#I would have brought her back in a second movie. maybe jack remembering memories of her

[notemaker]

@midoristeashop THIS bottom corner drawing you mean?

[manawari]

Thinking about this Maze Runner AU and I'm thinking about extending it (and change a few things, as well as following the original series), maybe?

Of course, Sung Jin-woo obviously is in Thomas' place as the main character and the person (Greenie) who showed up in The Box. He's incredibly confused and freaks out the moment he sees a person. He then remembers his name, which shocks the guys around him since usually, a Glader won't remember one's name within a daylight. Everyone becomes suspicious of him, yet a kind Glader named Yoo Jin-ho shows him around and teaches Jin-woo about the ways in the Glade and how he must survive.

Hwang Dong-suk (Ben) attacks Jin-woo after he had been stung by a Griever during his run in the Maze. He chases Jin-woo until they're in the center of the Glade where the Gladers find the chaos and rush to stop Hwang Dong-suk. Lim Tae-gyu soon comes to a decision to banish Hwang Dong-suk, though Hwang Dong-soo (bear in mind that nobody else here remembers their memories so we can say Dong-soo and Dong-suk are friends, not knowing they are brothers), disapproves it and argues that Jin-woo is the one who must be punished. Lim Tae-gyu has to uphold his role as a leader in this and threatens to slit his throat when it's clear that Hwang Dong-suk is no longer human; this can spice things up as Dong-soo holds a burning grudge against Jin-woo and his future actions will eventually lead him to his death by the time the Gladers have escaped the Maze.

In the fic, Cha Hae-in came before Jin-woo, but if we're gonna follow what happened in the original story, then Cha Hae-in would come a day after Jin-woo. Then again, the Glade is shook and everyone believes W.I.C.K.E.D is fooling them and disrupting their peace. In the book, Teresa and Thomas were telepathic and had formed a bond while in the Slammer, realizing they have known each other before The Maze; I'm thinking about inserting this plot-point on Jin-woo and Hae-in. They'll share telepathy! And in the movie, which is on the funny side, Cha Hae-in chooses violence and starts throwing rocks at everyone from the top of the Homestead; Jin-woo has to be the one who calms her down and gently takes the knife Jin-ho has likely given her. And like Jin-woo, Hae-in has fragments of her memories and has brought along two syringes in her pocket, which came in handy when Lim Tae-gyu gets stung later in the story when the Grievers wrecked the Glade.

Roles:

First-in-command (Leader) — Lim Tae-gyu

Second-in-command — Choi Jong-in

Runners — Lim Tae-gyu, Cha Hae-in, & Sung Jin-woo [Hwang Dong-suk, former]

Builders — Baek Yoon-ho & Hwang Dong-soo

Cook — Yoo Jin-ho

Med-jack — Min Byung-gyu

Track-hoe — Yoo Jin-ho

Blood-houser — Kang Tae-shik

Gardeners — Yoo Jin-ho & Cha Hae-in

Slopper — Sung Jin-woo

Bricknick — Hwang Dong-soo

Bagger — Go Kyuh-wan

Map-makers — Choi Jong-in & Lim Tae-gyu

As for Group B, I'd say it includes the rest of the female characters in Solo Leveling. Park Hee-jin will be the first-in-command of the group while Eun-seok will likely be in Aris' place.

In hindsight, Woo Jin-chul was supposed to be part of W.I.C.K.E.D, but I decided against it and made him part of the Right Arm, which will probably make sense since they're the good guys™ and Song Chi-yul will be the leader. Go Gun-hee will be the one who's part of W.I.C.K.E.D and his role is the good version of A.D. Janson. But the actual A.D. Janson still exists.

Other thoughts:

— Teresa is labeled as a Traitor, right? And who's in her place? CHA HAE-IN. However, this can be debatable since the two female characters are different, but. . . What if? What if Cha Hae-in did it for the sake of her friends? What if she was manipulated into thinking it was for the better good? What if all she wanted was to get her memories back? What if she got threatened that Jin-woo would be dead if she won't betray him?

— what if Jin-ah is alive all along?

— what if Min Byung-gyu is not an immune?

— Sung Il-hwan is alive too. He's part of the Right Arm, though he's not revealing himself to Jin-woo. Kyung-hye is the one who died and Jin-ah became an experiment or an employee in W.I.C.K.E.D whom Hae-in later met.

— if we push through Hae-in becoming the "traitor" then Jin-woo will resent and hate her and Hae-in won't apologize for doing what she thought was right. JINHAE ANGST!

— Tae-gyu and Yoon-ho are the ones who use Glader slangs the most.

— Jin-woo treating Jin-ho like a brother; similarly to how he should've treated Jin-ah if he remembers her.

— Cha Hae-in is the one who solved the Maze.

— Choi Jong-in and Baek Yoon-ho tend to argue a lot. This plotline will never change.

— Eun-seok remembers Byung-gyu, though he's hesitant of telling the truth, thinking Byung-gyu might not believe that he was his childhood friend whom he got separated from due to The Flare.

— before their memories being wiped out, young Yoon-ho, Jong-in, Tae-gyu, Byung-gyu became friends with Hae-in and Jin-woo. The six of them would often sneak out.

— young!Yoon-ho being heavily traumatized as young!Minho in The Fever Code and that includes fighting the nurses and getting tied to a chair where a Griever almost kills him, sent by a scientist for his attempts of escaping.

— Lee Ju-hee having a telepathic link to Eun-seok, Jin-woo, and Hae-in too, which she hasn't realized until the four of them are gathered into one place. That's when her memories flush in. She's also the only one (besides Eun-seok, though he needed some time to understand) who doesn't resent Cha Hae-in.

— Lee Ju-hee secretly leaves the group in the middle of the night to join W.I.C.K.E.D in hopes to develop a cure. She may or may not left a note.

— Woo Jin-chul leading both groups the best way he can, as well as protecting the ones who are not Immunes. He's also not an Immune, yet manages to survive throughout everything.

— Woo Jin-chul formerly working for W.I.C.K.E.D and used to have a hard time gaining Song Chi-yul's trust until he revealed all secrets he knew from the organization.

— the ones who successfully escaped the Maze are the S-Ranks + Yoo Jin-ho. The rest are obviously dead or killed.

[chocolatecakecas]

Quality Family Time: Baby Jack ficlet

for the bah discord besties<3

In Dean's humble opinion, the week was off to a pretty good start. Sunday, he and Cas took Jack to the library and let him go wild in the children's section, then let him run off his "excitement about literature" in the park, ending with lunch at their favorite diner, which is Dean's humble opinion qualifies as a pretty great Sunday afternoon. And then Sammy and Eileen finished up their hunt earlier than expected, and they even brought back Claire and Kaia as a surprise. Meaning they got to all have a much-needed family dinner, movie night, and catch up with the girls. And they decided to stay for a few days, which meant extra babysitters, which really meant, he and Cas could have their date night this week. And of course it also meant Dean had a few days to just hang out with his family, watch some movies, watch his kids bond, run some stupid errands, cook some big meals. 

Now it was Wednesday, and Dean was spending the day with Eileen and Jack, while the others opted to help Sam with the supply run. Eileen was getting a movie queued up for Jack's nap, while Dean got a start on some laundry.  

(read the rest under the cut)

He was currently running out to the garage to grab the blanket he keeps folded in Baby's trunk, smiling fondly at the memory of Monday's date night.  

So yeah as far as Wednesdays go, Dean was having a pretty good one.

At least, he was.

Dean's stomach dropped as he flicked the lights on, barely registering the clang of his keys hitting the floor, standing frozen in the doorway.  

He's hallucinating, he must be. There's absolutely no way that-

He squeezed his eyes shut, counting to ten while he tried to will away the hallucination with his mind. But unfortunately for Dean, he didn't have that kind of mind power, because that thing was still sitting there when he opened his eyes.

Fuck.

Forcing his feet to move, Dean stepped further into the garage, reaching out a shaking hand as he inched forward. 

He'll just touch it and his hand will go through it, and he can blame this hallucination on that questionable burger he ate at some local joint they all went to last night. It'll be fi-

Dean's blood turned to ice as his hand connected with cool metal. He quickly jumped back in shock, jaw hitting the floor.

Because last time he checked, Dean didn't leave an 18 foot long Lightning McQueen sitting in his beloved Baby's parking spot. 

He tried to speak but all that came out was an incoherent squeak, as he raced around the car inspecting every inch of it.

He couldn't get any of the doors open or the hood for that matter, but as far as he could tell it seemed to be a real car, despite being a cartoon look-a-like. 

Well, at least it wasn't talking. 

"Ka-chow"

Dean slumped over onto the roof of the car, banging his head, fists following in defeat.

Because there was a Lightning McQueen look-a-like with a toy voice box, parked in the garage of their super top-secret underground Bunker, in place of one of his most prized possessions. 

Maybe he spoke too soon about having a pretty good Wednesday. 

Why is this happening? How did this thing get in here? Where is his Baby? Is she alright? Can he even get her back? How the hell did this ev-

Son of a bitch. 

"Jack!" Dean called, voice coming out more strangled than he'd care to admit. 

Of course. Cars had become Jack's new obsession over the past week, they first watched it on Friday night and he's insisted on watching it at least once a day ever since. 

Dean groaned scrubbing his hands down his face. There's truly never a dull moment with a half-Nephilim toddler. 

Jack probably didn't even realize what happened. Sometimes his powers react before his mind can catch up with them, like when he subconsciously made all of his toys come to life after Toy Story became his favorite movie. The kid probably didn't even know about the Cars wannabe parked in the garage, besides his kid would never tamper with Bab-

"Dee! You found Lightning!" 

Dean's jaw once again found its way back down to the floor. His own kid.

He turned to see his four-year-old come bounding into the garage, practically bursting with joy.

"What the hell"

Dean tore his gaze away from Jack to see Eileen frozen in the doorway, who's jaw also joined Dean's on the floor. 

"Look see it's just like Lightning, Dee!" Jack cheered as he ran over to check out the car, regaining Dean's attention.

"Uh...ye-yeah buddy. I-I can see that bu-" Dean began sounding pained, only to be cut off by Jack.

"It's a real car, Dee. You can drive it! And look I gots all the stickers on it too"

"Yeah kiddo, bu-"

"And it can talk too! It says all of Lightning's things! Do you like it Dee? Where you surprised?" Jack asked as he wrapped himself around Dean's legs, smiling up at him without a care in the world.

Dean still mostly in shock, glanced up at Eileen who looked to be in the same boat, except she was holding back barely contained laughter. 

Great no help from his best friend, traitor. So Dean shakily knelt down placing his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"Listen, Squirt. I was definitely surprised. But yo-"

"Oh my god"

Dean's head jerked up to see Sam, Cas, Claire, and Kaia now standing with Eileen in the doorway, dropped grocery bags spilling out onto the floor. All of them too stunned to move, except for Cas who luckily must have noticed the distress in Dean's eyes.

"Jack, Baby. What is this?" Cas asked, quickly making his way over to them, quickly kneeling down beside Dean.

"I made Baby into Lightning! Ta da!"

"Wait, that thing is my Baby?" Dean asked voice cracking. 

And of course, that's what did it.

Sam doubled over in laughter, Eileen, Claire, and Kaia quickly following, and Cas was beside him, clearly trying to conceal his laughter.

"God this is the best thing I've ever seen" Sam wheezed in the background, and if Dean weren't still reeling he'd walk right over and punch him. 

Cas placed a grounding hand on Dean's shoulder, all while trying to bite back his smile. Well, Dean appreciated the gesture, at least he was trying to be considerate, unlike some people he knew.

"Bug, do you remember what Daddy and I told you about using your powers?" Cas begins, trying and failing to sound stern.

"That I can't make my toys be alive! And I didn't Baby isn't alive, and she's not even a toy!" Jack explains with a smile. 

"Yea-yeah Squirt, but the second part of that little talk was that you shouldn't use your powers unless you ask Daddy, or me, or Uncle Sammy or Aunt Eileen, remember?" Dean supplied after he finally got his gears spinning again.

"Ooooohhh. Oops, sorry!"Jack shrugs and he even had half a mind to at least look a little bit sorry, but it's drowned out by another fresh wave of laughter.

"I'm so glad we decided to stay longer, does stuff like this happen all the time?" Kaia laughed behind him, as Claire wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Oh I'm so glad my distress is amusing to all of you!" Dean shot back, voice still a little unsteady, which only caused them to laugh harder. Cas met his eyes, as he squeezed his shoulder, scooting closer.

"Squirt it's okay, just uh don't do it again....now where exactly is the real Baby?" Dean asked cutting right to the chase, not missing the look Cas gave him for glossing over the whole "don't use your powers without asking" lesson.

But there was time for that later, because right now his Baby was currently a firetruck red cartoon racecar with eyes.

"That is Baby. I just made her look like that, it's her. See!" Jack explained jumping up and dragging Dean over. Everyone else followed suit, Sam giving him a shit eating grin as he handed Dean the discarded keys.

To Dean's surprise, the key unlocked the car just like baby, and the interior looked exactly the same.

"Wow kid, this is honestly pretty cool" Claire complimented with a low whistle, which earned her a death glare from Dean, only making her laugh harder.

Unbelievable. All of his kids have it out for his car today.

Dean heaved a sigh as he watched his family examine every inch of the car, not bothering to hold back their laughter at this point.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing we didn't watch How to Train Your Dragon" Cas quipped wrapping Dean in his arms as he pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Dean flopped over and laid his forehead on Cas's shoulder, letting a soft laugh escape.

"Yeah well, at least my car wouldn't have been caught in the crossfire" Dean groaned back, feeling Cas' laugh rumble in his chest.

"Yes I know this is a tragedy, clearly the real live dragons would have caused less damage-well less emotional damage anyway"

"Woah, look at that, he's got jokes. Alright everyone step away from the racecar" Dean smirked, yelling that last bit as he pushed away from Cas' chest. He made his way over to Jack who was currently in the driver's seat (keys nowhere near the ignition of course), showing everyone how the horn says McQueen catchphrases now.

"Alright Houdini, while the Lightning McQueen trick was very cool, and we've reminded you that we don't use powers unless we ask. It's time to turn him back into Baby, capiche?" Dean said in the most no-nonsense tone he could manage as he kneelt down to Jack's level.

And of course Dean's very logical, very simple, very warranted request resulted in an uproar from his family.

"Wait you aren't even gonna take it for a spin?"

"You've literally got thee Lightning McQueen sitting in your garage"

"Dean c'mon one dri-"

"Nope. Not happening. Now way am I driving that thing" Dean cut in, flinging his arms out for emphasis and effectively silencing the traitor-his family.

Then he felt a little tug on his shirt.

"Please Dee? One time, then I change Baby back?" Jack asked with his best puppy dog eyes, and Dean quickly made a mental note to kick Sam's ass for teaching him that.

And as he slowly tilted his head back up, he was met with four pleading faces, all hovering around the car He desperately turned his gaze towards Cas knowing he'd be the voice of reason, he'd neve-

"Well, it would be a waste not to take the car for at least one ride" Cas shrugged almost sheepishly, barely hiding his grin. Dean stared back into his eyes trying to will him to change his mind, but he knew it was pointless.

Dean sighed his defeat, running a hand down his face. Damnit

"Fine, one drive-and I mean one. Twenty minutes tops" He shouted, throwing his hands in air in exasperation as everyone cheered.

And when Dean found himself driving back to the bunker four hours later, he and failed tried to hid his smile. He glanced in the mirror at Claire and Jack passed out, while Kaia and Sam held a whispered conversation in the magically (which Jack may or may not have had a hand in) stretched out backseat. Eileen turned in the front seat joining the conversation, as Cas sat in the middle, pressed up against Dean.

Cas gave his hand a squeezing, shooting him a knowing smile, which only earned a nudge from Dean.

So yeah, maybe Dean did almost have a heart attack earlier in the day. And maybe he did have to let a bunch of annoying people in the next town over pose for pictures with the car when they stopped for dinner. And maybe the horn said "Ka-chow" and "I am speed". And maybe the drive was more than twenty minutes. But in Dean's humble opinion, it was still a pretty good Wednesday after all.

Lightning McQueen be damned.

Tag list pt 1:

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @subbydean @organicpurplepants @you-cant-spell-subtext-without

@tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @icefire149 @dakiaty @seffersonjtarship @angeltiddies @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @jewishdeanwinchester @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @aestheticflyer26

@athenixrose @slipper007 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-novak @lyonessrampant @thiscowboyisbisexual @carverera @milfcodeddean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie

[goldentournesol]

The Receptionist and the Profiler (One)

Chapter One: Wins and Losses

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

If you’d have told high school senior Y/N that she’d be working at the FBI after graduating college, she would have never believed you. Not only did she have zero interest in law enforcement, she also seemed to lack any athletic skills to back her up. She was nothing like her fiancé, who’d had his heart set on joining the bureau since middle school. She and Grant Anderson were friends in high school and ended up getting together during their junior year. Anderson proposed to Y/N during her second year of college. She’d graduated almost two years ago now, but the wedding date was unknown. They’d been dating for four years and engaged for another four years with the wedding nowhere to be seen. He’d been the first and only boy–and man, to ever pay her half a mind. To her, that was good enough. Hell, she’d been with him for eight years, if she’d wanted to leave him, she’d have left long ago. Right?

Imagine her surprise when he’d told her that his new boss, Aaron Hotchner, was looking for a receptionist for the BAU. Fresh out of college, landing a secure job? That was a miracle, and she really did have to thank her fiancé for it. But everyone around her was so cool and she was just…there. Her job was basically to sort through files, organize Hotch’s meetings, among other things like making reservations at the hotels the agents stayed at on their cases. 

The Agents of the BAU.

They were essentially the coolest people she knew.

First comes Agent Gideon, one of the founders of the BAU. His ability to read people scares her sometimes. How can one man’s beady little eyes have the ability to read people like they were some kind of book stowed away on a dusty shelf? A shelf only he can reach.

Then, comes Agent Hotchner, the unit chief. A stoic man with an even more stoic face. He’s a man who, to put it lightly, takes his job very seriously. On more than one occasion has she met his wife, Haley. They made a beautiful couple in her eyes and they’d just had their child, Jack Hotchner. She never knew how a baby’s face could be so wrinkly–yet so cute. Haley and Aaron were high school sweethearts, much like she and Grant. But that seemed to be the only aspect they shared. Despite his suffocatingly hard shell, Aaron was a loving man. That much was obvious. She wondered if Grant had ever looked at her the way Aaron looked at Haley.

Agent Derek Morgan, where to begin? He was tall, dark, and every bit handsome. His charming nature made all the ladies of the sixth (and fifth, and seventh, and eighth and–) floor swoon over him anytime he walked by. He is one of the bravest men she’d ever known. His ability to put himself in the place of the unsub was something she’d only heard stories about–but it gave her chills every time.

Next comes Agent Elle Greenaway, one of the most headstrong women Y/N has ever met. Her bluntness can come across as harsh, but she knew a woman in law enforcement had to stand her ground to be treated with as equal respect as her male counterparts. She admired her strength.

Agent Jennifer Jareau, or as Y/N knew her, JJ, was a kind hearted, compassionate woman who’s way with words absolutely blew Y/N away. The way JJ handled the media with such finesse was simply astonishing. She knew she could never string together the right words like JJ seemed to, up on those podiums, in front of all those nosy reporters. It was mind blowing to watch her in her element.

Penelope Garcia, or otherwise known as literal sunshine embodied in a technical analyst. She was the best at what she did, hacking, searching, filtering. It was a science, and Penelope Garcia made it look easy. She and Y/N had grown close since both of them stayed at the office while the other agents flew around the country, solving cases. They’d often spend endless lunches together in Garcia’s ‘batcave’ as she called it and was practically hellbent on teaching Y/N how to use Photoshop every chance she got.

And last but certainly not least, Dr. Spencer Reid. She’d never met a man with a more brilliant brain. He was known as the resident genius, the expert on well–everything. The man had an eidetic memory and the ability to read 20,000 words per minute. Is that not the most impressive thing on the planet? Nope, he just has to have three PhDs in three of the most complicated fields of study: mathematics, physics, and engineering, achieving all three before reaching 22 years of age. 

He had joined the bureau about a year after Y/N had started there. She could remember their first interaction like it was yesterday. 

He had been in and out of meetings before spotting Y/N at her desk, where she usually stayed during her lunch break, at least for the first year she was there. She was halfway through a cup of mixed berry yogurt when Spencer came up to her desk to ask where the breakroom was. Y/N directed him to the room and followed his gaze to the yogurt container in her hands before he left.

“Did you know that the origins of yogurt are pretty much unknown, although historians agree that there was no mention of it before 5000 BC? It’s thought to have been invented by the Mesopotamians.” He said as he pursed his lips and raised his brows, as if realizing he made a mistake too late.

“No, I didn’t know that! That’s super cool. You must be Dr. Spencer Reid, right?” She said, giving him her full attention, which made him slightly more nervous than he had been previously. He nodded, a shy smile on his face.

“And you’re…” he looked for her name holder, “Y/N Y/L/N.” 

She giggled and the sound activated some kind of blood rushing mechanism right up into his cheeks, “Yup! I’m the BAU’s receptionist slash Agent Hotchner’s assistant, you know, nothing fancy but I like to think I’m pretty good at sorting through files.” She raised a brow and gave him an adorable smile and suddenly Spencer wasn’t so nervous to talk to her. 

She seemed way more interactive and easygoing than just about 98% of the people in the building. He wondered if it was because she wasn’t an agent. Spencer also wondered if gaining a title like ‘Supervisory Special Agent’ would make him cold like the others, but then he remembered he has three doctorates and already introduced himself with the honorific. 

She picked up on his silence, “You know, you have nothing to worry about, I overheard Agent Gideon talking about you landing the job with Agent Morgan.” She nodded her head towards a tall, muscular man, who Spencer gathered must be Morgan. Spencer smiled back at her, her words easing even more of the tension he collected in his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, you should see the massive list of exceptions they have to make to let me into the field.” He said with a ghost of a smile on his face. She had to physically repress a laugh. And right then and there, the seed of a beautiful friendship was planted.

Fast forward to two years after that interaction, Spencer and Y/N became pretty much attached at the hip whenever he was actually in the office and not flying around the country catching serial killers. Their desks were quite far from each other, hers right near the glass doors of the BAU and his across the room right near the railing that had Hotch and Gideon’s offices as well as the conference room. It gave them both perfect views of each other, which they used to send each other encouraging smiles throughout the day, maybe a funny face or two. He always had a way of making her smile, she hadn’t felt the fuzzy feeling of friendship in years. Besides Garcia, Spencer was the only person who had made an effort to get to know Y/N. In the past two years, she’d say Spencer knew her better than anyone else, possibly even Anderson, but that was surely because he was a talented genius profiler…

Budget meetings at the FBI were definitely the most boring types of meetings in the world. She had to be there because she was the one making all the reservations at the hotels, but once they began talking about the jet and fuel consumption–Y/N totally spaced out. Spencer enjoyed the meetings, though. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that Y/N would sometimes space out and let her head fall against his shoulder. The weight of her head brought him inexplicable comfort and joy. He hates it when people come near him, when did it become so endearing to him for her to trust him enough with such a simple gesture? He found himself attending the meetings and sitting next to her whenever he got the chance, hoping that one day, maybe, just maybe she’ll allow her head to rest upon his shoulder again. Perhaps it was pathetic, but he found himself feeling overjoyed at the thought of budget meetings, they became the only thing he’d look forward to. 

He wondered if this was how Anderson felt when she rested her head on his shoulder, but then his knee would start bouncing and he’d practically feel the envious monster growing in the pit of his stomach, so he’d stop. It certainly didn’t make it any easier to stop when it was so easy to look over and find Anderson leaning against her desk and flirting with her. Technically, he has every right to flirt with his fiancée, but that didn’t stop jealousy from coursing through Spencer’s veins violently.

The team had just landed last night, they were coming back from a case revolving around the famous actress, Lila Archer. Apparently, she’d had a stalker. Y/N couldn’t wait to hear the details of the case, she had watched almost all of Lila’s movies. She eagerly awaited Spencer’s arrival. Just then, she heard the ding of the elevator and saw a very sheepish -and flushed- Spencer with a very playful Morgan hot on his tail.

“Morning, pretty girl!” Derek halted his seemingly incessant teasing to greet her as they walked towards her. Spencer was oddly quiet as he tried to pass by, offering her a small, awkward wave instead of his usual smiley ‘good morning!’, but Derek grabbed him by the strap of his messenger bag. He made it his mission to embarrass Spencer as much as humanly possible when he woke up this morning. What Derek didn’t know was that Spencer wanted Y/N to be the absolute last person to know of what happened. Spencer shifted uncomfortably and was positive he was sweating more than he ever had in his 24 years of life.

“Morning, Derek! So, tell me all about it! Did you meet her? Of course, you met her, duh! What was she like? Was she a stuck up diva like her character in Wins and Losses or was she more down to earth?” Y/N questioned curiously with a hint of excitement.

“Oh, I think pretty boy here has all the answers you could ever wish for. After all, it wasn’t me who made out with a hot movie star in her own pool.” Derek laughed, eyes squinting as he clapped Spencer on the shoulder proudly. Neither of the two men caught the way Y/N’s face dropped. Spencer was too focused on looking anywhere but at her and Derek was too triumphant to look anywhere but at Spencer’s -alarmingly- red face. He attempted to clear his throat when the few seconds of stunned silence became much too suffocating. Derek turned back to Y/N just in time to see her collect her jaw from off the desk and morph it into a smile.

“Spencer Reid, you did what?!” She attempted to laugh in order to lighten the mood, hoping the two profilers wouldn’t pick up on her dis-ingenuousness. 

They hadn’t, thankfully.

Spencer’s shy eyes met her curious ones as he tried to imitate Derek’s proud smile,and he could have sworn he saw a sort of unfamiliar heaviness in her gaze, but it disappeared as soon as it came. 

Could it be? Was she feeling jealous? There’s no way, she thought. But what else could be behind the not so subtle burning feeling in her chest? 

“Um, yeah. She kind of pulled me into the pool with her…” he recounted with a small voice, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“And?” Derek said in anticipation, despite already knowing.

“Alright! We kissed a few times, what’s the big deal?” He huffed, turning to look at Derek and resisting the urge to punch him in the face for embarrassing him in front of Y/N.

Garcia suddenly appeared next to them, catching the looks between the two agents and Y/N’s shocked expression, “Oh! Are we talking about boy wonder locking lips with miss Lila Archer in her pool?”

Spencer’s face dropped, “How do you know about that?!” he all but screeched.

“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.” Garcia wiggled her eyebrows at Spencer before sharing a knowing look with Derek which led to a prompt punch to Derek’s arm from him which then led to an over exaggerated yelp of pain.

“I’ve also got photos!” Garcia said, quickly pulling out her PDA and showing Y/N.

“Garcia! How?!” Spencer exclaimed, but it was too late. Y/N was already scrolling through the photos, laughing.

“Spencer, you sly dog!” She laughed, though the situation awoke an unprecedented, seemingly underlying feeling of envy. Spencer rolled his eyes in embarrassment and stormed off in the direction of his desk, leaving the three of them behind. 

The rest of the day went by smoothly, although Y/N had to keep fighting against the way her chest felt tight every time she remembered those photos. She had a feeling she was never going to watch Wins and Losses ever again.

next chapter

feedback is always appreciated!!

[yelenabelovq]

give you peace | s.r.

summary: Days on the road are long and overstretched and everyone seems better at dealing with it than you. You are even worse at dealing with it when you’re forced to share a bed with the self-appointed Captain.

playlist: give you peace | s.r.

word count: 3.4k

rating: 18+

a/n: i have literally been working on this fic for, like, over a month okay. i had decided that no one knew how to do a true theres-only-one-bed fic so i decided to write my own and then idk what happened like god took it into her hands at that point and this is the result so like don’t blame me blame god

“I would take a bunch of rolled-up newspapers and a blanket at this point,” Sam said from beside you.

You lift your head from where it rested on the table between your arms, peering at him through lidded eyes. “A bed is a bed, Samuel.”

“Yeah, and it’s the first one we’ll have in months,” he said. “If Steve can ever get the damn key cards.”

“I, for one, don’t know why we didn’t think of having Nat hack the security cameras earlier,” you remarked, fidgeting with the strap of your one duffle bag you could keep that you’d looped around your ankle. Can’t be too careful. “Who’s really worried about a few misdemeanors when you’re on the run from the highest levels of the US government?”

“Amen,” said Sam.

“I’ll second that one,” Natasha said, stretching out beside you, feline in her office chair. The laptop was set in front of her, inconspicuous enough that it just looked like she was getting some work done before checking in. God, technology was truly great.

Steve returned a second later, holding a handful of cards and a goodie bag from the front desk. Robbing big chain hotels of their rooms and amenities was honestly your best idea yet. You wish you’d thought of it sooner. Being on the run was exhausting, and half-star motels that conveniently didn’t already have security cameras was even more exhausting and incredibly less safe. Peace was hard to come by when you were tracking down the worst of the worst, and safety was even harder. Caffeine and near-tear exhaustion has brought you the idea of simply hacking the system at a Marriott Inn. Genius, Genius, Genius.

“Alright,” Steve said. “Cameras down, yet?”

Nat took a second before closing the laptop and responding, “They’ll loop for 24 hours. Should be enough time for us to rest up and make it out of here.”

“Two rooms,” Steve said, throwing down two packs of key cards.

“Ugh, my own bed,” you sighed.

“We’ll share,” Natasha said, motioning between her and Sam.

“Hey, wait,” you said, picking up your gaze to Nat, who honest-to-god looked like the expression “the cat that got the cream.”

“Your own bed, right?” Nat said, leveling her gaze with your own.

You tipped your head back to look at Steve, who was standing over you. “Guess we’re bunking together.”

The Jack & Jill door between the two rooms was quickly unlocked and you tossed your duffle onto the counter of the vanity before turning to face the rest of the room. Bed, bed, bed, bed, bed, panted like a mantra in your mind as the bone-deep feeling of exhaustion settled into you. Sheets and a duvet and the cold side of a pillow sounded like a winning lottery ticket right about now.

You looked around the small room, just the bed with an adjoining bathroom and exposed vanity, a mini-fridge and coffee maker next to the TV and—

Bed. Bed as in singular.

Your head snapped to look at Steve.

“There’s only one bed,” he remarked helpfully.

“You’re kidding,” you insisted, the evidence glaringly obvious. Maybe if you whined loud enough it would magically become two.

“Is there only one in their room? Maybe we can switch—” Your hand went for the door, only to find it locked. You jiggled the door, kicking it once, then leaning your head against it in defeat. “Whores,” you hissed.

“That should be unlocked—”

“You know why it isn’t.” You turned back to the room, defeat settling in your bones. It’s not that you and Steve had never not not gotten along, it’s just that two iron-willed people who are incessant about being right don’t tend to last in a room together without some… light bickering.

Steve went for the phone and brought it to his ear for only a moment before shoving it back onto the receiver. “Nat disabled the line,” he sighed.

“So, there’s only one bed,” you observed, just as helpfully as he had.

“I’ll take the floor,” Steve said.

“No, I’m not gonna make you do that. I can—”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

Your folded your arms across your chest defiantly. “And why’s that?”

“You’re exhausted.”

“So are you.”

“I can handle the floor for one night—”

“Well, so could I.”

“Well, why don’t we both take the goddamned floor, then?”

“Why don’t we both take the fucking bed, then?” You yanked back the covers on one side.

“Fine.” Steve’s eyes met yours across the bed. The only one in the room. Iron will alright.

It was Steve that broke first, much to your satisfaction of having won two stand-offs with him.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“Have fun,” you quipped over your shoulder ad you flopped down on the mattress, grabbing the remote from the side table. This was fine. This would be fine.

A bed is a bed, right?

Steve was in the shower for a bit longer than you’d expected, considering how fast he usually took. Memories of standing in a steam filled bathroom where he was in and out before you’d even wrangled your hair into something presentable came back to you, watching him through a fogged mirror as he walked out with a towel slung low over his hips.

Much like he had when he emerged as you were just barely dozing off to the Lifetime movie on the screen. You swung your legs over the edge and willed your feet to remember how to carry you to the en suite. You passed him by, shoulder brushing his as your gaze caught the water droplets still shimmering on this skin.

You took a bit longer in the shower than usual we well.

When you emerged, hair dry enough that you didn’t have to worry about waking up to a soaked pillow, and in as presentable as a night outfit as you could get for New Mexico in the middle of August, it was dark in the rest of the room. You eased your way out to the bed, noting that Steve seemed to be already a sleep, a pillow laid longways in the middle of the bed. You rolled your eyes before setting the burner phone you had to charge. You climbed into bed gingerly, acutely aware of the body on the other side of the queen-sized mattress. A queen should be plenty big for two people, but Steve was the size of two people himself and slept on his back, one arm thrown behind his head, and the other four remaining pillows (cause, y’know, men are too manly to sleep with pillows) cast to your side. Long story short, it didn’t leave you much room.

This was it, this was the catch, you thought. No pillow nest to bury yourself in. So much for your own damn bed.

You slipped into the covers, arranging the pillows around yourself in your best attempt of a pillow nest with only one-third of a queen mattress to work with (you mourned the loss of the single pillow you had to toss on the floor) and closed your eyes.

And then sleep didn’t come.

So you opened your eyes and shuffled the pillows a bit again, then laid down, and shut your eyes.

And then sleep didn’t come.

Sighing, you shifted again, fluffing the pillow you hugged to your chest with an annoyed hand and—

“Could you stop moving?” cut a voice through the dark.

You send Steve a glare that definitely didn’t land through the pitch black. “You’re taking up the entire bed, it’s kind of hard to get comfortable.”

Steve sighed, then shifted into a sitting position. You heard his feet hit the ground.

“I told you you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“We clearly can’t share the bed.”

“We clearly can, actually, if you just scoot over.”

“I don’t really think that would fix the problem.”

“Do you have to argue with everything I say?”

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t say anything.

“Just lay back down and go to sleep.”

You felt the mattress shift again. You rolled over and squeezed your eyes shut, willing your body not to move again.

You woke up to warmth.

Wasn’t New Mexico the desert? Didn’t the desert get cold at night? Why were you so warm right now? How long did you sleep for, then—

Moving was weird. Yeah, that’s really weird, cause you were caught on something. And what was on your stomach?

Steve. Steve was. You were warm because Steve’s breath was hitting your collar bone and you were pressed against his body and his hand was splayed over your bare stomach.

You had a vague memory of a pillow hitting the floor last night. Then another shuffling stand-off. Then—

Steve was holding you in his arms. Steve was holding you while he slept.

You tried your hardest to move without actually moving, a task that quickly proved difficult. If you could just turn over—

The hands on your stomach turned into an arm tightening around you.

There was no possible way to get out of this and save your pride. You couldn’t do it without waking him up and—

Hold on. Why were you embarrassed? He was the one holding you like a child and a teddy bear. He was the one not letting go. Yeah, this was something you could give him shit for.

“Steve,” you said, sleep tugging on the edges of your voice. “Steve, let go.” You tried a little more openly to wiggle your way out of his grip.

“Huh-uh,” he grunted, only succeeding in further trapping you. “Y’r warm.”

Well, so was he.

As the tired still crowded your mind, you took a deep breath and only succeeded in relaxing yourself further into his grip. You tried half-heartedly to wiggle your way out but, wow, his skin is soft. You didn’t really notice falling back asleep. The absence of your consciousness was a relief.

But when you woke again, it was to the smell of coffee and a cold bed.

You blinked blearily into the morning, gaze flitting across the room before landing on Steve’s figure leaning against the vanity.

“Morning,” he said thickly. He sounded like he couldn’t have been awake that early, and yet he’d been up long enough for his side of the bed to go cold.

"G'mornin'." You stretched out in an attempt to rid yourself of sleep and gave a small moan. Steve tossed his gaze over his shoulder but kept his body faced towards the vanity as he let the coffee drip into the single-use cups.

"Sleep well?" he asked, still not turning to face you.

"Did you?"

You watched his shoulders tense for a split second before he does, finally, turn to you, coffee in hand. He crosses the space between you in a step and a half and extends the cup to you.

You, of course, reach for it and, of course, do so too fast and knock the cup into your lap. Steve sputtered an apology for a moment before reaching to rip the covers off your legs. He twisted to grab a towel from the vanity and began patting down your thighs. In the frantic blur of it, you realized Steve was currently working his way up your inner thigh with a towel that was attached to his hand and you were barely awake.

"Steve," you said. He didn't stop his pursuit up your thigh and was now currently, just about, hovering over you.

"Steve," you repeated, stilling his hand on the inside of your thigh, and finally met his eye, noting as his eyes flit between yours and your lips.

"Sorry," he said, not making an attempt to move.

"S'okay," you mumbled, butterflies taking flight in your stomach and landing on every inch of your skin.

"Are you okay?" His breath was tickling your nose by now.

"You're not moving away." Your heart was hammering out of your chest by now, and you were pretty sure he could hear it. (Super soldier hearing? Is that a thing?)

"I..." The only sound was your mingling breathing for a moment. "I don't want to."

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His lips were feather-light on yours at first, soft and lingering. Maybe that's why his teeth on your lip made you yelp, and maybe that was why Steve groaned into your mouth before hooking an arm under your knee and hoisting you up the bed, settling his hips between your legs.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, eliciting soft moans from him as your nails scraped his scalp, so you did it again. His lips moved over your skin, down your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he moved his hands over your waist. You watched as his head moved down your chest, a hand coming to rest over the strap of your tank top. He toyed with it for a moment, his other hand slowly inching the hem to expose your stomach.

Cerulean eyes met yours. "Okay?"

You nodded vehemently.

His hands lit firecrackers on your skin as he pushed up your tank, his mouth immediately attaching itself to your exposed breast. Your breath hitched in your chest, hands clawing at his shirt in a desperate attempt to undress him.

His shirt and your shorts were quickly discarded onto the floor next to your tank as your fumbling hands reached to his waistband with the intent for them to join the growing pile on the floor. A gentle hand came to cover your wrist, and you opened your eyes to see Steve kissing farther down your sternum, your stomach, your hips.

His breath was hot on your exposed core. Tiny kisses were placed on the inside of both your thighs, like matches being lit in the dark. You were covered in him all of a sudden, covered, covered, covered in his breath, in his skin, in his existence. And when he buried his nose in your folds, you wondered if he was covered in you as well.

His lips sang against your most sensitive area, pushing a finger or two inside you and then slowly curling until your back arched off the coffee-stained sheets. You were breathless, enthralled in every sensation Steve was able to seep from your body. His name fell off your lips in a series of pleas that you were, at present, woefully unable to distinguish. All you know is that it spurred him on, if his own moans were anything to go by.

Release quickly closed in on every inch of you, a glass being filled until it finally, finally tipped over and spread over every inch of you until you were writhing against his face.

Kisses were once again being placed all over your body, until Steve’s nose nudged you and his mouth found yours once again.

“You taste like honey,” he whispered into your mouth.

You whimpered against his lips, hands grasping at his neck, his hair, his waist.

“Okay?” he asked, his own hand moving towards the waistband of his sweats.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, yes, oh my god, yes.”

His hips rolled against you, a trembling wave breaking as you felt his head push into you. It knocked the air from your lungs, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you close to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and burrows your face in his shoulder as he set up a relentless pace, pounding into you with everything he could. You were flooded with ecstasy before finally cresting, a kaleidoscope shattering inside of you before the pieces fell and covered you. Through your high, you felt Steve’s hips sputter against yours before spilling into your core.

There was nothing but your shared breaths for a moment, your head still buried in his shoulder. He relaxed you into the pillows, his lips finding a path over your cheekbone. He eased out of you, grabbing another towel to clean between your thighs. He laid back down next to you, gathering you into his arms until you were laid over his chest.

“This okay?” he asked, his voice as gravelly as you’d heard it that morning.

“Yes,” you sighed, tracing a finger over his skin. You shifted to gaze up at him, silently memorizing every line and dip of his face.

“Why had we never crossed that line before?”

You thought for a moment, his question taking you a little off guard in your still-tired, post-orgasmic state. It was a line you’d crossed. That line you’d been tiptoeing with looks cast the other’s way that always lasted a little too long, and comments that could have way too easily been taken out of context. That line that Nat and Sam had found each other crossing in an attempt to soften the sting of being on the run. That line that stopped you from finding comfort in one another, when the nights stretched on and on and people seemed like the worst type of creature in the universe.

“You’re a stubborn asshole.”

He laughed heartily. “I’m the stubborn one?”

“For now.”

So you let yourself relax into him, savoring the touch of skin on skin. Of your breathing synchronizing. Of high-thread-count sheets kissing your skin just like Steve had, like Steve still was doing, punctuating each one with the giggle he drew from you.

He sighed for a moment before locking his eyes with yours.

"I don't know if I can-"

"Steve," you stopped him. "It's not about that."

You knew where he was going with it. How he would say some chivalrous shit about not being able to provide you with what you needed. It was true, though. It wasn't about that. Not when each night could be the last, and not when a larger fight loomed just around the corner. You knew you could both feel it. When you'd find Steve pulling out his burner and taking a quick glance at it, expression unreadable when he'd discover there were no new alerts and he'd shove it back into his pocket. Not when you felt sometimes like everyone had something to fight for, except you.

"I don't need anything but this," you whispered onto his skin, willing the words to tattoo there so just maybe America's Golden Boy would understand that he alone is enough.

"I can't give you the peaceful life you want."

"I never said I wanted that."

"But I know you think about it."

What, is he a mind reader?

"It's okay. I think I want it sometimes too. But-"

"But then you pull that phone out hoping time and time again it will ring."

You felt his chest lift with a sigh.

"It's okay, Steve," you said softly. His gaze wavered against yours. "This is okay. For now, this is what I need."

"This?"

"You."

Everyone coped in different ways. Natasha dyed her hair like the little sister she’d told you about one night after a bit too much to drink and a sappy feeling in the air. Sam had a stash of letters he was writing for his nephew who’d just been born. You saw him putting them away one time and asked him about it, and he told you about his home on a vibrant coast with his sister who he loved the most in the world, until she had his nephews, that is.

You’d spent the last year collecting postcards. It wasn’t much, but they were easily transportable. You marked each one with a date and a memory. The time in Nebraska when Sam had to try and flirt his way into the back room of a bar, but he just ended up with a scratch on his face from the ring the woman wore when she slapped him. Or when Natasha fell off a dock in New Zealand and took you with her, and you both ended up spending an hour swimming in the other side of the Pacific Ocean. Or when you were in Venice chasing down a dead lead and you looked at Steve in the setting sun and suddenly your heart felt like it might explode and jump out of your chest. You’d felt tangibly dizzy. You hadn’t shown anyone that one.

But you could stay here, like this, in Steve’s arms, an ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat lull you to sleep. And when everything else feels cold, when you feel like the world is turning its back on you, you can find peace in your friends, and in the arms of someone who makes you feel safe.

[winterscaptain]

waldosia.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: this is intended to be part of the ajf universe (berry hill section), but also stands alone! berry hill is probably good to read before this one, just for a little context. this takes place a couple of weeks after berry hill, during the last few minutes of lauren, and continues through the end of season six. there will be two more parts of this section!

summary: the team reels from emily’s loss and finds footing as best they can in the new normal, until, of course, the rug is pulled out from under them again.

words: ~3k warnings: canon death, language, more slow burning

berry hill (part 1) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

There’s nothing worse than the silence of the waiting room. JJ paces back and forth, waiting and watching for movement down the hall. Hotch has been restless as well, sitting and standing and wandering in equal measure. Seaver perches on her chair, her bare toes digging into the rough fabric of the seat. She’s quiet, staring into nothing. 

Dave sits beside her, his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together. His lips never stop moving, and you’re sure he’s praying. It’s odd to see him there without Emily. Much like Derek and Penelope, they usually stick together in tragedy or stress. It’s more than strange to see him without her - almost like missing a limb you didn’t know he had.

 You find your eyes tracking Aaron more often than not. There’s tension in his forehead, and his mouth is tight. Your first instinct is, of course, to soothe his hurt, but there’s so much of your own. He meets your eyes, and you pat the seat next to you. 

With a heavy sigh, he sits down beside you. 

Your voice is quiet, as to not disturb the stillness of the room. “When’s the last time you ate?”

He shakes his head. You reach out and slip your hand into his elbow. He covers it with his own and you lean against each other. Derek and Penelope are in a similar position across from you. She’s tucked under his arm, her hand rubbing back and forth over his chest, still spattered with Emily’s blood. 

You can’t imagine what he’s feeling. If it had been Aaron…

The thought is too unbearable to consider. Aaron’s arm flexes around your hand, and you realized the thought brought your shoulders to your ears. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is the barest whisper.

You nod. “Just thinking of Derek.”

He takes a deep breath. You know he understands. 

‘“I was just...if it had been -”

“Don’t.” His whisper breaks over the word, and his fingers slip between yours around his arm. Your breath catches in the smallest of sobs, and you turn your head into him. 

Hours and hours and hours pass. You think you fall asleep once or twice, but it’s fitful and not at all restful. Hotch is back to pacing - traveling a path from the door to the back room and back to you. 

Eventually, he sits again, leaning against you once more. You can feel the exhaustion radiating from him. At a certain point, you take him under your arm. He leans his head into your shoulder and closes his eyes. You’re certain he doesn’t get any sleep, but you appreciate the effort. It’s all for you. 

JJ returns, and you all straighten, waiting for her to say something. She can’t speak. 

Penelope says something, but you can’t hear her. You can’t hear JJ, though you know her mouth is moving. You sag forward, nearly falling out of your chair. Aaron catches you as he stands, his arms locked around you. 

Spencer rushes past JJ, but she stops him. They speak, but you still can’t hear over the rushing in your ears. You find your feet and turn into Aaron, whose hand presses your head to his chest. Your whole body buzzes with something cold and unpleasant, like a shot straight to your nervous system. You’d take a bullet again, rather than feel this. 

Slowly, he guides you to the chair on the other side of Penelope. You cling to her, Aaron’s jacket still around you. She’s sobbing, and you can’t feel a thing. When you look up again, JJ has her arms around Spencer, who looks much like you. Broken. Soggy. Weak.

Tired eyes track Aaron as he rounds the corner to the back hallway. JJ finds him a minute later, and you still can’t hear them. 

You can’t hear anything. 

+++

The funeral is wretched. When the hearse arrives, you help Aaron with his white pallbearer gloves, buttoning them around his wrists and straightening his tie. Your hands linger on his lapel. His shaky breath shudders through him under your hands, and when you look up at him, his eyes are closed. 

One of his hands covers yours and you grasp his fingers. 

It’s too soon. 

We can’t do this again. 

It’s too soon. 

“There’s never enough time,” he says, almost inaudible. 

You squeeze his hand and release him, smoothing out his coat and collar and the hair at his temples before letting him pass. Derek and Spencer take the first pair of handles, Dave and Anderson the second. Will and Hotch share a look before taking the final pair. 

You offer your arm to JJ, who takes it, and you follow the men across the cemetery. Penelope and Ashley trail behind you, also arm-in-arm. 

Ashley’s been a gift - quiet and warm and observant - through this whole ordeal. You’ve done your best to welcome her into the fold. She doesn’t need to feel like a replacement or a burden. She’s a member of your team. Maybe not a member of your family, but your teammate nevertheless. 

The whole affair is far too quiet, far too solemn, to really be a celebration of Emily’s life. Hotch returns to your side once she’s laid over her grave. He gives you a rose and an arm. You take both, the wool of his coat soft against your fingers. Both he and JJ decided to leave the boys at home, but wouldn’t tell you why. 

Privately, you figure it’s too much for Jack, and it would be best to keep him and Henry together. Two funerals in as many years is too much for anyone, let alone someone just six. Jess is with the boys at JJ’s house. There’s nothing that woman can’t do, and you love her for it. 

Looking around, you realize everyone in attendance is a familiar face. Emily’s mother is the only one you don’t know well, but you’d know a Prentiss anywhere. She dabs at her face with a handkerchief, and a well of spite rises within you. There’s no reason for her to be here.

You’re her family. You will survive her. 

+++

Derek is in shambles. You spend as much time with him as you can, but he’s more withdrawn than you’ve ever seen him. JJ and Spencer have clung together, as have you and Aaron. Dave and Derek aren’t as close, and they’re both wildly independent, so they’ve sort of drifted in Emily’s absence. 

It’s your mission to keep them in one piece - sharing meals and filling empty evenings with movies and poker and company. You find yourself at Dave’s often, with Jack in your lap and Hotch and Derek on either side of you. 

You have rapidly become the team’s backbone - a role you take on with energy and a certain degree of joy. Taking care of them helps you forget your own grief, and never leaves you without company. 

+++

Seaver’s graduation is a spot of joy in an otherwise dreary few months. You shout and whistle at all the appropriate times, remembering all too well what it felt like on the other side. There’s a moment where you share a smile with Hotch, and it almost feels normal. 

“Remember that?” You ask, tipping your chin toward Seaver. She’s beaming, holding her new credentials in her hand as she greets her family. 

He nods. “Do you?”

You snort. “Oh, please. How could I forget?” The day lives rent-free in your mind. Hotch passing you your credentials, badge, and ID tag is a memory that will stay with you forever. 

“Glad I made an impression.” His smirk is well-concealed, but you elbow him in the ribs for good measure. 

“Shut up.” 

He quirks a brow at you, and you grin. 

Almost normal. Almost. 

+++

Your phone wakes you, and you pick it up right away, recognizing your ringtone for Hotch. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.” 

You flip your bedside lamp on and rub your eyes. You’d be lying if you said you were getting any sleep yourself, and you’re almost relieved you have some kind of company. “Hey, Aaron. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you -”

“You didn’t.”

He pauses. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I could hazard a guess it’s the same reason as you.” You play with the comforter, the fabric a necessary distraction. “Is Jack still with Jessica?”

“Yeah, for the rest of the week. He’s got a school trip thing, and I didn’t want to leave him if a case came up. They’ll be back from the mountains on Sunday afternoon.” 

Your lower lip disappears between your teeth. “Do you want any company? Sometimes it’s -”

“Please.” He cuts you off, and you snap your mouth shut, already throwing the covers back. 

“I’ll be there soon.” 

The drive is quiet, the Virginia highways barren at nearly two in the morning. You pull into the garage in your usual guest spot and climb the stairs. 

Though you have a key, you knock twice before using it. 

Always good form to warn an armed federal agent when you’re about to enter his home in the goddamn middle of the night. 

He invited you. 

Yeah, still. Would hate to get shot on a night off.

The kitchen light is on when you enter, and you lock the door behind you before checking it out. You leave your shoes at the door and drop your keys in the dish. 

He's standing at the counter, fixing two cups of tea. Wordlessly, he passes one to you. 

You follow him to the bedroom, turning lights off as you go. He slips under the covers, and pats the covers. 

“Thanks for the tea,” you say, settling in beside him. 

It’s become sort of routine. Since Berry Hill, sharing a bed has become far less taboo and far more common. Even when Jack’s home, you’ve set up the couch for yourself before spending the night next to Aaron. That way, you can wake up early and settle in the living room before he wakes up, or make it look like you slept on the couch even if he wakes to find you in his father’s room. 

The element of surprise is always a gift - Jack is more than thrilled to find you whenever you spend the night. He doesn’t know to ask questions, and really you aren’t sure what you’d say even if he did. 

Aaron would probably have the words. He’s good at that kind of stuff. 

You sit together in silence, sipping out of your mugs and enjoying the quiet darkness. When you’re done, you leave it on the coaster on your bedside - well, on the bedside table. 

“Can’t sleep?” You ask. 

Aaron’s been finished for a while, his empty mug on his table. He’s already settled in, laying on his side toward you with his hand tucked under his cheek. “Not tonight.” 

“Is it Emily?” 

He nods. “Yeah, something like that.” There’s more, but he’s never been too good at articulating his feelings. You’ve learned it’s best to just keep him company and not push too hard. 

You slide down, bringing the covers up to your chin. “Come here.” 

He smiles in the dark and wraps you in his arms. It’s already easier to close your eyes, and you know you won’t be half as scared to confront what you find behind them. His breath fans across the top of your head, much more steady than when you arrived. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Sleep tight, Aaron.” 

He tucks his face into your hair, and after a few moments, you hear his breath slow and even out. You lean back, finding his face completely relaxed. 

That’s better. 

With him asleep, you’re able to tune out your thoughts in favor of his heartbeat against your cheek. 

+++

Jack is long asleep when it’s your turn to need company. You’re on the couch, wrapped in Aaron’s arms, sobbing into his chest. Earlier, you found a bank of recorded shows in your cable box that you were waiting to watch with Emily. The realization that you’d never be able to watch them with her knocked you out at the knees, and there was nothing you could do but sit on the floor and cry. 

When you caught your breath, you called Aaron and took a cab over to the apartment. Your tears didn’t let up for a single moment on the way there, and started anew when you saw him. 

You couldn’t speak, but he just led you to the couch and let you curl up against him. With his cheek against your hair, he rubs your back until you can finally breath without hiccuping. 

“What was it?”

“The shows.” You sniff, and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “I was saving shows to watch with her. They didn’t stop recording. I didn’t think to -” A fresh wave starts, and you tuck your head back into his shoulder. You do your best not to wail, keeping quiet for Jack’s sake, “I didn’t think to stop recording them. I don’t even really like them, but we always watched together.” 

His next words are familiar to you. “It’s all about the routine.” 

Those are the same words you used after Haley died. One of his first breakdowns after her death came when he was packing Jack’s bag for the week, getting ready to drop him off at her place. When he realized there was nowhere to go, nowhere to take him, it knocked the life out of him just like your shows did tonight. 

“Once you find something to fill the space,” you’d told him, “things get a lot easier to manage.” 

And it was true. That was the first weekend he called you to come spend the day with Jack, and your time together patched some of the holes. 

He squeezes you to him. “Do you want to find something to watch together? We can start a new show or maybe movie nights with Jack? Maybe with Will, JJ, and Henry? What do you think?”

You give him a watery smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

+++

Andy Swan is a trip and a half, and you find yourself liking her a little more than you thought you would. She and Aaron have a great deal of history, and you enjoy the way they give each other a hard time - pushing and pulling for control of a stressful investigation. They’re different, but highly complementary in their leadership. 

It almost reminds you of your relationship with Derek - mutual respect in droves, but a supreme lack of patience, and a little more good humor than is actually necessary. 

It’s only when the case is over that shit hits the fan. 

You’re all in the conference room following the successful completion of the case. Doyle, of course, has been on your minds since Emily’s death, and you spend at least fifteen hours a week maintaining the not-so-sanctioned investigation into his whereabouts. 

But this wasn’t about Doyle. 

“I’ve been assigned to a joint task force in Pakistan for an indefinite amount of time.” 

The news knocks the breath out of you, and your eyes flicker around the table. Everyone is just as shocked as you are, though you’d like to imagine the short-circuit you’re experiencing is all your own. 

“What do you mean?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Hotch’s brown eyes meet yours. There’s an apology in them. 

“Tomorrow, I leave for Pakistan. I’m not sure how long I will be gone. Derek will take over as Acting Unit Chief in the meantime.” 

Derek’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “You’re kidding.” 

“You carried off the job very well last year, and I have no doubt you will have the same amount of success in my absence.” 

Derek looks like he wants to speak again, but refrains. 

“I understand this is less than convenient. You’ll all have the declassified brief in your inboxes by the end of the day today with more information about the transition. You’re all dismissed for the day.” With a final nod, he walks out of the conference room, leaving you all slack-jawed and more than a little confused. 

JJ’s eyes meet yours, and you shrug. You ask, “Has he said anything about this to you?”

“I’ve heard approximately nothing about it,” she replies, peering down the hall. 

Goddamn you, Hotchner. 

He’s packing up his briefcase when you pass his office. You don’t stop, sitting down at your desk. You’re surprised frost doesn’t rise from the ground at your feet.

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.” 

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts  @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @lilsiswinchester @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @mrshotchnerrossimulder21 @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @forgottenword @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

[bruh--wtf]

A Message

Thomas x Reader

Summary: The reader goes through the Maze trials with a message, but she has no idea who it's from. That is until he enters the maze. And he helps them get out.

Main Masterlist

Part 1

Next

Maze Runner Masterlist

Warning: I am well aware that this is not how the books or the movie painted the backstory. But it fits better, so we're just going to go with it, okay?

You were in your room with the guys. Newt, Minho, Alby, Chuck, and Gally. You'd been in a room with them for a couple years. Since you were taken when you were ten. Now, fifteen, you all were like family to eachother.

You were hanging off your bunk, upside down with your hair hanging down. Newt slept below you and Minho slept in the top bunk across from yours, above Alby. Gally slept on a bottom bunk with Chuck above him. The kid had become the little brother of the group. All of you were protective over the boy.

While upside down you and Minho were tossing a ball back and forth. It was something that one of the guy's friends had snuck into your room.

When the door started to open and Minho had just tossed the ball, you tried to grab it but also slipped off the bed in the process. Newt stood and slipped his arms under yours in the process to catch you. Your legs hit the ground hard and you winced a little and threw the ball at Minho. He caught it quickly and hid it under his pillow.

You straightened up, and Newt let go of you. A boy and girl who looked around your age came into the room. They both had brown hair, but the boy's was darker. He was quite handsome, actually.

"Hey, Thomas," Chuck says. Minho pulls the ball back out and throws it at your head. You manage to catch it and throw it right back, just as harsh, if not harsher. The boy, Thomas smiled slightly but it quickly disappeared.

"What's wrong?" Alby asked, standing up. The girl took in a breath and looked around the group.

"They're between two of you to go into the Maze first," she says. You snap your eyes to hers.

"The maze? I thought that wasn't supposed to happen yet," you say. The girl looks you over, but nods.

"We're not even supposed to be telling you this," she says pointedly to the boy beside her. He looked a little annoyed, but didn't even glance at her.

"How do you know this?" You ask. The girl and the boy both look at you.

"Uh, we overheard," the girl says. You raise an eyebrow, not believing her at all.

"Do you know who?" Newt asks. Thomas looked at him, glancing at you.

"Yeah. They can't decide between Alby and Y/N," he says. You exchange a look with Alby. He looked a little freaked. You looked down, in thought.

"Can one of us choose for them?" You ask. The guys all look at you.

"Y/N, I know where your mind is going. Don't be stupid," Newt says. You roll your eyes and look at Thomas.

"Can one of us volunteer?" You clarify to the boy. He seems a little surprised and glances at the girl beside him.

"I mean, I guess. But why would you want to?" He asks. You swallow, biting the tip of your tongue in thought. You shift on your feet a little bit.

"One of us has to go in there first, we're all going in eventually," you say. The girl nods and turns towards you a little bit.

"Yes, but you'll be in there alone. For a month. And you won't remember anything," she says. You blink, and after a second you shrug. That, uh, was a little new. You'd heard rumors about the mind wiping but it being confirmed is kind of scary.

"I'd rather it be me than one of these idiots," you say. The girl takes a step towards you.

"You guys would really do that for eachother?" She asks. You roll your eyes.

"Where do I sign up?" You ask in reply. The guys all look at eachother, exchanging worried looks but you just smirked.

"You could request to see Chancellor Paige," the girl says. You nod and gesture towards the door.

"This is me, requesting," you say. The girl exchanged a look with Thomas and you rolled your eyes. "Where do I find her?"

"Don't be stupid, Y/N," Gally says. I scowl at him.

"It's me or Alby. I'm making it easier on them. Trust me, letting them struggle went through my mind. But I'd rather me be in there alone than one of you," you said. Alby steps forward.

"We should talk about this. What if you make a stupid decision in the maze?" He asks. You shrug.

"Then you guys will be there after me. And you'll forget I ever existed. You'll move on," you say. He looks annoyed, his nostrils flaring. But before he could respond, the door opens. The same guard steps in and then the Chancellor. You raise an eyebrow. She looks at Thomas and the girl.

"Thomas, Teresa," she says. You roll your eyes. The two take steps towards her, falling behind her. She then looks at you and Alby. She opens her mouth but you cut her off.

"I want to go into the maze first," you say. Alby grabs your arm and tries to pull you back but you shrug him off. "Seems like a better option at this point." She raises an eyebrow at you, keeping eye contact.

"That's why we're here. We've decided. It's a good thing you want to be first. You're going in, in a few weeks," she says. You stare at her. She nods at the boys and then turns to leave the room. You were frozen in your spot. Newt grabbed your arm, turning you to face him.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" He asks. You shrug him off but your throat had went dry.

A couple days later, you were walking in a hallways when Thomas walked by. He looked a little confused when he saw you but grabbed your arm to stop you. You raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed.

"How are you feeling?" He asks. You were a little caught off guard by the question. Thomas was friends with the guys but you had never met him before last week.

"Like I want a book," you say. He gives you a confused look and you shift on your feet. "I loved to read before all of this. Will I even remember how to read?" I ask, laughing a little and looking down.

"Yeah, you will. You just won't have your memories," he says. You chewed on the inside of your lip and nodded, lifting your head back up to look at him.

"I won't remember the guys," you say. He nods. "Then I guess we'll just have to remake our memories in the maze." He smiles slightly. "Hey, I, uh, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor. The guys said you were cool, so..."

"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" He asks. You meet his eyes and let out a breath.

"I was wondering if you could try to find out something about someone. I just need to know if they're okay," you say. He studies you for a second before nodding. "It's my little brother. He probably doesn't even remember me he was only two when we were taken. But... he's the only reason I'm still alive. And I need to know if he's okay." Your voice cracked a little, and you looked down shaking your head. "I'm sorry, if you can't-"

"I'll see what I can find out. What's his name?" He asks. You look up.

"Uh, Jack. His names Jack," you tell him. He nods, and gives you a small smile.

"I'll try and figure something out," he says. You give him a watery smile and wipe your nose, looking away again.

"Thank you," you say. He nods.

"Yeah, of course," he says. He studies you for a second. "You're nervous, aren't you?" He asks. You sigh and shake out the jitters in your hands.

"Yeah, I guess. The idea of having no idea where I am. Or getting lost in the maze. Having nothing to live for and purposefully-"

"That's not going to happen," he says. You scoff and cross your arms.

"How do you know? 'Cause the last one seems pretty much like a me thing," you say. He gives me a 'be serious' look.

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you," he says. You straighten up, looking him over.

"Why? You barely know me," you say. He smiles and shrugs.

"I like what I know," he says. A smile creeped onto your face.

"Thomas!" Someone calls from the end of the hall. You look over to see Teresa. She looked at you briefly before gesturing for Thomas to come with her.

"I'll find out what I can about your brother," he says, taking a few steps away from you. You watch as he leaves, a little bit in shock.

Two more days past before Thomas came by the room again. When he did you stood up from where you were sitting with Chuck. He looked at you.

"Can I talk to you?" He asks. You nod, following him out into the hallway. He crossed his arms and looked at you. You leaned against the wall, waiting for him to say something. "I found your brother," he says. You straighten up. "He's young, so he won't be put into a maze for a while. And when he does... it's going to be yours." You stared at him for a minute.

"He... he's in our group? How have I not seen him? Why haven't I seen him?" You ask, pushing off the wall.

"Like I said, he's young-"

"Yeah, young! He's nine! He's being raised in this! Is he in our building? Can I see him?" You ask. He puts his hands on your shouldrrs to calm you down. You stare at Thomas with wide eyes.

"It'd be hard to make that happen, but I can try. Until then," he reaches around and pulls something out of the little bag he had brought with him. You knit your brows together. He looked around a little and handed you what he grabbed.

When you looked at it you saw a book. The Lord of the Flies. You chuckled a little looking down at it. But the little laugh turned into a few tears falling. You gave Thomas a watery smile.

"You got me a book?" You ask, laughing a little. He smiled a little and nodded.

"Yeah. It's super old, but it's one they wouldn't miss," he says. You wipe your cheeks, looking down at it.

"Why do you keep doing nice things for me? Is it pity? Because I really don't-"

"No! I told you, I like what I know," he says. You smiled at him and without thinking you hugged him. He hesitated for a second before hugging you back. Your lips touched his clothed shoulder, and after a minute you pulled away.

"Sucks I'm gonna forget about this is in a week," you say, holding up the book a little. He shrugs.

"Maybe." You raised an eyebrow but he just opened the door. "I've got some things to do." You eye him suspiciously for a minute before going back into the room, him leaving.

Tomorrow was the day. You were going into the maze. And you were freaking out. The guys were all sulking. Even Gally. You hop off your bed and catch the ball as Minho tosses it at the ceiling, playing catch with himself. He looks at you, frowning.

You toss it up, and catch it, pointing a finger and waving it around at all of them. "That's it! You guys aren't allowed to be upset. Your last memory with me isn't going to be boring and sad! Sure, I won't remember it, but who knows how long you guys will! Now, stop being boring! Now!" You say, tossing the ball to Alby.

"It should be me," he says. You groan, playfully slapping the side of his head.

"Doesn't matter. Whether I volunteered or not, I got chosen. So it really shouldn't be you."

"What if something happens to you?" Chuck asks. You roll your eyes, grabbing the ball back from Alby and tossing it to Chuck, who catches it a little messily. He was nine.

"Nothing is happening to me! One of these bozos is following me in a month! What's a month? I can survive a month, don't you think." They were all still frowning. "Oh, c'mon put a little faith in me!"

"We do have faith in you! But you without memories is a different story," Newt says, standing up. He puts his hand out towards Chuck who tosses him the ball. "If we have to watch something bad happen to you, we'll be the ones who really get hurt." You sigh and grab the ball as he lightly tosses it to you. He turns and sits back down on his bed.

The door opens and Thomas reveals himself. You knit your brows together, and walk over to him. He gestures to the bed.

"Do you still have the book?" He asks. You nod, grabbing it from under my pillow and handing it to him. He smiles, putting it in his bag quickly. "We have to go. Quickly." He says. Your eyes widen and every guy in the room stands up quickly. "She's not going into the maze yet," Thomas clarifies. A breath of relief is sounded throughout the room. "But I still need you to come with me." You were confused, but followed him regardless.

After walking for a little bit, Thomas started to look around a little bit more. He looked kind of sketchy and you laughed.

"What are you doing?" You ask. He grabs your hand, making you match pace with him as he speeds up a little bit. "Thomas! What-" you stop when you see a child's drawing on a wall. You knit your brows in confusion but then the realization hits you and you stare at Thomas in shock.

He was taking you to see your brother.

[prettyboyjackhughes]

-Maybe it wasn’t meant to be- |J. Hughes| [Part 2]

Jack lay in bed, by himself, for the first time in weeks. They had won last night in a shootout, Jack having the winning goal and winning the series. But it still didn’t feel like enough. He still felt empty. Whether it was because he didn’t have her or because he knew she didn’t care or love him anymore, he wasn’t sure. The fact that he still blamed this feeling on Charlie made him sick to his stomach. He rolled over, grabbing his phone off the bedside table and ignoring the 3 text messages from Mallory, the model he had been hooking up with. He had a few texts from family, telling him congrats on the series win. But the one text he was most concerned about was from Alex. Jack had seen the news about Alex’s trade and had been meaning to text him but with all his “extracurricular activities”, he had forgotten and never texted him. So seeing Alex’s name in his phone brought a smirk to Jack’s face.

Alex-I just got done talking to Charlie

Alex-What the hell did you do to her

Jack’s stomach dropped again. He sat up in bed, his sore muscles complaining. Alex had gotten traded to Colorado, meaning Charlie was in Colorado. With Alex. Jack didn’t even think twice and pressed the call button. It rang a few times then Alex’s voice broke through the silence.

“What the hell are you talking about, Turcs?” Jack says, trying not to snap at Alex.

“I guess you got my text huh?” Alex says. Jack shifts, crossing his arm over his chest and grabbing onto his shoulder.

“Obviously now please explain to me what the hell you’re talking about. Charlie is in Colorado?” Jack’s chest tightens as he says her name for the first time in 3 years.

“She’s in Colorado. Tell me what you did to her.” Jack swallowed hard and let his head fall back against the headboard of his bed.

“I messed up Turcs. I made her feel like she wasn’t enough and that I didn’t want her. I was confused and wasn’t sure that I wanted to keep all the promises I made to her. I wasn’t sure that what we had was love, I mean we were only 18. But I look back now and I know, she’s the only one I can ever love like that. She’s the only one. But it’s too late.” Jack’s stomach churned. Alex was silent on the other end of the phone.

“So you’re telling me, you gave her up? And since she didn’t want to get hurt, she left? She ran away from you, Jack.” Jack’s head dropped.

“I know. And I shouldn’t be holding on to her after this long. She’s probably forgotten about me and moved on. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I deserve that.” Jack said, running a hand through his hair.

“Jack, you made her drop all of us. She shut everyone out of her life that reminded her of you. The last time I had talked to her was 3 years ago! None of knew what happened and then you started to spiral. We had all figured you guys had broken up when she disappeared. I mean, come on man. This wasn’t just about you.” Alex’s words played in his head over and over again.

“So what are you saying? Do I try and reach out? Should I text her?” Jack asks.

“I didn’t say that. It’s been 3 years. She told you not to come after her, which was a stupid move you idiot. I’ve watched enough romance movies with Madi to know that when a girl says that, the guy is supposed to go after them.” Jack smiles a little, thinking about all the nights Jack, Alex, Charlie and Madi, Charlie’s best friend, would spend in the basement of his parents’ house back in Plymouth when he and Alex were in the NDTP, watching every movie from The Notebook to Miracle. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I was a stupid kid then. If I had the chance to go back, you know I would go after her.” Alex moves the phone to his other ear and clears his throat.

“Jack, I think you need to think this through before you do anything. I’m going over to Charlie’s later. I might try and get her to talk about all of this. I know she talked to Madi about it at the beginning but with Madi being in Germany for the last year and a half, they haven’t talked much. Who knows, she may just shut down if I even mention your name.” Jack nods, agreeing with Alex. It had taken him 3 years to even say her name. When she had first left, Jack had gone back home for a week. It had worked out that the team had a 3 game series against Detroit. He had sat in his childhood room, looking at the pictures on his walls. Most of them had her in them. They had been friends since they were kids. He had fallen for her the day she had looked at him, rolled her eyes and bet him 3 dollars and a piece of gum that he wouldn’t eat the sucker they had found stuck to the pavement in the cul-de-sac. That had happened when they were 11. She had been his neighbor, 3 houses away from his on the cul-de-sac, since he was born. Their families became friends because of the two of them. Charlie’s older brother went to college at the University of Michigan with Quinn, actually finishing his degree, unlike Quinn who ended up going to the NHL. Charlie’s younger brother played hockey with Luke for a couple seasons before deciding he liked baseball better. Every memory he had, she was apart of. Every birthday party since he was 7, every school dance; every little memory that he had from his childhood and into his NHL start, she was there. He didn’t want to let go of her because he thought it would make all those memories even harder for him. But sitting there, in his childhood bedroom, crying over something he had messed up, his mom had walked into his room. She had sat down on his bed, rubbed his knee and comforted him as best she could. But out of all the things she said, one thing still stuck with him, even now. She had picked up the picture of them from homecoming their freshman year. Homecoming had been about 3 months after Jack had asked Charlie to be his girlfriend.

“I see how you two are there. So happy and definitely in love. You loved her, and she definitely loved you. But honey, sometimes people love someone but it isn’t the right time for them to love each other. It’s just, right person, wrong time.” And that’s what he had held onto. That he and Charlie were just the right person, wrong time. Maybe they’d find each other in the future and things would work out.

“I guess it’s really her move. Not anything I can do. You can talk to her if you want, you don’t have to. I’ll talk to you later, Alex. Thanks for listening and letting me know. See you next time we’re in Denver.” Alex says bye and Jack ends the call. He falls back against the pillows and stares at the ceiling.  

Charlie looked down at the pictures and clothes scattered around her on the floor. The day she had left, she had thrown all of the stuff she had of Jack’s into a box. Every picture, every sweatshirt and t-shirt, every piece of jewelry that he had gotten her since she was 14. At first, she couldn’t even bring herself to look through the box or to even have it anywhere she would see it on a daily basis. But now, she was getting better. The box had moved from the hall closet to the corner of her room. When things got really bad and all she could think about was Jack, she would pull something out of the box, usually one of the sweatshirts or t-shirts, and think back on how things used to be. She knew she still loved Jack but how long could she go on loving him? Did he even remember her? Did he still think of her as much as she thought of him? Honestly, she probably would never know the answers to those questions, which hurt, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it because she wasn’t going to go after someone who had pushed her away all those years ago. He had decided she wasn’t worth it and never came after her. As she sat on the floor, staring at the promise ring he had given her when they were 17, Alex knocked on the door to her apartment. She quickly threw everything in the box and got up, running to open the door. She threw it open and Alex looked up at her from his phone with an amused look on his face.

“Excited to see me?” He says as he walks into the apartment behind her. She shuts the door and locks it behind him.

“Oh hush, Turcs.” She says, rolling her eyes. She and Alex had fallen right back into how they were before, with him constantly teasing her and her taking it but giving it right back.

“So how do you like the new apartment?” Charlie asks, walking in front of Alex who follows her into the living room. He sits on the couch as she collapses on the floor.

“You always liked sitting on the floor better than the couch, you weirdo.” Alex says, nudging her with his foot. She laughs and gets on her phone. Charlie scrolls through instagram, pausing for a second on a picture of Jack from the All-Star game a few weeks ago. Alex watches over her shoulder, trying to decide whether or not to tell her about his call with Jack.

“Hey Char...I talked to Jack before I came here.” He says, tapping on her shoulder. She stiffens for a second then turns to look at Alex.

“You...You talked to Jack. Did you tell him...that you talked to me? That I was here?” She asked, something that looked like fear but was more concern and interest than anything.

“I mentioned I had talked to you and that you were here. We talked about what happened.” She picks at her lip and watches Alex. Alex is being careful with his words, trying not to cause a breakdown.

“As in...why I left? You guys talked about why I left?” Alex nods, moving down to the ground to sit next to her.

“We talked about it. He explained what he thinks he did to cause you to leave. It all makes sense, Char.” Charlie nods, her head staying down.

“I know it makes sense Alex. Why do you think I did it?” She says, pushing her hair back out of her face and looking at him hard.

“It wasn’t the right choice though. I loved him and I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. Why did I think it was a good idea to let him go? If we’re being honest, I still love him.” Alex’s eyes stay on Charlie, trying hard to hide his slight excitement.

“Charlie, have you ever thought about maybe trying to reach out to him? I mean, you two were friends before everything. You were best friends.” Charlie shakes her head.

“Alex, I can’t. I decided I wasn’t going to go after someone who had pushed me away all those years ago. He had decided I wasn’t worth it and never came after me.” Alex places his hand on her knee gently, distracting her from picking at her fingers.

“Char, you told him not to come after you. If he loved you, you told him not to come after you. So I understand what you were thinking but you wanted him to come after you, didn’t you?” Those words shatter Charlie. She starts to cry and Alex pulls her into a hug.

“All I wanted was for him to come after me. I wanted him to show up in Colorado and take me back home with him. Say I belonged with him, in Jersey. I wanted the whole dramatic movie reuniting. But instead he never came and I stayed in Denver, heartbroken. I don’t understand. I thought he loved me.” She chokes out the words, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder. Alex hugs her to his chest, his heart breaking for his two best friends. 

[olivinesea]

Space Is Only Noise If You Can See

a/n: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s because I handle change & uncertainty extremely poorly and that is all my life is rn. Maybe I just need to find out the extent of my evil powers. Regardless, you’re about to experience something unpleasant. TW major character death, suicide mentions, guns, violence, you name it, it’s happening. Only positive is I actually outlined the whole thing first this time so I know where we’re going (it’s not good). ~2.8k

Mr. Scratch surrendered. Or did he? Discuss.

It was always the smell that got to him. The sickly sweet scent of decaying flowers. He wondered who had made the decision to flood all funerals with the same noxious lilies. Didn’t that smell make anyone else feel ill? It lingered in the back of his throat, fogging his vision. He scowled at the offending arrangements—ostentatious wreathes shaped like hearts with hollow messages in a stock cursive font. He had been to so many funerals at this point he was reluctant to admit he sometimes got confused about where he was, who he was mourning. He tried to focus on the portrait of the deceased, but the outline kept shifting.

He blinked hard to settle his contacts, tears always had a detrimental effect on their usefulness. He needed to remember to wear his glasses to the next funeral. A twisted laugh threatened to slip, gallows humor at its finest. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be a next funeral. He wondered how many more before it was his turn, before he no longer had to be the one staying strong for everyone else, pretending the smell didn’t make him choke. He looked again, determined to figure out when he was before he was required to do anything, before he let on that he wasn’t fully present.

The coffin, shiny and black, occupied center stage. Where he thought he’d seen people solemnly walking up the aisle to say goodbye, there was only empty space. He realized he was unnervingly alone. Yet the coffin was not, it was flanked on either side by identical shapes, the light reflecting from their polished surfaces dazzling his vision. He stumbled to his feet, gripping tightly to the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. He rubbed his fingers against it, distracted by the grain, worn down by decades of touch. He looked again and there were six coffins, the once open space crowded and bent to accommodate so much loss.

He swayed, confused, it must be the damn flowers. The whole room seemed to tilt and he fell into the aisle, landing hard on his knees. He looked up just in time to see the coffins, doubled, tripled in size, rolling toward him, shuddering as they picked up speed.

Hotch gasped as he woke up on the jet, gripping the armrest tightly as he scanned the area around him. No one noticed the slight disruption, he knew well how to stay still, how to disappear in response to distress. Everyone was dozing or lost in their thoughts, drained from long days on the road. He counted their heads to check that everyone was accounted for. They were coming back from another case, he wasn’t quite sure from where. His hands shook from holding the seat too tightly so he put them in his lap, absently running his thumb across his other fingers.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and, more importantly, to check the date. He’d been struggling ever since the Scratch case to keep the details of time in order. It was embarrassing and he did his best to hide these lapses in awareness. The disorientation was always worse after one of these dreams. Though he was too practiced to show he was having nightmares, this one was starting to get to him. It had been coming back again and again since that night when he watched his team die. One right after the other, unable to stop it, unable to even be sure it wasn’t himself pulling the trigger. Though they were safe, were still alive at least, he couldn’t shake the fear. It had been so real. And it had been his fault.

He tried to tell himself to let it go, that it was only a hallucination brought on by a chemical attack from a psychopath. A man who was now in prison, successfully captured by his very alive teammates while he sat uselessly on the floor, afraid to trust his senses. However, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging fear that Scratch didn’t surrender, that in the mess of it all he had gotten away. When he let himself think about it, it never made sense that a man so calculated, so many moves ahead of them, would simply give in. He couldn’t be sure that the surrender wasn’t one of the false memories.

There was no way to distinguish between them, the real and the nightmare. He could only convince himself that his team was alive by watching carefully as they breathed whenever they weren’t looking. By their heated bickering over who would ride where. Lately he had even relinquished the driver’s seat, worried that his loosely tethered mind might sweep them all off the road. He fixated on their little habits, certain that these were things his mind couldn’t make up, proof that his family was really there in front of him. The orange fingerprints on case files and every single coffee mug disappeared from the kitchenette, lost wherever Reid set them down before forgetting, caught up in some exciting train of thought. Things that might have frustrated him before became lifelines to reality, the reality he hoped with all his heart was true.

In the immediate days after the attack, he would ask Dave, quietly, for assurance that Peter Lewis was locked up, unable to harm his team. Dave was understanding, remembering how he had been that night, eyes full of loss. But the looks he gave Hotch grew longer and more worried with each repetition of the question. Now, again unsure, he was too ashamed to ask.

It had been so hard to keep things straight in his mind. For awhile he had been writing himself notes: “Peter Lewis is in prison.” Except he would find them again later, letters added, message changed, unable to tell if it was still his handwriting. It didn’t make sense for it to be someone else, fuck he kept these notes in his pockets, in his desk drawer, in his medicine cabinet. He couldn’t remember changing them though. Maybe that was what he had written in the first place. The confusion of the notes started making him feel worse so he stopped writing them. Every time he found another one, he tore it into tiny pieces, all the while trying to convince himself nothing was wrong with his behavior, nothing was wrong with his mind.

*

On Saturday, rare in its lack of crisis, Hotch was sitting on the couch, finally free to read a book while waiting for Jack to get home. He had been invited to a movie with some school friends. He started thinking about how relieved he was that Jack had friends to do normal things with and lost track of the story. As he scanned back, a little surprised how far he’d read without absorbing any information, his phone rang. His lungs constricted. Fear was always the first reaction to the phone ringing. He leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table, brushing away his irrational feelings. It was Spencer. That was a little odd but not unheard of. Sometimes Spencer learned a new fact that only Hotch would appreciate and couldn’t wait until they got back to the office to share it. He smiled as he answered, anticipating an excited rush of speech. Instead there was silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. He listened hard, not sure if he could hear breathing. There was some rustling, muffled and indistinct. Maybe Spencer dialed him by accident. He hung up and tried calling back. It rang without answer. He tried one more time but got the same result, the voicemail picking up quicker the second time. He told himself there was a mundane explanation but anxiety crawled like a spider up his neck. He was about to make another call, was trying to decide who was most likely to be helpful. Penelope? Derek? But then Jack walked in the door, hyped on candy and popcorn and wanting to repeat every joke from the movie. He let it go, if it was important Spencer would call back.

*

Monday morning and Spencer wasn’t in the office. Hotch had been there since 6 am, buried in paperwork, perpetually stuck in a state of catching up. He didn’t notice the absence until JJ came to ask him if he had any update from Spencer.

“Hmm? No, I haven’t heard from him. Update on what exactly?”

“Oh well he was supposed to come over for game night on Saturday but he said he wasn’t feeling well.” She assumed he was still sick, that he had called out. It was very unlike him to skip out on work, though perhaps he was just very unwell. Images of Spencer, pale and shaky, in the depths of his addiction, flashed through both of their memories and they exchanged looks. It had been so many years, and he did such a good job of pretending it never even happened, but they still remembered. It always came back whenever some uncertainty with Reid popped up.

“Have you tried calling him?” He tried to be logical, not everything needed to be the end of the world.

“Just goes to voicemail.” She raised her eyebrows at him, the silent question—what do we do boss?

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at the files covering his desk, he’d already put in several hours today, he could use a break.

“I’ll go check on him.”

She started to offer to go with him but he waved her off. If Reid was sick there was no reason for both of them to be exposed. If it was something else, well, it was probably better if Hotch was alone for that too. Just as he got to the elevator, Derek caught up with him.

“I hear you’re going to check on pretty boy,” he was trying to sound light-hearted.

Hotch made a noise in response.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch looked over at him and saw the steel behind the statement. He wasn’t asking. Neither one needed to say aloud the worry laying just beneath the surface. That dreaded what if that swam around in the back of all their minds. He gestured for Morgan to get in the elevator ahead of him.

*

They got to Spencer’s apartment with still no word from him. He didn’t answer when they knocked on the door and though neither wanted to admit it, they were starting to panic.

“He better be passed out on cough syrup,” Morgan muttered as he flipped through his keys to find Reid’s spare, still trying to mask his fear. When they got the door open the apartment was cold and empty. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. Once they flipped the lights on everything seemed normal though unoccupied. The apartment was relatively neat, stacks of books and papers operating as some kind of decor.

“Reid?” they called even though they could tell he wasn’t there. They wandered through the small apartment, checking for signs of their friend.

“Hotch!”

Hotch caught the edge of the door with his shoulder and swore as he hurried out of the bedroom to respond to Morgan’s distressed call. He was standing in the small kitchen, looking at the counter. On it were Reid’s keys, phone and wallet. They could have been tossed there upon his arrival. But wouldn’t he have taken them if he had gone somewhere?

“Where is he?” Morgan’s voice was tight.

Hotch shook his head, this didn’t make sense. He picked up the phone and saw the list of missed calls from the office, from JJ, from him. He unlocked it and checked, heart sinking as his fear was confirmed. The last call was to his own phone on Saturday evening.

“Call Garcia,” he said, checking Reid’s messages.

“What’s going on Hotch?” Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off Reid’s phone, the frantic way Hotch was scrolling through it.

He stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know.” The images from his dream, his nightmare were threatening to envelop him. Reid crumpled on the ground, a gunshot still ringing, dark wood with rounded edges cradling his lifeless body. The phone screen blurred when he looked at it again and he dropped it on the counter, using his hands to hold himself up.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Derek started to move closer but Hotch turned away, effectively closing himself off.

“Call Garcia, we need to start a search.” And I need to get a grip, he thought as the world around him shifted disturbingly. If something was as wrong as it seemed, they would all be looking to him to solve it. He certainly couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even sure if he was clinging to the counter or the floor.

*

It was hours later when they finally got a lead. It was not the lead that they wanted. There was a report of a body matching his description at a morgue one town over. It had been pulled out of the river in the early hours on Sunday, spotted by a couple of unhappy fishermen. There had been no wallet, no ID, no way to figure out who he belonged to. They had put him down as a John Doe, a presumed suicide and he was being held until they could get around to trying to match dental records. Garcia teared up as she relayed the information to the rest of the team.

“That can’t be him! Are you sure?” Morgan spoke more harshly than he meant to, nerves frayed by hours of fending off worst case scenarios.

Garcia hesitated, holding a folder. “They sent pictures but…I can’t look. I’m sorry.” She started crying in earnest now.

“Oh baby girl,” Morgan put a hand gently on her shoulder and pulled the file away. He was reluctant to open it as well. Hotch saw this and quickly took the folder and walked to the other side of the table where he flipped it open. His mouth formed a grim line and he didn’t have to say anything for them to know. He was glad he took it, happy to spare them the sight of waxy pale skin, the only color a deep purple beneath his closed eyes and his startlingly blue lips. It looked like he was wearing make up, like this was just another Halloween look Spencer was testing out. Hotch stared at the picture a moment too long. This is real, he told himself.

“Aaron?” Dave tried to pull his attention back to the room of anxious agents. Even though they knew, there was still the tortured hope that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t true.

He sighed, “It’s Spencer.”

Garcia let out a sob and turned into the hug that Morgan wrapped around her. JJ, sitting at the table stared into the distance.

He tried to organize the facts, solidify them in his mind by repeating them silently to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he normally suppressed to avoid having it sticking out wildly.

“I’ll go formally identify the…” He couldn’t call Spencer a body. “I’ll go see when we can get him transferred to us.”

“I can come with you,” Dave offered but Hotch declined. Looking at the others he felt like they needed someone to stay with them that would ward off anything too impulsive. They were all stunned at the moment but the feeling in the room was unsettled.

“You’re wrong.” JJ spoke without looking at him, her gaze still fixed at a spot on the far end of the table. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

He realized she was crying and felt a weight start to crush his chest. With effort he moved to where she sat, unable to find anything to say. He touched her hand but she jerked away, suddenly standing and glaring at him.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated before leaving quickly.

There was a hand at his elbow, squeezing gently. “I’ll go talk to her in a little bit. You should get going, it’s already late.”

He tried not to pull away too quickly as he nodded his thanks at Dave, who looked at him curiously.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I can do it.” He hoped Dave would ignore the shake in his voice. He was fine, he could do this, he didn’t have a choice. He walked to his office to get his things, stopping for a moment to pull out Reid’s phone again. He needed to check the calls one more time, to confirm what he thought he remembered. Sure enough, his number remained the last outgoing call. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that it was real.

~Part 2~

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party

Title: Irreverent Pt. 39 - Dinner Party Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5812

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Clyde was handling another assignment so you were working out of Quantico for the time being. You'd learned really quickly that not everyone had a Penelope Garcia at their disposal and you needed to skill up fast. You'd bribed her with concert tickets and a very handsome Elliot Greenberg as her escort in exchange for teaching you the basics.

Elliot worked for the white collar crime unit in New York after the BAU rejection and had recently made the transition to Quantico for sex crimes. The two of you had kept in touch over the years and he'd hit you up when he'd moved back. He'd broken up with his girlfriend back in New York for the job - which really just told you the girlfriend hadn't mattered all that much. Elliot was smart, good looking, and doing well at work but you knew he also had a nerdy streak that Garcia would appreciate.

It was kind of fun being on the other side of a case and watching Penelope in action. You figured it would be easiest to learn on the job so you'd stayed holed up in her office and the two of you worked together with the team on a case. She taught you how to do some of the less complex stuff and you got to flirt with Hotch anytime he called for an update - it was a win-win really.

When they got back, he'd decided to have everyone be home for a week and do reports and consults to coincide with your schedule. No one was really complaining about a week of no travel.

Aaron had gotten home before you as you'd had a late afternoon meeting with McKinney to update him on your progress. When you walk in, you can smell roasted spices wafting from the kitchen. Aaron had always enjoyed foods from other cuisines but with you he'd really embraced cooking it as well, since you'd lived all over and had curated your own recipes over the years. If your nose wasn't mistaken, he was trying his hand at your Chicken Vindaloo recipe.

You walk into the kitchen to see him wearing an apron and manning the stove while Jack sits at the island doing his homework.

"Hi baby." You greet Jack and place a quick kiss to his head before going over to observe Aaron's handiwork - it smelled pretty good and he already had the rice cooker going as well. Jack mumbled a hello and you could tell something was off. You raise an eyebrow at Aaron who mouths "Soccer" to you, peaking a glance backwards at Jack's head bent over his worksheets.

Aaron and you had decided to sign him up for soccer lessons, figuring it was a good age to get him into team sports and be a little more active in a structured setting. Apparently he wasn't taking it too well, though you couldn't fathom why.

You take a quick taste from the spatula that Aaron had been using to stir and add a little pinch of salt to the pan. He throws you a mock glare. "I was getting to it," he mutters, shooing you away.

You leave him to the cooking and go sit at the island by Jack. Grabbing a tangerine from the fruitbowl, you peel it and break off a piece. "Orange for your thoughts?" you ask Jack.

You can see him hesitate but he still reaches out for the small slice, putting his pencil down. "I don't want to do Soccer," he confesses, reaching for another piece. Aaron's back is turned and he appears to be bustling around the kitchen.

"What part of it do you not want to do?" You pop a piece of tangerine into your own mouth as well.

He seems to consider your question as he chews on another piece. "It seems messy and the other kids seem mean."

You and Aaron had taken Jack by the soccer field a couple of weeks ago and you realize he's referring to the mud covered kids all pushing one another. Jack was a sweet and sensitive kid and you could understand how that was maybe a stressful situation for him. But you also wanted him to give it a shot because it would be good to do some team activities - help him make some more friends and be more active.

"It does seem kind of messy," you agree. "But I don't think the other kids will be mean. You're good at making friends and as long as you're nice to them they'll be nice to you."

He thinks over your response and you know you can seal the deal. "If you don't like it after you give it a fair shot, then we can discuss. Is that okay?" Jack was a reasonable kid and you and Aaron tried to give him choices as much as possible.

"Okay, Y/N." Jack nods, grabbing the last piece of tangerine from your palm.

"You know," you lean in a bit to Jack, lowering your voice, "your family has a special history with soccer fields."

"We do?" He quirks an eyebrow at you and he looks so much like Aaron in that moment. The cheeks are all Haley but the expression is completely Aaron.

"Well, you know how your parents met, of course," you confirm with mock seriousness.

Jack smiles and nods. "Pirate #4"

You laugh, ruffling Jack's hair. Aaron had kept his word to Haley and he did his best to make her a part of Jack's life as much as you could. But you had a feeling this wasn't a story Jack knew yet. Jack had been obsessed with all of the Disney movies lately so you know he'd appreciate a good romance story.

"Yes, your parents met during the play. But your dad was quite the young soccer star when he was in high school." You look and see that Aaron is adding the finishing touches to dinner and undoubtedly listening in. Jack has turned fully to face you, bringing his chair a little bit closer to yours.

"Well, your mom started to go watch him practice and go to his games. After a game where your dad scored the winning goal," you pause as Jack hangs on every word, "they were hanging out on the field and your dad finally plucked up the courage and asked your mom to be his girlfriend."

"That's pretty cool, I guess." He smiles, turning to look at his dad. "But not as cool as Buttercup and Wesley. Can we watch The Princess Bride again after dinner?"

You and Aaron laugh as he nods and tells Jack to go get washed up for dinner. The three of you had already watched The Princess Bride a couple of times and Aaron insisted that Inigo Montoya looked exactly like his old boss, Gideon. He'd pulled up pictures to show you, but you just didn't see it. It was probably the longest argument the two of you had had in recent memory.

As Jack leaves, Aaron turns to look at you, his face identical to Jack's from earlier, eyebrow quirked just the same. You know he's wondering how you knew that story about him and Haley because it sure hadn't been from him.

"Jess and I bonded while you were gone," you explained with a small smile. "He should know your love story."

Aaron nods as you get up to get changed for dinner yourself. He adores that you go above and beyond to make sure that Jack feels connected to Haley. Sometimes, though, he worries that you end up minimizing your role in his and Jack's life in the process.

As far as Aaron was concerned, Jack got to be witness to his favorite love story.

*------------*

With the whole team at home base for the coming week, you and Aaron decided to host the long postponed dinner party that you had initially aimed to have as your relationship reveal party. Between the team jumping the gun on you and then all of the work and cases, it had gotten pushed back indefinitely. However, now seemed like the right time to do it. You'd planned it for the end of the week when both Henry and Jack were invited to a birthday sleepover and all of the adults had the next day off.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope were all bringing dates. Rossi was seeing Strauss but knew better than to invite her to a team thing. You still remembered worming that particular secret out of Aaron. You had known something was up when you'd happened to catch his face when Rossi told him. You'd been too far to actually hear what caused that face, so you'd brought it up later. In his defense, he'd valiantly tried to protect Rossi's secret, but you had your ways. When he'd finally given in and told you, you regretted having tried so hard to get it out of him. Rossi and Strauss. Just the thought of it made you shudder.

However, with that large of a group, you decided to get some outside help, though you'd still make dessert. You'd left for lunch to go meet with the caterer, taking Rossi along with you since he'd actually be helpful. Aaron was in some budget meetings through lunch anyways and you'd grabbed him a salad on the way back. You thanked Rossi for joining you and he took Aaron's food up with him as you turned to see Derek and Emily hanging out by her desk.

"Hey, so what'd Hotch mess up?" Derek asks as he sees you.

You're confused for a second as to what he means but then you catch sight of the large bouquet of flowers on your desk. Your heart stops. You recognize that arrangement - the ostentatious roses arranged artfully. You'd forgotten what day it was. After he missed last year, you'd thought he'd forgotten - that he'd moved past it finally. This was the first time they'd arrived at the office. Usually it was sent to your home so you could deal with it in private.

You approach your desk not bothering to look for a note. Quickly, you pick them up and place the bouquet in your trash can, in the hope that no one else would see them. Both Derek and Emily eye you curiously.

You have to make sure your voice will come out steadily before you speak. "They're not from Aaron."

You hope they'll just go back to their conversation as you sit down in your chair, your mind whirling. You'd have to deal with this situation. Him sending them to work was an obvious escalation and to what end, you couldn't be sure.

From the corner of your eye, you see Derek stand from his spot on Emily's desk. He walks towards you with purpose and before you can stop him, he's reached into the trash can and fished out the note.

"Matthew? He's sending you flowers?" His voice is low and he looks troubled, holding the note in his hands and taking a seat on your desk instead. Seemed like him and Emily had decided he'd deal with it, as she was conspicuously missing, leaving just you and Derek in the bullpen.

You sigh internally. It had been too much to hope that they would've just ignored it. "It's our anniversary," you explain, looking around and making sure there wasn't anyone else around. "He didn't take the break up well. Now he sends flowers every year to torture me - though usually he's tactful enough to send them to the house."

Your revelation does nothing to ease Derek's mind. If anything he looks even more worried now than before. "So he's escalating. Trying to get your attention."

"He's not going to actually do anything," you say, trying to sound reassuring. "I can handle it, Derek." You place a hand on his knee closest to you and look firmly up at him. The last thing you needed was for Derek to be all worried and nosey about the situation. Or worse, for him to tell… "Do not tell Aaron."

He looks at you as though you're stupid and you can tell he's going to argue with you, but you really don't want to bother Aaron with this. Not in the one week you guys have at home together. "I mean it, Derek. He has a thousand other things to worry about. My sociopath ex does not need to be one of them."

Derek frowns and you know he's racing through the thousand cases you guys have done on stalker exes and escalation. Luckily for you, Matthew was too lazy to actually stalk anyone. Unluckily, he still found the time to order you flowers to remind you that he'd once been a very large part of your life. You didn't even like roses. With a glance up to Hotch's office, Derek nods, knowing he won't be able to convince you otherwise right now. He drops the note back into the trash can as Emily returns and you all go back to pretending to work.

It's late afternoon when you hear Hotch calling your name from the upstairs landing. "Y/N, can you come up here please?"

You'd gotten very little done, your mind whirling with what to do about the Matthew situation. You just wanted it to be over. You briefly wonder if Aaron wants to talk about the meeting with the caterers or Jack's schedule for the following week when the two of you will both be away. You enter his office, closing the door behind you.

"Hey, what's going on?" You walk in and take a seat on his couch. The blinds facing the bullpen are closed, but the ones facing outside are open, casting a warm glow around the room. Curiously, he hasn't moved back to his desk and is standing in front of you, with a concerned look on his face.

"When were you going to tell me about the Matthew situation?" he asks, placing his left hand on his hip and looking every bit the part of SSA Aaron Hotchner instead of your boyfriend.

You let out a breath. You couldn't believe Derek had told him, after you'd specifically asked him not to. And now he had that furrowed brow and the concerned face and he has a deadline from Strauss on the new budget. This wasn't what he needed right now and you knew it would distract from everything else.

You grit your teeth and stand up, ignoring his voice, and open the door to his office to scan the bullpen until you catch sight of who you're looking for. "Agent Morgan," you call out, "could you please join us up here?"

Derek looks up at you before he quickly walks upstairs and enters Hotch's office. He goes and stands by Hotch while you close the door once again, undoubtedly knowing what this was about. The two of them made quite the image - frowns marring both of their faces though Aaron's was less pronounced. I knew moisturizing was a good call.

Squaring your shoulders, you cross your arms across your chest, facing the two of them. "Figured it was more efficient to just talk to you both together. Save you the trouble of finding each other afterwards," you say, your tone hinting at how annoyed you were. Not that either one of them had the decency to look ashamed. If anything they looked defiant.

Aaron started to speak but you cut him off.

"You two need to realize that I can handle my own problems. If I say Matthew isn't an issue, trust me. If I say I have it handled, believe me that I do."

"No." You expected that, but not from Derek. Maybe from Aaron, but not from Derek.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no. Not with our jobs. Not knowing what we do. I'll tell Hotch, I'll tell the whole team. The more people on the lookout the better."

"I -"

"Morgan's right. So, let's figure out what to do."

"There's nothing to do. He sent flowers, not a bomb. Leave it alone. If the worst thing he does is send me flowers once a year - well people have dealt with worse. You're both overreacting."

"You expect us to do nothing? What about when he escalates?"

"He won't!"

"You can't possibly know that." His entire demeanor is stiff and tense and he's aggravated with you for not taking this as seriously as he is.

"I was with him for four years, Aaron. Trust me. I know him. He has nothing to gain from an escalation and everything to lose. He's married, he doesn't exactly want me back. He just hates that I dumped him and once a year he remembers that and gets pissed off and drunk and in his own passive aggressive way, chooses to do this. It's not worth any of us wasting a second more of our time on!"

Derek looks like he'd rather be anywhere but standing in the middle of the two of you at that moment.

Aaron breathes out slowly before he speaks, as though if he takes a moment it'll prevent him from shaking you into seeing it his way. "I still would like for the team to be on alert. Just in case." It would appear he'd decided on the reasonable approach.

You groan, but know that's the best you're about to get. At your nod, Aaron and Derek exchange a look before Derek moves to leave the room.

"Hey," you stop him as his hand touches the doorknob. "Next time I ask you to not tell my crazy, overprotective boyfriend something. Just don't."

He grimly shakes his head at you. "No promises."

You narrow your eyes at him. The two of you will be discussing this later.

Turning away from you, he nods at Hotch before opening the door and closing it behind him.

Aaron sighs before sitting down on the couch next to you. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" he asks, as though he's afraid of the answer.

You know he's genuinely worried about you and grasping at the implication of you not telling him about this. You reach across the couch cushion and grab his hand, squeezing it. His fingers intertwine with yours instantly.  

"Aaron, if I thought - for even a second- that this was some sort of actual threat, you'd be the first person I'd tell."

Which was the truth. If there was any chance that Matthew was a threat to Aaron or Jack, you'd have told him immediately. As it stood, however, your ex boyfriend was nothing more than a coward who got off on his little annual psychological warfare.

He nods, his mouth a straight line.

You spend a few more minutes in his office reassuring him properly (How convenient that the blinds were already shut), before leaving him to finish up the rest of his work.

*------------*

Derek watches from the bullpen as you exit Hotch's office, not a hair out of place, though he could imagine that hadn't been the case a minute earlier. He sees your eyes dart around furtively before making a quick phone call. You say barely two words before hanging up.

*------------*

Ricky Costello had the self-assured charm of a boy who had never questioned his place in life. He'd grown up scrawny and had to learn how to fight and stand up for himself. As he'd grown older and filled out some, people knew better than to pick on him or anyone he was friends with. He was loyal, headstrong, and the smartest of the family - which is why his father had pulled some strings and gotten him into a good school where he could learn something and be of some use to the family.

You'd met Ricky in your accounting class when he'd tried to partner with you for a project, thinking you'd do all the work for him. He'd had to rethink that strategy when you'd shown up at his dorm room, pretended to be his girlfriend to get rid of his flavor of the week, and then promised to continue ruining his chances with every gullible freshman unless he did his share of the work. Needless to say, the two of you had the best project in the class.

You arrived at the bar he'd texted you the address to. It was in a quiet street just off central downtown and at six in the evening, there were only commuters headed back home. No one paid much attention to you as you quickly looked around before entering.

The place was mostly empty save for an older couple seated at a table in the corner. You see Ricky seated at the bar and you make your way towards him. Feeling someone approach, he turns around, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees you.

"Hi Doll," he stands and wraps you in a hug that lifts you off the ground and elicits a small squeal of surprise.

"Hi Ricky." Your face lights up at the sight of him. It had been a while.

He indicates to the bartender for another round, before guiding you to a small table at the other corner of the bar. He pulls out a chair for you as the bartender sets down two glasses of scotch.

"Cheers," he says, lifting his glass and clinking it with yours. "To seeing old friends."

"Cheers," you smile, taking a sip, your eyes studying him. He looked older, the beginnings of grey could be seen near his temples. His leather jacket hugged him just right and he'd grown out his usual stubble into a full, well-kept beard. His smile was still very much him - a little cocky and every bit as affectionate as you remembered it.

The two of you drink for a while as he catches you up on all the drama your old group had gone through recently - the weddings, the breakups, the kids. It was odd to have missed out on all of it.

"So, tell me, why'd you really call?" he asks, leaning back in his chair, his hand playing with the rim of his glass.

You take a breath, mimicking his posture. "Matthew is planning on running for Congress."

He takes in your pursed lips and the tenseness of your shoulders. "I heard," he says slowly, deliberately. "Been meaning to pay him a visit. Congratulate him."

"Congratulate him for me too."

The quirk of his lips tells you he knows why you're telling him this. There was no love lost between Matthew and Ricky. If they were in the same room they were bound to get into it. You'd done your best to keep them sequestered in different parts of your life - however some events were inevitably meant for larger groups.

He nods with a soft laugh, before indicating to the bartender for a second round, which is delivered promptly.

"You should come back, Y/N. Give up the straight laced thing. The crew, we miss you, doll." His voice is earnest and for a moment you see the hint of the boy who'd confided all his secrets to you during study sessions that had bled into the early morning hours.

You smile, and your voice catches ever so slightly. "I've met someone - and well, he's pretty much as straight laced as they come."

Ricky laughs at that and you know he's just a little surprised. "What's his name?"

"Aaron." His name feels right at home in your mouth.

"Nice Catholic boy?" His face is one of boyish teasing.

"I always did have a thing for those," you joke. And you know, you know Ricky will take that in the friendly manner that it was meant.

The two of you wrap up and Ricky closes out the tab before walking you back to your car. As you're about to pull out of the parking spot, he leans into your window, placing the lightest of kisses to your cheek.

"Tell your boy Aaron, he's the luckiest guy in the world."

*------------*

You hear the front door open and close as Aaron arrives, having dropped Jack off at the birthday party sleepover he was invited. You'd spent the day making sure you'd made enough tiramisu for all the guests while both Jack and Aaron snuck bites of it when your back was turned.

You've just finished dusting off the final pan with cocoa powder, when you feel Aaron's arms circle your waist from behind. You have to slap his hand away as it makes its way into the dessert. Him and Jack had polished off half a pan that morning and at this rate, you'd have none left for the actual guests.

"You can't eat all of the dessert before the guests get here. At this rate, you're pretty much cut off from it entirely. I don't think I can make it again if you and Jack are going to be like this," you scold, turning and poking at his stomach.

He doesn't have the decency to look even a little embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs, his arms encircling your waist again. "I'll just have to find something else to eat instead, I guess."

His words send a spike of heat and desire through you. The two of you had been making the most of being home at the same time and every night had ended with him between your legs - one way or another.

Shaking your head, you escape his hold and move to clear the island for the caterers. He was relentless, however.

"You expect to wear this and have me keep my hands to myself?" His voice is a deep rumble behind you as his arms cage you against the island countertop and his mouth finds your pulse point. He's referring to the off shoulder dress you'd changed into while he'd been gone, highlighting your collarbone magnificently. It flared out from the waist, making you look like the epitome of the perfect housewife you had once been destined to become.

"I'd hoped you'd at least wait till the end of the night," you retort. His arms are warm and his chest firm behind you and you really didn't have it in you to push him away again. You were pretty helpless against him.

"I always like to get a head start." You can hear the humor in his voice as he pushes you against the counter a little more firmly, his arms coming from around you to clear the space right in front.

"Aaron." His name escapes you with a soft sigh as he plants warm kisses along your neck down to your exposed shoulders. He sweeps your hair to the front, lips traveling down your spine as his hands move underneath your dress, finding the waistband of your underwear and then slipping inside to find you wet, warm, and waiting for him.

He lets out a groan at the feel of you and can't help but grind himself against you. He knows he's working against the clock and is surprised you've let him get this far.

You let out a sharp gasp as his thumb presses against your clit and he inserts two fingers deep within you. He had the art of getting you to come, down to a near science. He quickly pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in repeated circles. With his other hand he brings your head around and captures your lips. The press of his lips against yours is a feeling you'll never tire of you.

You come embarrassingly quick, fluttering around his fingers, your back arched and your ass grinding into his hard length behind you. He turns you around, his mouth hot and needy against yours. When you pull away, his eyes are blown wide and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the exertion of keeping himself from simply plowing into you.

You make quick work of his belt buckle and help him work his jeans and underwear down, eager to have him in you. With one eye on the clock behind you, he hoists you up to the countertop, placing you on the edge, and enters you swiftly, eliciting a loud groan from you.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Always so ready for me. Always tight…wet." His voice is rough and low and makes the coil in your stomach tighter and your breath come out harsher. He moves efficiently, his head tucked into the crook of your neck and his arms working to keep you balanced on the edge.

His breath is warm against your neck, and he's panting and leave wet open kisses to any skin available to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you. You're close and you know he is too based on how irregular his movement is becoming.

You remove one hand from his shoulder, pulling on his hair to move his head enough to reach his mouth in a lazy kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, drawing your orgasm out right after, causing you to tremble against him.

As you come down, you're entirely slumped against his chest and he's moved you to sit more firmly on the island. You know you look nowhere near as presentable as you did fifteen minutes prior, but you're finding it hard to be too upset about it.

Still, you can't help but be a little bratty about it. "I'm going to have to redo my makeup," you whine against him.

Laughing breathlessly, he picks you up to carry you upstairs. It was a wonder he had the strength to do that right after. You could barely stand up when he deposited you outside the shower.

The two of you work quickly to get cleaned up and Aaron is the one to let the caterers in as you redo your hair and makeup. You fish out another dress - one with sleeves and a higher neckline. You couldn't afford to be pulled into the coat closet with people around.

*------------*

An hour and a half later, the party is in full swing. Emily had brought Henry Eastwood - Senator Williams's Chief of Staff. The two of you had run into him while out shopping a few weeks back and having recognized you, had come up to say hello. You had a feeling that had Emily not been with you, he would've entirely ignored some girl his boss had dated for a few weeks a year or so ago. However, you couldn't deny that they made a handsome couple.

Penelope had brought Elliot - the two of them had really hit it off and you were happy to see her smiling and laughing with someone. You'd given in and allowed Rossi to bring Strauss and you were pleasantly surprised to see her being on her best behavior around Aaron. Derek had brought Savannah and they were talking to JJ and Will.

You walked to the kitchen to open up another bottle of wine and refill everyone's glasses. It seemed Savannah had followed you, empty glass in hand. Laughing, you top off her glass with the almost empty bottle in hand, before opening the next one.

"Thanks for having everyone over," she says, taking a drink from her glass.

"Of course. Aaron and I honestly meant to do this ages ago, but work got away from us."

You have a feeling Savannah wants to talk to you about something else, however, so you don't say much more, trying to give her the chance to speak up.

She looks around a little nervously, but seems to make up her mind. "You're different for Derek, you know. Different from Emily and Penelope. He's very protective of you."

"I'm protective of him too," you respond softly. You know what she means however. You and Derek had gone through the worst thing in the world together and only came out the other end because of one other.

"Savannah, you have nothing to worry about," you reassure her, knowing that's what she really needed at the moment. Her and Derek hadn't had much time together lately and you could understand feeling insecure. "Derek loves you and you're good for him. You challenge him and you're the first girl I've seen him be so head over heels for."

She smiles and you know that helped a bit. "Thanks."

The two of you each grab a bottle and head back to the main living room. As you pour more wine into Dave's glass, you catch Aaron's eye and you feel warmth pooling in your stomach, the promise of a good night ahead of you. You walk around the room and top off everyone, making sure there's enough appetizers still out.

Derek offers to help you carry back the empty platters and follows you into the kitchen. "So, I heard something interesting today," he says, placing the platters on the counter.

You hum, as you grab more of the stuffed mushrooms from the warmer and arrange them on the empty platter.

"Cops responded to a call about a break in in New Hampshire, placed by someone's neighbor," he pauses and he knows you're listening. "When they get there, guy living in the house was obviously beat up, but his wife seemed alright. Just a little shaken up. Funny thing is - dude refused to press charges, even though cops could tell that the house had been broken into."

Your posture has gotten incredibly stiff as he spoke. He knows. You don't say anything, simply look at him apprehensively.

"Tell me," he continues, "what's the Italian mob's going rate to put the fear of God in someone?"

You take a breath, before meeting his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. Probably get the friends and family discount," he trails off, grabbing the platter and walking out of the kitchen.

Crap. He really did know. He knew about Ricky. Which meant he'd probably gotten Penelope involved as well.

Quickly composing yourself, you carry the other platter out, joining him by the appetizer table.

"Derek - "

"Don't worry. Garcia won't say anything."

You look at him, and you know he won't either.

"Thank you."

He nods, popping another mushroom in his mouth and smiling at you. He wouldn't be doubting you again when you said you had something under control.

He wouldn't tell anyone. When Hotch asks him later about the Matthew situation, all he'd say was that it was handled. Hotch would pause, look at him, but then trust Morgan to know that it was really handled.

[strongsassysexysloane]

Eleventh Day of Twelve - A Tired but Treasured Day

A/N - Look at that! We are second from the end! Thank you to all the comments and love! Really appreciate it, it's been a long week!

. . . .

Read previous drabbles below.

. . . .

You walked into the office clinging to your cup of coffee. It felt like you were just here and you were, only five hours ago. This time however it was your own doing. You'd found a tiny shred of evidence to go on and had to follow it before the trail went cold. Then it lead to Gibbs and Nick finding the killer in a warehouse in town and bringing him in at just after 0100. You didn't finish interrogating until 0200 and it was now 0730. Coffee, coffee needed to be pumped into you to wake up this morning and a constant flow throughout the day would be required.

To your delight there was a hot cup sitting on your desk as you walked into the bullpen. No note so you assumed this time it wasn't from your gift giver. Day 11 and no one had spilled the beans or gone looking at the cameras like they wanted to on day one.

"Gibbs dropped it off about five minutes ago before he went down to get a report from Kasie who wasn't pleased to be called in so early." Ellie explained while leaning back in her chair and sipping her coffee. "He brought one for all of us."

"Christmas miracles do happen." Nick grinned, dropping his small cup in the trash. "Done."

"It's not a race. You just slugged all your energy for the next three hours."

"Oh please, I've stayed up later and come to work more tired before. Remember the November incident." He waved off.

"I still feel hungover from it." Ellie grumbled, scrunching her nose at the memory of Tequila.

"Please don't remind me." Tim groaned. "Plus I'm not allowed anymore Tequila, Delilah's orders."

"She may be on to something." You ran your hand through your hair, smirking at the banter. Turning on your computer for the day, you saw the next gift hanging from your desk lamp. It was beautiful, a little teddy bear carved out of marble with a shimmering purple and green crown sitting on its head.

"Day 11, the gift giver strikes again." You rolled your eyes at Nick's words while holding the Christmas decoration in your hand, running your thumb over the intricate detail.

It was sweet, a cute addition to your small Christmas tree at home. You'd put it up on December one. That was your tradition and some years it didn't seem worth it but you made the effort. Being alone on Christmas sucked, there was no way around it but this year you were making an effort to not sulk about it. The secret gift giver certainly lifted the spirit as well.

Your tree wasn't over the top but a nice addition to your home. This would fit perfectly front and centre and you made sure of it.

The day was relatively easy. The office banter keeping the spirits going with a good supply of caffeine. It was really just a lot of paper work and then you were set free around mid afternoon to try and have that weekend off. This time Vance made sure the team wouldn't be called in. There were other agents to take the call after all.

You'd missed Jack most of the day and didn't want to interrupt her as she was head deep in evals for the end of year. Instead you decided to shoot her a text when you got home.

- Just wanted to say have a good weekend. Didn't want to interrupt your head mojo.

You knew she'd get a kick out of it and you weren't mistaken.

- Head mojo hey? Smarty in the evening just like you said. Missed you today, didn't realise how many evals I still had to do before I went on my trip. Now I'm back logged and still at work.

It was just hitting 1830 which was a late one for Jack on a Friday. She was always hurrying along at the end of the week to make sure by the time 1700 hit she was out the door.

- I hope you are either finishing for the evening or planning on having dinner while you work. It's getting late, Jack.

- No need to worry about little old me. I need to get these done, I'll grab a bite later. Enjoy your night.

An idea popped to mind, you grabbed your coat and car keys and headed back out into the snowfall with your blue scarf still wrapped around your neck.

Thankfully, you weren't too far from the Navy yard and the Diner was just a five minute detour on the route. You called ahead so the food was ready when you got there and still warm when you knocked on her door.

"Come in, y/n."

You huffed, opening the door. "Now how could you possibly know it was me?"

Jack was sitting on her couch, shoes off, legs crossed and glasses tugging her hair back and sitting on her head. "You didn't reply, you always reply. And you care too much." She got up, placing her laptop on the coffee table and walking up to you.

Those were a lot of compliments you weren't entirely prepared for. You thought Jack was the one that cared a lot, but never too much. "I think I care just the right amount but I can eat this all by myself if you'd prefer?" You smirked, pretending to walk back out but Jack caught your arm.

"I didn't mean it like that. I lo-ike that you care so much." She ran her hand up and down your arm a few times before dropping it away. Her warm comforting smile turned into a cute frown. "And don't you dare walk out on me now that youve made all this effort to come here." She took a deep breath in. "Is that two cheeseburgers and fries?"

The frown and the way her nose twitched at the smell was completely adorable. "With a side of gravy. Wasn't sure if you liked it on your fries or not." You shrugged, missing the soft and loving look Jack gave, you walked past her and sat at one end of the couch, unpacking the bag of food. "Come, sit." You urged, patting the spot beside you as she just stood there and watched.

With a soft smile curving her lips, she came around after a beat and sat exactly where you said to. She took the small pot of gravy and poured it over her fries before pouring the rest over yours. "Thank you."

You bumped her shoulder lightly. "Anytime. Can't have Jack Sloane Hangry and loose in DC." That got you a slap on the knee but it was worth it as her hand soothed the spot she hit and stayed there for a while until it was time to eat.

"Didn't mean to ruin your Friday night plans either." She took a huge bite of the burger.

Between bites you managed an answer, "You mean my big watching The Holiday movie while eating a cup of noodles or the one where I go to sleep at 7pm because im living on about four hours sleep right now."

Skipping over how tired you were she jumped at the mention of the movie. "That's my favourite Christmas movie! It's got the best of both worlds! The sun of LA and the cold winter wonderland of the UK. God, I haven't watched that in years! My mum and I went to the movies to watch it and then every Christmas after we'd watch it together, some people had Love Actually, we had The Holiday. Guess I stopped watching when mum passed." She ate a few more fries. "Wow, Jack, way to ruin the good mood. Sorry. Got lost for a moment there."

You liked it when she rambled. She always would say so many interesting things and you just loved to hear her voice. You prayed the day never came when you wouldn't hear it anymore. "Don't apologize-" You held up your hand to stop her from butting in. "- And, no it's not because of Gibbs silly rule. I enjoy hearing about your past about things you love or did. The Holiday is a sweet movie, my must watch in December along with The Grinch, Home Alone and many more. I try my best to keep the holiday spirits up when I'm by myself for them which has been the last many."

"I enjoy hearing you talk too." She smiled, taking a massive bite of her burger and filling up her cheeks.

There was no silence after that. The evals were put to the side and you talked for what seemed like hours. Talking about childhood Christmas' and silly stories to cringe worthy dating moments over this time of year. It wasn't until you couldn't keep your mouth shut from yawning that you said good night around 2300.

"Sorry you didn't get your evals done." You sing over the roof of your car as Jack unlocked her Mini.

"Don't be. I'm happy to come in tomorrow because tonight was fun!" Her genuine smile told you that she wasn't lying. You could read people pretty well and most times Jack Sloane was an enigma to you but right now you knew she was telling the truth.

"Good night, Jack."

She opened her car door before adding. "Enjoy your movie!"

You yawned with a laugh. "You're kidding right? I'm going to sleep, I'll watch it tomorrow now."

"Fair, good night y/n. Sweet Dreams!"

. . . .

Who doesn't want this to end? Me. But I also maybe, slightly want a break from writing every day. It's been fun but tiring. I've enjoyed it a lot though! I love this time of year, if only I wasn't working in retail.

[lilyofthesword-writes]

Robotic Friendship - Chapter 14

Summary: The Autobots get a super virus on their computer system. Raf's oldest sister is brought in to help.

Pairing: Ratchet x OC (platonic), Soundwave x OC (platonic)

Word Count: 2179

Warnings/Disclaimers: Injury agitation/pain. Experimentation/borderline torture (kept it short).

Masterlist

Darkness surrounded her. Nikki called out. Nothing answered back, not even an echo. Holding herself and looking all around, she moved forward. The chance of finding someone or something was unlikely, but it was better than just standing around.

A bright light shown suddenly in the distance, dissipating the inky blackness. Nikki let go of herself to cover her eyes, but it didn’t take too long to adjust from the temporary blindness. Large blue crystals rose from what would be the ground if it weren’t for the abyss surrounding the area. But there was something strange. The total height of the crystals was not much greater than her and there seemed to be an outline of a humanoid form in it. From what Nikki could tell, she was standing behind it. Cautiously, she stepped around to reach what was possibly the front of this form and froze at what she saw. The figure bore the shape of a familiar face.

The figure and the crystals were ripped away with a new, brighter light enveloping her and forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut. Upon reopening them, she was met with Knockout’s faceplate which held a bored smile.

“Wakey, wakey,” he chimed, shining a handheld light in her face.

Nikki raised a hand to shield her eyes. It didn’t seem to help much. The blue crystals on her arm were still allowing the miniature sun through. Wait… She shrieked with the realization that nearly her entire arm was covered in Energon.

Knockout lifted her by her clean arm, a sinister smirk crossing his faceplate. “Well, good to see you’re awake now.”

He set her back down as she stared at him in horror. What did he have planned for her? Knockout plucked a vial filled with green liquid from a nearby counter. He did not even have to open it for it to take effect. The crystals from Nikki’s arm swam up her shoulder and neck, and then descended her side. Unable to scream, she rolled onto the opposite side of her body, the only noise leaving her lips being small, panicked wheezing. The crystals on her neck were constricting her breathing, not so much to kill her but damaging enough.

Laughing, Knockout grabbed another vial from the counter. “Interesting results. Now let’s try this…”

Nikki’s mouth flew open, but nothing came out. Her body convulsed as the Energon a part of her body began devouring her even quicker. Knockout pulled the vials away, and her convulsions slowed to random twitches. The pain was fading but the damage was done. Nikki’s mind was nothing but a blur.

“Well, this experiment is over,” Knockout mused, obviously bored now that he had some results. “It seems both the Synthetic and Dark Energon act as a catalyst. However,” he poked at her. “I never did set a control group… Nor do I have the time to continue to test this theory.”

He paused for effect but received nothing but a blank stare. Venting, he continued, “In other words, this ‘experiment’ was all for naught.”

His words sunk in slowly as she regained some semblance of cognitive function. He did it all… for fun. No other reason. Just because he could. She lay there like a third degree burn victim because he wanted to see what damage he could cause. Rage welled up inside her with nowhere for it to go. She didn’t dare move. She wasn’t even sure she could at this point, not that it mattered. All that was left was for her to be disposed of.

-

Raf wandered the halls of the base, kicking his feet at the ground every now and then. He had left the main hall when Ratchet began yelling at Optimus, something none of them had seen in quite a while, and Raf did not want to be a part of that. He needed to be alone. Trying not to think about what the Decepticons were doing to his sister or even what her eventual fate would be, he sifted through his memories to find something nice.

The little scraplet popped into his mind. He looked around at the hallway. It was the same place he met that adorable creature. Then, he remembered how it almost killed his friends. Raf shook his head furiously. Why did so many memories end with his loved ones being hurt?

“Raf?”

He tensed and looked over his shoulder. It was Jack and Miko side by side.

“Hey…” Raf look at the floor. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping.”

Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t tired, I guess.”

“We felt bad leaving you here on your own,” Miko chimed in, fidgeting with hands behind her back.

Raf turned to face them and smiled weakly. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No…” Jack stepped forward. “I don’t th- “

An alert beeped through the base, effectively interrupting the conversation. Ratchet’s voice echoed alongside it. “We’ve got something!”

-

Knockout held Nikki tightly in one servo as he left the Med Bay, on his way to open a Ground Bridge. Nikki stared blankly into space, barely able to comprehend her surroundings. The crystal growth slowed more so on leaving the makeshift lab but by then only her face was left uncovered. Even her hair had been consumed. The hair tie holding it in a ponytail had crumbled away and left her hair as a wave of semi-flexible Energon.

Doors slid open in front of them. Soundwave was off to the side working away. He made no reaction to show he had been alerted to their presence.

“Now… Where to drop you off at…” Knockout grinned as he checked the maps. “Oh~ Maybe the Antarctic? Mmm… No. It has those little black and white creatures from those movies. The fleshies seem to like them. What about…”

He continued thinking aloud, not noticing Soundwave now standing behind him. The silent mech gazed down at Nikki hanging limply in Knockout’s grasp. The state that she was in… She didn’t even notice the tendril that waves slowly in front of her face. Soundwave tilted his helm and pulled the tendril back as Knockout spun around dramatically on his heels.

“I just can’t decide. This is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make,” he said with a sarcastic smile still plastered on his faceplate.

He held Nikki out in front of him, out to Soundwave. “Here. You decide since you’ve dealt with it the most.”

With the utmost care, a tendril rose and lifted her away, Knockout leaving swiftly now that his fun was over. Soundwave examined Nikki closely. The Energon crystals were beginning to climb up her chin. Reaching out to the panel beside him, he typed in some coordinates.

-

Raf, Jack and Miko ran back to where the others were. Ratchet was pinging Bulkhead and Wheeljack back to the base. The kids raced up the stairs and hit the rails hard.

“Did you find her?” Raf gasped.

“It is possible this reading is Nikki,” Optimus answered. “We will investigate.”

The Ground Bridge opened, allowing the remainder of the crew back to the base.

“So, where do we need to go, Doc?” Wheeljack asked, hopeful that Ratchet’s idea worked.

Ratchet closed and reopened the Bridge with new coordinates. “It’s not far, actually. Remember the Energon mine that was around here?”

Arcee flinched. That was the last place Cliffjumper was alive. They all nodded and made their way to the Bridge. Raf went to follow them but Arcee, being the last in line, stopped him. “Wait here. It could be a false reading…”

“Or a trap,” Raf finished.

She reluctantly nodded, uncertainty swelling under her chestplate. Bumblebee shut off the Bridge when Arcee made her way through. He knew he needed to stay behind for Raf’s sake.

Optimus led the way through the mines with Ratchet as a close second. The tunnel opened to a small cavern picked clean of Energon. At the far end stood Soundwave. The Autobots took cover where they could, aiming their weapons at him.

“What are you doing here?” Ratchet hissed.

A tendril slowly made its way out behind Soundwave, something blue glowing in its grasp. They watched as he set it down in the middle of the cavern. Retracting the tendril, he stepped back and opened his own Ground Bridge but hesitated from moving further. The Autobots turned to each other cautiously. Ratchet removed himself from his stalagmite cover and stepped forward, his optics glued to the unmoving Soundwave. With weapons still at the ready, the rest followed suit. Ratchet reached the blue object and knelt down for a better look before scooping it up gingerly in his servos.

Optimus watched Soundwave while the rest huddled around Ratchet, confusion etched across his faceplate. Soundwave nodded before using his Ground Bridge to return to the Nemesis. Ratchet stood as the Bridge closed, staring down at his servos. At least his theory had been correct, but this wasn’t quite what he expected or wanted.

-

A few hours had passed since the Autobots returned to base with Nikki. Raf was pacing on the platform in the main hall where most of everyone waiting while Ratchet desperately tried to help the girl. They heard Ratchet curse as glass shattered. Storming out of his lab and disappearing in the halls, Bumblebee, who had been trying to assist Ratchet, trudged behind.

Taking his chance, Raf flew down the stairs and past Bumblebee. He froze when Nikki came into view. Tears welled up in his eyes. He climbed onto the table to see her better. Maybe he was just hallucinating. He hoped he was hallucinating. He choked when he found that only her open, green eyes remained untouched. He couldn’t speak. He just cried silently while looking down at his sister.

Optimus stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold while Jack and Miko peered inside. He left the pair to find Ratchet. It was in one of the back halls where Optimus found him. He was resting his helm against a wall littered with dents, refusing to look Optimus in the optics. “She’s not responding to anything,” he huffed quietly.

Though he knew there was not much he could do to reassure his friend, Optimus placed a servo on Ratchet’s shoulder.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Ratchet continued, “Before she is completely consumed…”

-

The doors to the vaults clanked shut.

“Is this really necessary?” Jack asked with his hands resting on Raf’s shoulders to comfort him.

Optimus nodded. “If she is removed from the base, the Decepticons may reclaim her as a source of Energon. And if humans were to find her…”

“Let’s just say that she’s safer in there,” Ratchet blurted.

Raf bit his lip. He wanted to ask if there was a chance for her recovery but was afraid of the answer. This was no fairy tale. No amount of wishing could bring his sister back good as new. All he would have are his memories.

“May I be alone with her for a few minutes?” he asked tentatively.

The Autobots nodded and made their way down the hall. Jack and Miko were more reluctant but decided to respect his wishes, not without hugging him first.

Raf waited until they were all gone before placing his hand on the vault door while closing his eyes. He thought he could still feel her on the other side of all that metal. A tear rolled off his cheek. Looking up, he smiled softly. With that he could at least leave her the same way she left him.

-

At first there was nothing. Everything had gone dark again. Part of her hoped she was dead just so she would not need to feel the inevitable, tortuous pain again. Then, like before, a light shown in the distance. With nothing else in mind, Nikki made her way towards it. Despite all the books and movies that said, “Don’t go towards the light,” she would rather take her chances than wait alone in the abyss surrounding her. Not without caution, she continued walking towards the light that was emanating more brightly. A peculiar sense began to make its presence known as she drew closer: sound.

It was faint, but she knew she had heard something. A voice, maybe? It was becoming clearer. It almost sounded like her name. Yes. Yes, it was. But who was calling for her? It couldn’t be the Decepticons. None of them had ever used her name (like they’d ever bother to learn it). The voice was much more familiar than that anyways.

The light was so close now. A blurred image appeared, wiping away the darkness. Slowly coming into focus, she found Raf was staring down at her, tears saturating his little face. Her gaze locked onto his but only for a moment. He knew though. He knew she had recognized him. With the weakest smile possible, her eyes shut, drifting out of consciousness. She had at least found some semblance of happiness in that moment. She had finally made it home.

[vague-shadows]

“Home doesn’t have to be a white picket fence house...”

(aka More Found!Family Feels feat. Alex and Sanders)

Read it on AO3 here

Once he’s parked his car and turned off the engine, Alex takes a few moments in the car to focus on just breathing. He reminds himself that it’s just a conversation after all.

But there’s no denying that it’s a very important conversation.

With a resolved sigh, he grabs his backpack from the passenger seat and makes his way across the dusty yard full of scattered scrap metal and a few half-reconstructed cars.  He hesitates for just the slightest moment, but quickly recovers his nerve, knocking his knuckles deftly on the door three times, and sending a small flurry of paint flakes to the porch floor. On the other side, Alex can hear the sound of heavy footfalls coming to answer the door.

“If he ain’t out in the airstream, I don’t know where he is,” Sanders says as he swings open the door.  “He’s not here though.”

“Well, actually, Mr. Sanders, I’m not looking for Michael. I came to talk to you.”

Sanders sighs, a bit of annoyance crossing his face. “I’m off the clock, son. If that alternator is already giving you trouble again, though, it might be time to consider—“

“I’m not here about the car. I just need to talk to you about something important, if you’ve got some time?” He reaches down in his bag and pulls out the bottle of Jack Daniels he brought in hopes of facilitating things. “And maybe time for a drink or two?”

“I hate to think what kind of ‘important talk’ you think I’ll need a fifth of whiskey to endure.” He crosses his arms and regards Alex with some suspicion. “You kids getting mixed up in trouble again? It’s been too quiet lately. I guess you’re about due.”

“Not trouble, just a talk and a drink. Nothing’s wrong I promise.”

Sanders studies him a few moments more, and sighs. “Come on in, then.” He swings the door open wide and waves in the general direction of the couch. “Have a seat. I’ll get us a couple of glasses.”

Alex makes his way to the ancient brown couch draped in multicolored knitted blankets and takes a seat on the edge to avoid sinking into the well-worn cushions.  Isobel threatens to use the couch-and half of Sanders’ other furniture-for a bonfire at least once a month, swearing to replace it with superior, carefully designed replacements. But Sanders has absolutely no desire to hand over the interior design of his house to Isobel, however persistent she may be. 

Alex smiles, remembering her latest rant. “I mean, honestly! He’s even worse than Michael! What would it hurt to spruce things up a bit?” The memory sets him a little more at ease—he was here just last week, after all, gathered with his found family at the picnic tables Michael and Max built for the backyard, eating the burgers and hotdogs they cooked on the grill and sipping beers as the sun went down. 

“Okay, I’m too old for suspense,” Sanders says as he places the two empty glasses on the coffee table in front of Alex. “So start talking while you start pouring.”

Alex had it all worked out in his head. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. But now the moment is here he couldn’t recall the well-structured speech if his life depended on it. Instead, he has to settle for the stuttering start of, “Well, I wanted to talk to you because—well, you’re important to Michael.”

“Is this some kinda thank you for not firing him for keeping the worst hours of any mechanic west of the Mississippi? Cause you might need a bigger bottle…and he should probably be having whatever conversation this is for himself instead of making you get yourself all worked up and come do it.”

“I’m not worked up,” Alex counters, mortified to be so transparently nervous. “It’s just—an important conversation because you’re important to Michael and Michael is important to me, and, well, I’m proposing and I thought—it just seemed right to talk to you before I did.”

Sanders stares open-mouthed, apparently shocked to silence, and Alex goes on because he can’t quite quell the nervous rambling.

“I’m not asking your permission but—your support, I guess? And just—in the interest of respect, because you’re the closest thing to a father—”

“Now, hold on just a minute with all this. I’m nobody’s father. And nobody was Michael’s father, least of all me.  That boy had to raise himself, and he did a damn good job of it.”

“You’re right,” Alex concedes, “but you still gave him the closest thing to a real home he’s ever had.”

“You sure you didn’t start drinking before you came over? Because you’re talking some crazy—“

“I mean it.” Alex meets Sanders’ gaze, refusing to give in to his attempt at levity, and keeping the solemnity the conversation deserves. “When we were kids—he always knew he could come here—that he could crash on your couch; that he had a job; that there was a safe place for him—whenever he needed it.” Sanders looks away, taking a sip of whiskey as Alex continues. “He told me how you helped him get the airstream—how you looked the other way when he took the wire to sell for some extra cash—that you let him keep hours that worked for whatever he was going through—let him use the tow truck to work off his community service he got busted for bar fights.  You’ve been one of the few constants in his life for going on two decades. That’s no small role to play for anybody, least of all Michael Guerin.”

Sanders clears his throat, clearly trying to skirt past the emotion stirred by the words. “Okay, so, God knows why, but the kid likes junkyard life. And that’s why you want my blessing before you propose? Then, sure; of course; you got it.” He pours himself another round of whiskey and takes a slow sip. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s pretty much everything I came to say.” 

“So we can roll credits on this Hallmark movie?” 

The sarcasm and petulance are so much like Michael—proving his point all the more—that Alex can’t suppress a small smile. “Yeah, we can roll credits, and I’ll just let myself out. Thank you, for supporting this but for all the other ways you support him—us—too.” He rises to his feet and slings his bag over his shoulder, honestly grateful the conversation is done and went well even if Sanders didn’t parse words in giving his approval. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Sanders.” 

“Alex?” Sanders calls just as Alex’s hand closes on the doorknob. 

He releases his grip on the door and turns back around. “Sir?”

“I feel old enough without you calling me ‘sir,’” Sanders grumbles.

Alex shrugs. “Just habit.”

“He’s better when you’re in his life, you know that? Stays sober more than he gets sauced. Doesn’t go picking fool fights he can’t win. Just about drives me crazy, whistling like a goddamn canary while he’s working. Daydreams with that dopey grin on his face that usually means he’s so distracted he’s about to forget where he’s at and slam the back of his head on the car hood he’s working under.”

Alex laughs outright at the memories the words summon—witnessing a couple of those uncoordinated head slams and shouting matches. I swear to God, kid, if you whistle Red River Valley one more time I’m gonna lose what’s left of my mind!...You’re the one that taught me the song in the first place, old man!...Yeah, to play on the guitar and not to be whistled ten thousand times in a row, for fuck’s sake!...

“You make him happy,” Sanders summarizes with a rare, earnest smile. “He’s a good kid—a good man—both of you are.  And you two both deserve to be happy. Don’t think I missed the fact that Michael ain’t the only one who had to raise himself to be better than the adults he got stuck with. It’s a hard thing and you both did a helluva job. You should be proud of yourselves.”

 Alex has to blink away unexpected tears at the declaration. “Thanks.” 

Sanders shrugs. “It’s the truth.”  He takes another sip of his drink and waves at Alex to go. “Now, get on with the rest of your night so I can get on with mine.” 

Sanders reaches for the remote to turn on the television. Alex lets himself out and heads for his car. He sits for a few seconds before he cranks the engine, smiling with a bit of disbelief at how well things just went.  He finds himself whistling along with the radio as he pulls out of the junkyard. Now one of the most daunting parts is taken care of, he just has a few more details to take care of before he can finally propose.

Because we’ve worked so hard to get to this place where we’re good for each other… and we deserve to be happy...

[zertzertzhang]

Stand and Deliver: My Life Turned Upside Down

A/N: This is my first time writing on Tumblr, so please bear with me! I am usually active on FFNet and AO3, but since this fandom is basically nonexistent except for here, I thought maybe I could post my works for this movie here. The story is a fanfic based on the 1988 movie ‘Stand and Deliver’ starring Edward James Olmos, and taking a deeper look into the lives of the impoverished students in East LA.

Eventual Angel/OC, and warnings of racial slurs with some physical violence.

:

:

Chapter One: Hellhole

The divorce shattered the Yang family to pieces. Vianne was no stranger to her mother’s scorn for her father, even at a young age. There were countless nights of screaming from Mrs. Yang, coupled with the frustrated curses her father threw in return. At one point, she was sure she heard plates crashing against the walls, but by the time she pumped up the courage to go check the next day, everything had been neatly restored. It was like the fight never took place.

Vianne was not stupid; the traces of her parent’s clashing were found in their silence. It was the harsh clatter of silverware against the bowls during dinner which reminded her that despite the calm nature of the family evenings, rage was just seconds from spilling onto the streets. Their house had just enough bearings to keep authorities from pounding the door on a weekly basis.

There wasn’t much left to solidify the hate between the spouses of the Yang household. By the time Vianne’s father suggested giving her a sibling to help bring her mother back, even she knew that it was a futile attempt to play house a little longer.

But to Vianne’s dismay, her mother agreed. Within months, blue paint littered around the spare bedroom in a massive heap, threatening to swallow the couple whole. Vianne didn’t react much when she realized a brother was coming her way, the increased shouting from Mrs. Yang frightened her as the due date neared. Her father would grumble incessantly about his wife’s mood swings and how that was what men got for marrying.  

All of that was lost to Vianne; she was too young to comprehend full sentences, much less understand the hidden meaning behind her father’s statement. Maybe her brother would make her mother happy for once. She could envision her father playing with her in the fields as her mother and her brother sat on picnic mats to the side. They would be laughing just like how it used to be. Vianne wouldn’t have to stay awake, pressing her ears against the doors as more kitchenwares were broken. There would finally be peace...

Her mother’s eyes held the warmth of motherhood for no longer than a few seconds before the cold hollow overtook them again.

Peace never came. What happened in its stead was her brother screeching from his crib, all the while as her parents shrieked at one another over changing diapers. It made Vianne’s head split with thunderous agony. She never wanted to yell this badly, to make them just hug each other for once and stop talking. But such thoughts happened in her mind only. And before she knew it, they were back to throwing pots against the wall.

That lasted however long she remembered. Then came the papers, and she soon found herself holding baby Jack in her arms as her aunt ushered her into a stranger’s car. They said they would be taking care of them for a while. It dawned on Vianne that this was her first time meeting her mother’s family. There was no such thing as a happy reunion in this household.

She didn’t get to see her father after that, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to anyway. Not when the last thing she saw him doing was spitting onto her mother’s face as he tried to stop her from stepping out the door. No one knew that Vianne hid under the covers to cry herself to sleep once she settled in her new home.

And thus, Mrs. Yang became Ms. Lin once more. But for legal reasons, Vianne and Jack’s surname stayed. The minor details flew over her head; Vianne didn’t put much care on the subject. In the long run, the privilege to listen to the crickets chirp at night was enough to keep her satisfied.

That’s how things went for a while, with the emotional charge from her mother coming down for once in a long time. It wasn’t a surprise when Ms. Lin began going out all dolled up and pretty. The scent of her Saint Laurent eau de parfum clung to her skin as she whisked past the older Vianne. The girl felt a twist in her gut; she didn’t want to smell the hints of cologne her mother brought back after every weekend. However, she kept her mouth shut.

Ms. Lin didn’t hold back on her monetary needs. Thank god her salary as a lawyer cushioned their lifestyle. Despite being a single parent, her income had left a spacious room for extra spending. A shopping trip once a month was guaranteed, and that was when Vianne saw her mother at her very best. Talkative and cheery, Ms. Lin wasted no time in purchasing the latest trench-coats from Burberry as she gushed over how cute it looked on Vianne.

Something about her giggling mother put her at ease. The punching of the credit card’s number sent a rush of high in her blood, which only increased with Ms. Lin’s blabbering praise of how beautiful she looked in the mirror. She was well-fed and well-clothed; Vianne figured that there had to be a trade off somewhere. Not everything could be given, so she happily accepted the allowance. It was the closest she’d ever get to having her mother smother her in a crushing hug.

School was another topic. No doubt she was expected to do well in it; Vianne was sure her college expenses would be covered as well once she got to it. So she put the worry on that to the side as well. Her social life at school was decent, with her own clique of Asian Americans making up most of her friend group. It was genuinely a decent life for her, and for a moment, she thought this was going to be her forever.

Until it was news to her that her current school was going to be a thing of the past. Ms. Lin had become engaged to one of her former clients. Vianne was near her senior year of high school when her mother broke the news to her.

“Scott has a family of his own,” Ms. Lin explained. “His children are having a difficult time accepting us.”

Vianne lost her appetite and tossed her dinner down the dump. Her brain refused to tell her how to react, so her first response was denial. She wasn’t interested in a second dad or a second family, this was her happy medium. Besides, she still had Jack, so there wasn’t any long-term loneliness. Why was her mother complicating things?! What the hell?

“I don’t see how it’s our problem.” She tried to keep her voice cool, but the hint of frustration leaked nonetheless.

Her mother looked almost ashamed. Almost. “I’ll be moving in with Scott next week, Vianne. It’s to help his children get used to the new family members.”

The pause after the statement didn’t help the rising anxiety within Vianne. Her fingers clenched around the fork, digging the metal utensil into her soft skin so much that it stung. There was a catch to that announcement, she could feel it.

“What about me?” she asked. “What about Jack?”

Ms. Lin sucked in a breath, drumming her fingers on the mahogany table in a frenzy. And from experience, that only meant bad news. “Scott lives in the Bay Area. It’s too far away from Napa for me to come visit constantly if you stay. So I’ve decided to have you move back with your father.”

The world came undone from below and swallowed Vianne whole. Her mind was a blank sheet of paper, with no idea how to respond. It had been a decade of little to no contact with Mr. Yang, and the sudden contact with him was not going to lead to a happy talk over a cup of coffee. This was fucking ridiculous.

“You said you’d never let him see us again.” Her retort sounded irrelevant at worst, and petty at best. Not that this was going to change her mother’s engagement.

And sure enough, it wasn’t. Ms. Lin gave an exasperated sigh and pinched her nose. The shake of her head reminded Vianne of the way she would scold her when she was a child.

“Your father is doing better now. He’s…different,” her mother tried. “He’s simply not living in the best places out there. But that’s ok! You won’t stay there after graduation, and after you go to college, you’ll be coming back to Scott and me over breaks.”

Vianne could hear the blood in her ears bubbling like an overboiled teapot. “I don’t even know Scott that well, mom! How am I supposed to be his new family after you settle in?!”

The matriarch rolled her eyes at the scene, clearly not taking her daughter’s response well. “It’s a work in progress. I’ll make sure to bring them to you every once in a while to let them get comfortable. That’s why I’m moving in first.”

Her reasoning failed to get past Vianne’s anger, spurring her on. “So you’re just gonna dump us in LA with dad so you can live your comfy life?!”

That comment seemed to be the final nail onto the coffin, as Ms. Lin’s frown turned to a scowl in seconds. “I’m not dumping you anywhere, Vianne. It’s only going to be a year, and your allowance is staying the same! So stop being dramatic.”

Her mother’s cold gaze bore into her mind, freezing her in her tracks. It would serve both of them better if she conceded right there. Once her mother came to a decision, she was like an ox in the middle of a fight. There was no arguing out of this situation. The friends she had and the memories she made in Napa were now pipedreams wrapped up in a dusky alley. Her failure to even voice her opinions squeezed her lungs tight with perturbation.

The familiar pounding headache cursed her forehead, making her wince. Vianne had the sudden urge to smash plates just like her mother had done before. But she didn’t need a grounding on top of everything else, so she settled with pulling her lips back into a painful grin.

“What's the name of the school?” She expected her mother to answer that at least. Donning an air of nonchalance, Vianne tried to appear as unbothered as she could. The trembling of her hands were the only markers of betrayal. If Ms. Lin noticed her plight, then she took no interest in it. Her mother reached for a brown packet and tore it open.

A stack of papers slid out of the package, with the name ‘J.A. Garfield High School’ printed in bold fonts in the front page. It was her transfer letter.

Ms. Lin took a sip of her red wine before she continued her trail of thought. “I’ve given them your transcripts and coursework history already. You’ll be admitted in the second semester.”

“You’re really sending me to the ghetto.” Vianne felt the veins in her head pop. Quickly scouring through the papers, she came across her schedule. There was no AP Biology on the list, and there was definitely no AP BC Calculus on it either. In their places was a section marked as ‘Teaching Assistant’. And that was enough to send her ticking with rage.

“What’s the meaning of this?!” This time, she didn’t bother to hide her fury. “Why did they drop my classes?!”

Slamming the files down so hard that the china rattled, the young woman seethed as she stared her mother down. Ms. Lin wasn’t having any of it either, her fingers gripping the wine glass had turned pale with the increased pressure.

“The school doesn’t have AP courses, Vianne. They’re offering full credits for your two AP classes as compensation.”

The words that came out of her mother’s mouth stunned Vianne into silence. Graduation credits were worth nothing to her in college, this had to be some sick joke.

“What about my AP tests next year?” she hammered. “How am I supposed to take the tests without taking the classes?!” Her complaints were like flies buzzing around an agitated human. Ms. Lin simply waved them off without a second glance, as if her worries were nothing but unnecessary trivialities in life.

“You’re smart, sweetheart. You can study for them by yourself.” Her mother threw out the response like it was the obvious solution to her problem. “There’ll be more than enough spare time in your hands to bury yourself in books.”

Vianne quirked a brow. “Why?”

Ms. Lin actually smiled. But behind it were the vestiges of an arrogant smirk threatening to show itself to the surface. “Their coursework is basically non-existent. The catalogs are dated, and the materials are easy enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler’s level. You’ll have no trouble boosting your GPA up and acing your tests.”

If pride was a thing in her family, then it was going out the window. Vianne couldn’t believe her ears, nor could she stomach the sight of the letters. At this level, she might as well turn herself to a thirteen-year-old and go back to primary school. All her hard work was about to go up in flames because of that ghetto school. Hot tears rimmed along her eyes, sending her into a vortex of despair once more.

There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye to her friends; Kimberly’s birthday was in two weeks, and the whole group had a surprise beach trip planned out. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Mountains of projects she had been dedicated to simply poofed into air. Her hands clenched at the sides, doing their best to contain the urge to hit something.

The shifting of bodies alerted her of her mother’s departure from the living room; Ms. Lin was already up the stairs by the time Vianne shook herself back to reality. She looked over to the stove and was struck by the time it displayed on the counter. It was way too late into the early mornings.

“Your flights depart in two days.” The voice of her mother was drifting away into the distance. Their hollow vibrations from the hall sent her stomach dropping to the floor. “You should start packing soon, Vianne.”

That was the end of the conversation. It was made clear with the slam of Ms. Lin’s bedroom door, rattling its hinges. Neither of them were in the state to argue, and she knew it. Standing alone by the dining table, Vianne sniffled. Her nose was unbearably stuffy in addition to the increasing sting in her eyes.

She didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night.

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LAX was the definition of a madhouse. People shouted in all kinds of languages, deafening her ears and making Jack whimper on her side. Vianne held her brother close as she shoved their way through the gates of their section. The crowded mass on top of her migraine was slowly inching her towards a mental breakdown. After hauling off the last of her luggages from baggage claim, she ushered Jack to the main exit of the airport.

She knew she hadn't seen her father’s face in years, and the dreadful thought of not recognizing their only ticket out settled within her gut. Panic palpated in her heart as they came out of the building, with the sea of people not helping in the slightest.

Mr. Yang was next to unrecognizable when Vianne saw the massive sign with her name blaring in red. He looked different, much different than before. But then again, her seven-year-old perspective wasn’t all that trustworthy either. The face of her father hit her like a cold splash of water, and she found herself failing to greet him with the simplest ‘hello’. She merely stared at the balding man,  unable to tear her eyes away from the beerbelly and narrowed eyes. Her father was a stranger to her, and it was then she realized that Jack had never even met their father.

Her brother scooted away from Mr. Yang when the man approached them, looking up to her with his teary gaze. Jack looked like he wanted to burst into a wailing fit. It was going to be a long ride back.

Heavy silence filled the car throughout the ride to her new home. Mr. Yang asked about her health and her school life, repeating the same questions he wrote to her weeks ago. Vianne kept the answers simple and precise, nodding and smiling to make it seem like she was engaged.

Jack, on the other hand, fidgeted endlessly in his seat in the back, looking anywhere but the front of the driver’s seat. The introduction between father and son was awkward to say the least. Vianne was just happy that they were now on their way to get the year over with. She clutched the phonebook in her pockets, memorizing all her friends’ numbers. It took her mind off things, if that was a positive note.

There could never be enough distractions for her, especially now that the three of them were stuck in the worst possible position. As if whatever deity in the heavens wanted to lay more unto the cruel joke, Vianne shook from her revere and noticed the selection of houses they were approaching.

Rundown and abandoned were the least of her worries. The neighborhood was like the cardboard cutout from a horror magazine. Desecrated with graffitis and empty beer cans, the streets were littered with grime and dust. It was obvious the town duster wasn’t a frequent worker there. And was that a person sitting on the roof of a car?!

Vianne’s eyes bulged as she squinted at the flailing man on top of a red Chevrolet. Men donned in tall hats paraded the city roads like they owned the place, causing a line of angry drivers honking at the ruckus. The pounding headache intensified at the sight, and she grumbled a string of curses to herself.

“Monterey Park is a lot better,” Mr. Yang spoke out of nowhere. “We’re gonna be away from these dirty shitbags.”

She flinched at the harsh edge of his voice, but didn’t say anything. By the crinkled lines between his brows and the frown on his lips, her father wasn’t in the mood for a good-natured chat. It was better that way, Vianne herself could feel her spirits waning with each mile.

The trio reached a small neighborhood in no time, and to her relief, it looked miles better than the houses she previously saw. The structures still retained the brittle fragility in appearance, but the paintings were even this time. And the lawns appeared to be taken cared of as well. Vianne felt the corners of her lip tug up in a hopeful smile.

But like any other good news, it was crushed to dust as soon as it presented itself. Her father didn’t use his keys to unlock the door. Instead, it swung open on its own accord, revealing the face of a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and leopard-printed blouse. Vianne’s mind jumped to the worst possible scenario, jumping back a good distance. The young woman stared at the fresh face for what felt like a long time, before the coughing from Mr. Yang pulled her from the staring contest.

“Clara, they’re my children; Vianne and Jack.” Her father’s gruff voice held her to the ground. Gesturing to the women next, he continued to speak. “Vianne, Jack, this is Clara. She’s my girlfriend.”

Despite him being this close to the two women, Mr. Yang was oblivious to the scowl that now stretched across his daughter’s face. Vianne put two and two together and realized why her mother refused to share too much of her father’s living situation. There was no way in hell she would have agreed to come had she knew of this beforehand. Her living arrangements were fucked up to no end, and for a moment, she contemplated ringing her mother on the spot.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Clara didn’t move from her position. She gave the two newcomers a pitying look, but her lips turned up to a smirk. “I’ve heard a lot about y’all.”

Jack stared at Vianne, lips pouting in morbid curiosity. The older sibling sighed and rolled her eyes; she was getting worked up over nothing. They only had to stay here for another year till graduation, so she reckoned she would find a way to grin and bear it.

“There are rules to this household.” Her father wasted no time in listing the regulations under his roof. “You won’t be able to run amok like ya did with your mother here. First, Clara is to be respected at all times.”

Mr. Yang was blind to the seething glare Vianne threw him as she unpacked her bags across the room. It was one thing to be forced to live under these conditions, but it was a totally different thing to be mandated around by a stranger who she detested. A biting remark made its way to her tongue, but was cut short by his rambling speech.

“Curfew is 6 pm sharp. No loitering around the streets after the sun goes down,” he continued. “No boys are allowed, and there will be no parties here.”

No one, and she meant no one, told her when she got to come home. The last time her mother set her a curfew was in middle school. And it was definitely not at that time either. She wasn’t interested in dating anyone from this neighborhood, much less bringing a boy back home. Parties were out of the question, Vianne had already made up her mind that she was going to burrow herself for a year before she dipped.

“I’ll stay out as much as I want.” It was a crisp retort, and she turned up her nose. “My car will be here in a few days. I’ll be fine.”

Mr. Yang’s nose flared at the comment. His eyes darkened, reminding her of the way he used to look at her mother. She didn’t voice it, but the familiar shivers ran down her spine. Avoiding his gazem Vianne took a sudden interest in the rings on her fingers.

“This ain’t Napa County, Vianne.” Her father’s hand shook. “You’ll be down in the dirt in no time if you don’t adapt to the people here.”

She ignored his statement and pulled out her luggage of clothes. Everyone knew of the nature of the ghetto people there. That was the reason she brought her car. Whatever it was, Vianne wasn’t going to touch them with a ten-foot pole.

 “Whatever,” she mumbled. Sensing her displeasure in the conversation, Mr. Yang grumbled something about women, before throwing a stack of notebooks onto her bed. Vianne glanced at them, but made no attempt to retrieve the papers.

“These are the course intros for tomorrow.” Her father was opening a can of beer as he eyed her. “You and Jack are waking up at 7. No negotiations.”

“Sure, sure.” There was no reason to get into a fight, and she thought it was wise to choose her battles. A curt nod was all she gave him, before she slipped past her father to go find Jack. There was still time to brood over her state of affairs.

Time always flew when you were either panicking or on cloud nine. That would be the second night of the week where she didn’t get to sleep. Her eyes trailed to the calendar; today was her first day of school.

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A/N: Sorry for the slow start! Juicy drama picks up in the next chapter! Reviews, criticism, and comments are welcome :3

And here's a shoutout to @classic80sand90smovieloves2 for inspiring and helping me write this out!

[sunriserose1023]

Merry & Married {9}

SUMMARY: It’s been almost a year since the most humiliating moment of your life. You’ve done your best to move on—by literally moving across the country, starting a new job, and you’re finally starting to feel settled. That, of course, is when your bubblehead cousin sends you the invitation to her wedding—which is exactly one year to the day that you were left at the altar. You have to go, but you don’t have to go alone. Enter Bucky Barnes, the best friend you’ve ever had. You fill him in, and of course he agrees to go home with you. What are friends for? Never mind the fact that he’s desperately in love with you. And if you hadn’t sworn off men forever, you might just find him … attractive. So there you are, surrounded by love, bridesmaid dresses, champagne, and no less than one hundred sprigs of mistletoe. What could possibly go wrong? WORD COUNT: 3557 WARNINGS FOR THE SERIES: Emotional angst, presumably unrequited love, friends to lovers, fluff, happily ever after, written for the @heamarvel​​​​​​​​ Holiday Movie Challenge

Masterlist

“It’s my wedding day!” “Hey, sugartits. Up and at ‘em.”

You gave a quiet huff as you put your face in your pillow. Natasha’s low voice sounded in your ear again, making you laugh. 

“It’s too late to try and smother yourself. We don’t have time to find someone else to wear your dress.”

You sighed, rolling onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. Darcy was dancing around the room, and you and Natasha smiled at each other, shaking your heads when music started playing. 

“Going to the chapel and we’re  Gonna get married.”

Darcy started singing along, as did Hope, and you shook your head, joining in. Carol walked into the room with a tray of coffee and doughnuts, a smile on her face as she yelled over the music. 

“Have you looked outside?!”

Darcy’s eyes widened as she ran to the window, an excited gasp leaving her lips. 

“It’s snowing!”

Hope waddled up behind her, mouth falling open. 

“Good Lord, look at the ground. It’s been snowing for hours. And it’s sticking.”

Natasha scrambled out of bed to join the crowd at the window and you sat up, pulling the covers closer around you and smiling. Carol walked over to you, handing over what you knew was a perfectly doctored cup of coffee. You smiled at her, sipping the coffee as she sat beside you. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, holding the cup in both of your hands. Carol glanced towards the crowd at the window and spoke softly. 

“I know we got a little heavy last night.” “Yeah, we did. And once you’d all passed out, I couldn’t sleep. Luckily, neither could Nana and we had a good, long talk.” “Figure some things out?”

Carol tried to look nonchalant as she sipped her coffee, and you rolled your eyes. 

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Carol raised her eyebrows and you shook your head. 

“Was one of those doughnuts chocolate?” “What do you take me for? All but one of those doughnuts is chocolate.”

You laughed, looking to the window and laughing harder when you saw Darcy with a white pillowcase on her head, dancing with Natasha and Jane before they all noticed the coffee and breakfast. 

You stood in front of the mirror, slowly turning, making sure your dress was falling in the right places, nothing tucked into your underwear, no bra straps showing. You took in a breath and let it out slowly, staring at your reflection. 

You couldn’t help but flashback to a year ago, when you were standing in front of this same mirror, dressed in white instead of crimson, the same butterflies in your belly, hair piled in a complicated updo instead of the soft curls dancing around your face. 

A buzzing noise broke you from your memories, and you looked for the source, finally noticing your phone on the dresser. You picked it up, smiling at Bucky’s face on your screen, wanting to FaceTime. You accepted the call, eyes widening when his pale, unshaven face came on your screen. He was still in the bed—damn boys for only needing ten minutes to get ready when it took you all damn day—blue eyes closed and face pressed into his pillow.

“Oh my goodness. Are you okay?” “Your uncles and cousins and whatever tried to kill me last night.”

You laughed, moving a hand to your mouth. 

“Carol heard that it was a bottle of Jack and some poker.” “‘Just a bottle of Jack,’ my ass. I lost count of the liquor we went through.”

You gave another quiet giggle. 

“Poor baby.”

Bucky groaned, finally lifting his head, squinting his eyes as he looked into the phone. His eyes widened, then narrowed. 

“Good God, Y/N.” “What?” “Hold the phone out farther.”

You did as he asked, watching some light come back to his eyes. He gave a shake of his head, licking his lips. 

“Jesus, baby. You look incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, shaking your head. 

“No, I mean it. That dress … is the wedding in the next ten minutes so I can see you in person?”

You gave a soft laugh, closing your eyes. 

“How do you do that?” “Do what?” “Say just what I need to hear right when I need to hear it.”

He was quiet for a moment, until you opened your eyes again. He had a soft smile on his face. 

“Because I know you, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, nodding your head. Your lips trembled, but you managed to get the words out. 

“Hey, I need to talk to you later, okay?” “Uh oh. That’s never a good sign.”

You smiled. 

“No, it … it’s nothing bad.” “Promise?”

You nodded, lifting your pinky. 

“I promise.”

Bucky lifted his pinky, touching the screen as you did. He sighed, groaning as he shifted in his bed, and your eyes widened just the slightest bit when you noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. You swallowed and he sighed again, lifting his tired eyes to the screen. 

“I guess I better drag my ass out of bed.” “Try some coffee. And maybe a shower.” “Yeah, I’ve got to get the cigar stink off.”

You raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened. 

“I mean …”

You laughed and he lifted a hand to scratch at his chin. 

“And I need to shave this shit.” “Um...”

He raised an eyebrow and you glanced away, pressing your lips together before you spoke softly. 

“Maybe not?”

Bucky’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he gave a quiet laugh. 

“On second thought, maybe not.”

You smiled as your cheeks burned, slowly nodding. You looked back into the phone and he winked at you. 

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

You nodded. 

“See you soon.”

You ended the call, holding your phone to your chest. You closed your eyes, a soft smile coming to your lips before you set the phone on the dresser. A knock sounded at your door and you walked to open it, smiling at your mom. 

“Hi.” “You look stunning. I love the red on all you girls. It’s perfect.”

You nodded, opening the door and letting her in. She set her things on the dresser, then turned to face you. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, letting out a breath. You walked back to the mirror, turning sideways and studying yourself again. 

“I can’t stop remembering things from last year. Things that I’ve never once thought about until now. Like … were you in here when I dropped my earring and it rolled under the dresser?”

Your mom shook her head and you nodded. 

“My hands were shaking so hard I couldn’t get the earring on. I dropped it, and I couldn’t get it until they brought Morgan in to reach her chubby little arm under the dresser.”

You gave a quiet laugh, smoothing a hand down the front of your dress. 

“I also thought about climbing out the window in the bathroom, but I didn’t think my skirt would fit. And then I told myself that I was crazy for being so nervous, that everything would be fine.”

You sighed, and your mother walked up behind you, laying her hands on your shoulders, looking into the mirror behind you. 

“I am so proud of you.” “Mom—“ “No, I’m serious. You have handled this week with so much grace. We all know Darcy can be a handful, but you’ve done so well when you so easily could have fallen apart.”

You sighed, leaning your head to touch hers. She smiled, giving you a sort of backwards hug. You smiled, speaking softly. 

“I talked with Nana last night.” “Oh?”

You nodded. 

“I’m still scared, but … I’m going to talk to Bucky. See if … if maybe we can be …” “More than friends?”

You nodded again and her smile widened. 

“I’m so happy for you, baby. He’ll be good to you.” “You think so?” “I know so. He’s crazy about you.”

You smiled as you looked into the mirror again. 

“I’m kind of crazy about him, too.”

Your hands were shaking as you stood with the rest of the wedding party, waiting for the music cues to start your walks down the aisle. It wasn’t just due to the chill in the air, the snow still continuing to fall. You were nervous, almost panicking, trying to keep yourself calm and failing. You were pretty sure Natasha knew that you were freaking out, but due to your places in line, she couldn’t do anything to help you. 

“Excuse me, Miss Y/N?”

You glanced over, then up, blinking at Jane’s fiancé. He gave you a smile, bending down to whisper to you. 

“There’s been a change of plans. Apparently, I’m to walk with you now.” “I thought you were walking with Jane.” “As did I, but Darcy wants Jane to walk by herself. So now I’m to walk with you.”

You slowly nodded, giving him a smile. 

“O-okay.”

He offered his arm and you looped your hand through it, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Are you alright?” “Nervous.” “Don’t worry, Miss Y/N. I won’t let you fall.”

A soft smile came to your lips when he patted your hand and you closed your eyes as you exhaled. As you breathed, you focused on Thor’s muscular arm, the strength that seemed to exude from his pores, trying to steal just a little bit of that strength for yourself. When the music started to play, you swallowed, straightening your back and clutching your flowers. 

You and Thor walked down the aisle with ease, your eyes flitting through the crowd, a smile pasted onto your lips. You glanced over at the bride’s side of the room, doing a double take when your eyes landed on Bucky, a wide smile on his face, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. His eyes met yours and he winked, and the smile on your face went soft, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you and Thor made it to the front of the aisle. He kissed your hands, making the crowd “aww,” and you laughed again as you went to stand in your place.

You let out a shaky breath, watching your cousins walk down the aisle, your eyes constantly drifting to where Bucky was sitting, always finding him looking back at you. 

Darcy was stunningly beautiful in her fairytale gown, a gauzy veil over her face as she walked down the aisle on Uncle Phil’s arm. You saw the moment she found Ian, plump lips curling into a wide smile, until all her teeth were visible. You smiled then, not taking your eyes from her as she was given to Ian, their hands entwining. 

You glanced back over the crowd, finding your mom and stifling a laugh when she crossed her eyes at you. Nana had a proud smile on her face, and Cassie and Scott were whispering to each other. Morgan was sitting on Tony’s lap, dark eyes studying the goings on before her. You found Bucky’s eyes again, the room going silent as the minister’s words pierced your ears. 

“If anyone has any reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Your heart dropped to your toes as you tore your eyes from Bucky’s and stared at the minister. Darcy and Ian took their eyes from each other, glancing out over the crowd. You jerked your head to do the same, feeling your blood run cold when your eyes landed on Peter and his new wife. 

The panic wrapped around your heart like thorny vines, squeezing tightly, until you couldn’t take a breath. You knew you’d pass out if you didn’t get away, and you absently wondered how much Darcy would hate you if you ruined her wedding by making your panic attack known as you ran down the aisle. 

“Easy, take a breath.”

Your eyes widened when Hope, who was standing in front of you in line, turned the slightest bit, her eyes meeting yours. She gave you a smile and you blinked, unsteady heartbeat thundering in your ears. You heard a cough and looked out over the audience again, blinking when Bucky leaned over until he caught your eye. You followed him as he sat up, blinking again when he stuck his tongue out at you. He made another face, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out and you gave a quiet, breathless laugh. 

The minister nodded, a smile coming to his face. 

“No objections, as I expected. Darcy and Ian, we are here today to celebrate your love…”

The minister’s words tapered off as you kept your eyes on Bucky’s. He stared back at you, a soft smile on his face and you felt in that moment there was no one else in the room, no one else on the earth except the two of you. 

How could he calm you down without saying a word? How could just one look from him settle your racing mind, ease your aching heart? 

You loved him.  Even more than you thought last night. 

Tears came to your eyes as you finally looked away from him, and you smiled as you heard Darcy say her vows. Rings were exchanged, a pronouncement was made, and it was all sealed with a kiss. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ian Boothby!”

You clapped your hands as tears dripped down your cheeks. Hope turned to look at you, tears on her cheeks as well. Carol poked her head around, as did Natasha, and you smiled at them, nodding your head. Darcy and Ian walked down the aisle, followed by the rest of the wedding party, and when you placed your arm in Thor’s, he smiled. 

“Beautiful wedding.”

You nodded, your eyes widening at the tears in his eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. You gave a soft laugh, squeezing his massive bicep, and he smiled as the two of you broke through the back of the makeshift wedding space. 

The reception was gorgeous, the food insanely delicious, the band on point with the perfect songs. You had to take no less than four thousand pictures with your family, the wedding party, Darcy, the happy couple. Every time you tried to get to Bucky, someone needed your help with something, until you were incredibly frustrated. 

You finally found a break, pawning the latest problem off to Carol, making your way to the banquet space, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw Bucky at the bar, smiling and talking with Natasha’s gorgeous cousin. A sad smile came to your lips as you sighed, turning to see Pepper standing in front of you. She tilted her head to the side and you sighed, shaking your head. She stepped forward, looping her arm around your neck. 

“You have walked into this room half a dozen times, the frustration evident on your face when someone comes and pulls you away. And now you’re here, with no interruptions, and I see the saddest smile on your pretty face. What’s going on, honey?”

You sighed again. 

“Wanda.” “What about Wanda?”

You waved a hand, shaking your head. 

“I can’t compete with Wanda.” “Why would you want to?”

You pressed your lips together to hide the laugh. 

“She’s gorgeous.” “Yes, and? Have you looked in the mirror today?” “Pep—“ “Don’t ‘Pep’ me. You’re drop-dead gorgeous today and I won’t apologize for saying that. Anyone who would overlook you for Wanda is dumb as fuck.”

You gave a laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Bucky met your eyes, widening his. He slid his eyes towards Wanda then sent you a pleading look. You looked back to Pepper and smiled at her, taking hold of your dress and walking across the floor. Wanda smiled when she saw you, leaning over the table. 

“Hi, Y/N! You look so pretty in that dress!” “Thanks, Wanda. Sorry, can I steal Bucky for a minute?” “Only a minute.”

She winked at Bucky and took her wineglass, walking away. Bucky gave a relieved exhale, turning to you and taking your hands as he slumped forward. 

“Thank you. She’s exhausting and we only spoke for five minutes.”

You gave a laugh, taking a hand from his to tuck some hair behind your ear. 

“Can we talk?”

Bucky nodded, and you kept hold of his hand as you led him to a corner of the room. You took in a breath, letting it out slowly as you turned to face him. 

“Buck—“ “Alright, alright! All the single guys, please gather in the middle of the dance floor!” “Son of a bitch.”

Bucky let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow. 

“Everything okay?”

You groaned, shaking your head. 

“No, I … it’s fine. We can talk later.”

You started to walk by him and he took hold of your arm. 

“Hey. Come here.”

You sighed, turning back to him. 

“What is it?” “They’re going to call for the single ladies in a minute and Darcy will embarrass me if I’m not there.” “Then let’s go out into the snow and talk there.” “I’ll freeze in this dress.” “Then talk to me now. Come on, you’ve had me all worked up all day and I know you’re worked up. Forget this single whatever bullshit.”

You met his icy blue eyes and you shook your head. He exhaled through his nose and nodded, giving your arm a squeeze before he let it go, brushing past you as he started for the middle of the dance floor. 

“Wait.”

He stopped, waiting a beat before he turned to face you. You whirled to face him, hands trembling, heart pounding in your chest. He narrowed his eyes and you shook your head. 

“I love you.”

His eyes widened and he blinked. Neither one of you said a word, until a laugh burst through your lips. 

“I love you. Oh my god. Oh my god, that feels so good to say.”

You laughed again, moving a hand to your heart, shaking your head. 

“I … I was so scared. I was so scared to say it, because if I said it, then it would be real. The last time I loved someone I got really hurt, so I closed myself off. I didn’t want to love anybody ever again, but you … you.”

You took a step towards him, lifting your shoulders and letting them fall. 

“You wormed your way into my life, and somewhere along the way, you took up space in my heart.”

You shook your head again. 

“I’ve loved you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to say it. A very wise woman told me to stop letting my fear hold me back and let it fuel me. So here I am, telling you that you … have my whole heart. I’m so in love with you, Bucky Barnes.”

He just stared at you, and you swallowed, a soft smile on your face. 

“I just thought you should know.”

You looked down at your feet, or where your feet would be if they weren’t hidden by your dress. You swallowed again, nodding once before turning away. 

“Y/N.”

You stopped, glancing over your shoulder. Bucky lifted a hand to thumb at his bottom lip, dragging his hand over his unshaven chin. You blinked as he stopped in front of you and a smile came to his lips. 

“Look up.”

You did, taking in a breath when you saw the mistletoe hanging over your head. You closed your eyes before lowering your chin, meeting his eyes as his hands cupped your face. 

“I love you, too.”

Your laugh was cut off when his lips finally met yours. Your hands moved to his hips, needing something to anchor yourself in the moment. His lips were full, soft against yours, his thumbs moving back and forth over your cheeks. You gave an almost-silent moan as his tongue touched yours, and Bucky broke the kiss, leaning back just enough to stare into your eyes, a promise in his dilated pupils. 

“Finally!”

You turned your head to see Carol in the middle of the floor, the rest of the crowd gathered behind her and all around you. Hope walked up and laid an arm over Carol’s shoulder, and Natasha came on the other side, shaking her head but mouthing “about time” at you. You just now realized how quiet the room was and you moved to put your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. He laughed and drew you in close, as applause filtered through the room. 

“My god, we’re those people.”

Bucky laughed at your quiet words and he gently rubbed your back. 

“Fuck yeah, we are. Come on. Dance with me.”

You nodded, straightening and taking his hand. Halfway towards the floor, Bucky lifted a hand, catching something in midair. You raised an eyebrow as you turned to face him, and he shook his head, a smile on his face. He lowered his hand, opening his fist, and your mouth dropped open when you saw that he was holding the garter. 

“Ian’s got great aim.”

You shook your head and he pulled you in again, lips finding yours as more applause broke out around you. 

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