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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Rose Bushes

One: Higher Power

Word Count: 8.5K+

Author’s Note: This is my first Criminal Minds fic, so please be gentle. It’s also the longest chapter I’ve ever written, and others will follow in this vein. I hope you enjoy, and if you want tagged just let me know!

Warning: discussion of murder and suicide, graphic description of murder.

More chapters can be found right here. [updated every week]

Woodbridge, Virginia.

She gardened when she was anxious, and while she never particularly liked the task, and had never thought of herself as someone who would own a garden for long enough that tending to it became a hobby, the whole thing was rather therapeutic. Pulling out weeds before they took hold of her flower beds, pruning her pastel rainbow of rose bushes along the south border, keeping her herb garden on the kitchen’s window ledge freshly watered and healthy.

That morning, she was hunkered down over her garden’s stone pathway, clearing away loose clumps of grass and moss that spoiled the cleanliness of the stone, when her landline rang from the kitchen, the noise travelling to the young woman through her open kitchen window. She took a few more moments to scrape away the last of the moss with an old knife before pushing herself up to her feet and jogging back into the house, a two-storey on Maybury Drive.

It was the sort of house you’d expect more than one person to live in, especially a woman of her age. It had grandeur and class and a level of warmth that one would expect from a home owned by an upper-middle class family, the nuclear life of a boy and a girl, a mother and father. Instead, the sole resident had converted rooms no doubt meant for children into an office and a library, turning her own abode into a workplace. Neighbours who had visited in the past would tell you the whole building was impeccably clean, the kitchen counter tops alone exuding an air of wealth no one in the neighbourhood could match. The place was entirely monochrome, white and grey and black, the only colour seeming to appear in her garden, which she was clearly quite proud of.

No-one else in the county had rose bushes like Miss Y/N Clarkson.

On the particular morning that the phone rang, and Miss Clarkson heard it through the kitchen window, other forces were at play. When she finally answered the landline, she listened instead of talking. The call was expected, and something that led to the young woman in her mid-twenties, spending her early morning gardening, to rush around clearing away her weeding tools. It caused her to shower once more that day, to take time on her makeup and curling her hair, when the plan for the day had been progressively more tiring labour in her backyard. The phone call made Clarkson pick out and put on her most recently dry-cleaned suit and take time to repack her matching handbag three separate times.

Her heels clicked on the white tile floors as she headed for her front door, taking a pause to scan her reflection, ensuring she was presenting perfection to those who saw her. Her morning had begun at 03.56, and after two hours of gardening as the sun rose, and a little over an hour getting ready for the day ahead, Clarkson left her home at 07.24, confirmed by the clock in her peripheral vision. She left her home, locking the doors behind her, taking her time getting to her car, a sleek sports style vehicle, sitting her bag on the passenger seat, heading down to her post box and grabbing the mail to take with her, though it was doubtful she would get to reading any of it.

That morning, at 07.26, Clarkson left her home and made the 27-minute drive from her home to the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, every spin of her car tyres propelling her toward endless mounting possibilities. The radio played in the background, the reports filled with what the untrained ear would assume were statistics, perhaps a stock market report. When the radio finally fell silent mid-drive, Clarkson changed the station to a local news channel, her fingers drumming on their steering wheel in time with the music’s beat. It helped drown out the thumping in her chest, the ringing in her ears, and allowed a release for the energy in her system that caused her stomach to twist into knots.

Miss Y/N Clarkson was not the specimen of woman who would admit she was scared, quite stubborn in her belief that fear was an enemy one had to overcome to achieve greatness, but the fact of the matter was that she was scared shitless. She hid it well, a composed woman thanks to her former career; but she continued to tap the wheel as songs switched, matching the new tempos and giving her attention to the road before her.

All she had to do was make it to her destination, and she could work out the rest later. So, focusing on the road and the music instead of the urge to vomit was the best way to go, and she was determined to do that well.

She liked the suit she was wearing.

Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI Academy. Quantico, Virginia.

“Reid, I swear to God if you didn’t get me something good…” Derek Morgan marched over as Dr Spencer Reid muddled his way through the door to the BAU offices at Quantico, doing his best to balance coffee and pastries along with his own work bag. Out of intrigue more than kindness, Morgan snatched the food and coffees from his co-worker, setting them down on his desk and quickly distributing amongst the team. Coffees made to exact order for, by the scribbled names on the cups, Emily Prentiss, JJ, himself, Reid and David Rossi; a chai tea for Aaron Hotchner, which he was often reminded by Reid was just ‘tea tea’, since chai was the Hindi word for tea, and a bottle of water for Garcia, who quickly snatched her own drink from Morgan before taking the man’s chair, spinning around in it. When Morgan moved immediately on to finding the best muffin in the bag, he did a double take, looking back at the drink holders, Prentiss stealing the best muffin of the bunch when she was sure Morgan was distracted enough.

“I win!” She proclaimed, walking back to her desk with a swing of her hips, sharing a smile with JJ, who had come over to collect her own coffee. Hotch and Rossi were due to arrive any minute, Reid deciding to take down orders last night to ensure everyone got what they wanted. Reid even got up twenty minutes earlier to fit the coffee shop trip into his schedule.

“Reid, why is there an extra coffee here? And why doesn’t it have a name?” Morgan questioned the younger, much skinnier, man, causing the three women to look over at the duo. There was never extra coffee.

“Hotch ordered it.” Reid said quickly, gesturing to their superior as he walked through the door, Rossi following behind, both picking up their own drinks and swiftly disappearing into their offices, Hotch leaving the mystery beverage he had ordered untouched still, now the only unaccounted for drink on Morgan’s desk.

“I think I can explain this one.” JJ sighed, attention quickly turning to her as she took a gulp of her latte, trying to wake up as quickly as possible. She had been working late the night before going through possible cases for the team, picking out one before she went home for a debriefing that morning. “It seems we have a new recruit joining us.” She said with a light shrug, heading towards the conference room to prep for the morning meeting.

“Garcia-” Morgan started, but the brightly dressed blonde was already heading for her own office, shouting a quick “On it!” as she power walked towards her fortress of magic.

“I wonder who he is…” Reid wondered aloud, sitting himself down and biting into a croissant, chewing thoughtfully on the bread product like it might give him some sort of answer. Considering the genius of the kid, it was entirely possible.

“Why do you so quickly assume it’s a he?” Prentiss asked pointedly. “We could use another woman around here, level the playing field.”

“Statistically speaking, the FBI has almost four times as many male special agents as it does female. It’s far more likely that a new recruit will be male, and by the drink I ordered for him, probably older.” Spencer began typing away at his computer, looking up about a minute later to find Morgan and Prentiss still looking at him for further explanation. Reid coughed. “It’s English breakfast tea, not coffee. The only other person I know that drinks dirt in a cloth bag is Larry on seventh, and he turned 48 last month.” Reid said quickly, almost rambling as if he were trying to apologise for the delay in response through his talking speed. Prentiss and Morgan shared a shrug, and JJ waved them over from the walkway, the three picking up their pastries and coffees before following Rossi into the conference room. Garcia appeared behind them, but no one sat down, JJ getting straight to the point.

“Three months ago, a fire in the Shadyside rec centre killed fourteen children.” She set a newspaper clipping on the table before the team, folding her arms as they all examined the headline and subheading of the page.

“I remember that.” Morgan commented.

“What does that have to do with us?” Rossi asked, making eye contact with Agent Jureau. JJ might have been in charge of offering the team cases, but he needed to know why they were called, whether or not it was something to turn down.

“Well, over the past three months there’s been five suicides. All of them lost a child in the fire.” JJ explained as Derek picked up the article, scanning over it slowly. JJ glanced down at her own notes, making sure to get it right. “The last one was Paul Baleman, he was found electrocuted in his bathtub yesterday.” Reid took JJ’s notepad from her, glancing for a second at the note to read it. “I received a request for our help.”

“Why do they need our help? They’re suicides.” Morgan asked, feeling like he was stating the obvious.

“All of the suicides were within two weeks of each other.” Reid spoke up, answering Morgan’s question on behalf of JJ. “It could be some kind of pattern.”

“Detective Ronnie Baleman, Pittsburgh P.D. thinks that something’s going on.” JJ continued on, and Morgan shrugged.

“Well, of course he does.”

“Why do you say that?” Prentiss asked, taking her own turn to look over the file.

“He’s related to that man, right?” Rossi asked, and JJ sighed, avoiding eye contact.

“His brother.”

“A cop who doesn’t believe his brother committed suicide.” Morgan stated the obvious once more, taking a sip of his coffee. “Come on, next case.” He instructed JJ, turning to leave the room.

“Now, wait a second.” Prentiss spoke up, causing Morgan to stop in his tracks. “Five suicides in the same neighbourhood within months? That’s a serious spike.”

“Suicides don’t spike after a tragedy.” Rossi seemed to agree with JJ and Prentiss on this one, and Reid soon followed, armed with statistics.

“Quite the opposite, actually. Following World War one and two, right after Kennedy was shot, and following 9/11, suicides plummeted. Within a society, external threats usually create group integrations.” Reid info dumped on the team as Rossi’s eyes scanned outside the window. Hotchner was taking the day for himself, finding time to see his son Jack after Haley filed for divorce. He only needed a day, and Rossi knew the team would do fine without him for a few hours. Another body caught his eye, dressed in a suit as expensive as his own, stopping at Morgan’s desk to take the English tea that had been ordered for a secret new recruit. She glanced up as she took a sip, nodding towards the window before disappearing back out the door, taking a moment to talk with Hotchner before the pair separated.

“People come together…” JJ said softly, and Rossi tuned back into the group conversation with a tilt of his head.

“So if there’s a reason for doubt, which there obviously is, don’t these families left behind have a right to know?” Prentiss argued like a lawyer, making her closing statement in favour of taking the case.

“Yes, they do.” Rossi agreed, Morgan quickly stepping in.

“Ok, sure, they deserve to know but let somebody else tell them. Like social services.” The dark-skinned man retorted, clearly not for taking on this case at all. Rossi took a moment, closing his eyes to think for a few seconds before fully turning his body to face the team, coming to his decision on the matter.

“Contact Detective Baleman. Let him know we’re coming.” Rossi ordered, JJ nodded with a small smile, glad the case was being taken on. “Thank you, JJ…” Rossi added with a quick nod, moving towards the doorway. It was wheels up in thirty to Pittsburgh, and he had a few more files to sort through before they left.

“Uh, Rossi?” Garcia spoke up for the first time, tucked in the corner of the room just listening in, and the older gentleman sending her back a smile. Ever since Garcia’s new boyfriend, Kevin, had asked to sit down with Rossi and have a man-to-man talk, the pair had gotten a lot closer. “The new recruit…” She started, the rest of the team looking to him for answers.

“Will be joining us in Pittsburgh once their processing is completed.” Rossi informed them with a half-smile playing on his lips, running a hand over his hair, making sure it was all in place before leaving the room.

“They really are pushing this new guy straight into the deep end, huh?” JJ commented, starting to collect all the necessary information into boxes, looking up from her task as Morgan scoffed.

“We have a couple of suicides in the middle of Nowhere, Pittsburgh. This isn’t the deep end, JJ. This is barely the kiddie pool.” Morgan said with confidence, like he was so sure this trip would be a waste of time, and he jogged out to his desk to collect his things. He stopped on the walkway, a smirk on his face as he looked between Prentiss, JJ and Reid. “Our new recruit has already stopped by.” He said, gesturing to his desk, the tea sat there no more than ten minutes ago having now vanished into thin air.

As the team sat on the jet, working through possibilities of who could have caused these deaths if they were not suicides, a call came through on the laptop. Rossi, unaware, left for the bathroom, and Reid took charge to accept the call and position the laptop for the team, or the four younger members, to view.

“What you got for us baby girl?” Morgan asked, knowing this wasn’t about the case. All the five of them could talk about was the new recruit, this mystery man who would soon join their ranks. Garcia smirked, typing away on her own end.

“So, I did a little digging into FBI hires within the past month, going through everything to find a match for our unit, and there is one, I repeat one, probable candidate but the information is in a sealed file. I’ve been trying to get into it for the last half hour, turns out it was my own code that locked the thing, and we all know how good I am.” Garcia explained, shrugging her shoulders a little. If her facial expressions were anything to go off, they wouldn’t know any time soon, and would have to wait and be surprised in Pittsburgh.

“You tried, Garcia…” JJ sighed, folding her arms. The team shared the same reaction, not liking the idea of not knowing. They were profilers, they could know an unsub better than anyone just from a few clues, and they couldn’t find out who their new colleague was?

“Oh! I did, however, get a last name. I think. Clarkson. C, L, A, R, K, S, O, N. Any of you got ideas?” She pitched a last-ditch effort, and Reid looked up.

“Wasn’t there a guy called Clarkson on Fourth? Black hair, round face, sort of… Fat?” Reid suggested, and Prentiss scoffed.

“He got fired a month ago for misconduct in the Cyber Branch, not likely he would be handed over to us.” She shook her head, quite confident in her deduction that it wasn’t that man. “There has to be something we’re missing.” As she spoke, a knocking came from Garcia’s end of the line, the blonde looking back and giving the team a wave goodbye before logging off.

Garcia didn’t get visitors to her castle often, and when she did it was usually members of the BAU, or Kevin on occasion. But the BAU was out, and Kevin had assured her he would never bother her when she was busy, so Garcia wasn’t sure who to expect when opening that door.

“Apologies, ma’am, but are you Agent Garcia?” The door swung open and Garcia was addressed by a woman, fairly soft spoken, in a wardrobe so completely contrasting with her own she couldn’t help but admire her. A black pant suit, with a light grey high neck blouse, and heels as high as Garcia’s.

“I am…” Garcia responded after looking over the woman, just trying to figure out who she was. Maybe a head of another branch, or a corporate outsider? Someone with the CIA? If so, why on Earth was she asking for her? “Are you sure you’ve got the right person, ma’am? I mean, are you not looking for Agent Hotchner?”

“He and I spoke on the phone, and earlier this morning; he’s taking a personal day. I’ll be travelling with him tomorrow to Pittsburgh. I wanted to introduce myself to you before I left.” The woman held out a hand, the first part of her not completely flawless. The extended hand had a large scar on the back of it, and Garcia shook it gingerly, welcoming the woman into her palace with uncertainty.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. Are you an auditor of the team?” Garcia confessed, trying to figure out why the woman looked around her office with such intrigue, why she stopped to study a digital file of their newest case.

“What? No… Do I really look like an auditor? I was hoping for something a bit more threatening with the outfit than the auditor.” The woman said with a breezy laugh, and the dots slowly pieced together in Garcia’s head.

“You’re not a man… We thought you’d be a man…”

“Have I disappointed?”

“No! Finally, we have even numbers. Hello, Special Agent Clarkson, it is so nice to meet you.” Garcia walked over and quickly shook Clarkson’s hand a second time, much more eager in her disposition now knowing she was, in fact, talking to the new recruit.

“I was hoping you could send me over information as the team relay it from the ground. In return, I could get us some lunch?” Clarkson suggested, Garcia sitting herself down and relaxing in her swivel chair, beginning to type once more.

“First rule of befriending yours truly, buy me food.” Garcia smiled back, and Clarkson nodded, leaving the technical analyst to her job. With approximately an hour to kill until lunch, it would give Clarkson a chance to map out the building, discover her new workplace for the first time without the distractions of colleagues. Despite her years of service, despite relationships, despite many things that would suggest otherwise, she preferred the life of a lone wolf to that of a social butterfly. It was easier on the mind, the soul, the heart and the wallet.

Clarkson’s traversing around the Quantico FBI Academy led her to certain conclusions about the team she was about to join: Garcia was famous amongst the tech staff, and rightly so, and had recently been shot; Prentiss and Morgan had made a name for themselves in the gym, with their own whiteboard tucked away by the sparring mats to track their progress whenever they trained; JJ was a swimmer in her free time, using the Academy pool, though she hadn’t been in the last week according to the log book; and Dr Reid had managed to read the entirety on the FBI’s library, not only being their most frequent patron, but he had managed to read everything at least twice. She knew of Rossi and Hotchner before joining, of course, the latter an old work friend, but it was nice to learn a little more about those her own age on the team.

Only after a stop by the canteen to pick up lunch for herself and Garcia did she return to the BAU. Her plan was to eat with the blonde, run over the case a little more, when her new Bureau issued mobile started to ring. Clarkson knocked on Garcia’s door, passing her over a box of Singapore noodles before walking off with her own Chow Mein, sitting at the empty desk in the office and answering the phone.

“Sergea- Special Agent Clarkson, Federal Bureau. Who is calling?” Clarkson answered the phone with a sigh, and a small chuckle came from the other end.

“You’ll need to work on that, Clarkson.” The voice was deep, stern, and ever so familiar.

“Give me a day, sir… I thought you were taking personal time?” She asked Hotch, powering up the computer on her desk. Strauss had spoken to her that morning, setting out instructions for getting herself a place in the system, direct orders for gaining access to classified documents.

“I am. We’ll be flying out first thing in the morning. I thought I would call, see how your first day was faring?” While the pitching and tone never wavered, a trait she had always envied of Hotch, he was sincere in his words, and it caused Clarkson to smile.

“As well as one might expect. I still have plenty to do before we fly out, I’ll be kept occupied.” She assured, typing in her login information on the computer before her.

“Remember to speak to Thomas about being issued a gun. I know you are only accompanying this first case but being armed is more than recommended.” Hotch continued on, and with a final thanks and confirmation of flight times and locations, Clarkson ended the call, making her first job to email Garcia about any new information on the case the team had received. Within minutes, photos from the first crime scene, because Clarkson had learned quickly there would always be another crime scene coming, were on her screen, captioned by Garcia with details of the suicide, victim names, everything else that could be provided.

It was an odd case to begin on, Clarkson knew as such, but she sat at her new desk, going through file after file the entire day, receiving occasional updates from the team on the ground through Garcia. And as the day became evening and then night, Clarkson was invested, riveted, and borderline excited to be in the BAU, to be in a workplace with such an interesting focus, to deal with cases like this that just confounded so many others.

—

Shadyside Police Precinct, Pittsburgh.

The following afternoon, with another body and increasing pressure being placed on the BAU for a profile, the team had just returned from a morning at the newest victim’s house, analysing the scene, to the local police station, Dr Reid working with interest through the suicide notes recovered from the crime scenes and comparing them with sample texts. It was undeniable that the victims had written their notes, but something was off. It seemed that Detective Baleman wanted to understand the science behind Reid’s close examination of the notes, he and JJ coming to check the young doctor’s progress.

“Anything to tell us if these were suicides or not?” JJ asked, arms folded as she walked around Reid’s workspace: he had taken up a full table and multiple boards in the corner of the building.

“These are some samples from Deidre Nollard, the jumper.” Reid walked over quickly to present the evidence. “Let’s see, we have an insurance form, a letter she wrote to her neighbour a month ago, a birthday card she wrote to her husband a week ago, and her suicide note as found on her body.” Reid explained, JJ leaning over to examine them.

“Suicide note matches, right?” Baleman asked.

“It’s definitely by her own hand, but she’s professing regret. Look.” Reid scooted past JJ to read the note aloud to the pair of them. “Uh, ‘I’m sorry I let you down’. ‘Please forgive me’. ‘I disappointed you’. And so on. But the handwriting, the forensic analysis is saying the exact opposite.”

“What do you mean?” JJ asked, trying to see what Reid could see.

“Um… Well, you see how the handwriting slants uphill? It’s a clear sign of optimism. The same with how the spacing is so consistent. And these long T-bars, those indicate an enthusiastic person.” Reid pointed to each aspect of the handwriting as he spoke, and JJ nodded along.

“Not someone who would take a swan dive off a five-storey walk-up.” Baleman chimed in, seeming to like that Reid’s findings led him somewhere other than suicide.

“Look, even if we had alerted the media-” JJ started. She tried not to hold it on herself that more people were dead, they couldn’t have been sure that it wasn’t a coincidence the deaths happened weekly.

“Now we’ll never know. Like I said, that’s on me. But, hey, now we have the proof that these aren’t suicides. Those notes, were they coerced?” Baleman asked, and Reid made a face, trying to understand the situation himself.

“If you were to force someone to write their own suicide note, these are words you generally wouldn’t use.” Spencer said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll take that as a no. And… My brother’s journal?” Baleman asked, and JJ looked over. This man was too personal with the case, she knew it, but at this point they couldn’t stop him.

“It’s extensive, I… I haven’t even-” Reid began.

“Another no.” Baleman decided for Reid, looking up at JJ. “Can we inform the media now?” He asked.

“I have.” JJ nodded, giving the detective some form of relief. A knock came on the panelling, and the trio turned to look at Derek.

“I need you all outside.”

The team congregated outside within a few minutes of Morgan’s ask, accompanied by Baleman, a black unmarked car pulling up as the circle formed on the lawn outside the precinct. With the fast-paced case and all their focus on work, the younger team members were only reminded of the new recruit’s arrival with Hotch as they stepped out the vehicle, though Morgan and Reid had been very, very wrong in their assumptions.

The new recruit who followed Hotch was an attractive female, dressed more like a businesswoman than a profiler, and looked about the same age as Spencer. She was very good-looking, and it took a second for everyone, including Baleman, to focus back on the conversation they were supposed to be having.

“This is SSA Hotchner and SSA Clarkson, they’ve just arrived from Virginia.” Rossi introduces the pair to Baleman, who nodded a hello to both.

“What have we got?” Hotch asked, getting right down to business, glancing back at Clarkson. The look they shared was a conversation: him asking if she was ready, her responding she most definitely was.

“Including extended families, over one hundred individuals within the Pittsburgh area were affected by that fire.” Rossi said quickly, informing the two agents of more recent discoveries. Clarkson’s eyes scanned over the team she would now be working with, studying their stances, their expressions, trying to get a read on who these people were before she spoke to them .She pulled a small notebook from her pocket and a pen, beginning to write in shorthand as her fellow teammates spoke.

“So, this unsub is targeting grief, then?” Hotch stated as a question, but the rest of the team were sure of it. It was a clarification more than anything, and needed too, since Baleman looked confused.

“Grief?” He asked.

“An event.” Reid spoke from behind Baleman. “A single event in this unsub’s life led him to end the life of someone he believes had to die. From that moment on, he created his own sense of morality - what is right and what is wrong - and he rationalises what he did with that first kill over and over again by targeting people he believes can’t be saved by anyone other than himself. He decides who lives and who dies, and this gives him an all-consuming sense of power.” Reid explained.

“So they’re not going to stop anytime soon.” Baleman confirmed.

“Well, that’s assuming there’s someone to actually stop.” Derek commented. By his closed off body language, and matter-of-fact tone, Clarkson could tell straight away Morgan was sceptical of a killer in Shadyside.

“And if there is,” Hotch spoke up, “he’s convinced he’s on a mission of mercy, and even after he’s caught, he’ll maintain he did nothing wrong.”

“He?” Baleman questioned.

“White male, mid to late thirties. He’s polite, forthcoming, doesn’t stand out.” Rossi rattled off the profile quickly. “And we believe his victims, these families, are all letting him in.”

“My brother and his wife weren’t letting anyone in. If anything, they were closing themselves off.” Baleman disputed, and Rossi shrugged.

“Well, this unsub has found a way in, one that’s very hard to trace.”

“In every case there was no evidence of a struggle, no attempt at escape.” Derek added.

“He finds a personal connection and uses it to buy time.” Hotch sighed.

“My officers need to know this.” Baleman said with a nod, readying to head back inside, when Clarkson finally spoke up to stop him, glancing up and closing her notebook.

“The BAU has found that Angels of Mercy are often people in the medical profession, as well as law enforcement.” She spoke up, the team looking over at her in surprise, for the majority of them it was the first time hearing her voice.

“Cops.” Baleman scoffed, and she nodded.

“Which is why we’re meeting out here, Detective Baleman.” Clarkson added, gesturing to the street corner they were congregated on.

“Now, we’re only fishing. We don’t want to point a finger.” Rossi quickly followed up, but Baleman shook his head, shrugging.

“Point it. I don’t give a damn.” Baleman was beyond a point of community with his department, that was more than clear.

“If that’s what it’s about, let us figure out where to point it.” Prentiss said reassuringly, and Baleman nodded a little.

“I asked Garcia to check into emergency responders around the scene of the fire.” Reid informed Hotch and Clarkson, the subject changing back to an update.

“Good, Prentiss?” Hotch looked over at the brunette, who straightened up a little.

“He’s smart. He knows all about these people’s schedules, their routines.” She informed the team, and Clarkson went back to noting things down.

“Look, if this unsub does exist, this is a guy who’s all about control. He chooses how they die, when they die. He even positions them exactly how he wants them to die. That makes him hypervigilant, a guy who’s always on the lookout. Risk averse, unseen.” Derek seemed to entertain the idea he was so against.

“The only way to stop him is to find out how he’s managed to get into all of his victim’s lives.” Prentiss added.

“We find that out, we’ve got our killer.” Rossi sighed, the profile complete, Baleman, Hotch and Clarkson now fully aware of the facts.

“We can start bringing people in, find the connection.” Hotch gave the go-ahead. The team slowly dispersed, heading back inside, Clarkson finding herself falling into step with Prentiss and who she could only assume was Jareau. Garcia had been good enough to send over files on each of the team members.

“Not the most ideal circumstances to meet under, but I’m Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short.” the blonde held out a hand to Clarkson, who shook it gently, the same introduction occurring with Prentiss.

“Y/N Clarkson.” She informed them, three sets of heels hitting the police station steps in time with each other. As she entered the chaos that was a police station mid-morning, Prentiss and JJ led Clarkson towards a back office that had been made available to them.

“I need to start making phone calls, I’ll get to know you properly at dinner.” JJ promised, grabbing herself a coffee before heading back out into the bullpen to make the calls to the families. Prentiss looked the new recruit over before helping herself to a cup of coffee.

“I would offer, but you don’t drink it, do you?” Prentiss checked, and Clarkson nodded, taking a seat on the table. Prentiss smirked. “Thought so. Reid had us all convinced you were an old white guy because you drink Earl Grey.” The words cause a smile to form on Y/N’s face, she couldn’t deny it was rather amusing. “So, where are you coming from? Not FBI, obviously, we would have known you before now.” Prentiss’ intentions became a lot clearer as she sipped her coffee. This wasn’t friendly chatter; it was an interrogation. Luckily for Clarkson, she was very good at those.

“Agent Prentiss, I admire the tactic, truly, but isn’t it your job to profile people?” The words were borderline a taunt to the brunette, but the tone of voice and smile on Clarkson’s face dismissed ideas of hostility. Prentiss herself was a private woman, it seemed Clarkson shared the same attributes, and as such, this was now a game. Not just for Prentiss, for the team as a whole. There were things to be uncovered about Clarkson she would never share willingly, Prentiss knew it.

“Game on, Clarkson.” Prentiss accepted the challenge, but before they could go further, a knock came on the meeting room door, followed by Derek opening it quickly.

“Emily, JJ says the first family will be here in a minute.” Derek told her, and Prentiss quickly left the room. Clarkson looked at Derek with a raised eyebrow as his eyes scanned over her body. “Newbie, we have another victim. Ready for a crime scene?” He offered, and Clarkson jumped up, following him out to the black SUV waiting for them. As she left, her eyes drifted towards the far corner of the room, where the lean man around her age, Dr Spencer Reid, stood surrounded by boards and paper, before following Derek out to the car, nodding to Rossi as they all got in and headed, with Morgan driving, to their next location.

As Morgan sped through traffic, lights on, a call came through on Morgan’s phone. He passed it back to Clarkson quickly, and the young woman answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Garcia?” She said.

“Go ahead, hot stuff, talk to me. You’re on speaker.” Morgan called, and Clarkson leaned forward with the phone so all three of them could hear the technical analyst clearly.

“Hey. So, Prentiss was looking for some narcotics, my burning love hunk, and I scored humongously.” Garcia stated, and Clarkson did her very best not to laugh at the pet names Garcia and Morgan had for one another. There was a whir of a chair moving before Garcia started again, Clarkson pulling out her notebook once more. “I ran every toxicological panel known to man on the victims and came up with zilch, which means he must be knocking them out with a neuromuscular agent.”

“With a what?” Morgan shouted so Garcia could hear him clearly.

“A paralytic.” Rossi said from the passenger seat, saving Garcia the trouble.

“Yeah, yeah. Something like succinylcholine or vecuronium, one of those ones that would metabolize in the body so quickly, it wouldn’t be detectable. Plus, plus, also, and I called me up Mr Coroner and said, how would you do this? And he says, by injection. So I say, hey, guy, wouldn’t that leave a mark? And he’s all ‘hold up’. And then he goes and looks at Beth Smoler’s body and finds the mark. A hole, right in her hairline.”

“Ok, so you have to be in the medical profession to get a hold of those drugs, right?” Derek asked, and Clarkson frowned. The conclusion was too quick.

“Not really.” She spoke up from the back. “You can get anything online nowadays, right Garcia?”

“The monochrome marvel of a woman is right, boys.” Garcia agreed.

“This drug leaves no trace?” Derek had to be sure.

“None.”

“Even if the coroner was looking for something, the evidence was gone, and Beth Smoler didn’t see anything coming.” Rossi sighed, thinking to himself as they pulled up at the crime scene.

“No sir, she completely saw it coming. They all saw it coming.” Garcia sighed, and Clarkson could hear the hesitation. She didn’t want to say it.

“Sir, neuromuscular blockers paralyse the muscles, but it does nothing for the mind. These victims were awake until the unsub killed them, they just couldn’t move.” Clarkson explained quickly, and Rossi glanced back at her. He was aware they had a new recruit; he had discussed it with Hotch, but he had no idea she would be so knowledgeable on the first case. She wasn’t even meant to be helping in this case, rather observing and taking in the atmosphere.

“So he sedates them, then quickly engineers their suicide.” Rossi nodded, Morgan turning off the engine and taking the phone back from Clarkson.

“Well, if that’s true it means this unsub’s not looking for the glory of the kill.” Morgan and Rossi got out of the car in sync, Clarkson following a few beats after them, back to scribbling in her little notebook.

“No, but unfortunately for our victims they’re wide awake when he decides it’s time for them to move on.” Rossi flashed his credentials to the police officer stationed by the tape, ducking under the yellow barricade and heading into the house. Morgan followed, quickly thanking Garcia as he shut off the phone, and Clarkson took a second to put away her notes and do the same, the feeling unfamiliar. She had never become acquainted with the action of showing credentials or a badge, or slipping on latex gloves, never been all too versed in being the most important person on a crime scene, but she knew she would get used to it soon enough.

Much like she would get used to the smell of blood and gunpowder that hit her like a brick wall as she entered the house, Rossi and Morgan already with the Medical Examiner to her right, their newest victim having been shot in the head. While Clarkson was familiar with blood spatter, brain spatter was another thing entirely, and it took her a moment to process the scene before her.

“Don’t worry if you need to take a second.” Derek spoke up, his eyes having been on her for a few moments now. He was aware of how hard a crime scene like this could be for someone’s first time. Clarkson shook her head, taking a deep breath before walking over to join them, the ME just beginning to explain his findings.

“Barrel was placed right there, under the chin, he shoots, and the bullet went up and through the small and hard palate of his mouth, then exited out through his-”

“Cranium.” Rossi finished for the ME. “Check the back of his head, his hairline.” Rossi instructed, and the ME tilted the victim’s head until he found what they were all looking for. “There, see it?” Rossi pointed, and Clarkson looked over Derek’s shoulder to view the find: a hole, right by his ear.

“A puncture wound. Caused by a needle.” The ME and Rossi said the last word at the same time, Derek looking over to a nearby police officer.

“Did he leave a note?” Morgan asked, the evidence being handed over. As he took the note, Clarkson’s brow furrowed, a frown forming on her lips. “What do you see?” He asked her, Rossi looking back at the pair.

“It’s… It’s probably nothing…” Clarkson admitted. She didn’t want to follow a dead end; she didn’t need to ruin her first investigation.

“If you see something, Clarkson, you tell us.” Rossi ordered, standing up beside them.

“This isn’t a suicide note.” She said definitively. “Could you get Dr Reid on the phone?” She asked Morgan, who nodded, following outside and dialling Reid’s number.

“Morgan?” Reid sounded surprised by the call.

“Clarkson… Dr Reid, it isn’t a suicide note. It’s an amends. You write them in support groups, a way to confront what you’ve done and move past it… I think the unsub has been attending meetings and finding parents.” She said quickly, Morgan looking up at her as she spoke.

“I was coming to the same conclusion… None of our victims' notes ever say goodbye.” Reid said on the other end of the phone.

“Could you have Garcia looking for any meetings tonight? These parents have full time jobs, it’s more likely they’ll be attending evening groups, between.” She looked at her watch. “Between 5 and 9 pm. Might be an idea to get in touch with organisers as soon as we can.” She decided.

“I’ll call her now. Hotch will want you back here, we’ll have the search organised by the time you get back.” Reid said quickly, ending the call to get in touch with Garcia. Derek looked over at Clarkson, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s your first day, and you’ve made a connection none of us would have thought of for another week.” Morgan said with a puzzled look, trying to understand why this woman knew so quickly what these notes were.

“There are support groups for everything, Agent Morgan. Drugs, alcohol, sex, anything you could think of.” She responded, walking towards the car, Rossi exiting the house as she opened the SUV’s back door.

“So which one were you?” Derek asked, hand on the door, looking into her eyes as she took off the gloves.

“PTSD.” She answered, her demeanour changing as Rossi jumped in the car. Morgan nodded, closing her door after Clarkson was in the vehicle before getting into the driver’s seat. He was curious as to what caused a woman so young to need support groups for PTSD, sure, but Derek knew better than to confront her about it on her first day.

Instead, they drove in silence back to the precinct, and then split themselves over the eleven separate main support groups in a two-mile radius of Shadyside, their afternoon spent trying to find out confidential information about who their unsub might be. It was coming on 5 o’clock when the team got back to the precinct to share their discoveries, all finding a common story between the groups: a story about his brother, and a family so poor they shared the same bedroom until the age of 15. Said his name was Peter, his father was a professor at Brassard. It was, in short, a horrific tale of molestation.

“If it’s true, it could be what started our unsub on his mission of mercy.” Hotch spoke up after each team provided what details they had, Clarkson having been with him and Morgan didn’t say anything.

“If it is, we know it didn’t end well.” Rossi added. “At least not for James, the older brother. This guy says his older brother slashed his wrists one night and he watched him die.”

“Ok, so we’ve got two names: James and Peter.” Prentiss offered as a positive, since at least they were getting closer to a possible lead.

“And a university: Brassard.” Hotch added.

“That should make it easier for you Garcia.” JJ sighed, the eccentric blonde on the other end of the phone beginning her search.

“If the unsub’s father really taught at Brassard, chances are he’s local.” Rossi suggested, Reid making a noise from the back corner that drew the attention of the group.

“Reid?” Hotch questioned. The younger man took a second to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before walking from his spot at the back of the room, stopping beside Clarkson, who was sat at the table with her notebook.

“Angels of mercy repeat the same event over and over again.” Reid declared, and Morgan spoke up, arms folded and a frown on his face. He had come to agree that there was an unsub at the crime scene, and Clarkson found it interesting to see the change in his attitude: now fully behind the theory, he wasn’t wasting any more time on solving the case.

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, if as you said, the story’s true, then he’s leaving one key piece of information out, the event that started it all.” Reid explained, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked over to see what Clarkson was writing, confused by her use of British shorthand instead of American.

“The brother didn’t kill himself.” Clarkson spoke up, closing her notebook and looking back at Reid, whose eyes quickly darted away, trying to look like he hadn’t just been caught red handed. “Peter killed him.”

“The fire caused such grief and suffering that it became a trigger.” Reid shrugged.

“And unable to stop himself, he targets someone he believes needs his help.” Morgan finished the thought, Reid nodding along.

“First, he keeps to some kind of timeline, a few weeks, but the last two kills were within days.” Reid added, and Clarkson looked back.

“So, he’s devolving?” She said with a slight air of uncertainty, but with Reid’s nod assuring her that she had got it right, her face once again became expressionless.

“Got it!” Garcia’s voice came over the telephone, followed by some typing. “It’s from 1984, it’s the Brassard College university newspaper.”

“Wait, Garcia, they lived on campus?” Prentiss asked, the rest of the team subconsciously leaning in to hear more.

“Yeah. Says here that James Redding was the youngest suicide in Pennsylvanian history. And his father Charles Redding was a professor… Creep.” Garcia mumbled the last word. Prentiss was on her feet now, walking around the table, glancing over their evidence and case files.

“Is there any possibility that while we’ve been talking, you’ve been multitasking?” Prentiss asked, a smile hidden in her voice.

“What, track down his current address?” Garcia’s voice was smug, but there was right to be. Morgan and Prentiss let out chuckles, the latter doing so as she finished the phone call.

“I love you, Penelope Garcia.” Prentiss grinned, and Clarkson noted it was the first genuine smile she had seen on any of her teammates since she and Hotch arrived.

“Ha. Get in line.” Garcia said over the phone before hanging up, phones buzzing with the address, Garcia’s computer sending out a mass text to the BAU.

Prentiss, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan headed out to the unsub’s address, leaving Reid, JJ and Clarkson in the station, the former of whom was taking great interest in Paul Baleman’s, the detective’s late brother, journal. Clarkson had managed to find a nearby grocery store and had taken up JJ on a proper introduction over dinner.

“So, where did you grow up?” JJ asked, taking a bite into the chicken club sandwich, suddenly grimacing and pushing it away. Clarkson, without a beat missed, switched their sandwiches. JJ smiled gratefully, double checking it was ok before taking a bite of BLT. “I don’t know why, but the chicken club doesn’t taste right...”

“It’s mustard mayo, not regular mayo.” Clarkson commented after taking a bite herself, swallowing her rather tasty sandwich before speaking again. “Born in Maine, moved to Virginia in my teens.” She explained, taking a drink of her water and looking over to Reid with interest, seemingly skimming through the journal.

“I read 20,000 words a minute, and have an eidetic memory, Agent Clarkson. I am reading, I just do it very fast.” Reid spoke up without a question needed, and Clarkson nodded.

“We haven’t been properly introduced.” She said. “I’m Y/N Clarkson.”

“I know. We’ve met before.” Reid looked up, and Clarkson had an amused look on her face. JJ raised an eyebrow.

“Reid, none of us know her.”

“Dr Reid lectured at Georgetown two years ago.” Clarkson took another sip of water.

“Agent Clarkson was the only person who laughed at my class joke.” Reid said, a small smile appearing on his face.

“Which was?” JJ asked, looking between Clarkson and Reid.

“During a lecture titled “Ritualistic Tendencies of Cults and the Communally Insane”, Dr Reid decided to stop mid presentation, and he says.” Clarkson cleared her throat. “A campus advisor asks their student what class they are having the most difficulty with, and the student replies the bourgeoisie.” Clarkson couldn’t help the smile on her face as she retold the joke, which sent Reid at the other end of the table into a bout of laughter. JJ looked amused, more by Reid’s pure enjoyment of the joke rather than the joke itself. “And while the joke has a rather funny punchline, what actually made me laugh was in its delivery. This man decided to stop mid-sentence because he said the word class, told the joke, and then continued to discuss “class” A narcotics a cult in Idaho took before slaughtering half of their rural farming town.” Clarkson explained, and only then did JJ laugh, and, in tandem, Reid’s chuckle died away.

“So did you study sociology?” JJ asked, and Clarkson shook her head, taking another bite of her sandwich.

“No, I was visiting Georgetown to hear Dr Reid speak.” Clarkson confirmed.

“What did you study then?” JJ asked, but before she could get an answer out of the new recruit her phone rang. “Hotch?” she said, putting her cell phone on speaker.

“Our unsub has been detained. You can pack up the case. We leave tomorrow morning.” Hotch informed the team, Clarkson getting up quickly to begin untacking the boards. Reid and JJ watched her speed at clearing the boards with awe, not sure if they should interrupt her efficiency. Within fifteen minutes, the entire case had been packed away in boxes, sorted by victim, the boards tidied away into storage, and any trace of the FBI being in the building gone.

“I’ve seen Morgan take three hours to pack up a case.” JJ commented once Clarkson had finished, and Reid sat back in his chair, looking the new recruit over. He had yet to find a member of the BAU who seemed so meticulous, and it concerned him. She had taken the time to wipe down tables, the coffee machine, erasing their presence from the room entirely. Clarkson simply smiled at JJ’s comment, taking the boxes out to the car, Reid again noting her deliberate actions to not touch the doors with skin, kicking the meeting room door open with her foot, and pressing her elbow to the precinct entrance. Had it been anyone else, any other job, Reid would have ignored it, but something felt wrong.

Who had taught Y/N Clarkson to cover her tracks so well?

#criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #cm #cm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #bau #bau x reader

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lovely-nctzen · 5 years

Text

can we still be friends? • three

↬ After splitting up, Johnny and Y/N struggle to detach their lives from one another. Their relationship as a couple lasted for almost five years until they both decided to breakup. As they start dating other people the ex-couple consistently check on each other under the guise of "friendship." Only to find out that one of them is still in love with the other.

It was the morning after and Y/N was sitting in front of her vanity with her dress halfway zipped and applying on lipstick. Meanwhile Johnny was sitting on the couch with Mark playing video games. Y/N turned her head to look at him after she finished fixing her makeup.

“Love, I’m going to be paying our bills today.”

Just then, Johnny paused the game and glanced at Mark for a split second before he sat there quietly, with the controller still in hand. And not a second later he pressed play and continued gaming with Mark.

“Maybe you can...you know,” Y/N started. It got kind of awkward with Mark sitting in the living room and it didn’t help that the door was opened and Y/N could talk to him as like it was nothing.

“Uh Babe, is it okay if I give my share next month? My paychecks came in late. Once they arrive, I’ll pay for everything,” he said, as he focused his attention to the game in front of him.

Turning to face her vanity, Y/N let out a light sigh. She was upset that nothing was going right, so she put away her makeup and left the situation alone. Y/N walked out and sat on the arm of the couch next to Johnny. “Love, can you zip me up?”

Johnny paused the game once again and did as he was told. Mark sensing the slight tension. He got up from the couch and bid you and Johnny farewell. “See you guys, I’ve got stuff to do with the frat. I’ll see you there later right Johnny?”

Looking up at Mark, he nodded his head. “Yeah, see you there man.”

Once Mark left, Y/N started up a conversation again. “Babe, you know how there are vacancies in the office where I work right? You might want to apply there because every time I see you, you’re always playing video games and hanging out with the frat. I’m sorry, but we have bills to pay,” Y/N said softly.

After fiddling with zipping her up, Johnny gave up and stood up from his seat leaving the room. “This doesn’t fit you anymore. If I were you, I’d change it.” Y/N sat there surprised and watched him leave the room. Frowning, she stood up and went to go change into a different outfit. This time Y/N picked out a nice blouse and white skinny jeans with a pair of flats to match. She grabbed her bag and walked towards the office where she worked which was unfortunately kind of far. Today was the day her boss was going to announce a new promotion in the office. Most of Y/N’s coworkers thought she would get it since she worked so hard.

However, when her boss called someone else in to their office, Y/N knew that she wasn’t getting the promotion. And her assumptions were correct when another female coworker came out of the office and announced it to everyone. Y/N dropped her pen and pushed her hair out of her face. Today was not her day.

It got even worse when Johnny forgot to pick her up that night. She totally forgot that Johnny was doing something tonight with the boys. He forgot to remind her that he wasn’t going to make it this time. So when she called him, Y/N became frustrated and it got worse when the girl who got promoted stood near her on the sidewalk. Y/N discreetly looked at her from the corner of her her eyes. Her hair was down and she was wearing a dress that hugged her curves. It seems like she was waiting for her boyfriend as well. Great.

Y/N felt small compared to her. Her boyfriend got out of the car and greeted her with a bouquet of flowers to congratulate her on the promotion. Y/N couldn’t help but stare at the couple as they started to kiss; she was jealous. Johnny was always late when he picked her up, blaming it on traffic. He even parked on the other side and made her cross the busy street as she waited so long for him to arrive. Not putting up with this, Y/N called one of her closest friend, Doyoung. He too was in the frat, but she knew that he would help her even if he was busy.

Once Doyoung came to pick her up, he sensed that she was stressed. “So how did the promotion go?” he asked. Groaning at the thought of it, she started to rant to him. “I was so sure I was going to get it. My boss even told me himself that I was going to get it and now he gives it to someone else? What kind of bull is that? And then Johnny didn’t pick me up because you guys had a frat thing tonight.” Doyoung took one hand off the wheel to comfort his friend. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the promotion, but I’m sure you’ll get it next time. You’re literally working while going to school still. I could never.”

Leaning her head back against the head rest, she turned her head to look at Doyoung. “Thanks, you’re the best.” Her comment made him grin and they soon arrived back to her apartment.

Taking off her shoes she sat at the kitchen table. She needed to talk to Johnny, but he wasn’t going to arrive until late, so she waited. She didn’t have class until 10:30 in the morning anyway. And when he finally did get home, Y/N was waiting on the couch. He did the usual greeting, asking her how her day was and if she ate dinner already, but Y/N went straight to it and ranted her whole day to him. When she told him about the promotion, he interrupted her. “Babe, if you’re not happy with your job then just quit.”

Y/N gave him a pointed look when he finished his sentence. “Quit? Do you even know what you’re saying right now?” This was unbelievable. How can she just quit when they have bills to pay, tuition to pay for. “You’ve been complaining about it. You’re toxic.” That made her burst into flames. “Of course! I’m so tired and frustrated. My job isn’t easy Johnny! If you want me to quit then I’ll quit. How are we going to pay for the apartment?”

Johnny became quiet and didn’t speak. Neither did Y/N until she came to her senses. “Love, I’m sorry.” She grabbed his hand, but he still stayed silent. “I’m just so tired and busy. My mind is all over the place,” Y/N said as she rested her head on his chest. Still not saying anything, he just listened. He gave her a small hug and patted her head. “Come on, let’s just sleep it off. We have a busy week ahead of us.”

Just like always, the two kissed and made up, but each passing day got harder and harder which put a strain on their relationship. It was the weekend and Johnny and Y/N planned to meet up with some friends who were planning to get married once they graduated.

Pulling up to the restaurant, Johnny went inside her with Y/N trailing behind, but once she got to the door, it closed on her and hit her in the face. “Johnny....” Y/N said to herself in frustration when he didn’t hold the door for her. Opening the door for herself, she met up with them at the table. Everything was fine, but when they asked Y/N and Johnny when they were getting married, things went down hill. Y/N and Johnny have been together for a good five years now and they’re still in school so they never even thought about marriage. “So when are you guys getting married?” They asked. Y/N looked back and forth between the two couple and said, “Why did we suddenly become the topic? I thought this was about you guys?”

The two gave her a knowing look and grinned at her without saying anything which confused her. Suddenly Johnny spoke up and turned to look at Y/N. “Love,” Johnny started. “Do something grand when you propose to me, okay?” He said jokingly. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a slight scoff before laughing. “Hah! you’re so funny Johnny,” she said as the other joined along in laughing with her, but she was upset on the inside. She drank her water and stopped laughing along with them, but they didn’t notice.

They say that if you’ve been together with someone for over five years you’ll know if they’re the right one, right?

Y/N didn’t even know at this point.

previous // next // masterlist

tag list: @suh-duction @jaehyunluvcult @fic-recs

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peter-pantomime · 4 years

Text

IT Fic Recs

Richie/Eddie

the years go by like days

It’s Eddie he wants to get a hold of, though, and he does, tucking him under his arm, and ruffling his hair, making him laugh. He’s startled when Eddie looks at him with such happy, shining eyes. And, for a split-second, he’s tempted to kiss him right then, right there in front of everyone.

He wants to. Badly. He doesn’t.

He leans in, instead, and he smacks a loud, wet kiss to Eddie’s cheek, punctuating it with a “mwah!” He does it again and again. “I’m so proud of my little Eds Spagheds!”

“Get off me!” Eddie says, laughing and shoving him away, swatting at his hands.

AU. in the 27 years in-between, Richie and Eddie forget a lot, but they don't forget each other.

just be still with me

Eddie Kaspbrak is 38, working as a driver in New York. Richie Tozier is a stand up comic who comes to New York on a one way ticket to audition for SNL, and his agent has hired Eddie as his driver. There's something familiar about Richie, though Eddie knows they've never met. While Richie insists on sitting in the front seat and making something more than small talk, Eddie struggles to maintain professional distance.

Basically - what if Eddie and Richie did forget, and didn't see each other for 25 years, but they fell in love anyways.

If You Believe

What if Eddie held on just a little bit longer? What if the losers figured out how to kill it just a little bit earlier? What if Eddie made it out of Neibolt, injured and barely holding on, but alive?

When Eddie emerges from the cavern to see Richie floating, he just about shits himself.

hit me baby one more time

Richie reaches up a shaking hand and puts it on Eddie’s stomach.

“Uhhh,” Eddie says. “Is this a bit? Is this a really inopportune bit? ‘Cause I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Richie, but this is kind of an important moment-”

“What the fuck,” Richie says, not for the first or last time, and lurches forwards to hug him.

(Or, Richie gets stuck in a time loop.)

in the morning

Beverly knows there’s something going on with Richie. The way he had lost it, the way he had cried—she’s not sure if he would ever cry like that for her, or Bill, or even Stan. He had always been particular about Eddie. She pets his hair back again and rests her head on top of his, sighing and closing her eyes. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s more than she thinks. Either way, she’s sure he’ll say eventually. Richie’s never been good at keeping secrets.

This Is the Way It Ends

An AU in which everything is the same, except Reddie disappear to have sex through most of the plot points and Eddie doesn't have to die to save the day.

Love Me Like You Do

“I need you hear you say it.”

“I want it,” Eddie says back. He’s surprised by his own words, how concrete they sound, how they break through the wall of nerves that’s shrouded over him.

Richie, in all of his confident-not-confidence, leans down and kisses Eddie. It’s gentle at first, the rough chap of his lips barely grazes Eddie’s over moisturized ones but the electricity rockets down his spine and bursts into tiny electrodes all over his body. He immediately leans up, chases Richie’s retreating form and captures him in a kiss that Eddie never knew he was capable of giving.

Men of Fall

Do you remember? He watches his own hand slide closer along the armrest. Do memories transfer by touch, in this fucked up magic town? Remember, Richie, please, and tell me I wasn’t imagining things.

put it all aside and hold me tight

"I'm not sad," he lies. He thinks of how his hands had trembled after he'd gotten the phone call from Mike, the foul taste of bourbon and breath mints and his own bile in his throat. Every morning he's alone, even when he isn't. He isn't afraid, except for when he is. And he isn't sad, not really, but he is.

Not that it's any of Eddie's business.

Eddie's gaze feels like it goes right through him. There's little Richie hates more than being read, especially when it's by Eddie — there's always a split second of bone-deep terror that whispers he knows. It's familiar, something that goes way back to childhood. Still just as shit-your-pants terrifying.

Or: After the reunion dinner from hell, Richie and Eddie have a long overdue conversation about, like, feelings and shit.

up off the floor

"In a world where we can kill a fucking clown from space, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn’t get to die from a stab wound."

still it’s so

Beverly screamed when she saw them. Then she covered her mouth with her hands and just stared, tears standing bright in her eyes. Bill stood up so fast his armchair jumped back, and beside him Mike did the same. Ben got up slower, a painfully hopeful look on his face.

“Surprise!” Richie said. “We lived!”

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives

In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

swallow your heart

When he’s 24, at least once per night, Richie has what he would describe as an erotic nightmare. He never actually has sex in these dreams, nor does he die or even get seriously maimed. But they’re still definitely erotic, and they’re definitely nightmares.

Prompt: "I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth."

With a boulder on my shoulder

Feelin' kinda older.

Or, Eddie Kaspbrak has his fifteenth birthday party.

we’ve been migratory animals

As they reach the town limits, he sees the sign up ahead: You are now leaving Derry. A thrill shudders through him — they’re out. Things will be different now, no more deadlight-visions swallowing him up inside. Richie rolls down his window, and before anyone can do more than look at him quizzically, he unbuckles his seatbelt, lifts himself up out of his seat somewhat, and leans out the window to flip the sign off. “Fuck you!” he bellows. The wind whips his hair into his eyes, and he lets out a slightly manic laugh. Then he feels hands grabbing at his shirt, and Eddie is yanking him back into the car.

Or, the Losers take a road trip to Florida, and Richie's having nightmares from the deadlights that he can't seem to shake.

if the children don’t grow up

Richie Tozier dreams, sometimes, of heat soaking through the soles of his sneakers from the July tarmac in the town where he grew up, the name of which he can’t quite remember when he’s awake, and of someone small and warm and familiar pressed up against him everywhere.

(Some scenes from a life – Richie and Eddie at 40 and at 13 (and beyond) and at 40 again.)

Richie Tozier Versus The Flu

“His parents don’t take care of him,” Eddie had told Bill, shaking his head, “He’s probably holed up in his room with a flop sweat, and neither of his parents have ever been bothered to help him. We should go see him.”

“G-Go see him?” Bill asked, alarmed, “I d-don’t mind, b-b-but I thought you’d n-never -”

“He’s sick! Richie’s sick, Bill,” Eddie insisted, thinking Bill was not nearly as upset as he ought to be, “Richie’s sick, and no one’s gonna take care of him, if we don’t.”

last ones out

Richie wonders if it’s always been this hard for him to touch Eddie. It hasn’t; they were incredibly touchy as kids, falling all over each other, gangly limbs intertwined. Even as adults, a few days before, Richie had barely been able to keep his hands off of him. Eddie almost dying did something, though. Chipped away at something deep within Richie. From the bed, Eddie laughs.

Talk So Pretty (And Love So Sweet)

Eddie was going to kill him one day, in his lace and crop tops and knee high socks.

Let’s Hear It for the Boy

“Oh, before I forget- keep this one.”

He pulled a tape from his bag that he hadn’t played yet, and Eddie took it with a look of distrust on his face. It had his name scrawled across the label in Richie’s awful handwriting- looked more like it said Edota on it- but the thing that caught his attention was the very obviously scribbled out heart in front of his name.

“Welp,” He snapped his gum again. “I gotta go. See you later, babe. If you miss me when I’m gone, just listen to the tape. Plenty of gushy shit on there.”

June

He can’t handle being alone with Eddie anymore.

He squats next to Eddie, brings their faces close, and he looks at the freckles on Eddie’s cheeks, the familiar chestnut hair perfectly quaffed at his fringe, how long, and thick his eyelashes seem against his sunburnt cheeks.

He wants.

Desperately.

Blood Runs Cold

He wants to say the feeling in his gut is foreign, but the truth is it’s been flowering for years, vines twisting and growing in the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to open his mouth so they can finally see the sun.

(or a short fic about Richie Coming out to Bevvie while they smoke in his room)

Show Me a Good Time

This wasn’t the first time that Richie had brought Eddie to one of his meetings. Meetings, used very loosely, meaning they were at a restaurant with however many Michelin stars, while his agent talked to him and whoever else decided to show up to the dinner. There were currently about eight of them, Eddie and Richie shoved into the corner of a booth, while someone told a story about their latest stent on tour. Lucky for Richie, the story actually happened to be good, because if not, well, they might have seen just how often Eddie was leaning over to whisper in his ear.

we’re f***ing killing it, babe

Richie has been back in Derry for three days and murdered an Eldritch horror-esque monster from space or possibly from some weird meta-verse, who knows, and faced both of his childhood fears of clowns and his own death, as well as the possibility of losing his first love just as he remembered they fucking existed, he’d like some slack cut for him on the emotional front, thank you!

Eddie is dead, but the Losers carry him out of the house on Neibolt anyway. Which is good, because Eddie is not dead.

Roads

Richie pulls out of the Orient parking lot first, and stares at the headlights of Eddie’s car in his rearview mirror.

The drive back to The Derry Townhouse is short, scary, and not well lit.

“It’s just Eddie,” he tells his reflection, trying to give himself a pep talk, but that’s the problem.

It’s Eddie.

Lakes

Ben holds Bev’s hand as they walk. Richie feels sick with grief, staggering along behind them, carrying Eddie’s dead, heavy body on his back.

Intro // Skydiving

Eddie Kaspbrak is ten years old. It's his first time at the quarry with his friends.

The descent feels like it lasts both for a few seconds and for eternity. Free fall is terrifying, but his hand is still latched onto Richie's, and it tethers him, makes him feel like he isn't just lost in space.

soul, I hear you calling

He catches a glimpse of himself, bruise-eyed and unshaven, in the bathroom mirror as he turns to leave, and that's when he sees Eddie Kaspbrak.

"At least wash your hands, you nasty fuck," Eddie says.

"Holy fucking shit," Richie screams.

Eddie comes back, sort of.

#IT #it chapter 2 #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #myficrecs #quarantine entertainment #quarantine fics #quarantine fics it

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ellie-bee242 · 7 years

Text

My Heart Bleeds For You-Part 1

So…. This is my first attempt at a reader fic. Ever. Be gentle, and give ample feedback.

I’m so psyched for American Assassin guys, omg, the first time I saw the preview I just had major heart eyes. (keep in mind i have not read the book i’m just hella hyped for the movie and am going off of trailer info)

And after months of re-watching all the trailers and dying ten million times inside, I decided to try my hand at writing a fic. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated please!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 1: Rollin’

Song rec: Rollin’ by Calvin Harris ft. Future & Khalid

Word count: 2,916

Warnings: Obscure mentions of abuse, obscure mentions/ implied violence (fist fights), mentions of blood, swearing. Also consent. Lots and lots of super sexy consent.

“I don’t care what the hell you have to do, just plant yourself in her life, she’s the easiest way to get to your target.” Hurley ordered from across the table.

Those orders were what brought Mitch Rapp to a standstill in the middle of a privately owned gym just outside the city. He sighed as he waited for the owner to grace him with her presence. She’d only made him wait twenty minutes passed the time they’d scheduled their meeting so far.

“It’s for the sake of the mission. It’s for the sake of the mission.” He chanted impatiently under his breath.

Finally the door to the owner’s office opened and two women stepped out.

“Just remember Sally, you never have to apologize to me, alright?” One of them said, somehow sounding both firm and gentle. Sally nodded meekly and wiped at her face.

“Thanks (Y/N).” She sniffled.

“Anytime. Think about what I said okay?” She inquired.

“I’ll be there next week, but do I have to participate?” Sally asked.

“Oh sweetheart, of course you don’t. Only what you’re comfortable with. And if that’s just watching, then that it one hundred percent fine. This place will always be safe for all.” She assured. “Is it alright if I hug you?” (Y/N) asked. Sally chewed on her lip before sticking her hand out, and the girl opposite her didn’t hesitate to take it and shake it. “I look forward to seeing you next week Sally.” She smiled and watched the girl walk into the locker room to change back into her normal clothes. Then she turned to her door and saw the note posted on the outside. She peeled it off and turned back around as she read it.

“Mitch Rapp?” She called out in a surprisingly loud voice, looking around the gym as she did.

He stepped forward and rose his hand to get her attention. Her bright eyes landed on him and his eyebrows rose in surprise as he watched her blatantly rake her gaze up and down his form. “You’re here for the job opening right?” She asked once her eyes returned to his.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

“(Y/N) will do just fine.” She assured him before beckoning him forward as she stepped back into her office.

“Have a seat if you like. Do you want a water?”

“No, thank you, ma’a-” He stopped himself at her quick look as she walked around the side of her desk to sit in the chair behind it. “No, thank you, (Y/N).” He corrected and she smiled.

“Well, Mitch,” she started as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a file, “I have to say that your resume is impressive. But I do have concerns.” She flipped it open and glanced through it one more time just to make sure she had all the vital information.

“What concerns?” Mitch asked, and she looked up to find him sitting straight in his chair.

“Your military experience. I’m not going to ask what you had to do, and I thank you for your service, but…” She hesitated, not wanting to upset him.

“You can be blunt, I don’t mind.” He promised when he realized why she had paused.

“Do you have any form of PTSD or anger management issue?” She asked. “Because if you do, I’m sorry but I can’t hire you as an instructor.” She frowned in worry.

“Why not?” He asked and at her look rushed to clarify, “I don’t have PTSD or any anger issues by the way, if you need a psych review I can provide one, I was just curious why that would disqualify me.”

“I would like a review, if you don’t mind providing one. And it would disqualify you because the type of gym I run is meant to be a safe and relaxing environment for everyone. We teach hand to hand combat two days a week and I can’t hire people suffering from PTSD because they might hurt their students. Likewise with people who have anger problems. They’re not welcome in my employ or under this roof in any capacity.” She said sternly. Mitch nodded respectfully.

“The ad said that I would be filling a Personal Trainer and hand to hand combat trainer position, is that still true or would I be going somewhere else?” He asked.

“No, I’m still in need of a personal trainer and kickboxing instructor. My last one quit in order to go back to college.” She smiled fondly. “And that’s why I had to ask if you suffered either that mental illness or instability. You will be working closely with individual clients and you have to be patient and kind.” She commanded.

“Yes ma'am.” He said reflexively. She shot him a look and he felt his lips twitch upwards briefly. “Sorry.”

“We don’t really apologize here. We just promise to work on it.” She grinned. He nodded. “Mitch I know this is technically an interview but you don’t have to be so serious. If your psych eval. comes back clean you’ll get the job.” She promised.

“It’s a bad habit I’m afraid.” He said, attempting to smile. (Y/N) briefly turned pink, her face contorting before she burst into laughter.

“Okay… So maybe you should stick with serious. That smile looked painful.” She teased. He shifted awkwardly in his chair and she tried to school herself.

“Alright, so if you don’t mind, I have a therapist who you can go see for your evaluation?” She offered.

“Actually, I have a one prepared. After I was discharged.” He explained.

“Oh. Alright. Just email it to me, or mail it to me, or whatever you’d like, and then I’ll get back to you once I look it over.” She said, quickly grabbing a sticky-note pad and scribbling her email address and the address of the gym down on it. She peeled it off and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He said as he took it.

“I look forward to seeing you again Mitch.” She smiled as she stood, prompting him to stand too. He watched her walk around her desk and go and open the door for him. He stepped out of her office and she turned to him. “May I shake your hand?” She asked. He frowned, perplexed on why she had to ask and offered his hand out.

“Sure.” He assented.

“Sorry. That’s something I forgot to mention. If you work here, consent is always required for even the simplest touch. Some of our members have had unfortunate pasts that brought them here. So, in order to make sure everyone is comfortable, we always ask before coming anywhere close to someone, even another employee.” She explained as she took his hand and shook it.

“That’s actually very considerate.” He noted.

“I try to accommodate everyone. I never want anyone to feel uncomfortable inside my gym.” She said seriously. Mitch nodded at her and she smiled softly at him. “I can’t wait to work with you.” She said again.

“That’s only if you think my evaluation is good.” His reminder only caused (Y/N) to grin.

“Nine times out of ten I’m a good judge of character, and I have a good feeling about you, Rapp.” She said confidently, giving the hand she still held a single pat before letting it go and walking away.

A week later he found himself following (Y/N) around the gym and hour before it opened listening as she explained what happened where and what activities were available on what days.

“… and that’s the infirmary.” She pointed to the door in the corner.

“Infirmary?” Mitch asked, sure he’d heard her wrong.

“I offer a free self-defense class after gym hours twice a week. The program spans six weeks. The first time I offered the class I was in the hospital every other week because someone had panicked trying to get out of a hold and elbowed me in the face. Luckily no one has broken my nose yet, but I figured I should add a room with basic first aid for my nose bleeds, and in case anyone else needs simple medical attention.” She shrugged. “It’s served me well in the past three years.” She sighed.

“Wow.” He was honestly impressed.

“Yeah, I learned to dodge out of the way pretty quickly but occasionally someone will catch me off guard.” (Y/N) laughed awkwardly, thinking he’d been surprised at the fact that she’d been injured enough times to need a whole room for medical care.

“I meant, wow, I’m impressed that you do that.” He clarified.

“Oh! Well…. I mean…” She fidgeted. “Everyone should be able to defend themselves. It wouldn’t be right if I charged to teach people something that should be their right to learn.” She shrugged. He nodded.

“Anyways, moving on with the tour.” She said quickly, walking ahead a few paces. She pointed out a set of double frosted glass doors. “That is room used for yoga routines and personal training in between. The next room over is used for kick boxing classes on Tuesdays, spin class on Wednesdays, and aerobics on Fridays. Unfortunately I don’t really have a designated space for a personal trainer so you’ll kind of just float between rooms if that’s cool.” She told him.

“That’s fine.” He assured her.

“Okay. Men’s locker and changing room, individual showers included and they’re cleaned every night by a custodial service. Women’s locker and changing rooms on the other side, if you ever hear of a problem in the women’s locker room please come and get me specifically. Actually, the same goes for the men’s locker room.” She added after a second of thought. He nodded.

“Can I ask why?” He wondered.

“Because I’m the only one allowed to settle and stop altercations if and when they happen. That way no one can try and come after one of my employees with legal bullshit.” She said bluntly.

“And you can take on two roided out guys?” He asked with a skeptical smirk. (Y/N) gave him a challenging look.

“You doubt my combat skills, Rapp?” She asked. He shrugged.

“You are….” He pinched his fingers together. “Tiny.” He grinned at how indignant she looked.

“If even I am tiny, which I’m not, I can still handle myself in a fight against two meat heads.” She huffed.

“It’s true, she’s a badass.” The new voice made both of them turn as a tall blonde strode into the gym with a bag slung across her chest.

“Hey Elle.” (Y/N) called to her.

“Hey gorgeous.” She winked jokingly. “Who’s the mop top next to you?” She asked as she walked up to them.

“This is Mitch Rapp, he’s going to be the new personal trainer and combat specialist.” (Y/N) introduced. “Mitch this is my good friend, and first employee, Elizabeth.”

“Call me Elle, please.” She smiled. “Can I shake your hand?” She asked, offering hers out.

“Sure.” He agreed, remembering the rule about consent in all things. Elle shook his hand and then grinned at her boss.

“I’m gonna go change and prepare my room.” She told her before heading to the locker room.

“Elle teaches the spin class. That’s why her legs look so amazing.” (Y/N) nearly sighed as Mitch focused back on her.

“I hadn’t noticed.” He shrugged.

“Yeah sure.” She snorted. “And before you ask, no I don’t have a policy against romance between employees. Just keep it professional during business hours is all I ask.” She said quickly.

“That’s not going to be a problem. I’m not interested in Elle.” He shrugged.

“Alright then.” She said, sounding like she didn’t believe him one bit. “Anyways, you can use today to build a routine you’d like to implement for next week’s class, and spend the day familiarizing yourself with the gym. Feel free to look in on any of the classes, just be aware of the members. If they seem uncomfortable, move on.” She suggested and Mitch nodded quickly. “I’m going head to my office, if you have any questions my door is usually unlocked. Also, sorry in advance. Elle won the weekly competition so this whole week her music is going to be blasting through the gym.” She laughed.

“Weekly competition?”

“Every week we have a little competition, voted on by all the employees beforehand. We hold the competition on Sunday nights after closing. This week’s competition was to see who could do the most lunges. I won.” Elle said triumphantly as she came out from the locker room, now changed into a pair of athletic leggings and a sports-bra. Her hair was pulled up into a bun and she had a large water bottle clutched in one hand.

“So when does the torture start?” (Y/N) asked.

“As soon as you’ll let it.” Elle grinned.

“Not until five minutes before opening.” The other girl reluctantly groaned. Elle simply cackled in response. “Mitch, feel free to use any of the equipment in the gym as well today.” (Y/N) said suddenly, pulling his attention solely back to her. He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied.

“Cool. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.” She called before closing her door.

“Try not to need her. She’s usually busy with paper work on days where she doesn’t teach a class, and if she gets interrupted too much she’ll have to stay late at night.” Elle informed him. “I know she knows some pretty comprehensive self-defense, and I know I said she’s a badass but I still don’t like the thought of her here all alone late at night.” She frowned. Mitch nodded.

“You wouldn’t mind if I came to you with questions then, would you?” He asked.

“Not at all.” She smiled. “But if you don’t have any that are pressing right this moment I would like to get my room set up for today’s classes.” She thumbed over her shoulder and he nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead. “Glad to have you aboard, Mitch. Hope you like it here.” She smiled kindly before heading into the spin room.

He looked around, alone now, and decided to go change into his sports-wear. He’d take (Y/N) up on her suggestion, and use the day to familiarize himself with the equipment as well as come up with a combat routine.

“Mitch!” (Y/N) called after the gym closed.

He turned his head and saw her jogging out from her office to reach him before he walked out the door.

“Hey, what’d you think of today?” She asked.

“It was nice.” He said shortly. (Y/N) nodded and rocked back on her heels. When she realized he wasn’t going to say more she cleared her throat awkwardly and looked around for a second.

“Would you mind terribly helping me set up a couple things? James normal does it but he’s out sick today.” She requested.

“Sure, whatever you need. What are we setting up for?” He asked.

“I have a self-defense class beginning tonight.” She explained as she led him back to the massive storage room next to her office.

“Oh.” He intoned, not knowing what else to say. She grabbed a mat that dwarfed her and he moved forward to help.

“Oh, I got this one, if you could get that dummy right there.” She kicked a leg up to point her toes at it, sat in the corner.

“Alright, if you’re sure you got it.” He frowned.

“I’m good, promise.” She giggled before dragging the mat out of the room she got it where she wanted and then pulled at the Velcro straps before jumping out of the way as the mat unrolled and flopped to the ground. She went around the corners, securing the Velcro to the floor and then told him where to place the dummy so it’d be easier for her drag it into place later.

“Thanks.” She smiled after he’d place it down.

“Do you think I could come to the class tonight?” He asked suddenly. She blinked in surprise.

“Sure, if you want. If you want to observe you can sit with everyone else.” She shrugged.

“Or I could help you.” He suggested.

“Help me?” She wondered.

“Well, you need an ‘attacker’ don’t you?” He asked.

“No, not tonight. With what I had planned I’d break your nose.” She cringed.

“So I’ll help with equipment tonight.” He shrugged.

“I can’t pay you for this, it’s after hours and a free program.” She warned.

“That’s fine. I’d just like to help.” He shrugged.

“Alright. If you really want to spend your night lugging dummies around,” She rose her hands up in surrender, “then I definitely won’t be the one to stop you. You’ll be saving me a back ache.” She smiled. He nodded and gave her a minuscule smile in return.

“The class doesn’t actually start for another hour so if you want to do anything…” She shrugged.

“I’d like to get to know you, actually.” He said, startling her by the look of her expression.

“O-kay….” She said slowly.

“I thought we could be friendly.” He said as way of explanation.

“Alright. Wanna play twenty questions or something?” She laughed.

“I’m game if you are.” He shrugged.

“Why the hell not.” She sighed before plopping down on the mat sitting lotus style and leaning back on her hands. Mitch sat down across from her and mirrored her position. “You first.” She made a sweeping gesture between them.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #aafic #my writing #MHBFY #amas

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quillyfied · 7 years

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Cheeseburgers

a TAZ idea that wouldn’t leave me alone. To the person who requested the roadtrip fic, I’m still working on it, it’s grown enormous, but I had to get this out of my system.

Cycle 76 spat them out by a planet of storms, raining shards of ice down from a lightning-filled sky into a boiling sea, the chemical and arcane makeup of which made no sense to Barry or Lup. It was a small planet, alone and floating around its little star. Davenport circled it three times, but the cloud layer coated it pretty thickly. Approaching it further than the upper atmosphere proved impossible when a huge arc of lightning nearly knocked the Starblaster out of the sky.

“Well, gang,” Davenport said, rubbing his eyes, “looks like we’re shipbound this year.”

Quiet groans answered him, but this wasn’t the first time they’d had to stay on board the ship for a cycle. Davenport put the Starblaster in orbit around the stormy little world, and their year began. By sheer luck, the Light crashed directly into Magnus as he jogged around the deck a few days later; forty-five seconds after that, the Hunger’s eyes lit up the void of space around them.

“Another tough getaway ahead,” Davenport muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on a table on the deck and watching as Barry helped Magnus up, the latter laughing so hard it made the former’s job difficult.

“Mm-hmm,” Merle nodded, shuffling a deck of cards. “We’ve got a while before we have to worry about it. Ever play Yooker with tarot cards, Skip?”

“No, can’t say that I have,” Davenport grinned, settling back into his chair. “Tarot cards?”

“Figure it’ll spice things up between us,” Merle said, and winked when Davenport chuckled.

“Gross,” Taako hollered across the ship, carrying a tray of sandwiches. “Lunchtime, idiots.”

Food wasn’t a problem when several party members could summon it at will. The same went for water, though coordinating bathing habits was a constant struggle. What couldn’t be magicked up, even with Davenport’s increasingly exquisite eye for detail in his illusions, was physical space. Cabin fever crept into the edges of the ship with each passing week. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped, and even with over seventy-five years of growing into the closest family unit in all the realities, fights and hurt feelings could last a long time.

It had been four months of orbit, according to Barry’s calendar. The whole crew was lounging in the rec room, which was really Lup’s old room stuffed with all the books, games, movies, and serialized video programs they’d collected during their journey, along with the appropriate consoles and a wealth of beanbag chairs. It was Lucretia’s turn to pick the entertainment. She’d been quiet and withdrawn this year, more so than usual and certainly more so than she’d been for about a decade.

“Anything but that gentleman detective tripe,” Taako deadpanned as Lucretia reached for that exact film. He was splayed across a bemused Magnus’ lap with his feet on Barry’s shoulder, crossing his arms behind his head and rolling his eyes like he was being paid to do it.

“It’s my turn,” Lucretia said, pulling the movie out. “When it’s your turn, we can watch something else.”

“Or you can pick something less stupid,” Taako retorted. Lucretia sighed, but didn’t put the movie back. Taako cast Mage Hand and snatched it from her hands, holding it over her head.

“Taako, come on,” Magnus said, dumping Taako onto the nearest beanbag chair, but Mage Hand stayed put, wagging the movie in the air a little. Lucretia took a swipe at it, color building in her cheeks.

“Honestly, why we even still have this is beyond me,” Taako said.

“Taako, give it back,” Davenport said with a warning note in his voice.

“Literally the worst thing in our inventory,” Taako yawned, shifting Mage Hand so it hovered over the garbage can.

“Taako, don’t—”

Mage Hand dropped the movie in the trash. It wasn’t much, just a shallow bin with a plastic liner, but the sentiment was enough. Lucretia yanked the movie from the trash and stomped towards the door.

“Lucretia, he didn’t mean it, he’s just being a jerk,” Lup said, sitting up as Lucretia flung the sliding door out of her way.

“I absolutely did mean it,” Taako sniffed. “If she’s gonna pout because of a little honesty—”

The door slamming shut in its port cut off the rest of Taako’s sentence, as did the weight of five different glares.

“You know what, no,” Taako said, straightening his legs and standing. “Every time Lucretia can’t take a joke, Taako’s the jerkwad. Poor Lucretia, poor fragile little Lucretia—”

“Her mother gave her that movie,” Barry said quietly. “She’s had it since she was sixteen.”

Taako floundered for a minute, then stomped his foot. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“If you paid attention for once in your life to other people—” Magnus started, and Taako whipped around, thunder building in his eyes (and possibly also in his fingertips, the static in the air was getting very active).

“Everyone calm down,” Merle said, also getting to his feet. “We’re all a little testy. Let’s bring it back down, chill out. I’ll go talk to Lucretia, Taako can take a walk around the deck, we’ll meet back here and watch her movie and eat so much popcorn we’ll all get sick. How about that?”

“Go hang out with your buddy John, Merle, he’s the only one actually interested in listening to your hippie cleric garbage,” Taako snapped, and Davenport slammed both his feet onto the ground before standing. His full height wasn’t so imposing, but his demeanor was.

“You’re out of line,” Davenport said, in the soft tone of voice his entire crew knew to obey without question. Taako’s mouth quivered, his hands clenched at his sides and spine at rigid attention. “No movie night. Everyone is excused to their quarters. I’ll be at the helm.”

After a tense moment, Taako stalked out of the room. After another, Lup, Barry, and Magnus followed. Merle, last to leave as always, looked around at the abandoned beanbag chairs and sighed.

“He has a point,” Merle shrugged. “Not like any of you are really gonna need me this cycle, and I know I can get something else out of John, I almost had him last time.”

“Not yet,” Davenport said sharply, and blinked at his own tone. “Not…not yet. It’s been…a while…since you’ve stuck around this long.”

“If Lup and Barry have sex in the shower when I’m waiting my turn outside again, I can’t make any promises,” Merle said, and Davenport doubled over laughing. Merle grinned. “I can wait. Time’s weird in the Parley Parlor.”

“Thank you,” Davenport said quietly. Merle put his hand on Davenport’s shoulder and smiled.

“Am I dismissed now, Cap?”

“Can’t show favoritism, so yes, yes you are,” Davenport said, and smiled when Merle shrugged. “One ship fire at a time. Let’s wait for this one to blow over, and we can work on the next one.”

“Take it easy, Dav,” Merle said, and left. Davenport took several deep breaths before following suit.

Taako stood outside of Lucretia’s door, where he could clearly hear sniffling, and gritted his teeth through the overwhelming wave of nope that coursed through him at the thought of going through with this. But…yeah, he wasn’t too proud to admit he’d crossed a line, it’d been way too many years of getting to know these space losers like the back of his hands. Besides, if he didn’t at least try to apologize, Lup and Magnus would keep shooting him disappointed looks and he couldn’t abide that. They were stuck on this metal tub for another eight months. Time to put on your big boy pants, Taako.

He knocked.

“Come in,” Lucretia’s watery voice answered. She probably thought it was Magnus or somebody, he was everybody’s go-to snugglebuddy. Taako slouched into the room, his eyes downcast and defensive, and didn’t look up until he was sitting backwards in her desk chair. She didn’t immediately tell him to leave, which was probably a good sign. When he got up the strength to meet her eyes, she did look surprised, and supremely unhappy.

“Nobody forced me in here,” he said. “Cap’nport grounded everybody pretty soon after you left.”

“Oh,” Lucretia said, scrubbing at her face. Taako crossed his arms on the back of the chair and rested his chin on them.

“Cha’boy got a little carried away,” he muttered. “And I’m sorry for chucking your movie, I didn’t know where it was from.”

Lucretia’s mouth quirked in a faint smile that didn’t reach her tired eyes. “I know it’s not the best movie of all time, but…”

“Doesn’t excuse me from acting like a jerk,” Taako shrugged. “Need to apologize to Merle at some point too, but I can do that later, Merle doesn’t hold grudges.” He sighed and sat up. “Anyway. One free meal, on the house. Anything you want.”

“Anything I want,” Lucretia repeated, and her eyes started filling up with tears. Taako felt a stab of alarm.

“Don’t do that, it’s—look, I know my cooking is the literal best, but—” Taako sputtered, his eyes wide with horror. Lucretia laughed, wiping her eyes, but it wasn’t a happy one.

“That’s just it,” she sniffed. “Taako, what I want more than anything is—is a lousy, greasy cheeseburger from that Fantasy McDonald’s in the IPRE food court.”

“That’s it?” Taako grimaced. “’Cretia, darling, I thought by now I’d beaten some taste into your head.”

“I know,” Lucretia nodded, her mouth buckling against a fresh wave of tears, “but—but—”

Taako let Lucretia cry for ten seconds before growling to himself and crossing the room, wrapping her up and pulling her against his chest, resting his cheek on her head. “Shh, bubelah, shh, it’s okay. I’ll make you the nastiest burger you’ve ever had, sshhh.”

Lucretia hiccuped a giggle against his shirt, her fingers curled into the fabric and her entire body trembling. Taako kept rubbing circles into her back, hoping to Pan, probably, that he was doing this right. He made soothing shushing sounds on-tempo with his ministrations, mimicking every time Magnus had done the same for a crew member that he’d been present for. After a few minutes, Lucretia’s sobs petered into sniffles again.

“I miss home,” Lucretia whispered, almost too quietly to hear. Taako’s heart wrenched violently in his chest.

“I do, too,” Taako murmured back. He gave her one last squeeze and let go, making his way to his feet. “Bad food has some artistry to it, I guess. I’ll see what I can whip up.”

“Thank you,” Lucretia said, and smiled, this time a true smile that lit up her whole face. Taako stored that away as a victory point in his favor and smiled back.

Long ago Davenport had mastered the art of keeping an eye on the various screens playing a feed of the common areas of the Starblaster while doing something else in the helm, checking up on his baby. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Taako sauntering into the galley a mere hour after banishing him to his room, but the kitchen was like a second room to the twins, so he paid it no mind.

It was the smell that caught his full attention.

He couldn’t tell on the screen exactly what Taako was doing, but he could smell hot oil and grilling meat. It was familiar enough that Davenport left the helm to see what he was doing. He found Taako with his hair pulled up, a manic expression on his face as he shaped meat patties in his hands. In the background, the stove was taken up by a huge griddle filled with patties, and a deep fryer Davenport didn’t remember them having bubbled away with something inside.

“This is a secret best lost to the void,” Taako muttered as Davenport floated himself up to the counter to sit and observe. “Capn’port, if anyone outside of this ship sees me doing this, it’s your job to kill me instantly and bury the evidence.”

“What exactly are you doing?” Davenport asked. Taako snapped his fingers and two baskets of fries lifted out of the grease of the deep fryer.

“Apologizing,” Taako muttered. “Whoever founded Fantasy McDonald’s should’ve been shot first.”

Davenport watched in muted amazement as Taako produced, with lots of wincing and swearing, a basic burger and fries. He thrust the plate at Davenport. “Try this and tell me if it’s close enough.”

Davenport gingerly lifted the top bun of the burger. Limpid lettuce, an indiscriminate glop of ketchup and mustard, two sad pickles, a slice of cheese from the bottom of the fridge, enough pepper on the patty to feel a sneeze coming on…it certainly looked similar. He took a bite. Taako watched him closely. Davenport chewed with his eyes closed, swallowed, and opened his eyes.

“Disgusting,” he said, and smiled. “It’s spot-on.”

“Of course it is,” Taako said, flipping patties onto a plate and putting raw meat on the griddle. “Call the dork patrol, would you? I made enough gross fatburgers for everyone.”

The reception of the mockup Fantasy McDonald’s cheeseburgers was mixed. Lup ate one and disowned him, then had some fries and took him back. Barry and Magnus, between them, ate twelve total and praised the likeness, though Barry took time to scrape everything off of his but the patty and Taako yelled at him a lot. Merle ate a bite and left the room to, in his own words, “evacuate my bowels before your nasty meat does.” (Later, Taako would yell his apology through the bathroom door and Merle would yell back his acceptance and everything would be cool there, because Merle, according to Taako, was a good person who wouldn’t guilt him into making disgusting food.)

Lucretia ate hers and grinned. When she was done, she hugged Taako tightly. “Thank you.”

“I am never making this again, so I hope you savored it,” Taako replied. Lucretia laughed. Davenport sat back with his plate of fries and drank in the bickering companionship that folded the Starblaster in.

It would be a long few months before they could get out of this plane. Davenport wasn’t particularly worried about it. He trusted his family to see themselves through it.

Even if they were a bunch of dumb babies sometimes.

#taz #quilly writing #ipre #stolen century

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