’s face was now fully tinted with red, watching you examine each of his dressed pretzel figures with such precision and care as if they were real. “i took the time to study the preparations of a birthday cake a few days before the party. i wanted to make you a gift… that sent a message to you, one that symbolized your importance to me. to us.” he explained, holding your hand as you listened to him, teary-eyed.
“but that isn’t the only part of my gift. i wanted to take you somewhere to show you something. is…that alright?” he asked. tighnari was ecstatic at cyno’s response to his advice- he even planned something extra? it was quite the coincidence that he could make your dreams of having a birthday cake come true- but this was just the icing on top.
“yes, of course. do you guys mind at all? i’m sure it won’t take long.” you asked your friends, hearing no objections. al haitham smirked at the situation before him, of course it was like this, how could he have missed it? kaveh was thinking the same, both of them shooting a glance at each other.
“okay, we’ll be off then. i promise it won’t be long.” cyno smiled, nervously taking your hand in his to guide you outside. there was a small patch of land near the neighbourhood you lived in, clear enough to see the skies and all the stars that wandered across it. he laid next to you on the grass, turning to face you.
“y/n, i have something to tell you that i’ve been thinking of for a while.” he takes a deep breath, reciting his thoughts in his head. “the only reason i chose to say this today was because of tighnari- well, you know how he is. when he sees a flower beginning to bloom, he can’t keep his mouth shut about it.” he chuckled, looking off to the side.
you stared at him dreamily, wondering what his next words would be. the fact you were alone together enjoying the starry sky surely was a gift in itself, but was the flower… meant to represent you two?
“and, my pretty padisarah, you are who i’ve been wanting in my g-garden.” he stutters, making you giggle.
“oh archons, tighnari definitely said that to you as an example of what to say, didn’t he?” you continued to giggle, your contagious laughter spreading to him as well. resting the back of your hand against cyno’s cheek, you tucked a strand of his pearl coloured hair behind his ear, leaning a little closer to him.
“i want you in my garden, too, cyno.”
smiling, he leans further in as well, unsure about his next move until you press your lips to his. the kiss you share is sweet and pure, eliciting sparks in your chests at having your feelings reciprocated.
as you pull away, cyno lies flat on his back, and you copy him. “i’m relieved you feel the same, y/n. i’m sorry if i offended you with my staring lately, i couldn’t figure out how to tell you i liked you.”
you sigh happily, wrapping your arm around cyno’s waist. “oh, don’t worry, part of me felt it was something like this… i just wanted to see if it was really true. truth be told, i wouldn’t have known how to go about it either. i’m glad our friend did the heavy lifting, hehe.”
“yeah, me too.” cyno agrees, staring up at the sky with you. two constellations have become visible now, intertwined with each other as they float across the atmosphere.
#cyno genshin#cyno x you#cyno x reader#cyno#tighnari#genshin fluff#genshin boys#al haitham#kaveh#gi cyno
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