#why do people tell me that I haven't mentioned things I talked about often?
Note
I'm gonna make a request again (sorry your last one was too good for me not to ask again) but this time for a jealous Joel! Maybe the reader and him have been friends for a while and she's oblivious to his flirting and she finally lands a date? How it goes from there can be up to you! I just love the jealous and possessive trope.
The Jealousy Bug
Pairing: Jealous!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Hi!! I'm so sorry this took me so long to write, but thank you for the request!! I hope you like it!! I got a lil carried away... hope its not too much smut.
~~~~~
(Reader and Joel live in Jackson, amid the apocalypse)
Word count: 6.8K (oof)
Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI!! Smut smut smut. P in V sex (likely unprotected but not specified. Its an apocalypse, yo.), masturbation (m and f), sort of dubcon? voyeurism?? sorta?, kissing, talk of genitals and arousal, horny behavior. Explicit language and mean names. Alcohol. Violence: infected, guns, punching, mention of a knife. Joel is kind of a jerk sometimes. Possessive. Mentions of loss and grief (all within S.1 of TLOU). I haven't played part II yet so we're just gonna ignore what we know happens there. Joel and Ellie are happy in Jackson. Joel and Reader are friends and sort of neighbors. Clueless idiots in love. A total asshole of a guy in the town. Lil bit of fluff/romance? Mention of bugs (pill bugs), but not in a gross way. If I missed anything, please let me know, and I apologize!
Other Stuff: Avoidance of reader descriptors, other than reader is AFAB. Mentions of having hair on the noggin. She/her pronouns. Reader is clueless and also clumsy as hell. Reader also drinks coffee and alcohol. Italics indicate thoughts.
__________
It was around 4PM when you filed into the community center for another mandatory patrol meeting. It may be an apocalypse, but even now, you wished this meeting could have been an email instead. Alas, that was a thing of the past, and you were unfortunately stuck listening to the usual spiel about necessary vs. unnecessary items to raid… The importance of remembering to ABC, “Always Be Cautious,” plants that can and can't be eaten, etc.
You sat in your usual spot, the back row next to Joel Miller. A year ago when you first moved to this town, first started patrol, you came into this very room not knowing anyone. Friend groups stuck together, each of the two front rows filled, yet a few empty spaces here and there. Instead, you walked towards the back of the room. A handsome man, who you soon learned was named Joel, sat by himself, three rows back, behind the last full aisle. He was alone. The whole aisle of chairs was empty. He sat with his arms crossed, and you could tell based on his posing that he was not the social type.
You were feeling a bit nervous, having finally found a sort of civilization in this mess, and hoping the people of Jackson accept you and not just shoot you, like most camps do when they see unknown faces. Unsure where to sit, you continued to head towards the back, slightly drawn to the gorgeous gray-haired man in the last row. Not wanting to intrude, you sat at the far end from Joel. You could feel his eyes on you as you sat, but you didn't dare look over and make eye contact. Years of survival instincts have told you that, especially when someone doesn't want to be bothered.
_____
When you first walked into the room, Joel looked up. He sat in the back row, as usual, not wanting to get close to anyone. However, even if he did, nobody gave him the time of day. They have heard stories of what he’s done, they have seen him around town, often grumbling about something. They could tell he wanted to be left alone and they had no interest in testing how badly he wanted to be left alone.
Joel found it easier to not form connections. Tommy kept telling him to make friends, come around more, socialize in the town. But Joel had learned over the years why making connections never ends well. All he has is Tommy and Ellie, and neither of those were his initial decision, but Tommy is his only family, and somehow he let himself care for Ellie.
But when Joel saw you… there was a flash of longing. He saw you smile gently at Tommy with a small wave. He could see you shrink walking to your seat past the cliques. You were beautiful, and if it were pre-pandemic, you'd be the exact type he'd probably take interest to.
But those days are over.
Or… so he thought.
He set his eyes back down on his hands in his lap, avoiding eye contact with you when you sat down at the end of the row from him.
Why did she sit so far away? Am I that horrible to be around? His heart questioned.
You don't want to be near people anyway. Good she sat far away. Leave me alone. His brain tried to argue.
Tommy droned on and on, the meeting nearing an hour by now, and you could feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your face every few minutes. You don't know why he kept staring, but it made you feel nervous. Did you have something on your face or clothes? Did you smell bad?
Tommy knew his brother well, sometimes more than Joel likes to admit out loud, and as he talked, he took note of Joel’s staring. At first his expression looked confused, maybe irritated or disgusted. Then it looked slightly… disappointed. But he kept stealing glances your direction, and so with a smirk, Tommy assigned the two of you to be on patrol together. Joel questioned his reasoning afterward, but he knew there was no point arguing with his brother.
After that day, you patrolled together. You both went to the bar with the group after meetings. You sat closer and closer to Joel. You managed to get some words out of him, and he listened to you chatter on. But it was when you brought him a cup of coffee before patrol one morning that he finally let down his guard. His heart had betrayed his defenses.
“What's this?” He asked, gruffly.
“Coffee, Joel…” you replied with a joking eye roll. “It's black. I know you don't like anything in it.”
He took a sip, shocked to taste that you actually knew how he took his coffee. “How did you know that?”
“I notice things Joel.” You patted his shoulder, walking towards the group.
_____
Now, a year later, the two of you were very close friends. You still surprised him with things you remembered or noticed, but much to his chagrin, the one thing you didn't pick up on were his advances. He'd call you pet names, be sweet to you, treat you like a gentleman, flirt a little, and it was like talking to a robot. You were clueless.
Tonight's meeting finally ended, the large group heading outside to the chill fall air. “You wanna get drinks with the patrol squad?” you asked Joel.
“Wouldn't miss it,” he winked at you, putting his leather jacket on his shoulders.
Although you went as a group, ultimately you and Joel spent most of the nights in your own little bubble, occasionally making space in your circle for Tommy, or Maria if she joined.
Tonight, the two of you sat at the bar, the patrol group spread throughout the room at different tables. Joel excused himself to use the restroom, and while he was gone, Jimmy, one of the other patrol members approached you. Hurrying before Joel returned, he flirted and asked you out on a date. You told him you'd think about it, that you weren't sure if you were ready for a relationship after years of caution.
Not technically a lie, you thought. Although you really just weren't ready for a relationship because your heart was already taken by your handsome best friend.
Joel returned just in time to see Jimmy walking away. “What did he want?” Joel grumbled. “Ah nothin, just wanted to say hi while getting a drink,” you lied. Joel accepted this answer and the two of you drank into the night. At the end of the evening, you seemed pretty drunk. Jimmy offered to walk you home, but before you had a chance to reply, Joel replied for you.
“I'll take her home, thanks.” He bit, turning you away from Jimmy. “I don't like the idea of that boy walkin’ you home. Don't trust ‘im. ‘Specially not when you're in this condition,” he wrapped an arm around you, shuffling you toward the door.
“You don't think I can handle myself, Joel?” You asked him, pulling away, a little bit irritated at him treating you like a weakling. “I seem to do just fine on patrol,” you argued.
“I know that, sugar. I didn't mean it like that. I just don't trust that guy. Heard how he goes through women. Don't want him trying’ anything with you,” he brushed his hand over your hair, causing you to soften at his words and actions.
You gasped lightly. “Is THE Joel Miller… jealous?” You knew he wasn't, but why not test the waters?
“What? Jealous? Of what? No ‘m not.” he balked. “Just lookin’ out for you…”
“Mmhm… you just wanna be the only big strong man walking me home, huh?” You teased, tripping over your own feet.
Joel caught you in his arms. “Big strong man, huh? ‘S that what you think of me?”
Shit… did I say that? You panicked. Maybe I'm more drunk than I thought…
Deciding to tease it off, you replied, “well you do always seem to catch me when I fall…” with a wink.
Falling in more ways than one… you thought, frustrated.
He rubbed his neck with the hand not holding you upright. You could almost see a pink tinge to his cheeks.
No, that has to be the lights playing tricks on my eyes… you thought. No way Joel Miller was blushing at your words.
“I kinda have to, ya big klutz. Practically a liability. I oughta tell Tommy to add a safety section on patrolling with you,” he bantered.
“Ah, shut up” you laughed with a push, causing yourself to lose balance instead of Joel. He just gave a knowing look, causing you both to laugh as you continued walking, now side by side instead of him holding you up.
After a few moments of silence, you spoke up. “You know, I could've walked myself home, Joel,” you stumbled, giggling.
“Whoa there, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around you again, propping you up. “Don't worry about it. Let's just get you home. You've had way too much to drink.”
“You're so sweet Joel,” you pouted at him, booping his nose. “Joelly Joel.” You giggled. “Jolly Joelly.” Another giggle. “I dunno why people think you're so grumpy. I think you're just a big teddy bear,” you closed your eyes, leaning your head on his shoulder while he stumbled forward, trying to keep you upright.
“Who says I'm grumpy, darlin’?” He tilted his head towards you, smirking. “The whole town, silly. Silly Joelly. Joely-poly.” You gasped abruptly, causing Joel to jerk and turn to face you. “What? What is it?” His hand reached for his knife on his hip. Old habits die hard.
“Joely-poly!!” You squealed. “Awe! Roly-polies. Remember those!? I used to love them when I was little.” You pouted. “Before this whole world went to shit.”
Joel thought back to the little pill bugs, playing in the dirt with them when he was younger. Teaching his own daughter about them. His heart aches for what he lost, but he also thinks of Ellie. He bets she would love the little bugs too.
“That's a cute nickname for you,” you smiled. “They're so cute. Just,” you booped his nose. “Like.” Boop. “You,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Another gasp from your lips.
He flinched again. “Darlin’, if you don't quit that I swear-”
“Joeeeel!” You pouted. “Do you think the roly-polies all died off with the infection!?” Your eyes welled up.
“Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. There's probably still some out there. Bugs could get cordyceps long before the fungus attacked humans, and they were still alive back then.” You looked up into his deep brown eyes through your fluttering lashes. “You really think so?” You leaned in, placing both your hands on his cheeks. His breath caught in his chest. “Darlin’, you drank a lot tonight-” you cut off his sentence, running your hands down his neck, resting your palms on his chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute. If he didn't know better, he'd worry his heart would leap out and fly away.
Your eyes lit up and you slid off his chest, lowering clumsily to the ground and gripping his sides for balance. You were now on your knees, eye level with his crotch, hands on his hips. His breath was ragged and his stomach full of twirling butterflies. “Wh-what do you think you're doin’?” He asked nervously. You looked up at him with big eyes, your hands slowly falling down from his hips to his thighs as you tried to balance yourself in your drunken state. He couldn't help but feel his pants begin to tent at the position you were in. He would never take advantage of you in your current state, but trying to ignore the desire brewing in his body after so many months of unrequited feelings was challenging. Did you finally see his advances for what they were? Feelings instead of friendliness?
You grinned up at him, finally regaining balance. “I'm gonna go look for ‘em!” you turned and waddled away on your knees, heading a couple feet away, towards a patch of flowers off the path.
She just needed to use me as a ladder, or what…? Joel thought to himself with a sigh and shaking his head in disappointment, his sexual frustration at its breaking point.
You crawled forward, falling onto your hands and knees in the soft dirt. Joel quickly stepped forward to try and grab you but realized, despite your lack of grace, you meant to do that. “Ugh… darlin', it's dark out here. It's cold. You're drunk. Let's get you home.”
“I'm looking for buggies, Joel!!” You leaned towards a leaf, arching downward so that your face was closer to the ground, ass up.
“Oh, have mercy…” Joel groaned under his breath, his eyes drifting downward. Your ass was up in the air, facing him, the fabric of your dress having fallen forward towards your front. Your light pink panties were on full display for Joel, leaving little to his imagination in this position. Joel subtly adjusted his pants, looking up to the sky and shaking his head in a silent plea.
You whined. “Joel, I don't see any.” You leaned farther forward, wiggling your butt somehow higher. Joel looked around, panicked at the thought that someone else might see you in this position. But luckily, you were close to your house and it was just the two of you out here. He turned back to you again. “I think it's time you get up and we go in-” you moved further forward, the streetlight shining above you and illuminating your ass. Joel tried to be a gentleman, but his eyes betrayed him. As he snuck another glance, he couldn't help but notice a little wet spot over the crotch of your panties. “In-inside…” he finished his sentence, words catching in his throat. He gulped, trying to divert his eyes.
Taking a shaky breath and stepping forward, trying to ignore the throbbing need in his pants, he lightly grabbed your arm. “It's time to go sweetheart. The bugs are sleepin’ I think.”
You looked at him and smiled mischievously. “I know, Joel,” you winked. Jumping up, you scampered towards your house, leaving Joel to wonder what the hell just happened.
“Woman's gonna be the death of me,” Joel muttered under his breath to himself. He caught up to you, just as you both approached your house. “Joel, I don't wanna go home. Can't I stay with you? And Ellie?” you batted your eyelashes at him. He rubbed his neck. “Ellie's with a friend tonight. But, you do have a point. You probably shouldn't be left by yourself in this state. Don't want you gettin’ hurt, or sick, and bein’ all alone.”
“Such a gentleman, Joel.” You touched his bicep, the two of you walking towards Joel's house across the street.
Hardly, he thought, grimacing at the reason he was aching in his trousers, feeling like an old creep, and a terrible excuse for a friend.
Once inside Joel's house, he gave you a baggy sleep shirt and a glass of water with some crackers to help with the alcohol. You changed, brushed your teeth with a spare toothbrush, and used the restroom. He let you have his bed, while he took the couch down the hall, scrunching his legs up to barely fit.
_____
Joel tried his hardest to ignore what he saw earlier and just go to bed, but the aching only continued, making it impossible to sleep. Sure that you must have fallen asleep by now, tucked away in his bed down the hall, he quietly reached into his pajama bottoms and boxers, pulling out his rock-hard penis. Even the mere touch of removing himself from his pants caused him to hiss, so worked up he could have cum just watching you bent over earlier.
He was a gentleman, but he was still a man, and one that hadn't been with a woman in a very long time. With as many people as he'd lost by one means or another, he'd told himself he wouldn't get close to anyone else. Sarah's mom. Sarah. Tess. Bill and Frank. Sam and Henry. He almost thought he had lost Tommy before Jackson, too. It was against his wishes that Ellie crawled her way into his heart, and then he almost lost her as well. He was beginning to think maybe it was him. He was cursed, doomed to have anyone he loved ripped away from him.
Which is why when you came to Jackson, he tried his best to ignore you. But you always greeted him, cheerful and sweet, like a little ball of sunshine that was somehow untarnished by the storm clouds of an apocalypse.
He was irritated to realize that he had made room in his heart for you. You caused an ache in his heart that yearned to be filled. A missing piece in his soul. A place for him to someday fit, tangled between sheets and loving words. It had been about a year since you moved to Jackson, and he still feared getting too close to you, yet he would try his hardest to woo you the way a gentleman should. Sweet nicknames, flirting, gentle touches. You never picked up on it. Whether or not you felt the same, he stupidly fell in love. Unsure if it was mutual, yet pretty sure it wasn't after all this time, he tried to ignore the dirty thoughts revolving around you when the late-night urges would hit him. Somehow it felt wrong.
But tonight, it was hard to avoid. Having you touch him. His face, his neck, his chest, his hips, his thighs. Kneeling eye level with his crotch. Slinking away, sticking your barely covered ass in the air, letting your wet panties be shown to him and only him. He couldn't get you out of his head as he stroked himself. First slowly, but then harder and faster, trying to reach his climax with the thought of him burying himself in that sweet spot underneath your wet underwear. How he longed to see you with his own eyes, begging for him.
He tried to be quiet, to keep himself hidden from you down the hall, but the noise of skin on skin grew slightly louder with each of his quiet moans and panting breaths that managed to slip from his lips. Imagining himself buried deep inside you, taking you from behind in the same position he saw you in earlier, imagining the tight grip around him and the slick noises he could only fantasize about. He could practically hear you moaning and sighing, the sound seeping from his subconscious to the living room. He pumped harder, swirling his thumb around the head, drooling with precum, as his climax grew closer. He could feel his strokes becoming less controlled and his balls pulling upward as he began to shoot load after load of white hot release up under his shirt onto his stomach. Stroking himself through it, he milked his last few ropes of cum out before laying back to catch his breath, slowly tucking himself back away in his pants.
Coming back to his senses, he realized the sounds of your moans and whimpers that he was imagining were still happening. Taken out of his fantasies when he finished, there was no reason for the sounds to still be in his head. Needing to grab a cloth from the linen closet down the hall anyway, he walked, nearing his bedroom door, and heard the unmistakable sound of you pleasuring yourself. Quietly, he padded down the hallway, closer to the door. He could tell you were trying to be quiet, but could still hear you, soft whimpers and pants, surrounded by wet schlick noises.
Fuck, he thought. He could feel himself already getting excited again, despite having just released a few minutes ago. He desperately wanted to join you in his bed, or at the least, stand by the door and listen to your sounds while pleasuring himself, but he wasn't going to be a creep, nor scare you to death. You were still his friend. Even if he did want to move the couch across the living room to hear you better.
_____
Meanwhile in Joel's room, you had tried to sleep. You really had. But tossing and turning, each roll causing your nose to be surrounded with his scent, you were thrown into a frenzy, like an animal in heat. Each smell of his cologne, shaving cream, deodorant, and natural body scent that you picked up from his bed sent a wave of arousal directly to your core. You wondered how many times he'd pleasured himself in this bed and how frequently. You wondered if he ever thought of you while doing it, imagining himself buried deep to the hilt inside of you, each drag of his cock more perfect than the last, much like you were imagining now.
You would be lying if you didn't say there were a lot of handsome men in Jackson. Granted, you had been without romance for a very long time, but still. Many of them were single, and some of them were very sweet and friendly. Yet for some strange reason, your heart had been drawn to Joel. The first moment you saw him, with his silvery curls and his grumpy face, his shining brown eyes and his patched beard, you were smitten. You were a bit disappointed that he seemed to be a massive grump, but despite what everyone said, he was always nice to you. Granted, you were always nice to him, so why should he be anything less, right?
He was always a total gentleman, calling you names like darlin’ and sweetheart, his southern drawl pulling you in like a lasso. His care for his unofficially-adopted daughter warmed your heart, and you could see he was a real family man from both their relationship, and the one he shared with his brother. It warmed your heart, especially when you befriended Tommy and Ellie, getting to hear them talk about Joel. Seeing the love they feel, even if they give him a hard time sometimes. You didn't see how people felt Joel was cruel or heartless, even with the stories you heard. Times were rough, and people did what they had to for survival.
You were always too chicken to make a move, and you figured he wouldn't be interested anyway. Surely him calling you those names and being sweet with you was just his Southern gentlemanly nature, right? You were nice to him, he was nice to you.
So tonight, when Jimmy, the local heartthrob in town, asked you on a date, you told him you'd think about it and let him know. Yeah, you claimed you weren't sure how you felt about relationships after all the world had become. Truth was, you wanted a last chance with Joel before throwing in the towel and settling for Jimmy.
Sure, Jimmy was handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rugged, yet boyish. Several of the women in town had crushes on him, and he had had several of the women in town. You weren't clueless to the rumors about his playboy behavior. But it had been a while and well, you weren't getting any younger. It might be nice to have a partner, even if he did only want a short little fling.
So throwing back a few drinks, you decided you needed the liquid courage to finally make a move at Joel. One last effort to get his attention. You still didn't want to say anything to him, lest it ruin your current friendship that had grown so strong, but you could certainly use your body to entice a little. Drinking just enough to be brave, yet not so drunk that you were completely out of it, you gave an impression you were much drunker than you were, and needed Joel to help you out. Jimmy had almost been the one to walk you home, to your disappointment, before Joel stepped in, seeming slightly irritated about Jimmy's offer.
Yet after practically waving your ass in his face, showing him your panties (which you were sure looked wet), being inches from his crotch at knee height, and hanging on him all the way home, to now sleeping in his house and his bed, you were quite sure he didn't feel the same. Obviously his gestures were pure gentlemanly charm if he didn't bite after tonight's show.
So you tried to sleep, still a little drunk, but getting drunker off his scent. You tried to ignore the ache between your legs but the thought of him in this bed, groaning as his hand pumped his member to completion, made you throb. Soaked and antsy, you finally gave in and stuck your hand under the waistband of your panties. You let your imagination run wild, picturing him taking you in this bed, bringing you to bliss more than once. You could practically hear him groaning and panting, the sound seeping from your subconscious to the bedroom.
Tomorrow you would likely tell Jimmy yes. But tonight, you would try your best to get Joel out of your system, one stroke of your fingers at a time. But as you finished, coming with a whisper of Joel's name under your breath, you could still hear the groans and pants from Joel. Climbing out of bed, you moved to the door, pressing your ear against it. You could just barely hear the sounds of him panting and groaning, intermittent with the fapping of skin on skin. Delightedly surprised, you listened harder, feeling your pussy drool at the thought. How desperately you wanted to go out into the living room and climb on top of him. But he might not want that… he probably just couldn't sleep. Probably nothing to do with the scene you put on earlier. So instead, you slinked back to his bed, opting for round two.
At some point, the two of you fell asleep, panting and writhing with the self-induced pleasure, and the sound of each other through the door.
_____
The next morning, you awoke, walking down the hall to see Joel in his pajama bottoms and no shirt, making coffee. Your eyes scanned his broad shoulders and back, naked and tan. Bringing you back to last night's events, you felt your breath catching in your chest.
“M-morning” you stuttered out, nervously.
Joel jumped, having not heard you. He turned, greeting you with a good morning. A faint blush crept across his cheeks and he quickly turned his head to pour a cup of coffee, offering you some as well. Thanking him, the two of you sipped in silence, both stealing glances at the other and thinking of the night before. Both of you felt like you had a dirty little secret the other didn't know.
“Thanks again for taking care of me last night,” you added. In more ways than one, you thought.
“Of course, darlin’. Couldn't have you walkin’ home all alone or getting sick in the middle of the night. You're always welcome here,” he smiled.
“Well, I guess I better head to my house now,” you sighed. “See you later at patrol?”
“Course. Take care, sugar.” He brushed his hand over your arm. That's new… you thought. But still, probably friendly, unfortunately.
____
Hours later, you show up to patrol, noticing Joel hasn't arrived yet. Still a few minutes early, you look at the map, thinking over the route. You felt a tap on your shoulder, and turned around to see Jimmy.
“Hey, Jimmy,” you greeted, feeling slightly awkward. You assumed he probably wanted (and deserved) an answer. You rubbed your arm nervously, staring at the ground, wondering what to tell him. He was handsome, you thought, and you weren't getting anywhere with Joel.
“Did you, uh” Jimmy scratched behind his ear, “give any more thought to that date?”
Geesh. Not a lot of thinking time here…
“I did,” you replied. “I think… My answer is yes. I'll go out with you.” You felt a pang of regret in your stomach, but you wanted a connection, and you just weren't getting that from Joel, despite what you wanted to think from last night.
Jimmy grinned. “Really?” He picked up your hand, holding it in his. “That's great. I know you have patrol today, but maybe Friday? I'll meet you at your house at 6?”
“Sure,” you gave a small fake smile. “Sounds great.” He still held your hand, warm and soft and nothing like the rugged, large, callused hands of hard-working Joel. Although Joel has never held your hand, the times he's touched your arms, or held you up on your walk from the bar, he left a trail of goosebumps and butterflies in his wake, despite being warm to the touch.
Jimmy went to kiss your hand, just as Joel walked up. “What’s goin’ on here, huh?” He asked, seeming almost… angry, looking from Jimmy, to your connected hands, over to your face. “Joel,” Jimmy dropped your hand, giving Joel a curt nod.
“Jimmy..” Joel replied, teeth clenched.
“I'll see you Friday,” Jimmy smiled at you, touching your shoulder before walking away.
“What did that little asshole want?” Joel growled.
“Geez Joel, chill out. What's your problem? I'm not allowed to talk to people?” You crossed your arms.
“I toldja last night. I don't trust that kid. Too busy sleepin’ around with the whole town. What's he talkin’ to you for?” Joel furrowed his brow, looking over at Jimmy across the room, now talking to some of the other patrolmen.
“Gosh Joel.. seriously what is wrong with you? First of all, he's hardly a kid. He's at least in his thirties. Second of all, everyone he's been with, I'm sure has been consensual, otherwise Tommy would have kicked him out of the town. And lastly, but probably more important. What do you mean “what is he talking to you for?” You mocked in a deep voice. “Like I'm the only option he has left? Like I'm not deserving of a man talking to me? Not that it’s any of your business, friend, but for your information, Jimmy is taking me on a date on Friday. So fuck off, Joel.” You started to stomp away angrily, grabbing your pack off the desk.
“The fuck he is,” Joel muttered under his breath, so quiet you didn't hear and grabbing his pack as well.
_____
Five hours. Five hours of riding in complete silence, checking out abandoned buildings in complete silence, and taking breaks in complete silence. Even your first patrol wasn't this quiet, and you couldn't help but feel like he was somehow angry at you.
As irritated as you were with him, not talking to him somehow felt worse. This wasn't like him. Is this the grumpy side everyone talks about? Is this Joel, the asshole you have yet to meet?
Feeling confused, your eyes started to cloud, slightly teary with anger and sadness, yet also a bit of dread at going out with Jimmy. You blinked your eyes, sorting through the abandoned drug store you and Joel were in.
Finding some condoms on a shelf, you threw them in your pack. “What're you doin’?” Joel asked. “Those can't be sold, didn't you pay attention to Tommy? They're rarely effective this old.”
“Yes I paid attention, Joel. I know they can't be sold. They're for me. I figured it's better than nothing,” you replied bitterly. “I have a date in a couple days, I want to be prepared,” you scowled. Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything, instead turning to look the other direction of the aisle.
Crouched down to search the bottom shelf for other items, Joel was still turned away from you, keeping lookout on the other end of the aisle.
You didn't even hear the stalker leap around the corner from the shadows and pounce on you. It opened its mouth, fungal strands spreading from its mouth towards your face. Pure fear pulsed through your veins.
“Joel!!!!!” You cried out, using all your strength to try and push the infected off of your body, but it was too strong.
You screamed and kicked, struggling to break free, when Joel fired his shotgun, shooting the enemy in the head and immediately running over to you. Throwing the infected off of your body as if it was weightless, Joel scooped you into his arms. His lips moved but you heard nothing. Your ears rang, high pitched squeals from adrenaline, fear, shock, and the bang of the shotgun.
Joel pawed over your body, roughly inspecting you for bites and wounds in a frenzy. When he didn't find any, he held you in his arms again. “It's okay baby, it's okay. You're alright sweetheart. Come back to me, it's okay. You're okay.” Your hearing must have returned. He rocked you, tears welling from your eyes and his. “You're okay. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” He kissed your ear and the side of your head, still rocking you in a hug, sitting on the floor, inches from the now-dead infected. The two of you needed to get out of here, but neither of you could move yet.
Finally you spoke. “Why are you sorry Joel?” You asked with a sniffle. You wrapped your arm around his back, the other hand finding the back of his head, gripping his curls gently.
“I'm sorry for how I've been actin’ all day. I'm sorry I didn't see that stalker before he attacked. I'm sorry for being so possessive earlier. I'm sorry,” he held you tighter.
You pulled back to look into his eyes. “Joel, you couldn't have heard or seen that stalker. That's what they do best. You saved me and that's all that matters. As for earlier, you were being an asshole, and it did really hurt my feelings. All this time people have said you're such a jerk, and I didn't see it,” you pulled away from his grip, “but today I did.” You looked at your lap. “Don't I deserve to go on a date? Don't I deserve to have someone love me?” You picked at the hem of your pants, avoiding his eye contact.
“Oh, darlin', I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. I just - you deserve something real, not a hookup like that guy wants. I know his type. He'll sleep with you and toss you aside. You deserve to be treated like a lady.”
You snorted. “Yeah, Joel. That's how things are nowadays, too. Gentleman just waiting to sweep me off my feet. Shit, you literally just saved me from near-death, something that happens all the time today, and yet you're saying I deserve love? To find romance? Yeah, right.”
Joel didn't say anything. He just looked into your eyes, lips pursed and moving to the side in thought. His eyes drifted to your lips and back up to your sight.
You continued. “I don't even like Jimmy,” you said quietly. “I like someone else, but I just got tired of waiting and wanted some kind of connection. Even if it's just a night in bed.” At the last part of your sentence, Joel grimaced, almost in pain. And then he thought.
“Wait,” he sat back a little, scanning your face. “Who do you like?”
You gulped. Why not a little more adrenaline? “Well, it was you, until you started acting like an asshole. But I realized you probably didn't feel the same way a while ago. Especially after I practically threw myself at you last night.”
“Threw yourself at me last night? What are you talkin’ about? You were drunk,” Joel answered.
“I wasn't that drunk, Joel. My movements were pretty planned. The placement of my touches on your body. My ass angled up in your direction. I wanted you,” you added, pointedly.
Joel looked like he was solving a complicated math problem. “So you… last night when you… I heard you, in bed, pleasurin’ yourself. Were you… thinking about me?”
You looked up at him in shock and panic. “You heard me?” You asked in a frantic whisper.
“Yeah, I uh… I did. I got up to get a towel and heard your uh… sounds” he cleared his throat.
“I guess I should tell you then that I heard you too,” you said with a smirk.
Joel swallowed, hard. “Y-ya heard me?”
“Yep” you replied, popping your lips on the p sound.
Joel had nothing to lose at this point. “I was thinking about you,” he proclaimed. “Thinkin’ bout that wet spot on your panties when you flashed your ass in the air. Wishin’ I was buried inside you.” He ran his hand across your thigh.
Your breathing picked up. “I was thinking about you too. Wishing you'd bust through that door and take me in your bed, running my nails down your back as we came together…” you mimicked the motion with your fingers down his jacket-clad back.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes closing. You glanced down at the noticeable bulge in his jeans. “I like you too, I just never thought you felt the same. Y’never seemed to pick up on any of my sweet talkin’ or my names for ya.”
“I just figured you were being nice,” you replied, glancing back into his eyes.
“You should know by now, I'm only nice to you,” he growled. “I'm sorry I ruined that today,” he glanced at your mouth, licking his lips. “Was just jealous. Want you all for myself,” he stroked your thigh again.
You sighed at the feeling, pulling him by his collar to kiss him deeply. The kiss was frantic and rough, both of you trying to get as much of each other as possible, a year of build-up boiling at the surface. Teeth clashed and tongues danced and you pulled each other closer, grasping at clothes and skin.
The two of you broke the kiss, needing a gasp of air. You started to take off your shirt when Joel stopped you. “Whoa, darlin'. I want you just as bad, but not here,” he gestured to the old building. “It's dangerous, not to mention gross in here. I wasn't kidding when I said you deserve romance,” he stood, pulling you to your feet. “We're about a 20 minute ride from base, let's head home. Make your fantasy of fuckin’ in my bed come true,” he winked, giving a smack to your ass.
_____
The 20 minute ride felt never-ending as you both stole glances at each other, your panties still wet with arousal, and him still sporting the tent in his pants, which was hard to miss.
Finally making it back to the stables, you both quickly undressed the horses and put gear away, about to head out of the barn when Jimmy and his partner rode up. “Hey, babe,” he called to you. It sounded wrong from his mouth. Joel tensed at your side.
Dismounting his horse, Jimmy strolled over to you. “Hey Jimmy, I was thinking. I don't think I want to go on that date after all. I'm sorry, I just don't feel the same way.”
“What?” Jimmy asked in disbelief.
“I know, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I- I like someone else. I just didn't think they felt the same way,” you replied sheepishly.
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“What?” You were in disbelief.
“Fuck you, bitch. One of the few women in this town who won't fuckin’ put out. I was even gonna take you on some shitty date before I got you into bed, and now you make a fool of me? Nah, I don't think so,” he stalked towards you angrily.
You stepped back, worried what he might do, but Joel stepped in first, nailing a punch at Jimmy's nose. “Don't you dare talk to her like that,” Joel yelled.
Tommy came running in, hearing the commotion. After hearing what happened, it was decided that Jimmy wouldn't be welcome in this town any longer.
Satisfied, you grabbed Joel's hand. “Why don't I show you who I really belong to?” You looked up at him, biting your lip.
“Lead the way, baby.” He pushed you forward, smacking your ass.
The two of you stumbled into his house, kissing with little regard for objects. Luckily, Ellie was still at a friend's house. The door slammed closed and you kissed furiously, undressing as you walked. Finally you reached his bedroom and fell onto the bed, where he made all your fantasies of the night prior come true. The two of you enjoyed the taste of each other's mouths, kissing and licking, while he pounded into you, leaving you breathless and screaming his name as you both came.
“That was even better than I imagined,” you sighed, rolling over onto his chest.
“That's my girl,” he cooed, kissing your head and rubbing your back.
“Mine,” he whispered.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#a! wrote a fic#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x afab!reader#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#jealous!joel#joel miller#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us
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OMG i just saw your !MafiaGhost on how they met but can you do how !MafiaJohnPrice met with the reader? (if you haven't already and have the time of course. 😊💕.)
mafia!John Price x fem!Reader
John Price has always walked a different path in life than people like you. And yet, despite your status, he learns that the two of you are more alike than he thought. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.
mafia!141 masterlist
warnings: vague mentions of death and violence, infidelity, crude language, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationship dynamics
wc: 4.3k
an: sorry this took me a bit to answer! as you can see i got carried away. also, as we're headed into the new year, i'd just like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's been supporting my works! i recently hit 1k followers, and i cannot thank you guys enough for your lovely comments <3 i hope you all enjoy :)
“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”
Those were the first words John’s father ever said about you. He used one long, crooked finger to point you out in the crowd of other students who mingled about the room with their parents. Everyone had gathered in the school gymnasium for the science fair where all Year 8 students had projects and posters set up on rickety fold tables. Voices echoed endlessly off of the hard floor and walls that it was almost overwhelming.
Really, he didn’t agree with his father about you being trouble. You were plenty kind, and well liked by students and teachers alike due to your kindness and intellect. A proper student, one that everyone else in the school strived to be. There were times where your words bit harder than most would have liked, but John just saw that as you telling things the way they were. He liked that about you. Admired you, even. But then he saw the real reason why his father said those words.
The man who accompanied you oozed authority and power, both in his stance and the way he walked. People regarded him like he was the King of England himself both in how they spoke to him and stepped around him like he could part a crowd with just a single glance. Most importantly, this man was your father, and he donned a uniform fit for only the chief of police himself. His father never liked police officers very much. They always made things difficult when it came to running the family business.
It wasn’t until Year 11 that he actually talked to you. Or, more like you talked to him. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat the two of you together in the small, double seated desks that laid in perfect lines around the entirety of the room. He learned that you liked to doodle in the corner of your paper during lectures, and had a tendency to tap your pencil against the desk while taking exams. He liked the way your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and how soft your voice was when whispering answers to the table next to you.
He didn’t have time to think about you often, not that he should have. John Price was unfortunate enough to come from a family that had a long line of brutal patriarchs that often conditioned equally as cruel heirs. Once he turned sixteen he was forced to go along with his father during his work escapades where he very quickly learned how to clean up bodies without dirtying himself. He often showed up at school with various cuts and bruises, and with heavy bags under his eyes. Balancing the life of a killer and a student was tiring work.
“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.”
It took John a moment to realize you were talking to him, and even then he still didn’t fully believe it until he looked over and saw you staring at him. You were leaned forward over your desk with your hand lazily propping up your head while you waited for him to answer. His pencil halted in its dance across his work as he brought his full attention your way.
“Color corrector?” he repeated.
“Yeah, you know. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’d have to find your own shade of foundation.”
Your bluntness and slight humor towards the shiner on his eye had him chuckling, which only made the smile on your face grow into a smirk.
“You sound like an expert,” he noticed.
“I am,” you quipped before grinning. Carefully, you reached a hand up to the collar of your uniform and pulled down, exposing the side of your neck and some of your collar bone. There were several, small and faint hickies that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing them out. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.”
John liked your humor. And maybe there was something a little comforting knowing that someone like you was getting into trouble, too. Albeit, significantly less violent trouble than him, but that was for the best anyway. Maybe it gave him hope that someone like you and someone like him could actually have something in common. That he could resemble something that was normal.
A few years passed, and John began to drift from you bit by bit. You ended up graduating at the top of the class which earned you several offers from the most prestigious schools across the country, and it was all anyone talked about. Great things awaited you with opportunities to see distant lands, meet new people, and live a good and honest life.
As for John, his father died when he was twenty-three. Murdered, to be exact, and in a manner eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, and ruthless, his fathers existence had been snuffed out by a single bullet where his blood stained the pillow that covered his face.
The torch had been passed down, and its handle was still bloody.
Over the years he grew rigid and battle hardened in the business of violence. He earned plenty of scars, and built upon his fathers empire until it was twice as big and infinitely more dangerous. It was the only thing his father had ever managed to teach him; how to be dangerous. Everyone who once thought the Price’s were people to fuck with learned very quickly that the new Don had nothing to lose but his own life; one that he didn’t care all too much about.
The only thing he held close to him was the ghosts of his past, which was why he found himself standing in line at the florist’s shop. Even while running a quick errand, his phone vibrated in his pocket non-stop from merciless amounts of emails flooding his inbox. Mostly updates about certain events within the family that he attempted to lazily check as the woman in front of him spoke sweetly to the shopkeeper. Her voice was so soft, so comforting, so… familiar?
He didn’t realize it was you in front of him until you turned to leave with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. Even after all those years he could recognize the features of your face like it was second nature. The shopkeeper spoke to him and asked him what she could do to help him, but her words didn’t even register in his mind. His feet moved on their own accord, and your name slipped out of his lips before he could do anything to stop it.
Once you turned around to face him he found that the air had been knocked completely out of his lungs. It had been years since he had seen you, and you had changed so much; grown into your features, and turned into a beautiful woman that left him speechless. However, you didn’t regard him with the same dreamy gaze; instead, you stood there and stared at him as you awkwardly adjusted the flowers in your arms.
“Yes?” you asked tensely.
You didn’t recognize him. Of course, it made sense. He had grown significantly taller, his facial hair was full and thick, and for once he wasn’t sporting a shiner. His clothes were also significantly nicer, as he seemed to have grown fond of business casual as of late. If anything, your confusion was more humorous than anything else because he should have seen it coming.
“John, John Price,” he said as if he was introducing himself for the first time.
There was something about the way your eyes lit up at his name that had him feeling warmer than he had in a long while. A precious grin broke out on your lips as you took a step closer to him and laughed in the way someone does when they’ve figured out the answer to a riddle, and it was too contagious for John to not chuckle with you.
“I didn’t recognize you!” you exclaimed, still giggling. “God, it’s been years! Staying out of trouble, I hope?”
“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” he countered.
It was like no time had passed at all. You were still that star pupil that you were all those years ago, and he could still hear your pencil tapping on your desk clear as day. It felt unreal.
“What’s the occasion?” he then asked, gesturing to the flowers you held.
“Oh,” you said, as if surprised. “Well, it’s, uhm, the anniversary of my dad’s passing.”
The chief of police? Your father? That man who always held himself so powerfully had been shoved into the cold, unforgiving earth? When he was a kid that man had always seemed indestructible. Then again, so did every other adult when you’re at that age.
“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologized.
Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, you still smiled. “It’s alright. Was a while ago now, anyway. But, uh, what about you?” you asked, gesturing towards him and his empty arms.
“Mum’s birthday,” he answered simply.
His response made you smile something small and bittersweet. “How sweet of you. I bet she’ll love them.”
“Yes, they’ll make for good decoration.”
Something settled between the two of you; something that had never been there before. Not while you were children; not when you grew up together. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar, and much too suffocating, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or not.
“Well, I ought to get going,” you excused politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But it was really good seeing you again, John.”
This was the part where he should have said goodbye. Wished you farewell just for you to vanish and most likely never see him again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, and instead he found his hand diving into his pocket before he could stop it. He grabbed a pen and stole one of the shop's business cards off of the counter where he quickly scribbled down something in the negative space before holding it out for you to take.
“Here. I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there,” he assured you.
To his surprise, you took the card without hesitation where your eyes quickly scanned his rushed handwriting while you thanked him. As you held the card in front of you, something caught John’s attention. There was a metallic glint on your finger, one so bright that it nearly blinded him, and he realized you wore a large, gaudy ring. It was something given to you in poor taste, surely. Something that attempted to steal the spotlight of your beauty rather than compliment it.
“Did you get married?” he asked in what he told himself was curiosity.
You paused for a moment as you glanced at the ring on your finger. With such a large and obnoxious gem on a thin band, he was surprised it hadn’t snapped off.
“Oh, not yet. Just engaged,” you said in an odd tone. As if you couldn’t stand to look at the ring any longer, you shoved the card into your pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you, again.”
He tried to forget about you after that. Tried to forget about that ring on your finger and the way your voice changed when you mentioned your engagement. But it was so easy to worry about you; to care about you. Even after all those years you were still just as sweet and well spoken, but he was still John Price. Now the Don of the most lethal mafia in the country, he shouldn’t have been around anyone like you. You were the chief of police’s daughter, the girl who graduated top of his class in school and went to university; trouble. Nothing but trouble.
So he kept to his own work. Ran his club on the south end of the city, washed the blood out of his shirt, and spent his nights sipping brandy that was too expensive and well crafted for a man like him. But then he thought about the dress that you’d wear, how you would do your hair, what song you’d want to have your first dance to… it was moments like that when he was glad that he had given you his number rather than the other way around. He was even more glad that you hadn’t made an effort to reach out to him. It was better that way.
“You alright, boss?”
Those three words tore John right out of his thoughts and slammed him right back down to earth. Back to the thundering bass that shook the walls around him in the nightclub, back to real life and the man who sat at the desk in front of him, typing away on the computer.
“Tired,” John replied simply.
“You’re always tired,” the man countered. He paused his typing at the computer and ran a hand over his hair, which he had styled into a slightly grown out mohawk. “Even then you never space out this bad.”
Whatever Soap, his electronics specialist, was trying to get at, John certainly wasn’t in the mood for it. Sighing, he leaned back further in his seat while he stared at the man with a tense expression. “Do you have the intel or not?”
A small chuckle came from the corner of the office where another man sat, seemingly bored as he typed away on his phone. “Way to piss the man off.”
“Aye, I’ll turn that phone of yours into a fancy brick if you don’t watch your tone, Garrick.”
The two men chuckled at each other’s teasing just in time for John’s own phone to go off. Not expecting a call, John ripped the device out of his pocket and stared at the unrecognized caller ID with his thumb hovering over the decline button. But he hesitated. It had been months since he had given you his number, and yet a small part of him worried you might have been on the other line.
When he stood from his chair, it caught the other two men in the room off guard, but they stayed silent as they watched John accept the call and raise the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he answered.
All he got in response was a sob.
By the time John had found you, all of your tears had run dry and a brutal fury filled the empty space. It wasn’t terribly late at night, but it was plenty dark enough that the park you had run off to looked eerie and uninviting in the dim halogen lights. Knees bouncing with anxiety, you sat on a park bench and bit into your bottom lip as you watched John approach from the street.
For as much effort as he put into looking calm on the outside, it did absolutely nothing to settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing you cry, hearing you beg for him to come get you scared him more than he cared to admit. Really, he was rather proud of himself for keeping as level headed as he did, even after he saw the tear stains on your cheeks.
It didn’t take long to coax what happened out of you, in fact, it nearly erupted out of you. That fiance of yours had proved to be less honest than he liked to paint himself as, and as the two of you sat on that park bench in the middle of the night you gave him every excruciating detail. How he had been acting strange for a few months, how he used to show you off and then suddenly wanted to keep you locked away. A part of you knew what was really happening, and yet you told yourself you were crazy until you had walked in on your fiance fucking his mistress in your shared bed.
“Four fucking years, John,” you said, trying not to grit your teeth too hard that they cracked. “Four years of being with this man just for him to do that? He moved me into his flat, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. I have nothing. I don’t have my own place, I hardly have my own money, I was an idiot and gave up everything because he asked me to and I was stupid enough to believe him.”
By that point in your rant your knees were bouncing so fast your entire body vibrated. Terrified you’d disintegrate in front of him, John reached a careful hand out and brushed it against your shoulder. Though you didn’t say anything about it, or even look at him differently, your muscles seemed to relax some.
“I could’ve been great,” you continued as your voice began to break. “I was able to go to any school in this country, I got my degree, I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them. I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I wasn’t. I’m not, and that fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”
More tears fell from your eyes after that, and it didn’t take much prompting from John before you crumbled against his side. When was the last time someone had held you like that? Wrapped their arms around you and held you close? When was the last time someone comforted you and actually meant it and not just in some sort of twisted expectation of devotion? Something in you told you that you should have felt shame for blatantly sobbing on a man in such a public space at an hour like that. Another part of you didn’t really care.
It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay at his place. Eyes refusing to look at him when you gave him excuse after excuse, it was obvious that you didn’t want to burden him anymore than you already had. So you told him you could stay with your mom, or even get a hotel if that wouldn’t work, but John simply wouldn’t hear it.
Eventually you were in the living room of his house. An actual house. Not an apartment or flat in the city, but something kind and quaint in the higher end of town. He had a real lawn and backyard that was perfectly manicured, and everything on the inside of the house was much too perfect and clean. It was something straight out of the catalogs you’d see in magazines or on HGTV.
First order of business was a shower, and though it felt strange changing into John’s clothes, you would have done anything to wipe the stench of your cheating fiance off of you. And maybe it was because of the spite that boiled inside of you, but you found that you liked the way John’s clothes smelled significantly more than you ever liked your ex’s. Second was getting you food, and though you had told John you weren’t hungry, the scent of his buffalo chicken was too good to pass up.
It was near midnight by the time you went to bed, and John had made sure everything was set up for you in the guest room before he meandered back down to the kitchen to clean up. There was still plenty of work that needed to be finished that night back with the boys. He took comfort in knowing that you’d be safe in his house, at least, and well out of reach of that terrible excuse of a man.
When John finished cleaning things up in the kitchen, it took him a moment to notice the incessant buzzing sound that plagued the room. Like rattling glass, it made his ears quiver just listening to it, and he quickly scavenged the countertops until he found your phone resting on the island in the center of the room. Flashing lights illuminated the screen as your ex’s caller ID and photo popped up. He caught the tail end of the call, and the screen faded back to your lock screen where it claimed to have received 27 missed calls, as well as 84 unread text messages.
Where the fuck are you?
Answer your fucking phone.
Baby please.
Answer me.
Stop being a fucking bitch.
Goddamn skank.
Come on, honey it means nothing.
Are you seriously making this a big deal?
Come home before I drag you home.
I’m not fucking around.
You’re pissing me off.
Before leaving the house to head back to the nightclub, John swiped up your phone and hid it in his pocket, along with that god awful ring you didn’t care to wear anymore.
In the morning you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours with clothes that didn’t fit you, yet you had never felt so comfortable in your entire life. It had been a long while since you last felt like you belonged; since you felt comfortable in your own skin. Still, you couldn’t stay there forever and you forced yourself up off of the mattress as you snuck your way to the living room. You were greeted by several large boxes that sat stacked neatly in the furthest corner of the room, and once again John was in the kitchen making food. He still wore the same clothes he had the night before, and they looked terribly disheveled, yet he still continued on anyway.
“Mornin’,” he greeted as he looked up from his pan where several eggs sizzled away. “Sleep alright?”
Still groggy, you approached the island where you lazily leaned against it. “Yeah. Looks like you didn’t get any, though.”
John chuckled, something tired yet still hearty at the same time. “Perceptive.”
“Always have been.”
John quickly finished up the eggs and began to dish out the food onto plates. While you waited, your fingers lazily ran over the counter top where they collided with your phone, and it took everything in you to hold back a sigh. Looking down at it, you pressed the home button where the screen lit up, expecting to see several messages from your ex, and yet there was nothing. You stood there perplexed and wondered if the man had really let you just run away from him, until you noticed something else missing.
“Have you seen my ring?” you questioned as John slid a plate of food your way.
“Your ex took it back,” John answered simply. He stood on the other side of the island for a moment before he turned around and started cleaning up the mess of ingredients and dishes that littered the counter. “I also managed to retrieve all your personal items. They’re stacked in the living room when you’re ready to look through them.”
Mouth open in surprise, you glanced back into the living room and eyed the stack of boxes before looking back at John with a raised eyebrow. “How… how’d you manage all that?”
Perhaps he should have hesitated before answering. Thought of something to say other than the truth. Instead, John didn’t miss a beat in answering you as he continued cleaning.
“He sent you a few messages last night and I saw his name pop up on your phone. Didn’t realize you were engaged to the mayor’s son,” he explained. “I have some contacts who were able to get me an audience with him. I figured it would be easier for me to grab your items than you doing it yourself. Save you the trouble, at least. He shouldn’t be bugging you again.”
For the longest time, you didn’t know what to say. There were a few glaringly obvious holes in his explanation, namely why there weren’t any notifications on your phone. If he had only glanced at it, they would have still been there, and yet they had been cleared. Then there was the fact your ex was too self centered to ever have an audience with anyone he didn’t actively seek out. Perhaps even stranger, you weren’t at all surprised. Maybe you were a little taken aback at everything he had done for you, but not at the methods he used to get it done. Because you had known John’s secret from the very beginning. After all, you had been the chief’s daughter.
“John,” you said, voice soft and even.
Drying his hands off on a small towel, he turned around to finally face you where he was surprised to find you smiling. And god, you were stunning, so much so that all he could do was stand there and wait for you to continue.
“I’m glad I ran into you at the flower shop,” you finished. “Thank you. For everything.”
It wasn’t what he expected you to say, and still he mimicked your smile, although it was much more tired than yours had been. Life was strange. Nothing had ever gone as planned in John’s life, and yet there was you. Through all the years and the shit and the struggles, you had found your way back into his life, and for some strange reason, he found himself hoping you’d stick around this time, no matter how much trouble you caused.
“Any time, darling.”
don't let me in with no intention to keep me
jesus christ, don't be kind to me
honey, don't feed me, i will come back
#mafia!price#mafia!john price#mafia!141#john price x reader#price x reader#captain price x reader#captain john price x reader
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i only see daylight ✩ charles leclerc
— or, three times charles showed you love is golden.
✐ charles leclerc x gender neutral reader
✐ requested. inspired by taylor swift's song 'daylight'.
✐ warnings: lowercase intended, small mention of reader being insecure of their looks, 1k words.
i don't want to look at anything else now that i saw you
"why are you looking at me like that?" you ask, eyebrows tightly knitted. you've done your best to avoid asking the question, but charles' stare is making you self-conscious despite your best efforts. intrusive thoughts swarm your brain now and then, telling you he's too good for you in many, many ways, but the most evident one might be how plain you look compared to his beautiful exterior.
"do you think the moon is jealous of how beautiful you are?" he's so sincere your heart hurts a little, and yet, a smile spreads on your face imitating his own.
you laugh, shaking your head, as he's still staring at you.
"i'm being serious," charles joins in your laughter, all contradiction to his spoken words. "you're the most beautiful thing i've ever laid my eyes upon."
you've been told you're pretty in different instances of your life, you've been called 'cute' 'adorable' and on very very strange occasions, beautiful. but charles calls you all of that so often, that you're shocked the words haven't lost any meaning. he speaks from his heart every time he talks to you.
the awkwardness has seeped out of your body, replaced by the warmth of knowing you're loved in a way many people spend their lives desiring.
all of you, all of me, intertwined
it's your racing heartbeat that wakes you up. you lie in bed, eyes open and blood rushing to your ears, waiting for another sound to come from outside the bedroom. you are supposed to be alone, but you swear something fell in the kitchen.
you're frightened, but you know you have to deal with whoever is rummaging through your cupboards at 2 am. grabbing your cell from the nightstand, you dial three digits for the emergency line and skip the 'call' button, this is a dumb idea, but you are going to the kitchen.
it takes you three minutes to find one of charles' golf clubs, and you get a pinch of regret about using them as a weapon, but deep down you know he won't mind. tiptoeing your way down to the kitchen, your heart is about to burst out of your chest. this really is a dumb idea, you could just be endangering yourself further.
"ah putain!" a male voice whisper-yells, followed by the sound of another pot crashing to the linoleum. your boyfriend is angry and disheveled, and he has never looked better in your eyes.
"what are you doing?" you question, leaning the golf club against the wall. there's this happiness that only he brings you by just being in the same space, that your fear is gone. there's surprise in your heart too, pleasant surprise, he is supposed to be on the other side of europe still.
charles straightens up so fast he gets lightheaded, but it doesn't stop him from crossing the kitchen in three long strides, arms open and with a huge smile that shows his dimples clearly. "mon amour!" he's still whispering, although you're awake and currently being asphyxiated in his embrace.
"i thought you were taking the eight am flight," you mumble against his shoulder. he carries with him the smell of the plane, which is not unpleasant, but it hides his normal scent; the one that makes him feel like home.
"i couldn't wait to see you," he's peppering your head with kisses, his hands roaming down your sides as he takes you in, as if he's missed you for years and not just a weekend.
"hmhmm," you love being in his arms, you just don't love the lack of oxygen that's getting to your head.
charles lets go of you, not without leaving a sloppy kiss on your forehead.
"and what were you doing sneaking around like a mouse in the kitchen?" you look at the pot still on the ground and the wooden spoon resting on the stovetop.
"well," he's sheepish now, scratching the back of his head. "i was hungry. i hate plane food."
you laugh and he takes this as a chance to hold you against him again. sleep has abandoned you completely, you are too giddy now that you're with him.
"and what exactly were you planning to cook?"
charles shrugs, "whatever i could find, to be honest."
you make yourselves busy with preparing a three am snack, quickly falling into synchronization after so many meals prepared together in this same kitchen. sometimes in silence, others like right now, there isn't a pause while charles tells you everything about his weekend away, there isn't a thought in his brain that doesn't make its way to his mouth when he's with you.
it's three am, you're both sleep deprived and you can't picture yourself doing this with anyone else or for anyone else.
i once belived love would be black and white
in your experience, there were only two possibilities when it came to a disagreement: i’m right and you’re wrong.
fighting with charles is uncommon, your disagreements over petty things can be solved in childish ways, a game of rock, paper, scissors, pulling the short straw, etc. these stupid little issues end with a laugh and short mockery of whoever lost, and the agreement to don't bring it up again. which is the harder part, teasing each other in a lighthearted manner is a love language too.
you still remember the first time you had your first big fight with charles. the reason it started has slipped to back of your mind, insignificant. but you remember the crying and the yelling.
the thought of your love being over was the worst stab, straight into your heart. things like these had happened before, your previous relationships never bounced back from your mistakes. it always was all right or all wrong when it came to you.
charles hadn't yelled, he had waited patiently for you to finish and when you were a mess with reddened eyes and a clogged nose, he hugged you and told you he loved you.
yes, he was mad at you too. but his temporary anger didn't cloud his better judgment, words cannot be taken back, and hurting you wasn't something he could forgive himself for.
“pause, okay?” charles says sometimes, others it’s your turn to freeze the frame, when things are getting too ugly to be sane about them.
and you pause. because there is right and there is wrong, but there are no absolutes between the two of you, except maybe when it comes to loving the other.
─── team principal radio: ❝hi! this is my first request on this blog, so thank you so much to the anon that requested this. I hope they and everyone who stumbles upon this enjoyed it!❞
#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x female reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagines#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc fluff#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 fluff
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Tell Me Some Things Last | s3
pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 23.1k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20
a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell
series masterlist
"Excuse me?"
Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."
"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."
She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."
You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.
"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."
She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.
You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.
He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.
The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.
The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.
You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"
Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."
A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"
He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."
"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."
Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"
"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."
"You can tell that just by the arms?"
"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."
After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.
You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.
When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.
"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.
"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.
You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."
"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.
Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."
"The first two victims were the same."
A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"
Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."
You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.
"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.
She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."
She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.
"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."
You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.
If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.
***
The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.
"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.
"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."
"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."
That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."
"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.
"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."
"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.
"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."
"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.
JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."
"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."
The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."
"There's been another murder."
***
The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.
You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.
He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."
Your mouth falls open. "What?"
"Two weeks."
You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."
"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.
"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"
He blinks. "Can you say that again?"
You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."
He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.
"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."
His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."
"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.
"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."
You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.
He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.
"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.
"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."
"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"
He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."
***
You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?
You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.
You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.
Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.
You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.
When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."
"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."
You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."
"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."
"Need any help?"
She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."
"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."
"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."
When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.
You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.
You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.
You miss them all.
***
The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.
Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.
Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.
Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.
You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."
"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."
"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."
"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."
He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.
"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."
"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.
You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."
"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."
When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"
"You miss work, don't you."
He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.
You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.
"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.
The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.
"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."
To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.
You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.
"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."
"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.
"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."
She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."
His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."
"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."
They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."
He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.
You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.
This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.
You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.
Jeff Adler
Beloved Son, Husband, Brother
Until we meet again
The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.
He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.
He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.
You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.
You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.
"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."
You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."
***
He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.
When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.
"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.
"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"
He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."
"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."
She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."
That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?
"Sorry to interrupt."
Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."
"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.
"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."
"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."
She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."
That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."
"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."
She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."
"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.
"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand
for one case, so be it."
Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.
"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."
She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."
***
Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.
"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.
"He didn't tell you?"
You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."
But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.
"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."
"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."
You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.
"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."
Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.
He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"
A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"
JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."
Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.
Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.
You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"
"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."
You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."
She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."
You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.
"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.
***
When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.
Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."
"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.
He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.
He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.
An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.
"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-
He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."
"Would you have to travel?"
"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."
She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."
***
You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.
"Hello?" It's Haley.
You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.
You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.
"Hey."
He sounds guilty. You can imagine.
"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.
"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."
That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."
There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."
Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.
"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.
"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.
"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."
He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."
"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.
"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"
"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.
"All right. Keep me posted."
***
Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.
A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.
"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.
"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.
Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"
Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."
She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."
With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.
You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."
He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.
The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.
After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."
"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."
"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.
She nods. "All the better."
Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering
with a federal investigation."
"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."
He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.
Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"
You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.
"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.
Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."
She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."
"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"
You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.
Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.
"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."
***
When he gets home, the lights are off.
"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.
"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."
He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.
***
Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.
He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.
You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.
Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.
Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.
You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."
"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."
You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.
"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."
You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."
***
"You must be the BAU."
A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."
"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."
He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."
"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed.
"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"
You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.
"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.
Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."
"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.
"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.
"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.
The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.
"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.
Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."
"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."
"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"
They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.
"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."
Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.
Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"
***
When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.
When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.
"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.
"The trail's 40 miles long."
You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."
"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."
He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.
"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."
"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."
You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."
"Guy had a busy year."
You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."
You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."
"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."
He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."
When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.
"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.
He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."
You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."
You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.
"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.
"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."
***
He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.
They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.
He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.
When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.
When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.
He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.
Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.
He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.
When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."
He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."
He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"
"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."
He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"
You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"
He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."
"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.
"You don't seem closed off to me."
Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."
He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"
He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.
"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"
"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.
"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.
"Haley left."
Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."
***
You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.
You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.
When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.
That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.
You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.
He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.
"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.
"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."
He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.
You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.
You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.
"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."
"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."
"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."
"Which do you prefer?"
You grin. "Home, of course."
"Of course."
You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.
The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.
It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.
After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.
"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.
"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."
You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"
Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."
"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."
"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?
You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."
"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."
Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."
"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.
"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."
You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"
"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."
You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.
You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.
"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."
"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."
"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."
"A few shots?" you laugh.
She nods. "Each."
~
You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.
Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.
You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.
Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.
He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.
He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.
Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.
He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?
"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"
"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."
"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."
He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.
~
When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.
You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."
He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."
"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"
He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."
You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.
You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.
"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."
"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."
Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."
"No, it's not."
He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.
"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."
You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"
"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."
You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.
"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"
"Aaron."
You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.
"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."
"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."
You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.
***
"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."
Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.
"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.
"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."
"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.
"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."
Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."
"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."
Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."
You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"
"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."
You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.
JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.
"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."
He nods. "Right, sorry."
Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."
This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.
"Let's start the briefing."
***
The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.
You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"
Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."
"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."
"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.
"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."
"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."
You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.
"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."
"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."
Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.
"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."
"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."
He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"
You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.
"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."
He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"
You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."
Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."
You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."
"How is your father doing, by the way?"
You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."
"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.
You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."
"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"
You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."
"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."
"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."
He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.
"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."
"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."
You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."
He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."
You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.
You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.
***
He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.
He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.
He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.
Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.
A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"
"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"
He nods. "That's right."
"There is no 'I'?"
He nods again, not liking where this may be going.
Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."
He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"
"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."
He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"
"I guess you're just not used to sharing."
He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"
"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.
"I won't say anything."
"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"
It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."
"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."
Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.
***
"Hey, Dad."
You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."
"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.
He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"
"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."
"Unsub?"
"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."
"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"
"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."
"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."
You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.
You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.
"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."
Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.
***
"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.
"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"
"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."
"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."
"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."
"What do you mean?"
"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.
"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.
She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."
"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."
***
The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.
The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.
"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"
You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.
"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."
"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."
"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."
Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.
"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.
The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.
"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."
"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."
"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."
His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"
"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.
"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."
"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."
Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."
***
The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.
When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.
You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"
"Y/N...it's Garcia."
You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"
"I don't know."
"I'm on my way."
You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.
"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.
"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."
"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.
"He's not answering his cell."
Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."
He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.
You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?
"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.
He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."
"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.
"I was in church. My phone was off."
"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.
The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.
"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."
When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."
***
Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.
"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.
"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."
JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.
"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.
"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.
"James Colby Baylor."
She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.
"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.
"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."
"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."
"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."
She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."
JJ blinks. "Anything."
"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."
***
The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.
Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.
"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.
You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."
"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.
You snort. "Sleep's overrated."
You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.
Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."
His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."
He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.
"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."
"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."
"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."
He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."
"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."
He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."
"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.
"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."
You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.
"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."
An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."
***
You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.
After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.
"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"
"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."
You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."
"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."
"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."
"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."
"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.
"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."
"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"
"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."
You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."
Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."
Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.
"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.
"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."
***
The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.
He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.
"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"
"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."
"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.
"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."
He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."
You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."
"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.
All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.
"She said you've been ignoring her calls."
He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.
He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."
"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.
He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."
"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."
"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."
You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."
He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.
"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"
He nods again. "See you tomorrow."
When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.
When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.
His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.
He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.
***
"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.
"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."
Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.
"Did he eat lunch?"
"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."
"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."
"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."
The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.
You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.
"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."
"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.
"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.
"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"
Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.
"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."
When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.
The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."
"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."
He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."
"You sure?"
He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.
"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."
He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.
You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."
"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."
You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."
"See you soon."
The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.
A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.
"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.
He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."
"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.
"He doesn't even know me."
You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."
"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.
You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?
"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."
He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."
You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"
"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."
"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."
"You never told her what happened?"
He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."
"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."
The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."
"Remember what?"
He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."
***
"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.
"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.
Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."
He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."
"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."
"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."
You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"
"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.
You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."
"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.
"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."
Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."
Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"
"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.
***
You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.
"Yeah, that's him."
JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."
Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."
When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.
"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.
"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.
"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."
She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.
"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."
She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."
You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."
She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.
Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.
***
Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.
Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.
How can you drink this stuff?
It makes me feel sophisticated.
Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.
The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.
You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.
"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"
You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."
He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."
Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.
"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."
That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."
You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"
He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"
"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"
He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"
"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"
You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."
He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"
"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."
"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."
He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.
As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.
"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.
"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.
"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."
You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."
"Either way."
You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.
"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."
You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.
"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"
The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.
His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.
Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.
***
"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."
You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.
"...by always taking the long shot."
Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.
"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."
"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."
"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."
"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."
"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."
And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.
Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."
He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."
His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.
You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.
***
"Five shootings in two weeks."
"It's about time we got the call."
The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.
"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."
You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.
"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.
Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."
They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.
JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.
***
"Kate."
A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"
He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.
"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.
After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.
The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.
"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.
"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."
You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.
"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.
"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"
"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."
JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.
The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.
Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.
"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."
"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."
You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"
Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."
She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."
You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."
She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."
This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."
"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."
"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."
You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."
"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."
***
After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.
When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."
JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."
He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."
"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?
You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."
That makes you frown too.
Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"
JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."
Oh my God.
"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."
"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.
You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."
"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.
He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."
"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.
JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"
"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.
She looks down. "I know."
"Because I understand if you need to take some time."
"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."
"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."
You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.
***
You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.
"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.
She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."
"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."
She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."
"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.
Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."
You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"
"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."
You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."
He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."
"Screw you."
You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.
***
You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.
"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."
"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."
You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."
"There are no sides here."
You nod. "I know."
"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."
That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"
He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."
You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."
"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."
"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone
who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why
you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"
You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"
You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."
***
"Emily, what happened?"
You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.
"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."
"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"
Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."
Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.
After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.
You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.
You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.
TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @sanayikes, @yiiiikesmish, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog
(message me to be added!)
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#hotch x reader#hotch x female!reader#aaron hotchner#hotch#criminal minds#penelope garcia#spencer reid#derek morgan#jennifer jareau#emily prentiss#david rossi#jason gideon#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner series#criminal minds series#criminal minds season three#hotch fic#criminal minds fanfiction
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Catharsis: Christmas Special
Phos!Reader x Teen!Gojo Satoru and Teen!Geto Suguru
Warnings: Gojo - centric, usual angst, fluff if you squint, major character death, dead bodies, set in 2006, lots of talks of politics, death, murder, trauma, morals, etc, borderline bullying? (Satoru is a jerk), self - blaming, grief, and all it's stages, trouble processing and understanding emotions, Gojo is seriously just his own warning
Notes: Merry Christmas!!!
"You're weak. Why do you bother being a sorceror?"
Satoru's words make you freeze, eyes widening at their bluntness. He doesn't react, however, because in his mind, he's simply telling you the truth.
You're weak. He's known that from the moment you set foot in this classroom almost three months ago.
He doesn't understand why Suguru and Shoko seem so fond of you. All you do is get into trouble, injure yourself, and make it everyone's problem to save you. You can't fight, your Cursed Technique is subpar, not to mention that you're annoying.
Stepping into battle like some sort of self-righteous hero knowing full well that if a curse so much as touches you, you'll crumble. Literally. That's another thing he finds annoying about you. How easily your skin chips and cracks like porcelain revealing an ocean of Phosphophyllite underneath.
You can't lift anything heavy, you can't fight, you can't help out without injuring yourself, you're clumsy, you're annoying, and the list could go on.
What he finds the most annoying about you, however, is your soft voice going, "Gojo - san, are you alright? You look tired", "Gojo - san, you should rest, you don't need to use your technique so often", "Gojo - san, you haven't eaten yet, so I brought you this, I hope you don't mind".
Gojo - san this, Gojo - san that, God. You drive him crazy. How do you manage to see through every front he puts up? Every act? Even Shoko and Suguru can't see through it, and yet you have the audacity to call him out.
You're a liability in battle, and you're practically useless, more like the team's overglorified mascot. So, for the life of him, Satoru doesn't understand why everyone likes you so much. Even Nanami, his grouchy underclassman, doesn't seem to mind you.
What annoys Satoru the most, however, is the tug his heart feels when he looks at you. Because no matter how he tries to deny it, you're growing on him like a parasite, and a part of him wishes he was as close to you as they were.
"I am weak." You agree, seemingly taking no offence to Satoru's question. It's just you and him in the classroom. You're standing at your desk, bag still in hand, and he's sitting a desk, two desks behind yours. Shoko and Suguru are still on their way, and he's taken this opportunity to ask you what he's been dying to.
Satoru's eyes widen at your response.
"If you know you're weak, why do you try so hard? It's kind of pathetic, you know." His brows furrow, glasses sliding down his nose bridge as he tilts his head.
"I- because, I'm selfish, I guess." You say softly.
There it is again. That annoying soft tone of voice that makes his chest hurt whenever he hears it.
"I know I'm weak, but I want to keep trying. I want to fight. One day, I want to be able to repay everyone for everything they've done for me. Yaga - sensei, Shoko, Suguru, Ken, Yuu. Even you, Gojo - san. I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to be able to protect innocent people like you guys do. So I hope you can bear with me for a little more, Gojo - san. I'm sorry for being such a burden, but I promise I'll pay you back." You say earnestly, looking Gojo in the eye.
Satoru's eyes widen, and he's silent for a moment. Before he bursts out laughing.
You suddenly feel embarrassed. You were being serious and heartfelt, and all Gojo does in response is laugh.
"What's with that? Did you quote that from an anime?" He cackles, hitting the desk with one hand and holding his stomach with the other.
"I- I did not! I was being honest!" You defend, feeling the heat tinting your cheeks.
"If- if you really want to repay me, buy me something sweet from the vending machine." Satoru stutters between fits of giggles.
"OK, I'm on it." You nod, turning on your tail to leave the class. A hand grabs your shoulder, stopping you.
"Where are you going?" Satoru asks, leaning down to look you in the eye.
"The vending machine?" You reply, brows furrowed in confusion.
"You're going now?"
"Yeah? I'll be back really quickly."
Satoru scoffs, but there's a smile on his face nonetheless.
"Really? I'll time you then. You have 5 minutes." He challenges, smirking as he tilts his head at you.
"5- 5 minutes?" You stutter, eyes wide. The vending machine was on the other side of the school. There's no way you'd make it back in 5 minutes.
"Yeah. The clock is ticking. Didn't you say you'd pay me for saving your butt all those times?" He mocks.
Satoru's eyes widen as you put down your bag, determination clear on your face.
"I did. I might not be back in 5 minutes, but I'll be back in less than 10!"
"Hey, wait-"
And with that, you've rushed out the classroom, leaving Satoru absolutely bewildered. As he sticks his head out the door, watching you run and almost slip multiple times, Satoru thinks he's figured it out. He understands why Shoko and Suguru keep you around.
You're amusing. And he wants to get closer to you.
Unfortunately, things never go as planned. And if Satoru had known the outcome before, he would have tried to get to know you much sooner.
Things change quickly when you're a Jujutsu Sorceror. People come and go, live, and die. They change, they evolve. People grow apart, and people grow closer.
Regardless, it's not a pleasant feeling when you lose someone close to you.
Gojo Satoru had never thought the day would come when he'd feel regret. He was the strongest, after all. Everything he wanted he got. The world was his oyster. Money, power, good looks, everything. So it's safe to say that loss was also a new concept to him.
A feeling he decided he'd prefer to live without.
It hurt in a way he couldn't explain. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if there were something heavy on his chest. Almost as if he were having an out of body experience but could feel whatever the stranger he saw when he looked in the mirror felt. Pain. Anger. Despair.
Cold and light. That's how your body felt in his arms. He couldn't bear to look at the white cloth covering it. This, this couldn't be you. This body in his arms, the broken shards of its head cutting into the cloth.
Yet it was still vivid. Amanai Riko running out and finding him, letting him know that you had died saving her. A bullet straight to the head. Pushing her into Suguru's arms and telling him to run with your last breath. Riko's tear filled face as she begged for him to help Suguru because she couldn't bear to have anyone else die because of her.
Since then, he's felt numb. It hasn't faded. The coldness in his skin, the haze of his reality, brain clouded as it was forced to process the events that had taken place.
"Suguru... should we kill them all? I probably wouldn't feel anything right now."
Did he say something? The words don't register in his mind. Was that his voice? Raw and soft.
Them. The higher-ups. If only he had known earlier that they were supportive of your death. That there was a bounty for your head somewhere.
He didn't know why. He didn't know anything. You had kept so much to yourself. Just what were you dealing with alone? All this time, smiling wide, eyes always sparkling, hiding everything behind your carefree, happy - go - lucky persona.
You didn't deserve this. You of all people. You weren't weak. You were sweet, kind, caring, and selfless to a fault.
This was not you. Lifeless in his arms. You were never this cold.
He remembered it, how warm your hands were all those time your fingers brushed his forehead to check if he was well, when your fingers brushed his whenever you handed him something, how warm they were when you held his face in your hands and scolded him for being reckless. He remembered it vividly.
What would you say if you saw him now? The exhaustion in his face, the blankness in his eyes, the way his- his hands were... trembling?
He could hear your voice, clear as day.
"Gojo - san! What happened to you!"
"You should really take care of yourself more, what were you thinking?"
"I don't care if you're one of the strongest! You're a teenager. Right now, you're just Satoru, and you're going to learn to be kinder to yourself. You- you don't deserve this."
What did Satoru deserve? Was it really kindness? Care? Gentleness? Love? He had messed up. If he had been stronger, he could have saved you. If he had been stronger, you wouldn't be dead in his arms.
What was the point of awakening his powers when they weren't there when it mattered? What was the point of being the strongest if he couldn't protect the people he cared about? The people he loved?
What made matters worse was finding out the higher-ups were happy you were gone. The people that had singlehandedly been the cause for his suffering. His. Suguru's. Shoko's. Yours. Those filthy old bags who only thought of themselves.
What would really happened if he killed them all? Would it really be such a bad thing? Weren't they supposed to be the pillars of the Jujutsu world? The elders for people to look up to and learn from. A symbol of hope, something, anything even remotely positive, beneficial to the future of the young next generation of Jujutsu Sorcerors?
All they had done was applaud the death of someone innocent. A teenager. A child. How dare these self-righteous ba-
Your hand falls from the covers of the white sheet, hanging limply.
Satoru's brain goes blank. A pale arm, an empty hand, and familiar phosphophyllite fingernails.
"No need. It's meaningless." Suguru's voice is low, as if the reality that you're gone hasn't hit him yet. His eyes linger on your hand. The palm that patted his back, the fingers that ran through his hair, the hand that was so warm in his.
Before he can stop himself, he finds his own hand grasping it. It's cold. He drops it like the contact physically hurt him.
"Without the higher-ups, the Jujutsu world will go up in flames. And even if they die, there's the possibility even worse people will come into power. Killing them won't bring her back either."
His words don't make sense, even to him, but Suguru utters them nonetheless. The look in Satoru's eye is enough to tell him that if he doesn't do anything, today will mark the beginning of a massacre. And although he feels the same anger Satoru does, Suguru's moral compass, as well as his understanding of the type of person you are... stops him.
"Meaning... huh?" Satoru repeats.
The Satoru in front of him is not the Satoru Suguru knows. The playful, snarky, overburdened boy replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... cold.
"Do we need that?"
Suguru hesitates for a split second. The girl in Satoru's arms is just as unfamiliar. A bubbly, bright, kind girl replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... almost sinful. A shell. An empty shell. The existence it harboured long gone. A disgrace to the being it had once been.
"Yeah. It's very important... for sorcerors."
Your corpse wouldn't decompose. The crystallisation forming a perfect seal to your body, and perhaps that's why they can't bring themselves to immediately bury you.
Clinging onto the false hope that perhaps you'd wake up, bounce back like always. Familiar head of teal hair poking over Suguru's shoulder, a second softer set of footsteps padding behind Satoru's, a warm hand flinching at the touch of Shoko's cold ones.
It's sickening. How quiet everything has become in your absence. How the shadows seem darker due to the absence of your light.
Perhaps you wouldn't know it, but your death was beneficial in a way. Suguru spiralled into depression but your words of the past kept him strong, and somehow, he managed to graduate with Satoru and Shoko.
They left an empty seat between them at graduation. Your certificate is still in Shoko's office to this day.
Your warnings and nagging that reminded everyone of their mother saved Haibara's life. You had always told them to never accept missions alone, and it was thanks to your words ringing in his head that Nanami became paranoid while Haibara was out on a mission. This led to him going out to check on Haibara and ended in him saving his life.
It was almost idealistic how almost everyone graduated that year. A rare thing in the Jujutsu World to have so many young people survive.
Satoru jokes its because you took on the unwanted burden and closed the gates of Heaven yourself. You always did. Eating the bitter parts of his food that he didn't like, letting everyone choose first when Yaga gave you rewards, not touching your food until everyone had started eating. You always took on the unpleasantries so that everyone else could live without knowing suffering.
Why did everyone deserve happiness except for you?
Why did everyone deserve to live except for you?
"Gojo - Sensei."
"So even Sensei sleeps, huh?"
"Of course he does. What kind of nonsense is that?"
Satoru's eyelids flutter. He pulls up his blindfold, his vision coming into focus as he sees a blurry image of his students.
For a split moment, he's in high school again. He's in his second year, and he's sleeping before class. He hears soft footsteps approach him. Feels someone lean down near him, but he's not scared. Not even annoyed.
Rather, he plays dumb and waits in anticipation. There's butterflies bursting in his chest, a smile pulling at his face that's hidden in his arms. Smirking at the familiar scent of yuzu and caramel engulfing his senses. He'd chosen it, after all.
"Gojo - san? Wake up, class is about to start."
"Gojo - sensei!"
But when his visions focuses fully, he realises it's been 12 years and his beloved students have visited his office.
"Oh, he's awake!"
There's a red rim to Satoru's eyes, but it's almost unnoticeable. He smiles before pulling his blindfold back down.
"Please don't fall asleep after summoning us all here." Megumi states.
Satoru stands up, and Yuji and Nobara are quick to fight over who gets to sit on his chair.
"What are you smiling about?"
It's today. By 4 that morning, Satoru had found himself sat in front of a familiar grave. He was always the first to visit. He brings a bouquet of white heliotrope and places it on the grave. He crouches in front of it, his blindfold tucked away in his pocket.
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Y/n. Happy Birthday to you."
If there's one thing Satoru wishes, it's that he was able to tell you his feelings truthfully while you were still alive. It's unhealthy, but he finds himself uttering the same three words on every occasion to a stone in the ground.
If only he could have seen your pretty face while he uttered them in person.
Satoru doesn't know if he believes in the afterlife, but he hopes you're listening. And maybe, just maybe, you're screaming at the top of your lungs, repeating the words in hopes he'd somehow hear.
"It's nothing."
A lie. Because deep down, Satoru knows he's thinking about a certain place, a certain person.
Maybe in his next life, he can finally go home to you.
#houseki no kuni#jjk angst#jjk x hnk crossover#land of the lustrous#phos!reader#catharsis#hnk x reader#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#platonic getou suguru#gojo satoru x reader#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru angst
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Oooh Val's uses his coat wings to hide reader away whenever he gets jealous because someone looked at you.
Do you think he would do that to like some of his workers to make the reader jealous?
GOD this immediately makes me think of him doing something EVEN WORSE ACTUALLY
To make him a little more unhinged and sadistic here, imagine a sadistic yan Valentino who will literally bully you to fucking tears and hurt your feelings on purpose because it 'proves you care about him'.
You and him have an actually sweet mutually respectful moment and he says something specific to you... calls you a new nickname or gives you a really specific compliment, and, it also just really makes you all warm and fuzzy. Or there's a specific way he likes to hold you or nonsexually touch you.
Then you "cross him", you two are arguing, there's several days of you basically all but completely ignoring him, and Val's suddenly making sure to deliberately do that same action or pet name or phrase to someone else RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU and I'm talking you're like, IMMEDIATELY SNAPPING YOUR HEAD IN HIS DIRECTION, and he's already fucking looking at you with this shit eating grin to look at your offended, upset expression
Like sorry can you even fucking imagine he tells you something that makes you feel really special in private and he KNOWS THAT and he compliments someone else the exact same way and you're looking at him literally IN TEARS and he's ENJOYING THAT HE'S MAKING YOU CRY
Just.... setting the scene.... you and him have been drinking, smoking, doing your drugs of choice, whatever, and... it's late at night... you guys are completely alone... and you're just... talking. Talking about your lives, about being in Hell, about experiences you've had, and then Valentino just kinda pokes your arm all coyly smirking/flirting like "It's weird but I feel like I can talk to you like we've known each other forever, like i actually care what you have to say and shit"
And then later on he gets pissed off at you (and it's something stupid like he gets jealous of you talking/bonding with another person) and he says that to some bitch that he like BARELY KNOWS, I would be GASPING CRYING WANTING TO THROW THINGS AT HIM like he could have you sitting there borderline suicidal and he's GRINING WITH GLEE, internally cheering "awwww they DO care about me 🥰 they care what i think about them and they're upset cause they think i dont like them 🥰" like some genuinely evil shit
Like lmao I've talked about "what if Reader became the fourth Vee" but I haven't mentioned "what if when Vox goes to calm down Valentino he also has to go to YOUR tower and comfort YOU because the reason you're both upset is YOU WERE ARGUING" (and maybe Vox takes your side more often because, you're his baby duh and you're newer and you probably have a better head on your shoulders than Val)
Vox is going upstairs, finding Velvette, "so, what kind of mess do I need to help clean up today?"
"The two of them started going at it right inside of my studio! Valentino said some NONSENSE to one of my models and then Vegas went BERSERK! Tore that unlucky bitch to pieces and then launched right at that lush, RIPS OUT a patch of his hair, then HE goes into A RAGE, they were both drunk and THROWING THINGS AT EACH OTHER--"
Like just the mental image of Vox having this dichotomy of, dealing with Valentino having his drunken rages where he wants to resort straight to violence, he's screaming, throwing things, and then Vox goes to YOUR section of the place and you're opposite end of the spectrum, crying, I mean ALSO angry as fuck but in a "Val makes me feel worthless I hate him I hate everyone" kind of way. Vox finds Valentino drinking and wanting to hurt other people and lashing out at his employees and breaking shit, and then he finds you like facedown on a couch in a cloud of smoke and booze, crying about what a pathetic worm you are, why do they even keep you here, you don't belong here, Vox probably hates you too- WHICH HE IMMEDIATELY CORRECTS YOU ON BTW
Vox is out here having to baby and infantilize and SCOLD Valentino to talk him down to a normal level and then to you he's like GENUINELY like "nooooo oh my gosh are you kidding, dont say THAT, you're so cool though 🥺 Val said WHAT, noooOoooo, that's fucked up, I'm sorry, I'll talk to him. You wanna eat cereal and watch anime? I developed a new gacha game for you to play, you wanna play while i watch?" like forreal the favorite is so obvious fkcnckcnfb which is also why it hurts extra hard when VOX loses his cool with YOU because who are you gonna run to, Val or Velvette? Oh you mean the catty narcissistic pimp or the even cattier bully of an influencer? I'd sooner double die.
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a little visit (fred weasley)
pairing: y/n x fred weasley
summary: in the wizarding war's aftermath, (y/n) unexpectedly reunites with Fred Weasley at the Weasley Jokeshop.
notes: so this is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a while, and I thought to upload it even though I do not plan any sequence whatsoever (I'm sorry)
warnings: war mention; maybe a bit sad; no kisses here, sorry.
It hadn't been years since she saw the Weasley twins.
Well, maybe a couple of years.
Five?
After the war, dates were a mess. People were trying to reorganise their lives and move on from the losses. It wasn't the time yet for reunions, but this one happened.
"Come on, take me in," the child begged.
(y/n) looked down at her little nephew. She had an older brother (alive still, thank Merlin), but the man was working his ass off to reconstruct his house, and so, more often than not, (y/n) would babysit for his little boy. The kid was six and full of opinions; most of it (y/n) endured with a smile. But there was a spirit of troublemaking in the little boy's ways, and (y/n) should've known better than to take him through Diagon Alley, especially where the Weasley Jokeshop was.
"Urgh," she sighed. "You have ten minutes, but it's just it."
And before the little boy was too out of range to hear, she added, "And I'll only buy you one thing! Pick well!" But even warning him, (y/n) presumed the boy would find a way to try and get more items than necessary.
Knowing she should not leave her nephew alone in the enormous store, (y/n) entered it right after, sighing. The whole place was so Gryffindor. Of course, the owners had once been Gryffindor students, but it was weird to see they hadn't broken out of the patterns, the reds, the gold. (y/n) had been a Slytherin, but nothing about her nowadays gave it away. Or so she thought.
She was so distracted by the items and the colours that she barely noticed the man approaching her until they bumped midway. "I'm so sorry, miss," he answered automatically.
"No, I… I…" her voice dried off when her eyes met his. "I apologise."
He smiled instantly at recognising her. "That's a first."
"Hello there, Fred Weasley," or so she thought he was Fred. George and his twin were alike and identical, but there was something about the smiles Fred offered her back at Hogwarts… they were always so mischievous.
George had a collective way of smiling. It was more put together, she thought, as if in effort.
Fred's smiles were more involuntary, often making his face crooked.
"What's a first?" (y/n) asked, noticing the man kept grinning but failed to offer her a proper response. "Me apologising or me at your shop?"
"Both," he replied, and even though (y/n) had no way of knowing, she guessed he had only thought of one of the alternatives, but they both fell so well he accepted them. "Hello, (y/n)."
"Ah, he does remember my name," she replied, smiling just as mischievously as he had.
"I must. Few people can tell me apart from Georgie. The least I can do is acknowledge the ones that do," Fred shrugged, dismissing the fact that he remembered her as nothing. But it wasn't nothing to her. "By the way, how can you still tell us apart? We haven't talked…."
"Since Hogwarts? Since the war?" she gasped after saying the last part. People weren't yet supposed to be referring to "the war". It had been a brutal, dark time for the wizarding community, and it was too soon to mention it so casually as if it had been just another Tuesday.
But Fred seemed not to give proper care to her calmness.
"I have my tricks, Weasley," she answered in the end, shrugging. "You don't tell me all of yours; why should I tell you all of mine?"
He smiled again, but more lightly this time.
"Well…" he cleaned his throat, changing his tone to a more businesslike one. "What can I do for you today, Miss?"
She supressed a smile of embarressement. "A discount?"
He couldn't help the small chuckle he let out.
"I'm here with my little nephew, Rick. I'm sure he'll want something out of my budget," (y/n) finally explained as her eyes wandered the place, looking for said kid. But she did not find him.
"Well, good thing the kid is relative to one of my dearest school friends," Fred said, tilting his head.
"Dearest?" she echoed.
Fred shrugged, dismissing it. In a second of conversation, he had done it twice. It was starting to bother (y/n).
"Let's see what the little guy wants," Fred proposed. "Where's he?"
(y/n) grimaced. "If only I knew."
"You're his aunt." Fred pointed out categorically.
"Yeah," she nodded.
"You brought him here."
"Yep," she agreed again, monotonely.
Fred raised a dark red brow at her.
"I'm sure he'll find me once he gets what he wants," (y/n) said as she crossed her arms. Noticing that was the end of their rapid quest to find her nephew, (y/n) changed the subject. "How's momma Weasley?"
She had met the woman twice. Once, back at Hogwarts, when she was a simple student girl. Mrs Weasley had shown up to see Harry Potter compete at the Triwizard Tournament, and when she went to hug her sons, (y/n) was casually by.
The second time was again at Hogwarts, but this time (y/n) was already a graduate, and Mrs Weasley was much more of a warrior than a mother. The scenario didn't allow them to interact, but (y/n) saw enough of the boys' momma.
"She's doing okay," Fred replied, his eyes wandering around as if he was conjuring the image of his mother before him. "Haven't seen her in a while, frankly. After the war, she kinda became too worried about us, which gets annoying."
"Well, she almost lost you." And there it was, (y/n)'s slip. She knew it was bound to happen — it was the actual last time she saw Fred Weasley. She just hoped it wouldn't be mentioned so soon in their conversation. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."
Fred raised a hand as if stopping her apology. "It's true; you haven't got to be sorry about that," he said. "I did scare everyone, didn't I?"
"Worst prank ever."
That comment made him grin. "It wasn't a prank; I was on the brink of death," he tried defending himself, but he was smiling too much to be convincing.
"Ewh," (y/n) shrugged. "Worst prankster ever, still."
He finally let his laugh break free, and she followed, both looking so young by interacting.
Of course, the reason for the laughs was rather stupid — Fred had seen death and came back. Or at least, she heard. (y/n) was casting spells and curses as if her life depended on it that day (and it did), so she had little to no time to worry about other people, except maybe her brother, who was battling by her side. She had glimpsed some Professors and Mr and Mrs Weasley, but even when they talked, they weren't talking. It was all survival.
Besides, (y/n) and her brother had the not-so-ordinary task of fighting their father, who battled for the Dark Lord's side. She was glad she had Rick's father by her side, but it was still hard for a daughter to cast unforgivable curses at her daddy.
When she heard the first whispers — "A Weasley has been hit" — she wanted desperately to know which one, but she had no time. (y/n) had to care for her own brother, the father of a baby boy she did not want to see orphaned.
After the end of the battle, when Harry Potter had emerged victorious, (y/n) finally mustered the courage to look for the Weasley family. She saw Fred in a chaotic state but doubted he'd remember as he was passed out. Madame Pomfrey was giving her whole life and power to bring him back. (y/n) stood on the sidelines, quietly watching, and when the Hogwarts lady got up and said he would wake up soon, (y/n) was so relieved she ran away, scared of having to deal with the Weasley's hugs.
Fred's laughter echoed through the colourful shelves of the Jokeshop, creating a symphony of joy that transcended the painful memories of the past. As their laughter subsided, (y/n) couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of comfort and nostalgia settling in.
Before (y/n) could settle again, in a more calm posture, she glimpsed a short shadow running around. She looked at Fred, only to realise he had seen the shadow too.
"Do you think that was…"
"My nephew?" (y/n) finished his sentence. "Possibly. Did you see where he went? You know the place best."
Fred scratched his head, a playful glint in his eye. "I might have seen a little troublemaker sneaking into the Skiving Snackboxes aisle. You know, where the Nosebleed Nougat is."
"Oh, Merlin," (y/n) muttered, shaking her head with a smile. "I'll have to rescue him from his own choices."
As they navigated through the aisles, (y/n) couldn't help but notice Fred's subtle changes. The mischievous spark in his eyes was still there, but it was accompanied by a depth that only life's challenges could bring. The war had left its mark on everyone, evident in the lines on his face and how he carried himself.
When they finally found Rick, he was gleefully examining a box of Nosebleed Nougat, unaware of the worried expressions on the adults around him.
"Rick!" (y/n) scolded gently, "You can't just pick anything you want."
"But Auntie, this is so cool! Imagine making someone's nose bleed!" Rick exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Fred chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with (y/n). "Well, it seems like he's got the true Weasley spirit."
After persuading Rick to choose a more harmless prank, they made their way to the counter. As Rick excitedly chatted about his selected item, (y/n) couldn't help but steal glances at Fred. The connection they had shared during the war, the unspoken understanding of loss and survival, seemed to linger in the air.
When it was time to pay, Fred leaned in and whispered, "On the house for the little troublemaker."
"Fred, I can't—"
"Consider it a gift from a friend," he interrupted, a warmth in his eyes that (y/n) couldn't ignore.
(y/n)'s cheeks were as red as Fred's hair.
"Well, thank you", she finally said, avoiding Fred's eyes. "Wait, where's George? Have you two finally learned to live apart?"
Fred liked her tone, and he answered truthfully. "He's been after some supplies, so the shop's my responsibility today."
"Brave of George to let that happen."
"Ha ha," Fred pretended to laugh at (y/n)'s benter. "Anyway, let me accompany you on the way out."
"Oh, you don't…"
"It's not like the shop is too busy." Fred pointed out, not letting (y/n) win that argument.
As they went for the exit, (y/n) felt a mixture of emotions swirling within her. The encounter had brought back memories, both painful and beautiful. The war had taken its toll, but here they were, finding moments of laughter amidst the remnants of their past.
They stood there momentarily, the bustling sounds of Diagon Alley surrounding them. It was a moment suspended in time, a chance encounter that felt both fleeting and eternal.
"Listen," Fred began, his expression serious yet hopeful. "I know we haven't kept in touch, but I'd like to change that. Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime, catch up properly."
(y/n) hesitated for a moment, the weight of the years between them palpable. But then she nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.
"I'd like that, Fred. I really would."
As they exchanged contact information, (y/n) couldn't shake off the bittersweet feeling in her chest. The scars of the past were still there, but in the laughter shared and the promise of a new connection, there was a chance for something beautiful to bloom.
As they parted ways, (y/n) couldn't help but glance back at Fred, who had faced death and returned to find moments of joy in the simplest things. It was a melancholic happiness, a reminder that even in the aftermath of darkness, there could be sparks of light and the possibility of forging new connections.
And so, (y/n) walked away from Diagon Alley, her nephew's hand in hers, carrying the weight of the past and the tentative hope of a future yet to unfold.
#harry potter#fred and george#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x slytherin reader#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley x you#fred weasley fanfic#george weasley#fred weasley fanfiction#y/n x fred weasley#fred weasley x y/n
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Okay I saw this asked on another blog and it was hilarious so I have to ask here : what do you think inner circle’s Beige Flags are? ( weird/quirky or questionable things they do that give you pause but overall have no real effect on the relationship)
Also hope you are feeling better!! 🩵🩵
Ooh, this is a fun one haha! (And I'm feeling a bit better, thank you! I still haven't fully recovered, but getting there slowly but surely! 🥲) Anyway, let me think...
Blade: rather than accompany you into shops (especially small ones), he assumes you want to be left alone to do your shopping in peace (and also typically finds shopping boring) and will instead just stand outside the door, looming like a really intimidating security guard or bouncer. (He is assessing street security, guarding the only door, and positioning himself within shouting distance in case there's some kind of threat.) This often inadvertently drives away business, so sometimes he'll just wait at the end of the street instead, staring out at the crowd like a member of your own personal secret service
Trouble: sometimes he eats too fast, or more accurately talks too fast while eating, leading to frequent inhalation down the wrong pipe and people having to thump him on the back while he coughs. Sometimes he will power through the coughing by sheer force of will and will just... forcefully swallow through it. He refuses to slow down. Life's too short to try to avoid death by choking
Tallys: doesn't make a ton of affirming noises to let you know that she's listening. A lot of people go "uh-huh" or "wow" or "right" or whatever when you're in the midst of telling a long-winded story. She just stares at you patiently in silence until she's sure you're fully done. This is polite in Elven culture, and she is completely listening, but it can unnerve people who feel pressured by silence lol
Shery: she still has to look at her hands to tell left from right. Like sometimes she has to make her left hand form the L to remember 😅 She also finds it difficult to do math in her head and either has to sketch it out in the air or write it down!
Riel: always leaves a bite or two of food left on his plate; rarely completely cleans his plate. Same with drinks! So many teacups that always have a few sips left at the bottom. Why didn't you just drain it, man? It's like he does it on purpose!
Chase: always takes the most meandering, inefficient way to get to a place. like if the walk from A to B is a straight line down one avenue, he always seems to take the most roundabout, random path. Here, I'll draw you a map:
Red: he is very bad at matching the pace of his walking with others; with those long legs, he walks at a naturally and totally subconscious fast pace! He's mindful about it when on a date or actively courting someone, but when he's focused on something else, excited, traveling, or out and about with friends, he has to frequently be asked to shorten the length of his strides so others can keep up lol
Ayla: I've mentioned this one for her before, but she's very bad about sharing her food. She hates when you snatch a fry off her plate without asking, and even if you do ask, she can be fairly begrudging about it if she perceives food is plentiful (like "why can't you get your own, the line is right there?") In work circumstances, like sharing group rations, she's totally fine, but in restaurants or in the refectory, she's annoyed by it, like "I loaded this plate for myself and planned on eating all of it... myself 😒 If you wanted to share something, you should have said so earlier!"
Briony: she's constantly whipping people in the face with her ponytail. She tends to turn her head really fast or spin around in conversation and whoever's standing near her ends up with a mouthful of hair. She hasn't learned to not smack people in the eye with her hair yet despite several remonstrations
Lavinet: frankly shocked, upset, and scandalized whenever there isn't a little something sweet at the end of a meal. it doesn't have to be a full-on dessert--even a single chocolate served on a plate would do, and is often preferred! but when there's nothing?? nary a profiterole or cream puff or a little sweet treat for the lady in sight?? something is off!! her palette isn't satisfied!!
Halek: he always wakes up in the morning so loudly. unfold from the bed -> crack his back, neck, shoulders with the most ungodly series of pops -> loud groan. It sounds like an old accordion getting stretched out
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𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠
Word Count: 1,697
Contains: she/her pronouns, mentions sex, lil bit of angst, cursing.
Proof Read and Edited
A/n: Sorry I haven't updated! been busy with dance stuff. they are also aged up!!
"Hey Kirishima," a voice called out.
"It's your turn to put down a card," the voice reminded him. Kirishima blinked a few times, turning his attention to Denki who had spoken to him. "Oops, sorry. I wasn't paying attention," he chuckled softly.
"We lost you there for a moment," Denki smirked. Mina then followed Kirishima's gaze and gasped softly when she saw the person he had been looking at. "Y/n? From class 1-B?" she asked, causing the rest of their friend group to exchange knowing glances, suspecting Kirishima's potential new love interest. "When did you start talking to that extra?" Bakugo asked, looking up from his cards.
"We used to bump into each other at the store quite often. We ended up talking a lot over the summer. It was kind of our thing, but she stopped talking to me after being assigned to 1-B," he explained, a hint of sadness in his voice as he recalled the lost connection they had. "Aw, Kiri," Mina pouted, patting his shoulder in comfort. Kirishima shrugged, looking down at his cards. "Can we stop talking about that extra and just play Uno?" Bakugo rolled his eyes, uninterested in hearing Kirishima's sentimental story about a girl. "Right, sorry man," he chuckled before focusing his attention back on the lunch table where you were sitting with Kendo and Shiozaki.
You noticed his gaze fixed on you, feeling his eyes on you, but you deliberately avoided looking at him. "He's staring again," you remarked, taking a sip of your juice. "Kirishima?" Kendo inquired. You nodded, placing the bottle down. "You never told us what happened between the two of you," Shiozaki commented as she ate her food. You shrugged. "We just talked over the summer, I developed feelings, and then I stopped talking to him."
"But why did you stop talking to him? Did he say something to you?" Kendo asked eagerly, wanting to hear the rest of your story. "No, it's just…" you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Tell us, please," Kendo pleaded, leaning forward in her seat. "We hooked up," you mumbled, but loud enough for your friends to hear. "Y/n!" Shiozaki exclaimed a little too loudly, drawing the attention of some people at the nearby table. "Shush! It was only two times. It didn't mean anything," you said, biting your lip nervously. "Two times? It meant something," Kendo observed, noticing your anxious behavior. "It didn't. I don't want to talk about it now," you replied. Shiozaki glanced at Kendo before nodding. "It's okay, Y/n. We understand," she reassured, reaching over the table to squeeze your hand.
-
The day finally came to an end, signaling your much-awaited retreat to the dorms and the comfort of your own room. Walking out of school alongside Kendo and Shiozaki, you discussed which show to watch together. Kendo then pointed out someone waiting for you, and you knew exactly who she was referring to. With an internal eye-roll, you approached him and his friends. Kirishima greeted you with a "Hey Y/n."
You didn't want to come off as rude, as he was a nice guy, but you simply had no interest in engaging in a conversation with him. So, you walked past him, completely ignoring him in front of his friends. Denki laughed, earning an elbow from Sero. Kendo, taken aback, hurried after you, not expecting your bluntness. "I apologize for Y/n's behavior," she started. "She's not feeling well today." Shiozaki bowed softly before following you and Kendo.
"What did you do to her?" Sero asked, being the first to speak up. Kirishima, completely speechless, began, "I… I don't remember doing anything wrong."
"Are you sure? Sometimes guys don't realize when they've done something wrong," Mina chimed in. "Are you taking her side?!" Kirishima questioned her. Mina shook her head. "No, I'm just saying that guys can be oblivious to girls' feelings. I'm trying to help you out, Kiri." She placed her hand on his shoulder. "I don't know, I just want to be alone right now," he mumbled, walking away with a mix of emotions he had never experienced before, almost on the verge of tears but unwilling to admit it. His friends watched as he entered the dorm building.
-
"Dude, has he still not come out?" Sero inquired. Denki shook his head. "Nope, he only goes to class and then straight back here. It's been happening for a few days now," he expressed concern about Kirishima's behavior. "We should get that extra to talk to him. She's the one who caused him to act like this. I've never seen him behave like this before," Bakugo suggested. "Are you worried about Kirishima?" Denki teased. Bakugo rolled his eyes and playfully pushed Denki onto the floor. "Yeah, I'm not that heartless, you know," he scoffed. "That's not a bad idea," Mina chimed in, thinking for a moment before speaking again. "Leave it to me. make sure he's fresh and dressed. We don't want him scaring her away anymore. I'll be back," Mina smiled before heading towards your dorm building. You were in the middle of organizing your clothes when you heard a knock on your door. "Kendo, I'm not sharing my noodles with you—oh, hey. Mina, right?" You realized that it wasn't Kendo who was knocking on your door. Mina nodded softly with a warm smile. "Come with me," she said, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your dorm. "Where are we going? Oh, okay," you couldn't finish your sentence as she continued to drag you along.
You arrived at Kirishima's room, where Sero was fixing his hair. "Why can't you guys let me sleep? I was having a good dream," he whined, not wanting to be bothered. "You'll thank us later," Bakugo assured him as Sero finished brushing his hair to make it look presentable. "Oh," you let out, catching the attention of the other boys. "What is she doing here?" Kirishima asked. "Yeah, what am I doing here?" you turned to Mina, seeking an explanation.
"Are you free tonight?" she asked Kirishima. "Yeah," he shrugged. Then, she turned to face you. "What about you?" Your eyes slightly widened at the question. "Uh, yes, I am."
Great! Because I'm not. You two go hang without us. Enjoy your date!" Mina slyly smiled before she and the other boys rushed out, closing the door and leaving the two of you here. "Did Mina just-?" you walked to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside. "Yeah, she really did." You tried to open it again but to no avail. "You're not leaving yet! Not until the both of you talk," you heard Bakugo yell from the other side of the door. "Asshole," you muttered under your breath before slowly turning to face the person you're trying to avoid.
He looked at you, sadness filling his eyes, making you feel terrible. You hurt him just as he hurt you. You looked away, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to say. "What did I do?" he spoke up, breaking the silence. "You didn't do anything-"
"Yes, I did. We haven't spoken in months, and when I tried to talk to you the other day, you ignored me. I must've done something wrong…" he trailed off. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that were welling up in your eyes. "It's silly, Eijiro…" his head perked up at his name. "Tell me, please… I want to fix what I did wrong," he said, now standing right in front of you. You looked away from his gaze, not wanting him to see your tears. "It's silly, I'm just being sensitive," you laughed softly. "It wouldn't be silly if it made you so upset. I won't judge."
You turned your head back to him, your eyes meeting his. "Over the summer, when we had… you know. I fell for you, and I told myself it was just a friends-with-benefits type of thing and that I shouldn't develop feelings for you, but I did," you said, tears already streaming down your face. "And then you mentioned being head over heels for another girl, and it felt like my heart was torn apart." You sobbed, unable to hold back your tears. Kirishima gently cupped your face with both of his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs, a look of guilt washing over his face. "Don't cry, there's no need to cry, doll," he whispered. You cried even harder, remembering that's what he used to call you.
"Should we go inside? He's making her cry," Denki chuckled nervously. Sero stopped him before he could open the door. "Nah, let's not intrude unless they start throwing punches in there," Sero whispered. Denki nodded, still hearing your loud sobs coming from behind the door.
"Are you done doll? Can I say something?" he asked you gently, causing you to sniffle and nod, your face still being held in his hands. "The person I was head over heels for was you," he confessed.
You sniffled again. "Really?" you asked, your lip trembling. "Yeah, it was. I didn't want to tell you yet because I was afraid it would scare you away. I didn't know if you felt the same way about me," he admitted. "I was planning to ask you out the next day, but then you disappeared."
"I'm sorry, Eiji…" you mumbled, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry too, Y/n… now stop crying, you've got boogers," he teased, making you turn away and wipe your nose. "Eijiro! Why would you say that?" you whined. He turned to you and held your face again. "I was just joking… I hope I didn't embarrass you too much," he smiled before leaning in and kissing your lips. You smiled and kissed him back, your hand gripping his wrist.
Bakugo suddenly opened the door. "Hey guys, we heard you yelling so- oh god. They're fucking, dude," Bakugo groaned before quickly closing the door. "Ooo, let me see," Denki exclaimed, trying to open the door. "It was just a kiss!" Kirishima shouted at them before the two of you burst into laughter.
#mha#mha fanfiction#mha x reader#my hero academia#eijirou x reader#kirishima eijirou#eijiro kirishima#mha kirishima#kirishima x reader#eijiro x reader#bhna#mina ashido#denki kaminari#bakugou katsuki#sero hanta#ibara shiozaki#itsuka kendou#mintsbubbletea
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Would I be the asshole for asking my suicidal girlfriend not to vent with me? First ask here, be warned for heavy topics about the above situation. Putting an emoji for easy finding. 🦐
I am a polyamorous person (22nb) with my long distance girlfriend (22f) of about 1 year. I love her deeply, and we have known each other for a long time when I used to go to school in person with her. I also have an in person queer platonic partner (22nb) who lives with me currently and has been with me for about 3 years. Both of my partners are suicidal and self harm, though the partner who is living with me has luckily seemed to improve a lot through being able to spend time with someone who cares for them constantly. My girlfriend...sadly has not gotten the same chance, since she moved long before we got together and has only her family to keep her stable (who have proven before this point that they are pretty terrible support systems, when they actively encouraged her self harming to become worse).
Luckily, I have had this rodeo before due to a majority of my friends struggling with this sort of problem, and when she began saying things in my dms that pointed towards depression and suicidality, I was quick to try to help her get into therapy. Whether or not this therapist is really the best is sort of iffy, as the therapist hasn't worked with her on a lot despite over a month of them working together, so...she hasn't gotten much work towards helping to change things and has felt somewhat stuck. I know she needs to probably get a new therapist, but due to not having insurance at the moment it's not an easy situation to just change. Since things have not gotten to improve, she...has still felt horrible most days will come to me in DMs to tell me how bad it is. Which, you know, should be fine, but it's the *way* she talks about it-- it's in a very vent heavy, far too much triggering information, Everything Is Horrible and there is no way to fix it and I should Die, way.
I have learned boundaries in regards to my own mental health due to just how often I have encountered things, and luckily, my other partner is great about it! They don't talk about their issues with suicidality all that much which can make me worried at times, but when they *do*, it's very much a situation of them bringing up how they feel and then us moving forwards to do something distracting or something that will help them. Instead of an info dump of Horrible Information That Makes Me Fear For Their Life, it's just. Moving to make sure they're doing better and changing things, identifying why certain feelings are feeling bad. But with my girlfriend, these topics come on suddenly without warning, are spoken in such a way that I feel like 1. I can't move on or change anything to help 2. I don't have a way to respond that will end up doing anything but make her feel worse. I feel at a complete loss of how to handle these things that she's just throwing on me. I haven't mentioned yet to her how bad these ventings make me feel because I'm worried it would make her internalize it and worsen her issues, though I know I do probably need to communicate it with her. I feel that she may just not be quite as mature as my other partner in how to handle feelings like this yet(most likely due to lack of support systems), and I WANT her to be able to talk about her feelings. I'm her girlfriend, after all, a little bit of emotional labor is always going to be a part of supporting people that close to you. Just...not in a way that will end up ultimately making both me and her feel like shit, and get her in a worse direction than before.
She eventually will be moving in with us next year, and I am wondering if I should try to wait to talk about it until then when she has more of a support to lean against, or should I try to figure it out right now. Right now could leave her...hurt and much more vulnerable, which would be a real risk considering the scenario. Would I be the asshole for telling her that she needs to work on how she talks about these topics, and that I can't have her continuing to put her emotions on me like this?
What are these acronyms?
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The Plurality Of... Batman! (Failsafe)
An anon mentioned this arc to me which they said depicted Batman as a plural character. So I decided to give it a read!
The Beginning
The actual plural stuff doesn't really start until the third issue of the arc, but this was something that popped out at me immediately.
We never really paid attention to it before, but Batman does this in a lot of things, doesn't he? Referring to "Bruce Wayne" as a separate person. Especially while dressed as Batman. There are other phrasings of this that could have been used. "I often used him to cement my playboy status," being the most obvious or even "I often used him to help cement my playboy status as Bruce Wayne."
Other superheroes don't do this as often, do they? I know it occasionally comes up when living a double life, but it doesn't seem nearly as common when talking to people who know both identities as it does with Batman.
Anyway, Robin is worried about Bruce not having happiness in life, and mentions that the Bat Family is concerned about him not being just "Bruce Wayne" anymore. That he's always Batman all the time.
Probably not the best thing for a secret identity when Batman starts appearing out in the day right after Bruce Wayne loses his day job... but when has he ever cared about keeping his secret identity secret?
This sets up an important conflict in the story. That Bruce needs to be Batman and Bruce Wayne both. He needs that balance in his life.
After being framed for a murder, a Failsafe is activated meant to kill Batman.
Bruce fights it, it seems familiar, but he can't place it. Which Bruce realizes is very wrong for somebody who has a perfect memory. (Because of course he has a perfect memory.)
That leads us to...
The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh
The Batman of Zur-En-Arrh first appeared in the silver age as an actual alien Batman. He was later reintroduced in the modern era as an alternate personality in Batman R.I.P. from 2008. I haven't read that so won't be able to comment on it, but if enough people like this, I might check out RIP and do a post on it too!
The third issue of this arc opens with a flashback that took place after the Tower of Babel storyline. This is the famous storyline where Bruce created plans to deal with all members of the Justice League in the event they went bad. Part of the flashback again highlights the duality of Bruce and Batman as almost being separate individuals.
Again, none of this is actually presented as a plural thing, but I do think it's interesting to note. If only to contrast the clear plurality we see with Zur.
Superman challenges Bruce, asking how the Justice League can be contingencies when Bruce has planned for everything.
Then the story returns to the present.
Here we have a Batman who is talking different, acting different, dressed different. Even his speech bubbles are colored differently to signify the switch.
And he is using plural pronouns when he speaks.
He declares himself better than Bruce. A Batman without a Bruce Wayne who was intentionally created by Bruce.
I love the use of "our mind" here, showing that he thinks of them as separate individuals.
It's revealed that the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh was the one who created Failsafe. Bruce suspected that, which was why he switched. Zur takes over for a little bit, and is focused solely on the mission and defeating Failsafe, no matter what.
One thing that I like about the above panels is that they lead to another possibility other than what the story presents. We're told that Zur is Batman without Bruce. But as Tim points out, he doesn't really act like it. Batman is always thinking ahead. He's always thinking strategically. It's what makes him Batman.
I don't think Zur is literally meant to be Batman without Bruce... but perhaps he's Bruce's idea of who Batman would be without Bruce Wayne.
Later, during the fight, Failsafe tells Zur that fighting only causes his family pain. Zur responds by saying that they're not family. They're his soldiers. Leading to this fascinating exchange with internal communication...
That morphs into an Inner World.
It's not for long, but it's amazing to see these characters interact inside their head.
With that powerful line, Bruce takes control again. Failsafe recognizes him as having switched despite still wearing the same costume.
After that issue, Zur is sadly not brought up again in the Failsafe arc.
In the next issue, Bruce describes Failsafe as being made by his subconscious when talking to alter.
Which isn't how a subconscious works, Bruce.
A subconscious is, by definition, not really conscious. Sorry, but Zur is a completely self-conscious entity you made in your head. 🤷♀️
But I guess that works for an explanation for Arthur.
And that's it for... Wait a second...
Zur-En-Arrh YEAR ONE
Turns out, the story of Zur isn't just in the Failsafe arc itself, but also in a B story that shows Bruce mentally training himself to create a new personality after a mental attack.
I want to say that Zur-En-Arrh might be a tulpa, but I think there's more going on than that. The name was a distorted version of something Bruce heard from his dad as a child on the night his parents died.
Bruce might not have made an entirely new headmate, but just fed something that was already there. Something that he had repressed.
After the Joker murders a bunch of people, Zur coaxes Bruce to let him take over so he can kill the Joker.
Zur does takeover and Joker, like Failsafe, immediately recognizes.
While Zur tries to kill Joker, he and Bruce are also communicating in their inner world.
After this, we see other characters appear in this inner world such as a version of the Joker meant to represent him before going mad, and a version of Bruce's mother.
Placing either of these as plural headmates is difficult. They don't front, and don't appear more that I'm aware. I'm inclined to classify them as only Ephemerals. Although, if there are more times they appear... and especially if they retain autobiographical memories between appearances, then I might want to look more deeply into that.
Martha unmasks Zur and shows what's underneath...
The appearance makes sense to me. If Zur is supposed to be the perfect Batman, then what does he need anything under the cowl for? And at the time, he wasn't very developed, only fronting the one time and not really existing much before that.
I wouldn't describe Zur as nothing but hollow anger though.
Yes, the anger is there, but so is a purpose. He's willing to kill because he views it as the right thing. Anger, yes. But he's also doing what he was made to do, what Bruce created him for, in his own way.
Bruce saves the Joker, and continues developing Zur... but he instills his own moral code into him, making certain that Zur won't be a killer after that. Which we can tell works since Failsafe was programmed by Zur to not kill anyone but Bruce.
It's unclear how this actually works. But I like that the solution wasn't just getting rid of Zur. Ultimately, Zur wasn't evil. At least, no more than Red Hood who had similar goals and methods.
Conclusion
There you have it! Batman is canonically plural!
This was a really fun read and I'm a huge fan of Zur's dynamic with Bruce for the little bit of time we get to see it in Failsafe.
There are also a lot of ways to play around with this that I hope we can see someday. A situation where Bruce actually has to work with Zur would be really cool. Maybe fighting against some invader breaking into their mind to extract information, forcing them to team up to face it together.
I also would love to see a story where Zur is frontstuck and has to work with Bruce's allies and build his own unique relationships with them. Or even has to pretend to be Bruce Wayne in public without giving anything away.
There are a lot of fun places to go with the character if the writers don't decide to put him on ice for another decade-and-a-half!
(For more discussion of plural DC characters, see The Plurality of... Blue Beetle.)
#pluralgang#batman#bruce wayne#batman comics#dc batman#comics#batfamily#dc comics#dc characters#pro endo#pro endogenic#syscourse#tulpa#pro tulpa#endo safe#multiplicity#sysblr#endogenic#plural#plural representation#survivor's network dni
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Hii can i request childe thoma and diluc with an s/o that has trouble communicating? Like s/o didnt have a good childhood growing up. So whenever they want to say "i love you" they do it through actions like giving gifts and hugs. Sorry if this was long! Have a nice day :)
hi friend! hopefully this was something along the lines of what you were looking for! (i tried lol)
"another day"
childe, thoma, diluc (seperate) x gn!reader
genre: fluff (??)
word count: 1k
tags: all characters are in a LTR with the reader, childe being serious (ikr what the heck), lowkey husband material thoma, diluc can't communicate fr but he tries
tw/cw: one mention of injury i think, talking about feelings, love languages, copious volumes of physical touch (sfw bc THIS IS NOT A HORNY BLOG)
a/n: i hope this is acceptable. also sorry i haven't posted in a hot minute, school is getting on my shit rn :((((( (it was very hard to find a name for this)
childe has always been able to tell that your love language was not words of affirmation. at first in your relationship, he felt a little weird about it, and constantly told you that you could talk to him if you needed to. he didn’t feel that you were hiding anything from him, more just thinking that you felt you couldn’t tell him things because of how often he was at work. childe is not the most serious person in the world, but he definitely wants to know how you’re feeling at the times when he isn’t joking around so much.
after he asks you about it, and you give a brief explanation of your feelings towards him, and perhaps why things are the way they are, he will slowly get better at reading you based on your actions. He finds acts of service absolutely endearing, like when he’s going to make his lunch for the following day at the bank, only to find you’ve already packed it for him, or when he’s sustained a small injury in battle and you tend to him.
he will come home from work early one day (he got sent home bc he kept daydreaming about you), only to find you arranging a bouquet of flowers for him. ribbons and greenery and flowers and a vase laid out on the living room floor, and you carefully putting each flower in place like it was the most delicate craft known to man, so concentrated that you didn’t hear him come in. he knocks gently on the door upon entering, as to not startle you…
“baby? what’s all this?”
“oh, nothing…”
“are these for me? how sweet!”
“no! i mean yes? i mean- i thought maybe-... do you not like them?”
“i love them, and i love you!”
he gently grabs your wrist to get you up from the floor, pulling you right into his arms and placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.
thoma is very socially aware (?). since he spends so much time around people, he can easily tell how they’re feeling and what they're thinking, which is a skill he doesn’t really even notice himself having, or one that he notices himself using on you. he knows what you’re thinking sometimes before you even do! he realises that sometimes people need space to understand themselves and is more than happy to give that to you, and understands if you don’t give him words of affirmation. he’s pretty secure in his image of himself, so it’s easy for him to understand if you express your love in a different manner.
thoma is someone who has a LOT of love to give, but is so busy sometimes that when he has a super packed schedule for the day, he will condense all that care and compassion into a short space of time, be it the morning, when you’re eating together, or when you’re laying together in bed, slowly falling asleep. if you fall asleep before him, he will wrap his arms around you, and whisper about how he loves you before falling asleep himself.
he totally giggles when you’re cuddling him and touching or poking at his cheeks out of boredom, or running your hands through his hair. will just start cackling and not be able to stop, and suddenly you’ve both succumbed to laughter and are just melting in each others arms.
he has a routine of cooking dinner for you at least 3 times a week, and despite the fact that you tell him you will help he will insist that you don’t lift a finger. so you will sit on the bench in the kitchen and adore him. he’ll literally be rinsing rice and then turn back around and you suddenly hug him.
“so anyway i was thinking, if i cook the broth just a little bit le- oh? hello there. what’s this, hm? let me set this pot down first, sweetie.”
diluc has never been in a relationship before you, so at first he doesn’t notice the fact that you face difficulty with expressing your feelings towards him. he understands very well how you feel about him from the way you act, and hopes you notice his feelings towards you too. he doesn’t really like the idea of couples being all in each others faces too much, he honestly thinks its a little cringe and over the top. it's all about the little things with diluc, he's a simple man.
understands that you love him when you brush his hair for him, or put your arms around his waist when he gets home in the evening. he knows that this is how you express your affection for him, and he trusts you enough to let you do these things, whereas he would never let anyone else do this.
he’s not a very poetic person, so he finds it a little hard to find the words to explain how he feels about you. he will instead settle for small gestures to show his appreciation for you, and hopes you know how much you mean to him.
he knows how important communication is though, so despite the fact he knows you both might have problems with it, he tries his best to make sure you know how he feels about you. eventually he will probably approach you, speaking in a low, gentle tone in an attempt to initiate a very loving conversation about how you both feel. he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and wants you to feel safe, so if you don’t want to talk about it he will give you a hug, assure you that it’s completely okay and say it can wait for another day.
#childe fluff#tartaglia x reader#tartaglia fluff#childe x reader#thoma#thoma x reader#thoma fluff#thoma x you#diluc x reader#diluc fluff#dilucatdeeznuts#diluc x you#genshin headcanons#genshin x reader#genshin fluff#gosh this is so many tags
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ok so I'm a bit late to the party, but I haven't really seen anyone else mention this yet so I thought I'd bring it up. I've used video essays as backgroundnoise while drawing for ages, so I'm familiar with James Somerton. Can't say I've ever been a fan of his, the videos he made felt disjointed and cluttered, and I often felt that other creators made better videos about similar topics (Now I know why lol). And just to be petty, I found it annoying that he'd constantly complain about being surpressed by the algorithm when I'd constantly get his videos recomended to me. But that's not what I want to talk about.
What really turned me off to his content, and him as a person, was his coverage of the Stonewall movie from 2015. For those who don't know, this movie was controversial for erasing black, trans women's major contributions during the stonewall riots, and their work in securing rights for LGBTQ+ people. Instead, the filmmakers chose to centre a cis white gay man. Most people condemned Stonewall, would talk about how harmful this portrayal of our history is, and give great sources for reading about what actually happened. Somerton had a different approach. I don't know if the video is still up, I haven't been able to find it so I can't fact check, but I can clearly remember him being annoyed at those calling for a boycott.
His reasoning was that by not watching the movie, we weren't telling the executives that we don't want a shit movie spreading a false narrative around an important historical event, but rather that we didn't want to see queer movies at all. We should still watch it despite the poor representation, and hope for better representation in the future, and we're actually just damaging the movement. I can't stress enough how this movie mishandles actual history, and how disrespectful it is, but the way Somerton frames it? It's not important at all. What matters is that he can get more gay people on TV, that's all that matters to him. Suddenly queers being appealing and acceptable to the masses is a good thing, quite the contrast to the disgusting things he said about the survivors of the AIDS epidemic.
That's all rather interesting now that we know what Somerton did, isn't it? In many ways, Somerton did exactly what the makers of Stonewall did. He stole articles and essays from other queer people, he erased their voices and put himself in the front. Of course he wouldn't care about what the filmmakers did to trans women and black people, he's doing it himself.
#james somerton#hbomberguy#stonewall#idk if others have said something about it but i felt like i could actually add something here so ya
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Oh I hope to read your theory soon , I think it’s Everest Base Camp the busy days on SM possibly during acclimatising and now quiet on the actual trek . He has mentioned the documentary briefly in recent interviews saying the planned movie was cancelled , if not that I’d guess another book about the experience . Doubt he met with Jake N as a fan bet he was planning something .
Well you name the things we all saw. The movie that isn't going to happen, he so looked forward to it. Yes, we saw him with Jake N. while holding a book about Everest. Yes he mentioned a number of times how he would like to do a documentary or something about it. But did we really think he'd do it, and like now... doubtful.
Yes, I mentioned last Monday briefly, when I posted all the speculation about his whereabouts and said I considered Nepal seriously for a bit, and how I saw Jake N is in Nepal as well.
Yesterday I was chatting to someone with whom I often brainstorm and share thoughts regarding where he might be when it's not clear, or what he might be doing. We were talking about how normally there is always something, a lead, that points us in the right direction. Either by himself or by a fan pic or something.
Now knowing that he's been off the grid since last Thursday and the days before showing activity in a timezone that mostly matched Asia. I revisited the idea of Nepal, or India, Himalaya, trekking. I looked up some things on sites, and discovered how
November is a best time for trekking in India in winter, as the weather is generally cold and the landscapes are adorned with autumnal hues. If you’re an adventure adventure lover and seeking for amazing experience then India offers a various trekking options that allow you to immerse yourself in the beauty of nature.
And saw a number of treks in the Everest Basecamp area, and started looking at locations on IG. Wow quite stunning, I must say. Of course would love to find him in a pic or a video but quite honestly, the footage people post from there, wow, just wow so beautiful. What a fantastic place, and the way they talk about their treks and trips...
Anyway, it was getting late (as usual) and I told my chat partner, I was gonna sleep and planned to look at it the next day. I was halfway up the stairs as it suddenly dawned on me. I almost banged my head against the wall, how could I forget... of course there is always a lead... I went back to my chat partner, cause I had to tell her...
Remember the shirt? No, not the one I posted in my previous post... this one
Nepal... and the text on the sleeve
“I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and love today”
Someone back then already said,
"So is it a subliminal marketing choice for an upcoming Everest production or is he doing some deep diving into his future"
And now we're here... asking why he's off the grid for days now and was posting at this weird times... yeah makes sense now. Oh and btw. there's the Patagonia hat as well!
And even more... quite a number of people were saying how he seemed distracted lately, during the book events especially. Well, if he's there doing a trek of multiple days, and it is not gonna be an easy one (I mean, he already almost quite the WHW), I can imagine he might have been a little nervous about the kind of trip he was going to make.
Anyway, I haven't found the evidence (yet) so it's still a theory, but have seen such fantastic posts and stories about it all day, so no time wasted here. Loved to look at it, and will keep looking. Who knows maybe soon he'll give us a teaser. He could be off the grid for a while, though some of these treks have resting days, but most people post after their trek.
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+ ONLY ME + LEE FELIX
PAIRING: Lee Felix x Male Reader
GENRE: Smut, Angst (maybe? idk I'm not smart)
WARNINGS: Influence of alcohol (Felix x Reader are only tipsy dw), Degrading, Cum play, Dirty talk, Mentioning of exhibiting (idk what word to put instead), Hickeys, Rough sex, (uhm probably smth else that idk so apologies if I missed smth.)
Summary: Maybe you should flirt with other people more often.
Note: I was struggling to write the Renjun fic but I'll be posting the PT.1 of it soon.
Felix sat at the bar, sipping on a glass of soju, when a very drunk Han stumbled over to him. Felix raised a brow, momentarily wondering if he was alright, only to remember he was a lightweight. Placing the empty glass down, he turned towards the older, opening his mouth to speak only to get interrupted. "Hey dude, isn't that your boyfriend, [name], over there?" Han slurred out pointing towards you. Felix glanced over only to do double take upon seeing an unknown guy with you. You were chatting and laughing with a dark haired man that had started talking to you a bit earlier. Even from a distance Felix could easily tell that he was flirting with you. Anger built up inside of him as he watched. "Yes Han. That is indeed [name]." His tone held light anger, an oppose as to how he was feeling.
Han hummed, "I swear I saw him flirting with that guy a bit earlier." His words were jumbled together, "Not sure. Can't remember." He mumbled drunkenly. "Oh really?" Felix questioned, a tight smile apparent on his face. "Mhm," the other responded before whining aloud, "Where's Binnie? I want to see if he wants to prank Chan with me." Felix couldn't help but giggle at his hyung's childishness. "Sorry Hannie, I haven't seen him in a while." Han pouted at his dongsaeng's response. Quickly forgetting what he was upset about he suddenly perked up, parting ways from Felix he raced off energetically to bother Hyunjin.
Once he was gone Felix turned back to see what the situation between you and the stranger was. Rage coursed through him upon seeing that you were, like Han had said, flirting with the taller man. Glaring at him, Felix stood up, stretching. He walked calmly towards the two of you, a blank expression replacing his previous one. Weaving through the crowd, he called out to you as he neared, "[name]!" You turned at the familiar voice, face paling as you spotted your boyfriend. "O-oh Felix, hi." You stuttered out awkwardly due to the fact that you most definitely got caught.
The unknown interrupted, "C'mon babe, this guy isn't important. Lets go do something." A suggestive smirk crossed his sharp features. Felix smirked, an eyebrow raising as he looked between the two of you, "Babe? Not important?" His tone held disbelief that was doused in sarcasm. "Lix please. It's not like that, I promise baby." You cut in, desperation clear in your voice. "Baby?" The other questioned in confusion, tilting his head. "Doesn't seem like it love. To me it looked like you were ready to leave with this... Thing." Felix looked at the man as though he had just found a dead rat in the walls. "Fel-" He cut you off. "No [name]. You made your choice." He turned on his heel, beginning to stalk away. You looked after him with teary eyes. Glancing at the stranger for a split second, you ran after your boyfriend.
"Felix, please." You clung to his arm in an attempt to get him to let you explain yourself. He didn't respond, shrugging you off of him as he kept walking. He headed through the back, stalking into the private room you two had hired. You followed him, tears running down your face, still trying to get him to listen. You had barely shut the door behind you when he slammed you into it, eyes meeting yours. They were full of anger and disappointment, breaking your heart even further. "Why [name]? Why? Am I not good enough? I know I didn't do anything wrong so that must be it." He demanded an answer from you. "N-no you are good enough-" You started. "Then why!?" He yelled.
You couldn't come up with an answer, Felix punching the wall next to your head in anger. Roughly grabbing you, he threw you onto the bed, climbing on top of you. Your eyes widened in fear, you knew how he could get when in a mood, but this was the worst you had seen. "You know what? If he wants you I'll paint you with my marks. And when you go running back to him, he won't want you. Not with this ugly reminder that you belong to someone else. You'll be forced to come back to me to feel even a little bit wanted." He pinned your body down with his, holding your wrists and stopping you from escaping. Leaning down, he sucked harshly on your neck, bruises already forming as he marked you in every place he could reach. You cried out in pain at how rough he was being.
Ignoring your pleas he ripped your shirt off, the buttons popping as the clothing was tugged from your being. The same happened to your trousers and boxers, the articles of clothing disappearing as though it was simply air. Wrapping a hand around your dick, he suddenly pumped it at an extremely fast pace. Felix kissed you forcefully, shoving his tongue into your mouth, dominating you but without the usual passion he had. A broken moan left your lips, the man swallowing it up hungrily. He squeezed your shaft, tightening his grip without a care about how you felt. A small screech left you at the sudden pain. The salty liquid was running down your face heavier than before, throat sore from sobbing so hard. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes swollen and red, hair already messy and sticking out in different directions. You looked like a complete mess and he had barely even started.
"Stop crying whore, it's annoying. You don't deserve to cry after you were the one that tried to leave." Felix growled out. Your body spasmed rapidly, the muscles contracting and relaxing as he forced you into an orgasm. White strings of hotness covered yours and Felix's chests and stomachs, or in Felix’s case, abs. "Already cumming like the slut you are, huh? Did I tell you to cum?" He demanded, slapping you. "N-no!" You sobbed out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to master! Please master, I promise I didn't!" You cried hysterically, fear causing you to shake uncontrollably. Felix shook his head in dismay and anger, "You just can't do anything right, can you?" He undressed himself, hitting the tip of his cock against your hole teasingly.
Lining up with your entrance, he rested the tip against you. "No! Please no! Felix don't!" You screamed out. "Wrong name." He slapped you again before slamming his hard into you. You screeched in pure pain, "Master! Slow down, it hurts!" He fucked into you at a ruthless pace, almost too fast to be considered human. "Who are you to order me around, slut? You're underneath me, making me the boss of you." He snarled. "Learn your place whore. You're just a bitch for his masters cock. And I'll make sure that's the only thing you're seen as from now on." You were so fucked out by now that you immediately believed him, yet begged him not to tell anyone.
"Why would I need to tell anyone? With how loud you are they probably already know. I bet everyone in the club can hear you." He shamed you carelessly, his lips lifting up into a taunting smirk, "You'd like that wouldn't you? You fucking exhibitionist. You'd love everyone to hear me fucking you senseless on my dick. You want everyone to cover you in their juices until there’s not even a visible patch of skin left to see. You want them to jerk off over you." The tightening feeling in your stomach grew into a massive knot. "I'm gonna cum! Please! Let me cum, I can't hold it." Felix grunted, his dick twitching inside of you. He was close. "You better not cum before I do, cumslut." He spat, his voice was hoarse as he neared the beginning of his orgasm.
"Gonna fill your little hole up. You'll be walking around with my cum in your anus forever. A constant reminder of me. Tell me. Would that rat of yours have ever been able to fuck you like me?" He taunted you, challenging you to so much as try to orgasm before him. The pain you felt made you see bright white. "No! Nobody can fuck me like you can! No one! Only you! Think of you all the time, all day, everyday. Only you. It's always only you." Your confession sent Felix over the edge, releasing endlessly into your abused hole. You clenched around him as you also came hard.
Breathing heavily, you watched as Felix pulled out. He dragged a finger over your swollen hole. You whined at the overstimulation as he gathered the cum that spilt out of you. He mixed it in with the cum on your abs, shoving it back into you. Wiping the rest of it, he sucked it off his fingers, passing it into your mouth with a kiss and forcing you to swallow. He pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lips. Twirling it around his fingers, he put them in your mouth, watching as you naturally swirled your tongue around his digits.
"You're mine, you hear me? Nobody else can have you. Only me."
#skz smut#stray kids#lee felix#stray kids smut#lee felix smut#stray kids felix#gay smut#skz imagines#stray kids scenarios#lee felix x reader#male reader#kpop smut
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sav maybe its cause I'm like super horny tonight but:
Perv!BestFriend!Eddie. He can't help thinkkng of you as slightly more innocent then him. Of course it isnt that you don't do anything (or maybe you haven't), but you stay at home more often than not whilst Eddie goes out to the bar to play with the band. Eddie would go to high school parties dealing, whilst you would much rather go see a movie or stay home reading a book. He suspects you haven't done much but isnt sure, which is why he always brings up his escapades.
He has mentioned things he's done with girls (and maybe a few guys) and you haven't really mentioned much. He likes to watch you fidget and squirm, clenching your thighs together subconsciously. The way he can tell you are flustered without blushing, makes his heart skip a beat. But you're best friends!! It's okay!! To tell each other!! And hey!! You're best friends!! Let's talk about kinks!! Totally fine!!
So one day you come in to his room, sit on HIS bed, and are like "okay so we are best friends right?" Which he scoffs and rolls his eyes at, DUH of course you are! No one else would willingly hang out with "the freak". You go on to mention how you went on a date- his brain stops. You never mentioned a date. Now he's flustered and interrupting every two seconds "uh best friends don't keep secrets what the fuck". "Well I wasnt sure if it would work out, so I didnt want to mention it". Eddie may be a little pissed but you distract him by saying "I need a favor." "Sorry sweets, can't go on the run for murder again". You roll his eyes and grab his hand, staring deep into his eyes as you say," yeah no, don't need that, but Kyle said I was a terrible kisser snd I want to be better so can you please teach me how to kiss?"
Which is the last thing Eddie expects but of course he will teach you how to kiss!! Only best friends get that honor right?! And hey, let's teach you how to give a hickey too! And maybe once you start grinding on him subconsciously, he'll help teach you how to make a guy feel real good with his mouth
(not that you had any intention for this to turn out such a way I mean cmon its not like you've had a crush on the guy and had gotten off to the thought of him before)
OH MY GOD!!! Bestie your mind has me 🤯 one of my fav types of fics is the character teaching reader sexual things. There’s a fic on a03 I never saved and it was the first Eddie fic i ever read last summer and like the talent on this app, it was a MASTERPIECE! I can’t remember who wrote it tho 😭
The chipotle people hooked my bowl all the way up and now I got the itis so apologies if this is all over the place 😭
I feel like since season 4 came out everyone on this app has synced and we’re all horny at the same time 😭 i can’t be the only one who noticed
But back to you! I love pervy bff Eddie too! I think he assumes you aren’t interested in sex because he doesn’t see you with anyone or talk about sex as openly as he does. And it could be because no one is Eddie and it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else. So you focus on other things like school, your hobbies, etc
But when you go out on a date with Kyle (I giggled at this because there’s always a Kyle at school that does the most questionable shit 😭 was it just my schools??) Eddie loses his shit at the lunch table. He had to hear it in the hallway outside mrs. O’Donnell’s class so he couldn’t pay attention the entire class.
And suddenly you’re bringing this Kyle around the party. So he starts bringing his conquests around too. And even tells you in full detail how he fucked some girl in the alley behind the hideout or how he got a bj from the hot plumber fixing his neighbor Janice’s sink. It goes on for weeks like this, he watches how your thighs clench when he describes having a jerk off with Chase from the basketball team in the showers after gym and how Mandy from history class squirted all over the van seats (you did question why the floor was a little damp…). Each story is more than the next and eddie drops his pretzels on purpose just to pick them up (super weird for him because you’ve never known him to clean up anything at home!) and under the table what does he see? Sweet little you grinding your pussy and squeezing your thighs on the bench of the cafeteria bench. He notices the tremble when you cum too 😭
But it isn’t until you ask him for help with that peabrain Kyle that he takes the opportunity to show you the ropes of sex. And not just fucking! He shows you how to kiss so good any guy would get hard from just that, and how brushes of the arm can ignite a fire. And it evolves to Eddie showing you how to give bjs and handjobs, and he fingers you, eats your sweet cunt (he’s saving your ass for a later time). It goes like this for months until finally you confess that Kyle ended things after 2 dates. You did all this to be closer to Eddie. And Eddie confesses he was showing you how he likes to be pleased, not other guys and especially not Kyle.
You wanna fuck him now! But he wants to take his time with you. Light candles around your room, scatter roses on the bed, worship your body how it deserves because you’re the goddess of his dreams! And you were right under his nose the entire time.
He’s super sweet when you finally have sex too. Guiding you through your orgasm, holding his until you’ve cum at least three times, cuddling. But in the moments after you ask “teddy can you show me what you like and not what you think I like?”
And this opens the door to every kink that’s ever run through his mind! He eases you into everything but he can’t wait to show you how he really uses those handcuffs! But over time he realizes you’re s freak too 😭 and now y’all can be freaky and nasty together!!!!
Which is what we all want right 😌 at least for meeeee 😭 lol
#eddie munson/reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x female reader#fem reader#eddie munson x black female reader#eddie munson x black!reader#eddie munson fem!reader#eddie munson smut#black female reader#eddie munson/female reader
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