#oh yes and hopefully i can get an at-home job or a desk job of some kind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 1 year

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𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.

"Oh no," you murmur.

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual.

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.

"Is everything okay?"

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.

You beam.

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.

"Is something wrong?"

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.

"Should you tilt your head back?"

"I think that's a myth," you say.

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.

"How long do they usually last?"

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.

That could change any second, and it does.

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.

"I'm sorry," you say without looking.

"You don't have to clean up after anyone."

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."

You turn to face him.

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says.

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.

"What's special?"

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"

"About the mug."

You peer behind him.

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.

It's hard to describe why you like it so much.

"I see," Agent Hotchner says.

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.

"Here," Agent Hotchner says.

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.

"What were you saying about lead?"

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."

You nod brainlessly.

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.

"Come in," he says without looking up.

You take a cautious step.

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.

"Come in," he says again.

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.

"L/N?"

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"

"Hotch is fine."

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.

There's a small box on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk."

"Nothing to do with me."

"Think I should call the bomb squad?"

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.

"What are you?" you ask under your breath.

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.

Rest assured, made without lead.

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.

"What is it?" your desk mate asks.

"A present."

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.

He nods.

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.

"Me too."

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"

He thinks about it. "Can I try?"

"Of course you can."

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.

"Good job, buddy."

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."

"What did Cooper say?"

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"

"I haven't told dad."

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"

"He worries about everything."

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."

"He worries about everybody."

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."

Your stomach hurts.

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.

"Morgan, where's Jack?"

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.

"I didn't have him?"

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.

You gasp.

"Ouch," Jack moans.

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.

"What?" you ask.

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.

"I know."

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.

"I honestly didn't even feel it."

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.

It's cool against your neck.

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.

"A little."

"Well, Jack is very sorry."

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.

"How are you faring?" he asks.

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.

"I think I'll live," you say.

—

Jack sends you an apology card.

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.

"I'll catch up," he promises.

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.

"It's for you."

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.

The inside is even sweeter.

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon

Love, Jack Hotchner.

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."

"Friend," you repeat with a smile.

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."

"Purely for non-working hours."

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.

"He felt guilty."

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir."

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?"

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?"

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too.

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."

"Oh, honey," he says.

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.

"What?" you ask, perplexed.

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.

"Just a little."

"Sorry."

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."

"To do what?"

"To be this close."

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."

"Thank you, Hotch."

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.

So here you are.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."

"FernGully," you say, enthused.

"You'll like it."

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.

"And that's-"

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.

"More in the second one."

"There's two?"

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.

"No."

"You sure?"

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.

“Excitement- From me?” you ask.

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.

“Aaron,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.

He wakes to something much less idyllic.

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.”

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.

It starts bleeding immediately.

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious.

༺༻

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heeseung-min · 1 year

Text

[10:03]

"We got another case."

You looked to the older man bringing a file that contains some pictures and reports taken from the crime scene.

"Another one? Urgh, we don't even get to finish the latest two cases."

Jisung, the new kid groaning and knocked his head on the desk. Five months ago when he got transfered here, you can see his bright spirit but now it started to fade. You understood him. Three murder cases in a week. Your team has tried really hard finding solution but failed.

You took the case and analysed every pictures taken by the forensic team. It was an old man. Probably in his late 50s. His skull was broken and you can tell the damage was really bad when the brain looked like minced meat and few cuts on his body. The victim also lost their eyes. Looks like the eyes got pulled out by some force. Jisung beside you gagged after saw the pictures. You patted his back and told him to drink some water and eat.

"Whoever did this, they are literally a psycho. They also took off the victim's clothes and hang it like a flag. Crazy bastard."

Your leader complained. He looked like he wanted to give up on the case. The murder cases keep increasing and the killer is still in the town. Not only that, the residents also critized polices, accusing them for not doing the job properly.

"You should get rest too, Y/n. You and Jisung didn't get enough rest nowadays. That poor boy probably went to sleep already."

"I will, Mr. Kim. Please take a rest too. Your wife must be worried."

You bid him and Jisung goodbye. Everyone is stress from the work. You bought some pastries and coffee before come back to home.

"You are back, honey? Take a shower and have breakfast with me?"

It's your husband, Jay. He took a glance at you then focusing back on his cooking. You are very grateful having him. He really loves you. The way he takes care of you is different with other people in the world. You did as what he said. Take your time in the bathroom for 20 minutes and went to the dining table with him sitting across from you.

"Is the work difficult?" He concernedly asked when he saw how tired you look. You nodded your head slowly and started to eat the meal.

"Mrs.Min told me her husband hasn't come back home for a week. But then, the new case that came in today is about her husband. The team found the body in the woods."

You looked at him warily. Waiting for his reaction. He did nothing except chewing on his food. When he finally swallowed it, he turned to you.

"The eyes are gone right? And the brain was smashed."

"I...I didn't say about his condition."

He laughed. Your instict is right.

"Oops! You caught me."

He continued back eating his food like nothing happen. Your hands shaking a bit because of nervous.

"You did it again...."

"I had too, darling."

"What is the reason for this time?"

You had thought he finally stopped doing it. But when you see the cuts on the victim's body. You quickly remember the same pattern Jay did to someone else. Yes, your husband is the killer for the new case you got this morning.

"Oh, darling. It's too much. He is too much. The way his eyes lingering on you too long, the way he sometimes make his finger accidentally touches yours when you give something for his family, the way he sometimes tried to touch your body. I could list more but that just few of it. I really wish I can do more to his body. I made him watch his own dick got stepped by me. Sick old fuck."

It's scary. Jay is scary.

But, do you hate it?

No. Never. You love him despite all the bad things he had done.

"Thank you."

"I did everything for you, my love. I hate when people overstep their boundaries."

"I know. Thank you for protecting me."

And that's why the case will turn to a cold one. It will remain unsolve forever.

---

Ayo, that looks creepy and scary💀🤚Im sorry if that makes you uncomfortable...i didnt expected i wrote that. But, hopefully you guys enjoy it.

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @duolingofanaccount

#yandere kpop #yandere enhypen #kpop yandere #lee heeseung #enha x reader #nishimura riki #kim sunoo #park jongseong #park sunghoon #yandere au #sim jaeyun #yang jungwon #yandere drabble #yandere jongseong #yandere jay #yandere enha #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen

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wave2love · 9 months

Text

✧ my lovely love 𖥔˙̣

01. “why are you here?”

IN WHICH, choi y/n after finally landing a job after many many interviews finds out his new boss is the boy that broke his heart many years ago in highschool. can the two become friends again and maybe more or will it once again end in tragedy with y/n crying on the floor of his room for days left to pick up the pieces of his once again broken heart.

⌗ warningz — none :: wc — 757

⌗ lowercase intended

˚₊꒷ʚ﹕previous — masterlist — next

— “i gotta get to the interview love you yunjin!! i’ll call you after don’t worry.” i say before i step into the building for my latest interview. “goodluck y/n!!” yunjin and chaewon scream at me through the phone.

i take a deep breath before entering. I can do this. hopefully.. i walk up to the front desk, “hi! i’m here for an interview.” “name?” the lady asks. “choi y/n” i state with a smile. “the interviewers will see you on the 4th floor. you may head to the elevators and make your way up.” “thank you!”

the interview goes by quickly and i'm pretty happy by the time it ends, the interviewers looked content too. and one of them was kinda fine... i think his name tag said keeho. but it's time to get home and call everyone.

"... i'm getting another call i'll call you back." i say. "screw you, you better call back or i'm hunting you down." i hear from yunjin.

"hello, my name is yoon keeho. is this choi y/n?" said the man on the phone. oh. it's the cute guy from the interview. "yes, this is he." i reply as quickly as i can process. "i am calling to inform you that you got the job. if you wish to accept you can start as soon as monday." "yes yes oh my god yes i accept." i say as happy as one could possibly be holding back from screaming. "very well, we will see you monday mr. choi." "yes thank you so much!" It went so quickly. i got the job. i got the job. oh my god i need to tell everyone.

⌗ monday morning

“good morning! my names choi y/n, I’m supposed to be starting work today could you tell me where I should be heading?” “hello and good morning mr. choi, someone will be down shortly to show you around and introduce you to the boss since you will be his new secretary. I wish you the best of luck with that the boss is a bit unwelcoming to newcomers but i think you can do it” she gives me a reassuring smile and tells me her name is sooha. she was working when i had my interview. “nice to meet you sooha.” i give her a small smile to make it less awkward.

“morning sooha!” I hear a voice from behind say. his accent sounds.. australian. “morning jake.” she gives him a polite smile. “ah yes, y/n this is jake he’ll be showing you around today.” “sim jaeyun, but you can call me jake, nice to meet you.” he gives me this huge grin and reaches out his hand for what i assume to be a handshake. “choi y/n, nice to meet you as well jake.” i shake his hand and give him a small smile a bit unsure of what to do.

“alright so y/n i’ll be showing you around today and since you’ll be our lovely bosses new secretary you’ll meet him later today. he just has a meeting or two this morning so that’s why i’m here to show you around!” jake seems nice i guess.. “thanks jake! i hope the two of us can become friends.”

⌗ later that day

“..okay so that was my totally well thought out tour of our lovely building! i think it’s time to meet the boss.” he gives me this big grin. it’s kinda unnerving. a guy walks through the big glass door and jake walks up him with a big smile on his face “jay, how were the meetings! i gotta introduce you to someone.”

we made eye contact. it’s jay. jongseong if you will. the boy who broke my heart that fateful day many years ago. my new boss.

“why are you here?”

jake elbows him and gives him a look. i’ll just play it off like i don’t know what he’s talking about. i need this job. i reach my hand out to shake his hand. acting to the best of my abilities i greet him, “hello! i’m choi y/n nice to meet you, i’m your new secretary. i look forward to working with you.” i give him a polite smile and he seems taken aback by all of it, i guess he thought i would say something. he clears his throat. “oh um yes. park jongseong, you can refer to me as mr. park or jay. i look forward to working with you as well mr. choi.”

˚₊꒷ʚ﹕previous — masterlist — next

⌗ karma’s corner ᵎᵎ chapter 1… hope u guys #enjoy cz this was acc fun to write… i hope my writing makes sense ❤️ omw to get food chapter 2 out like thursday 🔥 ok bye hope this wasn’t cringey

taglist ᵎᵎ comment or send an ask to be added — @junjiie @kpopstanmeg @stvrboy-k

don’t steal my work xoxo — © wave2love

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omegaprotocol · 4 months

Text

Hailey Meets Dr. Rovert

Hailey wakes up in her home alone. She takes a shower, gets dressed, and sits down on her couch in front of her TV to open her laptop and read the damage. She checks her emails and sees that she has ten more rejected job offers. She closes her eyes and breathes heavily hoping that when she opens them again that the problem will be gone. She thinks about what she should’ve done differently but she can’t think of anything. She would either have to build an ultimate weapon or lose everything that she worked for since middle school. Its a lose lose no matter how you slice it. She opens her eyes again and checks her phone. Turns out that she has two missed calls. One from Jason, and one from an unknown number. She turns on the voicemails and listens.

“Hey, Hailey, It’s Jason. But you probably already knew from caller ID. Uh, I know that you're having a tough time right now with the jobs and everything so I wanted to say that if you needed help with anything just let me know. I’m gonna be at the Fareway for lunch today so if you want to meet me there we could talk about it. Or just hang out, that works too. Umm, ok bye.” Hailey laughs at the awkwardness of the voice mail. Some things never change. She opens the next voicemail.

“Hello Dr. O’hara, this is Dr. Rovert, the dean of the Rosen Institute of Technology. I wanted to talk to you about your application to be a professor at our school.” Hailey’s face lights up, as this is the first real response she has gotten from anyone in days. “I had some things I wanted to discuss with you if you're interested before offering you the position. If you're still looking for the opportunity, why don’t you stop by my office today at the university at around 1:00. Thank you for your time, have a good one.” After the voicemail ends, Hailey screams. She looks at the time on her phone. 12:40. She immediately enters panic mode and drops everything to get ready and out the door as quickly as possible.

Later when Hailey gets to the university, she walks into the pristine front office. Everything is totally new and spotless. Hailey expected nothing less from an ivy league school. She checked the time, 1:03 pm, hopefully she wasn’t too late. She steps up to the secretary.

“Hello, I’m Dr. O’hara here to see Dr. Rovert.”

“What time was your appointment?”

“1:00”

“Hmm, I’m not seeing anything on Dr. Rovert’s schedule for 1:00, are you sure that is the time?”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure, I had received a voice mail from him asking me to be here at one.”

“Ok, well I’ll let him know you're here, so it will just be a moment. You can go ahead and have a seat until he is ready for you.

“Yeah, no problem, thank you.” Hailey picks one of the many uncomfortable chairs to sit in, and contemplates what she is going to say. After pushing the hair out of her eyes for the millionth time, she worries about whether Dr. Rovert will bring up the latest buzz about her career, or worse, the defense grant. She sits in agony in anticipation as time seems to slow to a stop. It had only been two minutes.

“Dr. Rovert is ready for you, just go ahead and head inside.” Shocked by the break in silence, Hailey jolts up and walks into the office. Inside she finds a well dressed man in a suit, sitting at his desk surrounded by books about various topics.

“Ah, Dr. O’hara, so nice of you to drop by. Please, have a seat.”

“Of course, and thanks for replying to my application.”

“Absolutely, after all it did seem strange to see your name appear on the applicant sheet. The job listing seemed a bit below your station, and I just wanted to make sure you knew that we were just looking for a professor to teach intro level courses.

“Yes I’m aware. I wanted to put my hat in the ring for a change of pace from my usual work, ya’know? Figured I could give teaching a try.”

“Oh yeah, I get it, I mean getting to be on the cutting edge of robotics I’m sure is super tiring work.”

“Yes it is. And to be honest I don’t know if I’m really cut out for it.”

“Oh nonsense. I’ve read your books, and more importantly your dissertation, and I have to say, I am very impressed with your work. Truly you are ahead of your time when it comes to learning algorithms.” Hailey is a bit taken back by the compliment. It’s a nice change of pace from the things her colleagues are saying about her.

“Thank you so much, it really means alot to hear that.”

“Of course.” There is a small pause while Dr. Rovert contemplates how to say what he wants to say next. “I did however want to address the elephant in the room.” Hailey’s heart drops as her worst fears come true. “You lost the International Defense Grant. And despite frankly being over qualified for the position, I wanted to ask from a first hand source what happened. I heard many rumors from word of mouth but it felt unfair to make my own judgment without hearing from you first.” Hailey breathes in deep.

“Yes, well, it was unfortunate what happened. I programmed and made several systems as requested by the government, but unfortunately they were not satisfied with the final product and provided corrections. I changed my programs to compensate and was successful in all my changes and even delivered before the deadline, but the government was moving in a different direction so they decided they would go with someone else.” The words felt like glue trying to leave her mouth. Every word made Hailey angrier and angrier remembering how Roland had dismissed her like nothing. And even worse, now she was trying to relay that to her next potential employer who had no reason to believe her.

“I see… So if you don’t mind me asking, what are you working on now? No one has really heard from you in a few weeks after what happened.”

“Well, right now I’m in the process of writing a new book, it’s only in the beginning stages but I feel like it’s a topic that is very relevant to the future of robotics, true AI.”

“Ah yes, correct me if I’m wrong but that was the topic of your dissertation.

“Yes it was.”

“Have you built any prototypes of a project like that? Even just a proof of concept I feel would be rather impressive.”

“Yes, actually, I do.” Hailey opens up her laptop that she had brought with her and opened her rough drafts for the Omega Protocol. Many of the vital parts of the code were missing, and Hailey had made sure of it so Dr. Rovert couldn't see anything that would compromise Omega’s safety. Dr. Rovert however was very interested in her rough drafts.

“Wow, amazing. Well I think with that we can go ahead and conclude the interview. I think as of right now, you are just far too qualified for the position, and to be honest the pay really doesn’t reflect your academic achievements.” Hailey was overcome with dread as she heard those words. Feeling like she was back to square one, she began to pick up her laptop and was fully ready to cry in the car. “But, I think that we can come to a compromise. The university could really use classes about learning algorithms and AI. Just teach one or two higher level courses, and publish your book through the university press, and I will raise the annual salary to match your merit, and hire you for the start of next semester. What do you say?”

Hailey couldn’t believe the roller coaster of emotions. She was so happy, she felt like she could just scream at the top of her lungs. It was finally over, and now she could get back to getting her life back to normal. However, that would be unbefitting of a new professor.

“That sounds more than generous Dr. Rovert. I would love to teach here.”

“Perfect, I’ll have Susan upfront give you all the paperwork.” Hailey exits the office feeling like the world is finally breaking her way. She signs all the paperwork and goes to her car and immediately calls Jason.

“You’ll never guess what happened!”

“What?”

“I have a new job! I’m a professor at an ivy league school!”

“Hailey, that’s awesome! I knew you could do it! See? It’s only a matter of time before we get everything all figured out, now all we gotta do is handle the whole saving the world thing. Easy peasy.”

Meanwhile back in Dr. Rovert’s Office, Dr. Rovert walks out to talk to his secretary.

“Susan? Can you make sure that a second key is made for Dr. O’hara’s new office? I want to have a spare just in case. And also get agent Roland back on the phone. Tell him that I’m accepting the defense grant offer. I have some new ideas that I think would solve our alien problem.” Susan timidly looks down at her keyboard as if she’s afraid to speak up.

“Yes sir, right away Dr. Rovert.” Without saying a word, Dr. Rovert walks back into his office and shuts the door. He grabs Hailey’s book that he had sitting on his desk and throws it into the trash with a disgusted look on his face

#comics #ocs #omega protocol #original story #superhero #superheroes #original character

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brutashaphilindaandsylkiohmy · 2 years

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Hello friends. It's been quite a while.

Okay, okay I get it. I disappeared off the face of the planet without much explanation. All I can say is I graduated college, started a big adult person job, and am kinda sorta in a relationship so... things got hectic very quickly.

That being said, I had an epiphany while taking a shower the other night.

Does anybody remember something very crackheaded that I threw together titled Stranded?

For those who don't know (of which I'm sure there are many), Stranded was a Phil Coulson/Melinda May fanfic idea that stemmed from another fanfic I read that still makes me all gooey inside when I read it named Finding Home. (GIVE IT A READ IT'S ON AO3 AND OH MY GOD IT'S AMAZING)

Basically, May gets stuck in a tiny town when her rental car decides to straight up stop working. Insert handsomely dorky mechanic Phil Coulson and his soccer star daughter Daisy. Through the power of convenience and necessity, Coulson and May fall in love. I won't ruin the ending even though it's pretty predictable.

At least... I thought it was the end.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I PRESENT TO YOU... A SHORT PREVIEW OF STRANDED CHAPTER 6.

Enjoy if you want 😅

---

"Sir, he has yet to respond to our communique."

"I told you, Sanderson, we have to play it by ear with him."

"Sir we can't afford to wait much longer. There are other mechanics."

"Not like this one."

"I understand sir but we have missions to complete and-"

"Then complete them."

"Well we tried but the... the Quinjet isn't repaired yet and-"

"So you need a mechanic."

"Well, yes sir we do."

"He's a mechanic."

"But there are others who have expressed interest in joining us already. We wouldn't have to wait on them."

"Then bring them the hell in. I'll keep an eye on this recruit myself."

"Pardon me sir I just don't understand your... affinity for this one. He's just a civilian like all the others were when they signed up. What makes this one so different?"

Fury's eyes glanced up at the date glowing silently on the holoscreen in front of him. April 4th, 2012. Exactly one month remaining.

"Approve the other recruits. Bring them in and start their damn training. You're dismissed."

Sanderson's footsteps left his office after a quick but hesitant "yes sir". Fury sat down in the chair behind his desk, his one good eye focused on the bloodstained Captain America card in its plexiglass case across the room. Right beside the card was a letter, signed by Melinda May... announcing her resignation from ops.

"I braved hell and high water to get here, Phil. I failed you both before. I'm not about to do it again."

---

Don't worry, it won't be The Avengers. That would be boring. Nope, this is gonna be... chaotic with plenty of Philinda and the twins! And also Daisy of course. Timeline-hopping Fury is gonna be...an interesting addition. Lots of Fury getting to know what Papa Phil is like and coming to terms with how different he is. Hopefully it gets finished and put up soon... but until then, keep checking back for updates. 😅

I also understand that there seems to be way more dialogue. It won't be like this when the chapter comes out. I'm still tossing around ideas in my head and dialogue is always the first things sorted, so that's why there isn't much in the way of world-building or anything like that. It'll be much better when it's done I promise!

I love you all! ❤️

#phil coulson #agents of shield #melinda may #philinda #what if #this is gonna be a hot mess #nick fury agent of shield #nick fury

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shakespeareanwannabe · 2 years

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One Hell of a Year: August

Summary: When Molly Henderson makes the move from Chicago to Lockhart, Texas, she doesn’t expect much. A new teaching job, a new community, and maybe a few new friends, but what she didn’t expect was to meet Michael Perry, a man with a heart of gold, October eyes, and a smile that made her tummy do a strange little flip-flop. With Michael by her side, Molly finds that she may just be able to not only find a life in Lockhart, but thrive there as well.

Divider created by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: swearing

Disclaimer: I don’t own Michael Perry or Won’t Back Down.

Molly Henderson breathed deeply as she stepped into Jefferson Elementary School for the second time. Ironically, this time seemed harder than the first time, and the first time had been for her interview. The first time, she had just been thankful to get an interview for a teaching position when she had no connections in Lockhart, Texas anymore.

Now, she knew what a challenge she had in front of her. Though the principal and board representative had basically handed her the job, the school had a C rating. Getting any form of involvement from the parents and students would be a struggle, but she had wanted to make a difference in the world, so, instead of packing it in and going back to Chicago with her tail tucked between her legs, Molly stood with a box of supplies in her arms as she breathed in the scent of the front foyer. The nerves and excitement had kept her up all night, and the anxiety coursing through her veins made her knees tremble.

“Ah, Ms. Henderson. I’m glad you’re here.”

Molly turned at the sound. “Principal Mendez, good morning.”

The petite woman began ushering her down the hall. “I’m so sorry to do this, but my son just called and I have to run home for a few hours. I’ll walk you through your orientation when I get back, but you can start setting up your classroom for now, okay?”

Molly was already nodding. “Absolutely, no problem. I hope everything is okay.”

Principal Mendez nodded with a kind smile on her face. “Thank you. My daughter is sick and my son apparently can’t handle it.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Teenagers.”

Molly chuckled lightly. “That’s why I stick with elementary. I remember what I was like as a teen, and I couldn’t handle teaching 30 mini-me’s.”

Principal Mendez laughed and came to a stop in front of a room. “Here we are. Room 17, your home for this year and hopefully many more.”

Molly peeked in through the cracked door and felt a rush of excitement. The walls were bare. Twenty-seven desks and chairs were pushed to the sides of the room, and grey curtains were pulled across what looked to be large windows. So much potential, and it was all hers to mold.

“It looks perfect, Principal Mendez.”

“Good, I’m glad,” the older woman smiled. “Our custodian is down that hall and to the left if you need any help, and our secretaries would be more than happy to assist you, I’m sure. Oh, and…” she trailed off as she beckoned Molly to the room across the hall, Room 16, where the lights were on, and the faint sound of folk music was drifting through the open door. “Michael?”

“Yes, ma’am?” a cheerful voice called out as the music was turned off.

Principal Mendez pushed the door open and urged Molly into view.

“Molly Henderson, this is Michael Perry, our fifth-grade teacher. Michael, this is Molly. She’s joining our staff as the new fourth-grade teacher. I was hoping you could help show Molly around and introduce her to some of the other teachers while I run home to make sure my house hasn’t turned into a disaster zone.”

Molly’s first impression was that the man had a really nice ass. Really, it was her only impression because she couldn’t see his face. All she could see were his jeans straining around his hips and ass as he bent low to the ground to finish stapling some green paper to a bulletin board. She had to keep herself from biting her lip and making a noise that would most certainly get her fired before she even started.

Her second impression, as he slowly straightened and turned towards the door, was that the man had a really nice everything. His grey T-shirt clung to his arms and chest just right, his black hair had the most adorable sprinkle of grey, his eyes were warm and welcoming, and his smile made her feel like she was in middle school again with a crush on the cute boy down the hall.

“Hey, nice to meet you!” he strode over to the door, hand outstretched to shake.

Shit, even his voice was really nice, and when she shook his hand, she felt the blood rush to her face as his warm hand completely engulfed hers.

Internally shaking her head, she pulled herself together enough to smile and thank him. “It’s really nice to meet you too. I’m happy to be here.”

“Girl, you are here to teach. Don’t blow it for the first hot guy you see,” she scolded herself. “We have worked too hard for this.”

“I look forward to working with you,” Michael smiled, releasing her hand. “And not a problem, Renata. I’m sure between Molly and I, we can get everything done.”

Principal Mendez smiled and nodded, her heels tapping on the floor as she hastened away.

Molly turned back to Michael and smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay on my own. It’s not my first time setting up a classroom.”

Michael chuckled. “Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour. If I stay in this room one more second, I’m gonna start second guessing every design choice I made and end up tearing it all down.”

Molly stepped inside and looked around. Everything was bright and colourful with inspirational quotes and anchor charts covering the walls. It looked homey and warm, ready to be learned in and lived in.

“I think you did good,” she murmured, not catching the soft smile on Michael’s face as he watched her.

“Well, thank you. Now, I humbly offer you my design talents for your own room,” he announced with a bow.

She couldn’t help the bright giggle that escaped. “Oh, I didn’t realize that I was in the presence of classroom décor royalty.”

Michael nodded emphatically. “I don’t offer my services to just anyone.” He nodded at the box in her hands. “Is that your stuff?” At her nod, he reached for the box. “Let me get that for you. I’m assuming you’ve got more in your car or something?”

Molly giggled again. “Obviously.”

“Well, then let’s get to work.”

Molly and Michael awkwardly side stepped down the hall carrying a large green container between them.

“What do you have in this thing, bricks?” he joked, angling himself through the doorway backwards.

“What would you say if I said yes?” she sassed, lowering her end of the container to the ground, and letting out a deep sigh.

“I’d say you’re crazy,” he laughed as he copied her actions. “But then again, you have to be a little bit crazy to do this job, so you’d be in the right place.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Molly giggled and hauled herself up on one of the student desks to sit. “So, I take it that means you’re crazy too?”

“Oh definitely,” Michael replied as he perched halfway on the large desk that was now hers. “You’ll hear rumors when you meet the rest of the staff. I’m the crazy ukulele guy from Pittsburgh in Room 16.”

“Oh, crazy ukulele guy and décor royalty. You wear a lot of hats, Mr. Perry.” They laughed together for a moment, and Molly fought the chills that were tempted to crawl up her spine at the sight of his laugh lines. Ugh, even his laugh lines were cute. Less than half a day with this guy, and she already wanted to fall all over him. She subtly pinched her thigh and smiled at him. “So, Pittsburgh huh? How’d you end up in the Lonestar state?”

Michael smiled down into his lap. “Uh, long story? Short version is that I was born here and decided it was time to come back home. Is it cool if we end the story there?”

Molly held her hands up in a sign of peace. “No worries. I have clearly stepped over the boundary between co-worker and friend. Let me reel myself back in.” She stood and cracked open the green container on the floor. She picked up an item from the container and held it out to him. “Here. A peace offering to make up for the first of many social snafus I will undoubtedly find myself in this year.”

He smiled softly at her and allowed his fingers to brush hers as he took the outstretched object. “Hamlet for Kids?” he read the title aloud.

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I’ve got class sets of pretty much every age-appropriate play he wrote. The language is the same, but they take out some of the lewder material. Romeo and Juliet still have their farewell on the balcony after their wedding, but its not so obvious that it’s taking place the morning after they’ve banged each other’s brains out, y’know?”

He grinned at her and chuckled lightly. “You’ve taught this before to kids?”

She brushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, depending on the class. The classes that were struggling would only do scenes in drama to improve their vocabulary and give them a chance to get out of their seats. Other classes would read the whole play and do character studies and stuff. It just depends.” She shrugged. “I’d usually let them vote on which play to read too.”

Michael bent over to look through the piles of books in the container, and Molly forcibly dragged her eyes away from his ass.

“You got a favourite?” he asked, picking up a well-used copy of A Midsummer Nights Dream.

“To teach? Gotta be Midsummer. The kids really get into the whole half man/half donkey thing,” she giggled. “But to read? It’s a toss up between King Henry the Fourth Part 1 and Much Ado About Nothing.” She looked up and noticed the soft smile on his face. “Oh god, did I do it again? Am I talking too much? Two social snafus in one afternoon? I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he soothed with a soft look in his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just thinking…”

Against her better judgement, she stepped closer to him, enough to smell the spicy aftershave that lingered near him. “Good things, I hope.”

He met her gaze, a hint of something in his eyes, and nodded. “Yeah…I was just thinking that you might be just what this school has been missing.”

Thankfully, Molly made it through the rest of the morning with Michael Perry without sticking her foot in her mouth or her tongue down his throat.

He had helped her get her inspirational posters hung just right on the walls, the bulletin boards looking cheery and bright. A professional looking calendar had been drawn on one of the blackboards, ready and waiting to be filled in with the day’s activities. In addition to her class sets of Shakespeare for Kids, she had also brought enough kids and young adult books to build a cute little book nook in one corner, draping gauzy material from the ceiling to form a large tent that she then filled with pillows so her kids would have a comfortable place to go if they got overwhelmed and needed an escape.

Speaking of her kids, she had enlisted Michael’s help in grouping the desks together in small pods, and their names were plastered across the classroom door on large stars. Her classroom was as ready as it could be, and she felt like she had taken the first step towards feeling at home.

Now, she was sitting at a small table with Michael in the staff room as Renata spoke with the staff about new board guidelines and expectations for the coming year, all stuff she had spoken about during her interview.

“And before I let you all go, and I know you’re all dying to get out of here and squeeze out the last few drops of summer,” Renata paused as the staff laughed. “I just wanted to introduce our newest staff member, Molly Henderson, who is taking over our grade 4 class.” Molly felt her face flush as some of the staff gave her a welcoming applause, Michael clapping the loudest from beside her. “I trust you all will make her feel welcome here. Now, get out of here. I’ll see you bright and early on the first day back.”

Molly grinned as Renata led the charge out of the staff room, knowing she could email her new principal if she had any questions prior to the first day.

“Hey, a bunch of us are heading over to Kreuz’s for a late lunch, if you want to join,” Michael murmured quietly.

Molly blinked. “Kreuz’s?”

“Yeah,” Michael chuckled. “Oh, you are clearly not from around here, huh?”

She bit down on her lip and shrugged timidly. “What gave me away?”

“Only not knowing the best barbecue place in all of Texas!” Michael nudged her elbow gleefully. “You’re definitely coming now.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Molly tried to dissuade him.

“You wouldn’t be intruding. I want you to come,” he leaned down to meet her gaze and gave her the most adorable pair of puppy dog eyes that she had ever seen. “Please?”

Unbidden, a smile pulled on her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I guess I can come.”

“Yes!” Michael pumped his fist, pulling a giggle from her throat. “If you want, you can follow me in your car or you can just come with me and I can drop you back here later.”

Molly always told her students that there would come a time when a single decision would change the course of their entire lives. When she was teaching in Chicago, a lot of the time she was talking about the decision to join a gang or stay on the straight and narrow. Here in a C rated school, it would probably be the decision to drop out or stick it out. She didn’t know it then, but this was her moment.

“I’ll come with you.”

Michael drove a little blue Nissan.

“It was my car in college,” he shrugged as he wrenched the passenger side door open with a shrug. “I got around alright on public transit in Pittsburgh, so I left it out here.”

Molly held up her hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Michael shook his head with a grin as he slid into the driver’s seat. “You’d be surprised by how many people are surprised by my car. Everyone always thinks I drive a big truck or something.”

It was Molly’s turn to shrug. “Most guys who drive big trucks are usually compensating for something anyway.” When her brain caught up to what her mouth had said, she buried her head in her hand with a grimace. “I swear, I’m not normally like this.”

The sound of Michael’s laugh filled her with warmth. “It’s okay, I like it. It’s honestly kinda badass that you say what you want without fear, and it’s pretty cute when you get embarrassed by it.”

Molly snorted, only taking a second to reprimand herself for making such an unladylike sound in front of possibly the hottest and nicest guy she had ever met.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to live with this big mouth of mine. My mom always told me that a proper lady should be seen and not heard.”

“Wow, that’s very 17th century of her, no offense.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest and curling into herself slightly. “No, don’t worry about it. Literally nothing you say about my mother could offend me because it’s all true.” She caught sight of his sympathetic stare and lurched forward, finger jabbing the power button on his stereo system. “Sorry, do you mind?” she asked quickly, turning the dial on the volume up slightly. “I get car sick if there’s no background music.”

“Hey, no worries. Do what you’ve got to do.”

Molly fiddled with her hands in her lap for a moment. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk about her mom and her childhood with this incredibly kind almost-stranger that she was riding with. Something about Michael made her incredibly bold and open with her words, but that was exactly the problem. She was barely friends with this guy and she was already willing to spill her guts to him. What would happen if they got closer? Became friends? More than? She couldn’t risk it, not now. Not when she was just getting settled into a new city and a new job. “No more newness,” she promised herself silently.

Silently, she bit her thumbnail and stared out the window at the passing scenery. No more newness. There had been too much new in her life recently, and it had turned her life upside down and inside out. She needed something constant. Something sturdy.

“A new friend might be just the thing…” a voice whispered in her mind, and Molly closed her eyes heavily.

“Sorry,” she sighed, finally looking up to stare at his profile. “It’s just a touchy subject, y’know?”

“No problem, sweetheart,” Michael replied calmly, and she could tell he actually meant it. “We’re all allowed to have our privacy. Just know that, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. Judgement free zone, I promise,” he peeked over at her with a grin, and she felt something inside her melt.

“Thanks, Michael,” she murmured. They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Molly’s ears perked up. “You’re a Johnny Cash fan?”

He smiled embarrassedly. “Guilty.”

“What is there to be guilty about? The Man in Black is pretty badass.”

Michael’s giggle bubbled up between them. “Surprisingly, you are not the first to tell me that.”

“Your friend has good taste,” she smiled. “He really didn’t give a damn about anything but his wife, his kids, and his music, y’know? If only we could all find that passion.”

Michael smiled at her as he pulled into the parking lot at Kreuz Market. “Well, isn’t that our job? If everyone was born knowing their passion, what would we do?”

Molly smiled brightly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You know what I’m passionate about right now?”

Molly shook her head, a small smile still tugging on her lips. Idly, she thought that she hadn’t smiled this much in a very long time. “What are you passionate about right now, Mr. Perry?”

He pointed towards the restaurant. “Getting some delicious barbecue into my mouth as soon as possible.”

Molly fell back against her seat, giggling. “Well, apparently it is my job to help people find their passions, so let’s go.”

“Alright, team, how’re we doing this?” Michael rubbed his hands together eagerly as the smoky, spicy, tangy scent of the barbecue pit wafted towards them.

Lauren and Alex, two teachers from the primary cohort who had joined them on their little lunch outing, laughed.

“Dude, I’ve never seen anyone get as excited about food as you do,” Lauren teased.

“Are you kiddin’?” Alex argued, his smile stretching across his cheeks. “It’s Kreuz’s! You, my new friend,” he addressed Molly. “Are in for a treat.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like his planning an incursion while talking about the food,” Lauren teased, prompting Alex into a heated debate about living to eat vs. eating to live.

“Typical,” Michael sighed with a smile on his face. “Those two have worked together for so long that the littlest thing can prompt a very loving debate between them. But, while they’re distracted, I can introduce you to the best barbecue in Texas.”

“That’s a bold claim,” Molly stated, but, based on smell alone, she had to admit that the place probably came close. Plus, the menu hanging over the counter advertised large portions of her favourite comfort foods.

“Trust me, honey, once you taste it, you’ll understand,” Michael smiled, pressing a hand between her shoulder blades to angle her towards the menu, and, luckily, missing the shy smile that appeared when he called her ‘honey’.

“Alright, Mr. Perry, you’re on,” she teased. “Now, what did you mean ‘how do you want to do this’?”

“Well, there are a couple of different ways we can order our food. Number one, we all just order for ourselves and take any leftovers home. Economical, but not exactly fun. Number two, we each order our favourites, take them out to a picnic table and eat family style, splitting the bill four ways. That’s my favourite way to order here.”

She smiled at him, feeling drawn into his enthusiasm. “Okay, that sounds good to me. But, I don’t know what my favourite is so I don’t really know what to order.”

Michael let his hand drift from her back to her shoulder, his arm resting against the back of her neck. “Well, I usually get the spareribs and cole slaw. Lauren typically goes for the turkey breast and potatoes. Alex likes to get a couple of sausage coils and beans,” Michael shrugged. “Go with your gut.”

Molly considered the menu. “What if…I got two half chickens? And I guess I’ll get the mac n’ cheese?”

Michael smiled softly down at her, and she felt something melt inside of her for the second time that day. “Perfect. Do you want to grab Thing One and Thing Two over there and get a table? I’ll put in our order and be right there.”

Molly nodded as he removed his hand from her shoulder, his face betraying a little embarrassment at being so forward, but she found herself missing the warmth it had provided.

As Michael stepped forward to the counter, Molly stepped back and followed as Lauren and Alex led the way to a nice picnic table under a shady tree out back of the meat market.

Settling in on the worn bench seat, Molly pulled out her sunglasses and perched them on the end of her nose, crossing her arms and breathing in the fresh Texas summer air.

“So, new girl, what’s your story?” Alex sighed, propping his elbow up on Lauren’s shoulder.

“Dude!” Lauren shoved him off. “Don’t be a dick. Sorry,” she turned back to Molly. “He’s better with first graders than with adults.”

Molly giggled. “Aren’t we all?”

“True.” They all chuckled. “No, but seriously,” Lauren continued. “You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay. There’s just…not much to tell,” Molly grimaced through a smile and hoped they wouldn’t notice.

Luckily, Alex shrugged. “Well, feel free to share whatever you want. We’re a pretty tight-knit group here, and we try not to judge. I’m sure we’ll be fast friends in no time.”

Molly smiled, warmly this time. “Thanks, Alex. That means a lot. I really hope that’s true.”

“Hmmm,” Lauren hummed with a small smirk on her face. “I agree, even if it looks like Michael wants to be more than just friends with you.”

Molly felt her face flush and was grateful for the hot summer sun for the unintentional cover it provided for her emotional state. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Girl, I have known Michael for five years, ever since he started at Jefferson. I have never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you, and that includes the girl he dated for like six months when he first moved here.”

Molly tightened her crossed arms around herself. “Honestly, I just met him. I barely know him.”

Alex scoffed and nudged Lauren in the ribs. “Now who’s being a dick?” He leaned across the table and put his hand on Molly’s forearm. “Look, honey. Nobody’s saying you’ve got designs on the hot, single teacher across the hall. But…” he shrugged. “Nobody would blame you if you did.”

“I…uh…”

“Lunch is served, kiddos. Get it while it’s hot!” Michael crowed, coming up behind them and causing Molly to jump out of her skin.

Alex popped out of his seat and grabbed the bottles of beer off the top tray while Lauren grabbed the bag of paper plates and plastic utensils off Michael’s pinky as he lowered the tin trays of steaming food down onto the wooden table.

“Sorry, Molly. I didn’t ask what you wanted to drink, so I got you a beer. But if you don’t want one, I can go grab you a lemonade or something,” Michael offered, looking almost disappointed that he may have screwed up her order.

“No, no, it’s okay!” she was quick to reassure him. “Beer is great.”

He smiled softly at her and used her shoulder for balance as he slid into the seat next to her. “Great.”

Lauren quickly used the bottle opener on her keychain to pop the caps of the four beer bottles. “Cheers! To new friends, good food, and surviving until Thanksgiving break!”

“I will drink to that!” Alex moaned as he raised his bottle high.

Michael winked conspiratorially at her as he nudged last beer bottle in her direction, and Molly felt herself flush.

Ready or not, it was going to be one hell of a year.

Tags List: @budcooper , @wasicskosgirl, @aellynera, @beenthroughalot, @itspdameronthings

#michael perry #michael perry x molly henderson #michael perry imagine #wont back down fic #wont back down #one hell of a year fic #oscar issac #oscar isaac characters

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talia-rumlow · 1 year

Text

My Saviour (Rumlow X Reader) Chapter Thirtynine - What´s Wrong With You, Brock?

Rumlows Pov

Fuck, you should never have called it pillow talk. You didn’t mean it like that. And now, now, you’ve hurt her. Did you really think this relationship would work? You being an Agent, and she… She being the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. So sweet, innocent. Not exactly the girl for you, right? Fuck, Brock! How stupid can you be?

Rumlow opens the door to Pierces office.

– So you knew I’d come?

Pierce doesn’t look up.

– Of course I knew! I’ve got eyes and ears in this entire building.

For fucks sake, Brock! Get it together. Work mode. Deal with YN when you get home. Treat her well, and she’ll come around. Hopefully. The thought of what he wants to do to you, makes him grow hard. Fuck! Not now. Shake it off, Brock!

Pierce looks up.

– I can see you brought your little thief along as well. If Rollins didn’t come to talk to me before, I’d have her thrown back in jail, where she belongs!

Rumlow doesn’t know what it is, but he feels an enormous anger, hearing people talking about you that way. But he knows his place. Don’t lose your cool, Brock. That will only make it worse. He walks up to Pierces desk. He knows it’s a stupid idea. He should wait for Pierce to tell him. But YN! Fuck! What is wrong with you, Brock?!?

– She was in the apartment the entire night. She couldn’t have stolen anything. Besides we found the documents in Davids apartment.

– The David that conveniently is YNs ex. How well do you know her, Rumlow?

How well does he know you exactly? You haven’t actually talked about other than David and SHIELD. No family information have been shared, nothing of that sort. But the sex… Brock!! Get a fucking grip!

– I don’t have to know her, to know that she was in the apartment the entire night. Watch this, you’ll see.

Rumlow places the CD with the video on Pierces desk. Pierce looks at Rumlow.

– OK! I’ll watch it. I’ll have you both back here lunchtime. Remember she is not an employee at this time. Put her in Rollins’ office. And you! You go back to work.

Rollins office? Why can’t you stay in his office? That way you could maybe talk or.. Oh, for fucks sake Brock. Is fucking this girl the only thing you can think of? Why can’t she say something?

He leads the way, but oh fuck how he wants you to go in front of him. To study your body, the way you move. How your clothes compliments your body. Showing off all the right curves on it.

Say something, YN! Please! Anything, be mad even. Yell at me again. Anything is better than nothing. But you don’t say a word. You just follow him. Well, I did dominate her, but she can stand her own. You don’t know how to do this romance thing, Brock! You just don’t. Dominant sex, yes. Romance, no.

In Rollins office. He tries his best to show you that he cares. You should say something Brock. Not just, «water there». Something meaningful. Something that says «I love you». She’s in Rollins’ fucking office. Nothing.. Fuck it, Brock!

When he’s about to leave, he hears your voice behind him.

– Brock! Did we just have our first fight?

He turns and looks at you. What do you say, Brock? Yes? No? I love you? Thank God you asked? Should you kiss her? Fuck. You suck at this, Brock. Forget it!

– Yes!

Then he leaves. Why the fuck did you do that, Brock? Good, making it worse, making it worse.. Good job, Brock, real good.

The hours till lunchtime takes forever. Rumlow gets some paperwork done. But the whole time he’s thinking about you. In Rollins office. Are you allowed to fuck someone else after a fight? You never sorta defined your relationship.. Maybe she would. Would you? No! You want her, no one else. She captivated you from the first second.

Lunchtime comes, and Pierce calls for you. Rumlow feels it strange that he wants Rollins as well. But, well.. Maybe that’s a good thing.

The few steps over to Rollin’s office is hard to take. Maybe she never loved you. You should tell her, Brock. Tell her that you love her. That it’s not just the sex. That it’s all of her. The way she talks, the way she moves, her smile.. Everything.

He opens the door to Rollins office, and stops in his tracks.

– I love you….

What the blazing fuck!?!?? I love you? That’s HIS line! The feeling inside his chest is something he’s never felt before.

– Really, Rollins? I love you?

He can hear Rollins saying something, but he’s not interested. Lifts his finger, stops Rollins’ mouth. Motherfucking perfect!

– Bro…

Your voice. I really don’t want to listen to her right now.

– I ment both of you, YN!

What the fuck is wrong with you, Brock? Let her talk. You’ve wanted to talk to her all day, and when she finally speaks to you, you tell her to shut up. Well, to late now anyway. Deal with Pierce first. You can talk to YN, at home. That is, if she wants to go home with you.

In Pierces office there are three chairs in front of his desk. YN, sits down in the middle. Pierce doesn’t seem to mind. And she’s not familiar with the codes yet. Rumlow stands by his chair until Pierce tells him to sit down.

Totally in his own mind, he tries to listen to what Pierce is saying. Please let her stay. If Pierce fires her, that’s it. She’ll leave, both SHIELD and you. The thought of losing you drives him crazy.

– You are fired though!

Great, just great. Should you say something, Brock? Fuck! Rumlow opens his mouth.

– Something you want to say, Rumlow?

The tone in Pierces voice, makes him instantly shut up. No use anyway. When Pierce makes up his mind, that’s it!

– You’re fired from the office floor! I decided to put you in another department.

Well, this was unexpected. What department?

– What?

He can’t hold back. What department? It’s not that many to chose from, and will you still be her boss? He leans forward to look at the papers. She’s been moved to Delta? What the fuck? And why?

– You’re giving her a piece? Why?

Pierces look makes Rumlow shut up again. He is going to have her killed, for sure. There are no women on any of the teams, and it’s a reason for that. It’s hard work, a ton of Fighting, close combat, killing. She won’t even survive one day.

– I came across some security footage, and saw her potential. Do you have a problem with that?

– No, Sir!

The hell you do! You have a ton of problems with this. She’ll technically still be working under you. But Pierce will have the last word, and he will be able to send her out on missions as he see fits. How the fuck can you protect her now, Brock?!?

– You start training right away. Dismissed!

Rumlow stands up with you. Maybe some training will do the trick? At least you’ll be able to touch her.

– Rumlow, you stay! Rollins, you start to train with YN!

The words hits Rumlow like a brick. Rollins is going to train with her. You are the one who knows her. You should be training with her. You should teach her stuff. It’s not that Rollins isn’t good. It’s just.. You want to train her.

– With all due respect, Sir! I should be the one training her!

– No, Rumlow. You’re gonna stay behind and tell me why you shared classified information with your live in girlfriend!

Fuck! This is just fucking perfect. You being questioned by Pierce, while Rollins gets to train your girl. Touching, Fighting…. fucking? Don’t go there, Brock! Don’t!

@nekoannie-chan @there-goes-thefighter @here4thefanfics @late-to-the-party-81

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#brock rumlow #jack rollins #alexander pierce #rumlowxreader #rumlowsmut #rumlow #rumlowfiction

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lindsaywesker · 2 years

Text

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

Online furniture retailer made dot com has gone into administration, leading to the loss of up to 500 jobs. The firm, which enjoyed soaring sales during Covid, hit problems as households cut back. It is a dramatic change in fortunes for the brand, which boomed during the pandemic-related lockdowns, as people bought more furniture and other products online but, more recently, the company hit problems, as households cut back on big-ticket purchases. Expect more companies to go under. Why? Because … duh … the cost of living is literally killing people! Who the hell is thinking about new furniture? Right now, most people are struggling with their heating bill! Who’s fault is it? Oh, yeah, that’s right: people in dinghies! It’s nothing to do with the complete numpties running the country!

As many of you read this, I will be struggling to get to work. I was up at 5.00 and I plan to leave home super-early to ensure I get there for 9.30. I’m hoping to get on a London Overground train to take me to Highbury & Islington. Hoping. I’m not angry, though. I support striking workers. They deserve a decent wage. With prices rising rapidly, life ain’t cheap! I went Sainsbury’s shopping last night. Box of 24 cans of Coke: £12.50. Not a bad deal, I suppose? Anchor Spreadable 750g: £5.25. Christ almighty! It’s only a box of butter! Yes, this is how ridiculous life has become! Who’s fault is it? People in dinghies, of course!

A beautiful girl bought me some Shea Coconut Whipped Body Butter (from The Black Shop) for my birthday. It is lush! What can I say? I now look good, smell good, feel good (and taste good!) In fact, my bedside table is now so full of assorted moisturising creams, I slide into bed, wake up, slide out of bed, then slide into my clothes! I am smooooth!

Loving the look of my diary at the moment. So many cool things to look forward to! Coffee with this person, dinner with that person, a songwriting session, a weekend with Lady Wesker, Christmas parties, concerts and club gigs. So much to look forward to! Life is what you make it, they say, so I have been a bit busy organising juicy events and, once we’ve come through new year, I will get even busier! There are some people I LONG to see. Literally! So, I’m going to see them! You have been warned! I’m coming to getcha!

Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?) I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #new blog #lockdown #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #autumm

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deyadee · 2 years

Text

Her

I’ve had a job cleaning rooms for a hotel recently. I don’t hate it but every time I go home I get maybe two hours to do what I want before I have to go to sleep because I’m THAT fucking exhausted every day. My legs and feet are always sore. I feel like I’m gonna puke everyday because I never eat during work and I barely eat before work and I chug water through the day because it’s miserably fucking hot. My back feels like shit constantly and I’m always in pain, to the point where taking Advil and shit doesn’t even work. Take as much as I want and I don’t even noticed it helped. Mom says I look like I’ve been losing weight but I know damn well that even working my ass off all day 5 days a week, barely eating before, during, or after work, drinking pretty much exclusively water most of the day, and taking Phentermine every day- I’ll lose a few pounds at most and then I’ll stabilize and it was like I’m still the same fat fuck as before. I’m fucking miserable and I still look like a fucking whale.

But I didn’t make this post just to bitch about work. This is more important than shit like that.

There’s this cute red-haired (probably dyed) German intern girl who worked with me the other day as she was new and I had been working here for about three weeks. Peloma. Very pale and covered in these little tattoos that she told me stories about. The same day I met her I just immediately started fawning over her. She’s sweet, cute, and funny… and I hopefully don’t sound absolutely obnoxious to her! Another two days and I just keep getting more and more into her, even though I know I shouldn’t.

I kept wanting to ask her out but I remember what happened last time I tried something like that “Oh I’m not gay. And this is my boyfriend.” So I decided to post on a different social media account asking how I could find out if she was at least willing to date girls and if she was single.

Comments of course just filled with “Just ask her!” But being fat and ugly and socially awkward does not give you the luxury of that. If I asked her if she was single and gay she would immediately assume I’m a perv and wouldn’t want to be around me. I’m fine if we could just be friends. So I figured I would just tell her today that I would like to be her friend but tell her I’m gay to make sure she isn’t a homophobe or something.

She wasn’t here today. And I have two days of break back-to-back.

So I got to thinking “Wait, she’s just interning here for a bit. What would happen if we DID get together? She’s just staying in the states temporarily. Wouldn’t that mean eventually she would leave?” At best then we could have a long distance relationship- but those turn out like shit in the many I’ve had the fucking pleasure of being in.

So now I just can’t think of anything but the idea of “Even in the one in a million chance she would say yes- you would never end up together.” Lucky me, even my fantasies have to be trashed. Though I’m still scared that she might be single- but she’ll get with someone random like the fucking front desk guy or someone… and then I’ll just have to sit idly by as this rom-com style shit plays out as the world continues to show me that life is a fucking joke and that I might as well slit my throat now. Maybe my blood being all over those pristine poorly-mopped floors will get on the news and everyone can just see my corpse there for all to see.

I’m destined to be alone. I feel pathetic for falling for someone just because they were nice to me. Not even within days. Within a few hours. I’m just a fucking creep.

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fortuositywritings · 2 years

Text

Rain Check

Summary: You ask Wanda to be your Valentine. Just your luck that she gets called on a mission and asks for a rain check, a rain check that lasts way too long.

You've had a thing for Wanda Maximoff since the day you met her. It was hard not to like her when she looked so cute struggling to open the door to one of the offices at the Avengers facility or the Avengers compound as others would call it She grumbled quietly to herself in another language but you could tell she was cursing at the door. You went to help her when it seemed like she was three seconds away from knocking the door down.

“Here, let me help,” you piped up, rushing over to pull the door open for her. She facepalmed, sighing, “I’ve been pushing the whole time.”

You chuckled, “It happens to all of us. Especially in this building. I don’t know who was in charge of the doors, but clearly they didn’t get the memo. When you go into a room, the door is supposed to swing into the room.”

“Yes! Thank you,” she readily agreed.

You remembered you had a job to do. You smiled at her and offered, “Well if you have trouble with a door again, I’m Y/N and I’m usually working right over there.”

Wanda followed your finger that was pointing to another door down the hall. “Hopefully, I won’t need to but thank you. I’m Wanda.”

You are terrible with names, but you knew this was one that would stick with you. You let her go with a “It was nice to meet you, Wanda. I’ll see you around.”

You spent all afternoon thinking about the pretty brunette. It distracted you from working but since your job was creating aliases and no mission was coming up, you didn’t worry about wasting an afternoon just staring at your screen while your head was somewhere else.

A knock on your door startled you. You called out, “Come in.”

You sat up straight, typing nonsense on your keyboard to appear busy with work. “Oh, sorry. You look busy.”

Your head whipped up at the sound of Wanda’s voice. She gave you an apologetic look before making her way back out but you stopped her. “Hey, no. I’m not really doing much. Did you need help with another door? Did you try pulling it?”

She rolled her eyes at your teasing remark. You laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Did you need help with something though?”

She blushed almost like she was embarrassed. “It’s my third day here so I don’t know where things are yet.”

“And you’re lost,” you assumed. She smiled sheepishly and nodded. You assured her, “Don’t worry. A compound like this with so many hallways can be intimidating, but you’ll get the hang of it. It took me a whole week to remember where the restrooms were. I would hold it until I got home because I felt embarrassed to keep asking.”

Wanda giggled at your story. She felt better hearing about your experience being new there. You asked her, “Where are you trying to go?”

“The canteen?” she said.

“You don’t sound so confident in that. Is that really where you want to go?”

“Yes? Honestly, I’m just hungry and don’t feel like making myself food in the kitchen,” she replied.

You laughed, “Totally get it. The main cafeteria is on the first floor on the east wing of the main building. You can’t miss it. It’s huge. There is also a little cafe on the second floor. It’s right in front of the elevators.”

“Okay. Thanks,” she said.

You smiled, glad to have helped. “Yeah. No problem.”

She turned to head out but she lingered at the door. Before you could ask, she spun around and asked, “Um, do you want to join me? I mean- if you’re not busy?”

You tried your best to act cool and not jump on her offer so enthusiastically, but you failed. “Yeah, I could eat.”

You readily followed Wanda out the door, ignoring the fact that your lunch was in the mini fridge by your desk. Between eating your mediocre sandwich alone in your office and eating decent food with a pretty brunette, you were obviously going to pick the latter.

And you picked her over and over again. Wanda would come looking for you in the afternoon to have lunch with you. Sometimes you ate at the cafeteria or cafe and other times you would eat in your office, either you or Wanda having brought food for the both of you.

After about two weeks of this, you got an unexpected visit from Captain Rogers. He claimed to be worried that Wanda might not have been eating because she was upset due to her brother’s passing and that when he approached her about it, she told him that she would eat with her friend - you.

You confirmed this to be true and reassured him she was taking care of herself. You told Wanda about his visit, which she apologized for, embarrassed that someone had to come talk to you.

You responded, “It’s never a bad thing to have someone care for you, Wanda, and if you ever need someone to talk to or someone to just listen, I’m always here.”

She took you up on your offer a few days later, venting out all her feelings to you. She was under stress trying to prove to the team that she belonged here because she wanted to help. She was also trying to figure out all she could do with her powers. She still was getting used to moving to a new country seeing that she didn’t have anywhere else to go, and on top of all this she was still mourning for her brother.

You sat there and you listened and you tried to comfort her. There wasn’t much you could do about figuring out her powers or trying to prove herself to the team, but you thought you could share with her your favorite places in the city and give her a proper welcome. So the following weeks, that is what you did.

When she had time and wasn’t exhausted from training, you brought her to your favorite spots. The time would fly by when you spent it with Wanda. You really enjoyed getting to know her and you thought she liked being around you too. You always managed to make her laugh which made you happy because you liked hearing her laughter. You realized then, you had it bad for her.

Wanda was ready for missions and though that took away some of your lunches together, she always managed to find some time for you. One time she came straight from a mission to your office still in her suit just to make it in time for lunch with you. That’s the day you hoped and thought that maybe she liked you too.

Valentine’s Day was coming up in a week and you decided that would be the perfect time to make Wanda aware of your feelings. Two days before Valentine’s, you two hung out in the kitchen of the living quarters making heart shaped cookies. Wanda wanted to give some to the team. It was very sweet.

All day you had been nervous to ask. You even had a cliche note in your pocket as a last resort.

As you were cutting out the shapes, you not so subtly asked, “So, do you have a date for Valentine’s Day?”

Wanda laughed, “Who would even ask me?”

“You’re kidding, right?” you scoff. Her self-deprecating comment makes you halt and give her your full attention. “Wanda, aside from being insanely beautiful, you are one of the kindest and coolest people here. You’d have to be a complete robot to be able to ignore you.”

It’d been a long time since you’d seen Wanda look so shy. You continued anyway, “Actually, I think even Vision knows you are a catch.”

“Well no one, not even Vision, has asked me.”

You nodded, working up the nerve to ask her. She cleared her throat and asked, “What about you? Do you have anything special planned?”

You had the perfect reply. “That depends on if you say yes.”

She tilted her head curiously, a smile forming on her face. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine?”

You tried to play it cool, despite your face growing hot under her stare. You shrugged. “I mean, if you’re free and I’m free, maybe we could, like, go get dinner or something.”

“No,” she said bluntly.

She didn’t give you time to embarrassingly run out of the room. She continued, “This is the first time someone is asking me to be their Valentine, so you have to do better than that.”

She leaned on the counter crossing her arms, waiting expectantly. You felt so relieved. Remembering the note, you pulled it out and gave it to her. “I hope this suffices?”

She opened the note to see you’ve written ‘Be my Valentine?’ and boxes next to yes and no. You laughed as she ran to find a pen. She came back, returning the note to you. You smiled seeing that she ticked the yes box.

You smiled in excitement all the way home when you left, keeping the note in your pocket. You spent the next day planning out the date. You still had lunch with Wanda, where she even asked about the plans. She was just as excited as you were. You told her it was a surprise, but to wear something warm.

Things of course never went to plan. She called you in the morning on that 14th of February. She apologized that she wouldn’t be able to make it because she was put at the last minute on a mission. You told her not to worry about it even though you were very bummed out.

“Rain check?” she asked.

“Sure thing. Happy Valentine’s Day, Wanda. Good luck on your mission.”

You definitely jinxed it. You saw it on the news. You tried calling but she wouldn’t pick up the phone. When you heard she was back at the compound, you tried seeing her but she wasn’t leaving her room. The next time you saw her, she was running away with Clint Barton.

“Woah, Wanda. What’s happening? Why are you running?” you stopped her.

“Wanda! We have to go now!” Clint yelled.

“I can’t explain now. I have to go. Um, take care, Y/N. I hope I see you again,” she said.

“You will. You still owe me that date,” you reminded her. She smiled before pulling you into a quick hug and then she was gone.

Half the team became fugitives, so needless to say you don’t hear from Wanda. That didn’t stop you from thinking about her from time to time, hoping she is doing okay wherever she might have been.

You were in your apartment when it happened. You were part of the unfortunate half that disappears. One second you are gone and then you are here again in the next second. At least that is what it felt like. The reality was five years had passed.

You were trying to get your life back together those first few weeks. You find yourself under new employment. You are working late one night when Monica finds you and asks, “What are you doing here so late, Y/N?”

“Just wanting to finish this up before I leave.” You point at your screen, showing her your work. “I’m just about finished. What about you?”

“Finishing up the report on Westview,” she replies.

“What happened in Westview?” you ask, not having heard about this case.

“I forget you’re new here. Oh my god, it’s insane.” Monica sits down and tells you everything.

“So Wanda gave you those powers?” you ask.

“The hex mutated my body and now I’ve got these abilities. I’m still figuring it out,” she replies.

“Where is Wanda now?”

“No one knows.” Monica shrugs. “I know it sounds terrible because of what she did, but I hope she’s doing okay. I mean, if you had seen what I did. She had built this whole life there, kids and everything and it’s all gone.”

You can’t imagine what she’s going through. You hate to. You’re having a hard time believing she had a whole town under her will. Despite that, you still worry for her. You think about it all night, lying in bed. It gets to your head. You pull the slip of paper from inside your phone case.

The paper is perfectly intact. You’d kept the Valentine’s note in your phone case and your phone was on you when the blip happened. You never threw the note away, sentimental reasons you guess. Those sentimental reasons convince you to do what you do next.

Not able to sleep without knowing if she is okay, you use your resources from both S.W.O.R.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D. to find Wanda. A week later you’re knocking on a cabin’s door, hoping you’ve got the right place.

There’s no answer after knocking three times. Maybe she can’t hear you. You know the door is unlocked because the knob turns all the way round, but as much as you push, it won’t budge.

“You have to pull it,” a voice says behind you, startling you. You turn around and there she is, eyes shining in amusement. You stare at her in awe. She has changed so much but she is still as beautiful as ever. Her expression turns serious as she asks, “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I heard about what happened in Westview. I came to check on you- to see if you’re alright,” you tell her.

She tenses up and gets defensive upon hearing Westview slip from your tongue. She crosses her arms and raises her chin. “Okay, you saw me. As you can see I’m doing fine. You can go now.”

“Are you serious?” you scoff. You’ve spent restless nights trying to find her and came all this way the minute you thought you did and this is how it’s going? Not on your watch.

“Yeah, I am,” she replies. She tilts her head, challenging you to deny her wishes. Deep inside Wanda doesn’t actually want you to leave. She was surprised to see you standing at her door, pleasantly so, but you brought up Westview and that reminded her that everyone she cared about is gone. She once cared about you, she still does. She’d rather have you out of her life on her own volition than something out of her hands taking you away.

She’s still disappointed when you don’t fight her on it and say, “Fine. I’ll go.”

She watches you make your way to her. You pull out your phone. She sees you take something out from inside the case. “But I’ll be back in two weeks to collect your debt.”

“What?” she asks, confused. You hand her the Valentine note from so long ago. She opens it and recognizes it instantly. She’s surprised you still even have this.

“You owe me a date, Valentine,” you remind her. You make your way back to your rental car.

“Are you serious?” she calls out. She sounds more amused than upset, so you smile back at her as you open the car door. “Yeah I am.”

Wanda can’t help but giggle. This is all so absurd. However, this gives her hope that maybe people can stay. You’ve come back into her life and it looks like you’re willing to put up a fight to stay in it.

A honk from the car makes her reign in her focus on you again. You roll down the window and shout, “And fix that door! It should swing into the room!”

She laughs and unbeknownst to you it’s the first time she laughs since leaving Westview. You smile triumphantly at hearing that sound you like so much and leave, planning to return soon. Wanda watches you go and slips the note into her pocket, looking forward to cashing in that rain check.

_______________________________________

Happy Valentine’s Day !!

taglist: @olsensnpm @chaekhan @dumpaccdontmindme @iliketozoneout @scarletswandawitch @imdreamingblo @anxietyisgreat @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @harleyswanda @gimaximoff @simplysimping999 @cmaysf

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand.

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected.

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby.

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute.

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’.

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind.

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency.

Hizashi was not, and so here they are.

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness.

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you.

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd.

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks.

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them.

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent.

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :(

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him.

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself.

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm?

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy.

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it.

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off.

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him.

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would.

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either.

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.”

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.”

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause.

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face.

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight.

It bothers him.

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no.

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant.

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?”

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly.

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump.

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless.

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach.

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run – and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick.

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace.

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least.

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true.

It’s just not the entire reason.

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length.

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong.

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them.

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with.

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side.

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust.

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch.

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more.

He wants all of you.

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them.

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder.

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own.

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too?

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them.

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open.

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you.

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy.

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue.

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants.

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss.

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

#yandere bnha #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi yamada x reader #shouta aizawa x hizashi yamada x reader #tw non con #tw pregnancy #tw breeding kink #tw age gap #oh my god it's like 5am why do i keep doing this to myself

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iwas-baby · 3 years

Text

— ☼broken pieces

vii. un-official babysitter / date night

includes: matsukawa issei x f.reader, iwaizumi hajime x f. reader

about: where iwaizumi hajime leaves his now ex-girlfriend, unknowing she’s pregnant while matsukawa issei is left to pick up the broken pieces.

cw: fluff, slight jealously, domestic fluff, slightly angst ending, heavily unedited

a/n: i’m so sorry that it took SO long to update, hopefully i can get back into a more steady updating pace

masterlist | next part

After a week of kindergarten, your fridge had turned into an art gallery; stick figures labeled ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’ alongside an orange blob marked as ‘Ninjin.’ All had been affectionately drawn by Kumiko, presenting them to both you and Issei with a wide and proud smile.

Though, while Kumiko was enjoying her schooldays, you were spending more time at work. Which evidently lead to being much more exhausted than usual, your feet sore and pouring yourself a second glass of wine at night to unwind.

Issei seemed to notice this, trying to plan out a way to give the two of you some time off. Besides, it had been a while since you two had had a date night. He wanted it to be special and more romantic than your past dates. More importantly, though, he wanted it to be a surprise.

The black haired man sat in his office, staring at the family photo that sat at his desk. It was a slow day, meaning it was the perfect time to plan out the date, except the first thing he needed to do was to sort out who would look after your beloved daughter.

He started by calling Makki, who, surprisingly, had gotten a job as a delivery boy for some chain restaurant. Meaning, he wouldn’t be able to watch Kumiko. Issei grumbled as he hung up, losing the man he’d dubbed his ‘Official Babysitter.’

Next in line was Emiko, although Issei doubted that she would be able to, considering her grandmother was in poor health and that any day she’d be leaving for her village in Kyoto to take care of her.

Sighing, Issei rubbed his eyes, he only had one other person in mind but he didn’t want to make plans without you and he didn’t want to give up the surprise. Chewing on his lip, he guilty punched in the digits of a certain person’s phone number.

“Hello?”

“Hey Hajime, how’s it going?” He hummed, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk before leaning back in his office chair.

“Uh, good.” The other man awkwardly responded. “How are you guys, is Kumiko enjoying school.”

“She is, she is,” his voice was distant, trying to figure out how he was going to phrase his question. “I’m going to get straight to the point. I know you and Y/N have arranged when you’re going to next see Kumi, but I wanna take her out tomorrow night and I need someone to babysit.”

“Oh.” Was Hajime’s slow reply. “Look, I mean I don’t-- are you sure you want me?” Issei could tell that Iwaizumi was still getting in his own head about that day at the park.

“Yeah, besides it’ll give you a chance to actually bond with her,maybe with things she likes,” Issei laughed a bit at the joke. Yet, he paused, pressing his lips together, a bit hesitant, “I’ll let you in on a little secret: if you wanna win her over, bring her those bourbon fettuccine, y’know the peachy gummies, those are her favourite right now.”

“Okay. I will, and Issei?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for calling me.” Issei silently sighed again, hearing someone knock at the door.

“No worries, man. I’ll see you tomorrow at 6:30?” Iwaizumi agreed from the other end of the line, leaving the men to say their goodbyes as Issei welcomed in a client.

Now, he just hoped that the weather would agree with his plans.

You walked through the door, dropping your purse at the door, you’d been working overtime which meant Issei was already home with your daughter.

The exhausted look on your face soon diminished as you heard the light and cheery footsteps that belonged to Kumiko. She ran to you, a bright smile tugging at her lips as he engulfed you in a hug, wrapping her arms around your legs.

Issei was soon to follow, your pet cat in between his legs as he walked over to give you a kiss.

“Ew,” Kumiko whined, covering her eyes which made the two of you laugh.

“Kumi, take Ninjin and play with that new laser toy.” Issei told her as she scurried away, taking the orange tabby with her.

Now that it was just the two of you, Issei planted yet another kiss on your soft lips, whispering against them: “I have a surprise for you.” To which you raised an eyebrow. Issei’s hands moved down your body, giving you a little squeeze.

“Go and put on something nice, I’m taking you out.” He smiled, clapping his hands, “and before you say anything, I’ve already found a babysitter for Kumiko.”

You smiled, giving him yet another kiss in thanks before rushing off towards your shared bedroom to find something to wear, although Issei hadn’t told you the exact location of this surprise date.

After trying on a number of dresses, you finally landed on one that complimented both your skin tone and body shape, slowly walking out with a matching purse, biting your lip and waiting for his response.

Only, as you stepped out into the hallway, there wasn’t just one man there, there were two. Hajime was talking with his hands, as Issei gave him instructions. Was this really who he’d picked out to watch your daughter?

In the midst of your mental panic, Issei looked up, eyes widened and a grin forming as he saw you. He left Hajime for a second, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing the crown of your head, “you look lovely, baby.”

You said your thanks, still eyeing Hajime as if he were a threat, only for the shorter man to scratch the back of his neck muttering, “yeah, you look nice.”

“So,” you tried to change the subject, trying to ignore the compliment from your ex-boyfriend, “has Issei gone over everything you need to do?”

Hajime nodded, listing off everything from her bedtime, to what to do if she gets hungry in the middle of the night. As he kept going, the worries that plagued your brain slowly disappeared as you sighed. You knew you could trust Hajime, but you really did wish Issei would’ve asked you. Though, it was nice of him to organize a surprise for you.

“Have fun you two,” Hajime said, waving you off at the door as Kumiko stood behind his leg, wishing you goodbye.

“This place is incredible,” you exclaimed, with stars in your eyes, you stared at the view from the cliff side. Issei had driven you out of town to look at the evening sky along with a picnic he’d laid out for you.

“Only the best for you.” He poured you something to drink, smiling. Now in the midst of eating, you watched as he looked at you with such amusement in his eyes “I’m just glad you like it.”

With blankets around you, bringing the two of you closer, the sun had almost completely set, “of course.”

Resting your head against his shoulder, you rested your eyes. “Thank you, Issei, I really needed this.” You reminded him how much you loved him as he returned the kind words.

The moment was followed with a moment's silence as your boyfriend let out a sigh. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

Hajime waved the package of gummies in front of the little girl's face, watching how she lit up, and squealed out of happiness.

“But you can’t tell your mother about this, okay?” She nodded her head quickly in agreement as Hajime opened it up for her, luring her over to the couch, hoping that a movie would put her to sleep.

Kumiko practically licked her lips, putting her hands out as Hajime placed the candy only on her open palms.

“This stuff probably isn’t good for you,” you mentioned not even wanting to look at the ingredients. One thing he hated about all his years of study was that he found it almost impossible to enjoy any sorts of snacks without a guilty conscience.

“I know,” Kumiko hummed, munching down as Hajime only sighed, reaching for the remote. “Can we watch the Princess Ballerina movie?”

“Have you seen it before?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then why don’t we watch something new?” Truth be told, Hajime didn’t want to watch said ‘princess ballerina movie’ and was praying that Kumiko would be able to reason with his logic and pick something else.

“Okay,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. Yet, Hajime didn’t miss the words she muttered under her breath, “Uncle Hiro lets me watch Princess Ballerina.” Though, she didn’t stay frowning for long as her babysitter fed her more candy.

Scrolling through the streaming sight, Hajime’s lips tugged into smiles at the selection. He was surprised it was even there: “Godzilla” from 1998, a movie he had watched with his own father when he was younger, maybe just a bit older than Kumiko herself.

“How about this one?” He asked.

“Is it scary?”

Hajime twisted his lips, not sure how to answer, maybe his judgement had been a bit off that day as he shrugged, “not really, there’s just a lot of fighting.”

With his promising words, Kumiko agreed to the film, leaning closer towards him as the movie began.

Although the movie wasn’t even near half way through when Hajime found himself yawning, the movie was much less exciting as he remembered it. Maybe it was just the out of date special effects or underwhelming acting, but there wasn’t the same amount of thrill that was once there.

That was when he felt something at his side, peering down to see Kumiko hiding her face in his shirt, gripping onto him tightly.

Instantly Hajime panicked, his heart only breaking when he heard a small sniffle from the girl. His hands went to pat her head, gently peeling her off of him, looking at her puffy cheeks.

“You lied, Iwaizumi, it’s scary.” His heart quickened, patting her back, trying to sush her not to cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, look it’s just a movie, there’s nothing to be scared off.”

“How do you know? What if Godzilla eats my school?”

“He won’t.” Hajime stared down into Kimiko’s watery eyes, pressing his lips together, “I promise.”

Slightly unconvinced, the young girl nodded, though she was quick to wrap her arms around Hajime’s torso (or at least as much as she could reach) while burying her head into his shirt.

Feeling his heart swell, the trainer smoothing over her small head, bringing one of his own arms around her. “If Godzilla shows up to eat your school, I promise I’ll fight him myself, okay?”

“Okay,” she sniffled, while a wave of relief washed over Hajime, muttering a small ‘but don’t tell your mother about this.’

The pair proceeded to munch down on more snacks, while Kumiko insisted on giving her babysitter a makeover, bringing out all her barrets and princess jewelry to adorn Hajime with.

So, the grown man sat there, a bright sticky lip gloss against his lips, butterfly clips in his messy hair and around his neck a handful of plastic necklaces. Yet, he couldn't protest because his heart swelled at the sight of Kumiko’s bright smile, and who was he to ruin her fun?

The night went on, no text from Issei to let him know when you'd be coming home. Signing, the television only continued to play in the background, some cartoons with cats Hajime wasn’t familiar with. He tilted his head back against the couch, feeling the weight of Kumiko leaning against him, snoring soundly. He figured he should take her to her bed and tuck her in soon, but he was so tired, he could only imagine what you and Issei went through every day.

He also couldn’t help but think that this could’ve been his life if his cards had been dealt out a little differently. He only frowned: he’d missed everything, first steps, first words, hell, he’d even missed the day she was born. How could he make up for all the missed birthdays? Hajime was always taught not to be jealous but looking at the precious girl beside him, how could he not be envious? He’d give up his life as he knew it so quickly to make sure he would never have to miss anymore birthdays.

His eyes closed momentarily and he tried to picture it: you and him, Kumiko by your side, walking up in the morning to her little footsteps rushing in while she wiggled between the two of you. He felt empty at the thought of it, missing something that was never really his. You weren’t his, it made him want to scream.

Quickly, his thoughts were interrupted by the creaking at the door, mixed with the shushed adults stumbling through. Kumiko didn’t budge, but Hajime realized it was time to move her to her bed.

“Hey,” Hajime greeted quietly, easily carrying the girl in his arms, “she’s been asleep for a little bit, I’ll go tuck her in.”

There was a bright grin on your face, clearly the date had gone well. Another twitch in Hajime’s heart, as cheesy as it may seem, all he wanted was for that to be him, making you smile.

As Hajime laid Kumiko down beneath her sheets, he felt her grip onto his sleeve, unconsciously not wanting to let go. The man smirked softly, pulling her tiny hand off and laying it down on her side, making sure to tuck her in tightly.

Leaving her nightlight on, Hajime met the two of you out in the hall, giddy smiles plastered on both your faces.

“So, how’d the date go?” He questions, awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets, almost forgetting about all the accessories tangled in his hair.

Though, his expression began to drop as he watched you lift up your arm, the palm of your hand facing your chest as something caught his attention on the dim lighting.

“Good,” you breathed out, “we’re engaged!”

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