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helen-with-an-a · 5 months

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Badger

Hi. So this is a little thought I've had in my head for a while based on the fact that none of the English commentators can pronounce Ona's name properly.

Ona Batlle x reader

Description: You're convinced Ona doesn't like your nickname for her

Word Count: 4.2k

It had been a gruelling game, the ball rolling end to end creating little respite for any player. Goals were flying in left and right from both sides. It was a draw in the final minute of overtime and both teams were desperate not to share points. A spectacular tackle from Ona had prevented Hemp from scoring, allowing the ball to be collected and fed all the way back up the pitch. It had ricocheted around the City box before falling to your feet. It was instinctual, not thought or planning behind it, yet as the ball sailed pasted Roebuck’s fingers – it was like it was destiny. It was by no means your first goal for United, nor your first goal of the game. But it felt like it. The crowd erupted, the music drowned out by the noise and the rush of blood in your head.

The Blues had no time to score an equaliser. You watched as the seconds ticked down – City trying to press again, although the fight had clearly been lost in them. Finally, finally, the Ref blew the whistle. Old Trafford erupted. It had been an exciting game for the fans – lots of goals, tough tackles, harsh words, decent referring. As a player it had been exhausting but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ona was the first one to you, somehow making the distance in record time despite being further down the pitch.

“Mi hermosa superestrella!” She shouted as she threw herself onto your back. You stumbled slightly, your legs feeling like jelly as the adrenaline disappeared from your veins. “Mi maravillosa, hermosa, fantástica, increíble, magnífica, bella goleadora.” She littered each word with an array of kisses to your head, her arms wrapping around your neck as she made herself comfortable – clearly showing you she wasn’t getting down any time soon.

“Stop,” you whined, getting shy under her compliments.

“Nope, never.” She laughed again, squeezing her legs tighter around your waist in a hug. You discretely pinched the underneath of her thigh, close to the hem of her shorts. “Aye,” she squealed. “Can’t a girl compliment her amor de su vida after she had an incredible game?” She pressed a sneaky kiss to your jaw as you made your way towards the fans.

You knew the fans would be going crazy over your behaviour; you had never made your relationship a secret. Ona often featured in your monthly photo dumps, your Instagram stories showing carefully selected insights into your life. Her Instagram was the same, filled with private moments that neither of you minded sharing with fans. Videos of you after matches were all over the internet – hugs that lasted too long to be just friendly, kisses pressed into sweaty hairlines and shiny foreheads, your body being wrapped around her smaller frame as the final whistle went, neither of you leaving each other sides until you were sure they were fine after a tackle gone wrong.

You were walking you way around the stadium, laughing along to Mary and Tooney’s jokes as you fell into step with them. It was as you were passing Alex and Fara that you heard your name be called out. Instinctively, you turned – naturally bringing Ona with you as she was still securely wrapped around you. Alex was beckoning you over – a microphone outstretched and an expectant smile. You tilted your head back to look at Ona, expecting her to have loosened her legs by now. Yet her grip held firm, nodding in the direction of the TV cameras. You shrugged, readjusted her on your hips and came to join the women.

“And here we have Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” Alex said, laughing at the way you stood. Had she really just said that?

“Hi, sorry about this one,” you gestured with your head. “She always says her legs don’t work after matches.” You teased, the three of you laughing at Ona’s indignant squawk, yet she made no move to get down. Fara offered you a microphone, watching on as you looked around a little – struggling to figure out how you were going to do the interview with Ona on your back. Ona solved that solution easily enough, taking the mic and holding it where you need it. You squeezed her calf appreciatively.

“What a match, hey? How are you feeling?”

“Yeh, it’s insane. Derby’s are always hard, and we knew it was going be a fight today, but that was something else.” You chuckled, blowing a stray piece of hair from your face – thanking Ona absentmindedly as she delicately moved it away for you. “We all knew we had jobs to do out there and we just went ahead and did it. Not much more I can say really. I have absolute faith in these girls, and I think it showed today.” You hoped it was a reasonable response. You weren’t the biggest fan of the media side of football. Pre-recorded videos and challenges you could do no issue, but the live stuff - you hated it.

“And what about you, Ona? You were up and down that pitch today like a Yo-Yo.” Fara asked. You moved your head to the side, allowing Ona the space to talk.

“Sí. Again, I just did my job. It was this one that was putting them into the back of the net.” You blushed ferociously, thanking the lucky stars that you were already quite red from the match.

You continued the interview as quickly as possible – conscious that this was being streamed live to the BBC. You skin becoming redder with every passing compliment Ona threw you way. Of course, you gave them back just as often, but she wasn’t as embarrassed by stuff like that. Eventually, the interview came to a natural end.

“Thank you so much, girls, I’ll let you get back. Ladies and Gentlemen, Y/F/N Y/S/N and Ona Badger,” you heard Alex say as you turned away. You heard Ona groan in your ear as you carried on walking.

“Come on then, Señorita Badger.” You couldn’t contain your cackle as you helped her down to sit in your cubby.

“Detener,” she whined – her arms coming to cross over her chest. “They can never say it properly. It’s so annoying.” She moaned, burying her face in your clothed stomach as you moved to untie her braid.

“My love, they are atrocious at pronouncing non-English names, you know this.” You soothed her, allowing your fingers to card through her now-loose hair. “It doesn’t make it right, but it’s not personal.”

“It’s every game though. Every interview and time someone says my name its always ‘Battle’ or ‘Badger’. I can’t decide which is worse.” She complained, moving away from your body to look at you, pouting. You matched her pout; one had coming to cup her jaw and the other to lightly trace over the crease in between her eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, my lovely. I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “But if it makes you feel any better, they’re always saying good things.” You tried a weak smile. “You’re our best defender.” You said honestly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. This time, she really did blush.

“Deja de mentir,” she sighed.

“I’m not lying. You are an incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly talented defender.” You laughed as her cheeks darkened yet again. “And all mine.” You finished off, placing a gentle kiss to her soft lips. “I love you.” You basked in the silence between you to a little longer before adding, “my little Badger.” Her eyes snapped open, scoffing as her mouth dropping open as you laughed loudly, scurrying away to the showers before she could retaliate.

You had been calling her Badger for so long now, that you had never considered what it might look like to others, or to her. After that day in the locker room, it had slowly become more and more integrated into your daily vocabulary. It started as a nickname you used to tease her, loving how riled up she became. But then you started using it in training, shouting it out when she did something particularly impressive. Eventually, it became like any other loving nickname. You were her mi amor, and she was your Badger.

It was something you hadn’t considered when you both made the move over to Spain. It was so normal at this point. Surely, she would have said something if she didn’t like the name? You used it all the time. You wanted her to pass you the salt and pepper? You felt sad and needed a hug? She was injured and needed comfort? You were pressed up against her in the Club dancing the night away? She had done something great in training? She was irritating the crap out of you? You were annoying her and being an all-round brat? She was always Badger.

It had never crossed you mind until Alexia brought it up after training one day.

You were walking out to the car, Ona tugging on your hand to hurry you up.

“Vamos, mi amor. Apresúrate,” she pulled you harder, taking your hand in both of hers.

“Badger, you go ahead.” You laughed as she pouted. “You’re the one going on a ‘La Masia day’. In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t raised here.” You teased, using your strength to pulled her back to your side. “I was told in no uncertain terms by Aita that this was a Catalan only event And that she loved me, but I needed to get lost for the afternoon. You need time with your people, and I am totally ok with that, Badger.” You smiled softly at her, melting as her arms wove around your waist.

“Ona, deixa d'estar tan enamorat i afanya't.” Aitana’s loud voice drifted from across the car park.

“A la merda, Aita. Que no tinguis núvia no vol dir que hagis de ser dolent.” Ona responded. You had no idea what she was saying but even with your limited Catalan, you recognised ‘núvia’ and guessed it was something to do with you.

“Go on, Badger. Go enjoy yourself, I’ll see you at home.” You cupped her cheek with your hand, giving her a gentle goodbye kiss. She squeezed you once more before running off after Aitana– shoving her as she climbed into the backseat.

“Do you want to come for a quick coffee with us?” A voice next to you made you jump.

“Fucking hell.” You turned to see Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid standing behind you. “Jesus, warn a girl next time.” You placed a hand over your heart and took calming breaths, glaring at Mapi as she chuckled at your reaction.

“We said your name like 10 times, chica.” Alexia smiled, taking your arm, and pulling you towards her car.

“Sorry, I was just … sorry.” You stared at the pavement, a bright blush rushing to your cheeks.

“Ella está enamorada” Mapi cheered, coming up to pinch your cheeks.

“You two are way worse,” you said, gesturing between Ingrid and Mapi. “Oh, mi vida, jugaste muy bien hoy.” You dramatically threw yourself at Ingrid, laughing with her at Mapi’s incensed expression.

“No sueno asi”

“Yes, you do.” You said at the same time as Ingrid. Mapi’s shocked face made you laugh even harder as Alexia unlocked the car.

“Maps, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. Even when you aren’t talking to her it’s always ‘mi vida’ or ‘mi princessa’ or ‘mi Tesoro’. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her Ingrid. It can be quite nauseating.” You goaded her as you took your seat in the passenger side. She gasped, jokingly offended.

“Al menos no llamo a mi novia por un animalito raro.” She clicked her teeth at you.

You eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Animal? You didn’t call Ona an animal, did you? Sometimes you joked she was a koala after the matches as she clambered her way into a customary piggyback – you often made teasing remarks that you didn’t need to see one during your time in Australia because you had one at home with you. But nothing repeatedly.

“Yeh, where did Badger come from?” Alexia asked. Ohhhhh. It clicked for you - sometimes, you could be quite oblivious.

“It’s not after the animal. English commentators and interviewers can never say her name. You must’ve realised that.” The Spanish girls nodded solemnly – often being a victim themselves of mispronounced names. “Well, it started off as a joke really, Alex Scott called her Ona Badger once and it kinda went from there really.” You explained, your attention drifting to looking outside the window

“Ona’s a better woman than me.” Alexia shook her head slightly. You turned back around, looking at her side profile as she drove you towards the coffee shop.

“How-What do you mean?” You asked, confused as to what she was getting at.

“If Olga called me Patella instead of Putellas, I’d go crazy.” Alexia laughed.

“Oh. She doesn’t seem to mind it. I … don’t think?” Did she mind it? She had never said anything to you about it.

“I never said anything when Olga called me Lex for a while. But it really got on my nerves.” She added, making you feel even worse about the situation. Does she really feel like that? Do you irritate her? It must do. What you had thought was just a joke and then an eventual nickname was based on the fact that someone couldn’t pronounce her name right. That would annoy anyone, right?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a daze, the coffee trip and drive back to the training ground carpark was all a blur. Your drive home and daily routine done on autopilot as your actions and behaviours played on repeat in your head. Did Ona hate being called Badger? She must do, right? Not many people in England had struggled to pronounce your name, and you had yet to encounter someone in Spain that couldn’t do it. Your thoughts rattled in your head – leading you to the conclusion that yes, Ona must not like being called Badger. You vowed to stop making her uncomfortable.

“Hola, mi amor.” Ona called as she walked through the door. You could hear the tiredness in her voice.

“Hey, Badg-baby.” You cleared your throat, hoping to cover up your mistake. “Hey, baby.” You kicked yourself mentally for your slip up. With all your internal worry, you missed Ona’s eyebrows scrunching in confusion. You seemed ok in yourself, a little distracted maybe, but nothing noticeable. You were standing at the open fridge, trying to figure out what to make for dinner – so it must be that, Ona decided. You must be distracted by what to make. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your shoulder. You melted against her, like you always did. This helped calm Ona’s worries a little, beyond not calling her Badger, you were acting normal.

“What do you fancy for tea?” You asked, looking back at her.

“No m'importa, el que sigui més fàcil per a tu,” she said in Catalan. Her voice muffled by the fabric of your jumper.

“What was that, Bad-babe?” You asked her gently, recognising how tired she must be. You twisted around in her grip, closing the fridge door behind you. She looked up at you, a look of displeasure on her face. You chalked it up to her being tired from her afternoon out with the girls; she was actually annoyed that you had, once again, not called her badger.

“El que sigui més fàcil.” She repeated, still speaking in Catalan.

“The only word I recognised was fàcil, so I’m going to assume that mean quick and easy?” She smiled, as you let a finger trace over her freckles on her cheeks, something you always did when she was tired.

“Podríem fer la comanda?” She was still speaking in Catalan. Her tiredness often led to you trying to decipher Catalan – a language you were still trying to get to grips with. But you understood where she was coming from. If you were tired and then forced to speak your third language in your own home, it would not go very well. You really wracked your brains, trying to work out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, B-honey. What was that?” You asked her, scanning your eyes cross her face.

“Order.” She said grumpily. You sighed, misunderstanding her mood again.

“Ok, my love,” mentally cheering as you didn’t slip up this time. “Let’s go to the sofa and we’ll order something.” You unwound her arms from your waist and pulled them over your shoulders, lifting her up as her legs wrapped securely around your hips. “My koala,” you teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she buried her head in your neck.

You hoped that Ona’s uncharacteristic mood was purely down to her tiredness. But after a full night’s sleep where she had refused to leave your arms – something that usually made her sleep like a baby – she still had an attitude with you. She had been fine when you woke up, a soft, sleep-filled smile gracing her beautiful face.

“Bon dia, mi amor.” She had croaked out, a gentle hum coming from her as you scratched at her head.

“Good morning, bad-baby.” Fuck, you had done it again. She pulled back from her beloved location (her face pressed against your neck, you giving her gentle scratches to gradually wake her up). With sleep still in her eyes, her hair a mess and that adorable pout, you couldn’t help but smile – you had, yet again, misattributed her pout for tiredness rather than the anger, and slight hurt, that she felt when you failed to call her Badger. She tried to think back to yesterday. You had very willingly let her go out with the girls yesterday after training, so that couldn’t have been it. Training had gone really well – you always had worked brilliantly as a pair. You had mentioned that you went out to coffee with Alexia, Ingrid and Mapi, maybe something had happened then? But you would have said something though, right? You were the one that was more open and in-touch with your feelings. You always communicated well with everyone around you, especially Ona. Yet, you were refusing to call her Badger. That name had originally been a joke, but eventually it had come to mean so much to her – it was something so unique to your relationship. Other couples could call each other baby, or love, or honey, or babe, or any of the Spanish equivalents. But only she got to be your Badger.

You were still behaving normally which is what threw her off the most. You made her the perfect cup of coffee – like every morning – giving it to her with a kiss to the top of her head as she sat at the table, trying to wake herself up. You held your hand out to her as you walked into the training centre, allowing her warm hand to intertwine with yours. You insisted she tie your hair back, humming quietly as she raked her delicate fingers across your scalp. You made her a plate of all her favourite foods at lunch. You let her rest her body into yours as you sat down, your arm coming around her shoulder as you talked to Lucy and Keira. You drove home with you hand on her thigh and the music blasting loudly. Yet you still hadn’t called her Badger. It was adding considerably to her strange mood – she wasn’t quite angry, but she wasn’t her usual bubbly self … grumpy … that was the only way to describe Ona today. Even Alexia and Patri had picked up on it, asking you if Ona was alright. You tried your best to assure them, telling them that she just hadn’t slept very well (a total lie – it was you that had lied awake staring at the ceiling as Ona’s breath puffed steadily onto your collarbone).

She led you into your house, scowling at you as you tried to make your way into the kitchen.

“Sentarse,” she growled at you, pointing at the sofa. You did as you were told – still very confused as to her behaviour today.

You looked at her, deeply puzzled, as she climbed onto your lap, her legs straddling your thighs. Her behaviour was not what you expected of someone that was angry with you. You pulled out every stop you could think of to help her relax; one hand on her waist, dipping under her shirt to rub at the smooth skin; the other came to cup her jaw, you thumb running repetitive strokes across her cheekbones. It worked, for the most part. She leaned into your hand, her breathing was less harsh, the crinkle in her brow disappeared.

“Oni, my darling girl, mi corazón, mi hermosa, el amor de mi vida. What is up with you today?”

“What is up with me? What is up with you?” She almost shouted, incredulous at the accusation that she had done something wrong.

“You’ve had a scowl on your face the whole day.” You explained, a finger coming to flick at her protruding bottom lip as exhibit A.

“Because of you!” You threw her arms up in exacerbation.

“Me? What have I done?” You tried to think of what you could have done to annoy her. You had stopped calling her Badger, you had let her choose what to eat for tea last night – not even complaining when she chose the place with the not-as-nice-but-just-as-expensive-Sushi – you had done everything as normal today, going so far to drag her away for a steamy makeout session in the bathrooms before practice. Was that what she was upset over?

“No m'has trucat, Badger” she whispered so quietly you could barely hear her.

“Oni, I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you.” You explained “What did you say?”

“You haven’t called me Badger all day. And last night. Did I do something? Have I annoyed you? You always call me Badger unless you’re angry at me. So ... What. Did. I. Do?” She exploded at you, a lone tear streaking down her cheeks. She rushed to wipe it away, but you got there first, kissing her cheek at the same time.

“No, mi vida. You did nothing wrong.” You looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers fiddling nervously together.

“Then what is it? Cos you haven’t called me Badger in over 24 hours now. Something is wrong.” She implored at you.

“I know you don’t like it, so I thought it would just be easier if you didn’t have to tell me and it be all awkward.” She waited a moment, hoping you would meet her eyes. When that was apparently not going to happen, she lifted your chin up with a finger.

“Who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked sternly. Just like the rest of the day, you misunderstood her emotions – thinking she was angry at you for figuring out her secret.

“N-no one.” You croaked out, trying desperately not to cry.

“Mi amor, who told you I don’t like being called Badger?” She asked again, this time her voice a lot calmer.

“It was something that Alexia had said yesterday. She said that Olga called her Lex a few times and it really got on her nerves, but it took her a while for her to say something. And she also said that if someone called her Patella as a nickname, she’d go insane. And it just got me thinking that what if you don’t like being called Badger, ‘cos it’s a nickname based on someone saying your name wrong, but you didn’t want to say anything and I-” you were cut off by soft lips pressing against yours. You hummed throatily as Ona’s hands twisted into your hair, you grip on her waist tightening, pulling her closer to you.

“Don’t think ever again.” She said as you parted, her breath fanning across your face, drowning you in her scent. You must have looked confused, even with your eyes shut. “You said all of this was because you starting thinking. So, don’t ever think again.” You chuckled, pulling her back to you, your lips moulding together perfectly. “You are mi amor. And I am your Badger,” she mumbled between kisses.

“My Badger.” You agreed, shifting yourself underneath her.

“Recuérdame mañana que mate a Alexia por plantar esa estúpida idea en tu cabeza.” She grumbled as you pulled on top of you again.

“Whatever you say,” you started to suck a hicky into her neck. You pulled back slightly so you could see her face. “Badger.” Her kilowatt smile was all the confirmation you needed that Ona really did like being called Badger.

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

#woso community #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #woso #barca femeni #woso fanfics #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso oneshot #man utd women #manchester united women #man utd #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso fic #woso fluff

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sgt-tombstone · 3 months

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Marriage Fraud

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick had gotten married at 15:00 on a Tuesday afternoon in October. There was little fanfare; the civil ceremony took place in the Register Office closest to base with Price and Gaz’s sister as witnesses. They had signed their names on the dotted lines with a flourish, had kissed each other through crooked, boyish grins, and that had been that.

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick hadn’t dated for a single day prior to their nuptials, with the exception of a week-long drunken bet during basic that both of them had been too stubborn to back out of, and their engagement had lasted the legally-required 28 days. It was marriage fraud, plain and simple; the two men had met in basic training and had forged a brotherhood in between grueling days and sporadic nights, and then the pact was formed. Both of them had gotten thoroughly sick and tired of living in the barracks and relying on mess hall food and, without any long-term significant others to pop the question to, they had decided to take matters into their own hands. When they both passed SAS selection, both setting new records, it had seemed like a sign.

The marriage pact had been Kyle’s idea, so Johnny had been the one to propose, if his half-slurred, half-asleep suggestion could even be called a proposal, but Gaz had readily agreed and the next morning, they had burst into Price’s office, demanding both his blessing and presence at the ceremony. His eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline and he had nearly choked to death on his cigar smoke, but he had agreed to both nonetheless.

That had been over three years ago.

In the three years since, as they climbed the ranks from Private to Corporal to Sergeant, the topic of their marriage hardly ever came up. They wore their respective rings, both made from recycled bullet casings, on their right hands instead of their left, and they never mentioned it to anyone. If anyone wondered how they had gotten permission to live off base or why they commuted to work more often than not, no one ever thought to ask them, and they never volunteered any answers. They shared their house like roommates, respecting both each other’s privacy and dating lives, which were few and far between. Dating in the military was hard enough without being Spec Ops, so any relationship either of them ever had never lasted long enough for their fake marriage to ever be remotely close to an issue.

And then the 141 was formed.

It was a dream come true for both of them. They had both already been SAS under Price’s command, but the specialization of the task force brought a certain job security that ensured their continued cohabitation. The SAS’s base of operations was in Herefordshire, so that’s where Soap and Gaz had bought their house, but there had always been the threat of relocation to any of the other British Army bases across the world, and there was no guarantee that they would have been transferred together. The 141, however, was a cohesive unit, a permanent placement. Wherever one went, the rest were sure to follow.

The task force also brought Ghost.

At first, Johnny hadn’t given Ghost much thought, especially where his fake marriage was concerned. Ghost didn’t seem the type to concern himself overmuch with the personal details of his teammates, up to and including their sexual orientations, living situations, or marital statuses. He himself lived off base, courtesy of being a commissioned officer rather than enlisted, and never seemed to devote a first thought, much less a second one, to Soap and Gaz’s own off-base housing. More often than not, they were in the field anyway, which limited nearly every avenue of personal conversation and, after nearly four years of their marriage being little more than a technical detail on a form somewhere, both Soap and Gaz often forgot that they were even married in the first place.

So Soap didn’t think much of it when he started flirting with Ghost over the comms. Ghost was a scary son of a bitch, but that had always been his type, and he couldn’t deny that the mask did something for him. Hell, everything about Ghost did something for him. It had started as banter, really, but Soap loved to toe the line, and it was a slippery slope that he was all too eager to throw himself down. What was truly shocking was Ghost’s own willingness to play along. And then the flirting turned into… more. Turned into casual physical touch that Ghost would’ve slit anyone else’s throat for even thinking about initiating, turned into whispered promises in the backs of helos before missions, turned into kisses pressed into gloved knuckles and masked cheeks.

And suddenly, Soap realized that his marriage might be an issue.

His relationship with Ghost, while technically undefined, was by far the most serious and potentially long-lasting relationship he’d had since signing his marriage license. Most of the people he had dated over the years hadn’t been military and had quickly grown tired of the inconsistency, the missed birthdays and anniversaries, the lack of communication while he’d been on mission, and the lack of leave time in general. But not Ghost, because Ghost got it. Half of the time, Ghost was right there in the field with him. There wasn’t any inconsistency with them, no lack of leave time to grumble over, no shortage of communication between them, both in person and over comms. Their relationship worked for exactly the same reasons why his and Gaz’s non-relationship had worked for so long: they both understood.

And suddenly, Soap realized that, after four years of hiding a marriage to his best friend in the world from quite literally everyone he knew, he’d have to fess up. Not only that, he’d have to file for divorce, which was something that neither he nor Gaz had taken into consideration when they had signed their names in the Register Office all those years ago.

It all came to a head when Johnny got injured in the field. Nothing major, just a few broken bones and a hell of a concussion, but he had woken up to Gaz and Ghost sitting on either side of his hospital bed, Gaz’s clear contrition only matched by Ghost’s clear confusion. The first question out his mouth was why Gaz was listed as Soap’s next of kin and emergency contact, which snowballed into a full confession, corroborated by Price when he stuck his head in to check on Soap a few minutes later.

Ghost, after recovering from his initial shock, found the entire situation hilarious and, months later, after both the divorce papers and the new notice of marriage had gone through, took delight in calling himself Johnny’s second husband, which never failed to make any rookie caught eying the sergeant shake in their boots at the thought of what someone like Ghost did to Johnny’s first husband. Soap and Gaz still wore their rings, because they had always been more like friendship bracelets than anything else, and Johnny’s left ring finger was quickly occupied by a silver ring made from one of Simon’s ID Discs.

Gaz was disappointed about having to move back into on-base housing, but it didn’t last long because Price had been waiting for four years for his sergeants to figure their shit out and file for divorce so that he could make his move and he wasn’t about a waste a single second. And if anyone accused them of moving too quickly, well… they were all military men, after all.

#call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #john price #fake relationship #gazprice #tombstone's ficlets #might write a full fic about this but I doubt it #the idea just got stuck in my head and I had to release it #tombstone's epitaphs

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tlou-reid · 10 months

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Cheese Danishes ❤︎ Aaron Hotchner

♡ SUMMARY: aaron is struggling to navigate his feelings, and his fears, as his relationship with his younger graduate student neighbor progress

♡ WARNINGS: smut (piv) mdni, oral (fem recieving), fingering, fluff, angst mentions of criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and george foyet, age gap (mid 20s/mid 40s)

♡ NOTE: the timeline on this is wonky when compared to the show. in my head, aaron and jack did go into witness protection and left for a while, but once foyet was caught aaron returned as unit chief to the BAU. so the team is made up of the people in the later seasons, including prentiss, but aaron is still in charge.

Part one

—♡

Aaron pulled your body tighter against him amidst the start of the season’s first snowfall. “Thank you,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. It wasn’t very often he allowed himself to stay after you two had been intimate, only after he had been away for a rough case. You basked in the attention every time.

As much as you wanted more, your relationship with Aaron has been primarily physical. You could count on one hand the amount of times you two had a connection outside of sex. It wasn’t necessarily his ideal either, but life gets in the way when you’re pulled away to attend to serial killers every week, in between spending time with your son.

You two lay together for a while, not saying anything. This was the time you used to pretend things had turned out the way you wanted them to. Of course, you lusted over him when you first met. Something about having a sexy, older neighbor fulfilled a fantasy you didn’t know you had. But, over the months you got to spend with him, both before and after your drunken declaration of interest, your feelings for him had evolved.

You’d learned how much more he was than his stoic exterior. He was gentle, like the way his calloused hands caressed your hips as he pulled you into his lap while you made out. He was funny, constantly teasing you for your abnormal habits. He was kind, making sure you were safe and sound before he retreated to his home.

But, most of all, he was distant. Physically distant a good portion of the time, being needed in different parts of the country at any given time. Mostly, he was emotionally distant. It was as if something was tormenting him most of the time, keeping him from truly giving himself to you. Even when he was buried deep inside you, it was as if there was a gap between you, preventing any real connections.

He gave you an even tighter squeeze, warning you he would be leaving soon without using words. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your body tensed back up when he did this, knowing how empty the house would feel in just a few minutes. He let out a familiar sigh, before pressing one more kiss to your forehead. “I should probably head back,” he spoke his usual phrase into the darkness of your bedroom. You nodded against his chest before pulling yourself away from him, allowing him to get up.

He noticed the way you pulled your comforter closer, trying the replace the warmth he had been providing. Aaron’s heart broke, wanting to crawl back next to you and hold you close for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life, if he could.

But, he couldn't. He knew that. If he allowed himself to be honest with you, to tell you all the ways he has fallen for you since you showed up on his doorstep with a container of desserts, he would ruin everything you had. Whether it be from him not being able to handle his own emotions, or something as terrifying as George Foyet, something would ruin the sparse nights he got to spend with you. He came with too much baggage, too many ways you could be hurt, to allow himself to have everything he wants.

So, he slips back on his pressed slacks and buttons up his white shirt. He moves quietly, trying to convince himself you are falling asleep, not worrying about what he is doing. Your soft voice ruins this, “Let me know when you get home,” you say, as you do every night he’s here. He lets out a sound of agreement, even though he knows he won’t do it.

The room falls quiet again as Aaron tries to find his suit jacket. He uses his phone flashlight and sees the arm sticking out from beneath your bed. He quickly bends over to grab it, hoping you don’t hear the way his hips creak as he lowers himself. Throwing his jacket over his arm, he finally makes his way to the door. He’s one step through it when you speak again, “Aaron?”

“Yes?” he replies quietly, ignoring how timid your voice sounds. “Maybe we could get lunch or something soon?” Your heart beats against your chest, reverberating in your temples as you ask. It doesn’t make sense. You have no problem letting him know when you’re soaking through your panties because of the lewd photo he sent you, but you’re on the verge of a panic attack as you ask if he’d like to have a meal with you.

“Yeah,” he nods, actually meaning it. He would love to have lunch or something with you. Of course, no one knows if it will ever actually happen. “Cool,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll text you.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he closes your bedroom door, making his way back to his house. Your body shivers with both chill and loneliness when you hear your front door close.

Aaron’s shoulders were slumped as he made the trek across the street. He threw his jacket over his shoulders, but not putting his arms through the sleeves, to try and protect him from the cold. This year’s winter had come in full swing this week, with the first snowfall happening tonight. He couldn’t make out where the little hand on his watch was, but he knew it was some time after midnight.

He was carrying a lot of guilt and he had no one to share it with. He couldn’t tell you because the repercussions could result in you losing your life, the same way Haley did. He couldn’t tell the team because they didn’t know about you. And that was all of the adult people in his life, pretty much.

His key turned in the door and he let out a sigh. He’d forgotten to turn his heat on when he left for the last case, so it was freezing inside. He stopped in the hallway to change the thermostat, before making his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, letting it properly heat up before he began to remove his clothes.

The cold he was feeling was both literal and metaphorical. The chill air burned his skin, opposite from the way your warm touch soothed it.

Aaron felt like he was on autopilot as he cleaned himself, put on his warmest pajamas, and made his way to his bed. It felt bigger than it did before he left. He fell asleep pretty quickly, both from the strenuous case and the orgasm he had not that long ago.

The next morning, you were woken up by the sun casting through your window. You had forgotten to close the curtains last night. You reached for your phone, seeing two messages from Elise. ‘Meet us for brunch?’ and ‘Bring your old man ;)’. The “us” in question was her and her new girlfriend, Annie. They were a cute couple: they seemed like they were made for each other.

You texted back, asking about the time and place, choosing to ignore her second message. When you got up to get ready, you couldn’t help yourself from peeking to see if Aaron’s car was parked across the street. It wasn’t, so you pretended like you didn’t consider asking him to go to brunch.

“Alvez,” Aaron’s voice cut through the chatter in the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing, focusing on the glare on Aaron’s face as he continued, “Stop.” Luke had been teasing Spencer, making the entire team laugh. Luke didn’t answer, knowing it wasn’t worth messing with him anymore. The entire team had picked up on the attitude Aaron had been carrying around lately. There was no more room for teasing in the BAU, as he always seemed angry nowadays.

As the team finished debriefing their last case, Emily lingered inside the meeting room. “Hey, Hotch?” She questioned, usually being the advocate for the team. Aaron didn’t answer but shifted his attention away from the files in front of him and to her. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“Just fine, Prentiss,” he lied, becoming embarrassed under her harsh stare. “Hotch,” she cut through the silence again, “we both know that’s not true.” As much as she was trying to be sympathetic, her prying was just pissing him off. “What is going on in my personal life is none of your concern.” He ended the conversation bluntly, not wanting her to pry anymore.

Like a dog who had just been scolded, Emily made her way out of the room. Hotch lingered for a little longer, hoping the team would disperse before he made his presence known again. He pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking over what Emily was saying to him. Something was wrong, but nobody could fix it. Nobody but you.

Your phone dinged from its spot beside you, and you tried to not let your professor see you reach for it. Sure, you were a grown woman who was allowed to be on your phone, but you didn’t want to seem rude by being distracted from his lesson. You set your pink pen on top of your notebook and lowered your phone into your lap. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you saw the message was from ‘Aaron <3’.

It had been about four days since he left your house and he had not texted since. You refused to text first, not wanting to appear desperate. ‘Hello, I am dropping Jack off at a friend’s at 6:30. Could I come over after? I can order us dinner.’ You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. You quickly typed out a reply, ‘My class ends at 5 and I have to stop by Elise’s to pick something up. Meet at my house at 7?’. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

Your leg excitedly bounced throughout the class, willing the clock to move faster. Your notes were messy due to your brain moving faster than your hand could go. When the professor finally wrapped things up and asked for any final questions, you shoved things into your bookbag, knowing you’d regret it the next time you needed something from it. You were the first one out the door.

You tried not to speed as you drove to Elise’s. You were picking up a new dog bed that Anna was getting rid of. Your dog, Jackson, would love it. You left yourself in her house, yelling out to let her know you had arrived.

You had not been completely honest with Elise. You had told her your relationship status with Aaron was complicated, which was half-true. It was very complicated, but also very non-existent. You rushed through your interaction with her and Anna, ignoring the joke she cracked about you having a hot date.

You arrived home close to 6:45 and immediately made your way to your closet to throw on something nicer than the leggings and sweatshirt you wore to class. You used the extra time to clean up around the house.

Aaron knocked on the door at 7:00 on the dot, making you giggle at his punctuality. “Hello,” you smiled at him as you opened the door. He said his greeting and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You could feel your face warm up at his actions. When he came in, you two settled on the couch, catching up on the things you had missed in each other’s lives.

“Is that new?” Aaron asked, putting at the large dog bed Jackson was resting on. Your heart swooned at him noticing such a small detail. “Yeah! Elise’s girlfriend, Anna, was getting rid of it. She fosters dogs most of the time but she had to stop after the last one got adopted because her dad moved in with her. He’s sick, so she spends a lot of time taking care of him.” Aaron nods in understanding, “You spoil him, huh?” You giggled at his answer, knowing most of your paychecks went to funding Jackson’s expensive lifestyle.

It didn’t take long for you to wind up in his lap, his hands gripping your ass. He was holding you close, pressing his tongue into your mouth. Aaron had a lot of skills, and kissing was probably one of his best. When you pulled away to breathe, he made quick work of moving his lips to your neck, sucking on the tender spot beneath your ear. You let out a gentle moan, moving your hands from around his neck to tug on his hair.

Your moment was interrupted when your stomach grumbled, surprising Aaron. He pulled away, looking up at you with wide eyes and puffy lips. You giggled out an, “I’m sorry.” Aaron soon joined you in your laughter. “You said we’d order food! I haven’t eaten since breakfast!” You smiled, enjoying this sweet moment with him.

He tapped your side, signaling you to get off of his lap. He reached for his phone, “What do you want to eat?” You two scrolled through your options, settling on a local pizza place. Your stomach grumbled again after he placed the order.

It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive, and you two watched silly YouTube videos while you waited. The evening was filled with giggles and greasy pizza. It was everything you wanted with Aaron.

Once your bellies were both full and the paper plates had been thrown away, you two resumed your position on the couch. You were back in his lap and his lips were back on your neck. His hands were tight against your hips as you rocked against his cock, which was growing hard underneath you. The room was filled with languid sighs and deep moans as you made out.

His hands slid up your sides, moving to pull your shirt off. You separated for just a second, just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. Once it was thrown by the brand new dog bed, Aaron’s large hand was reaching up to cup your bra, quickly aggravated by the material blocking your skin. His hands moved to unclasp it, not letting his lips leave yours. The bra joined the shirt, and Aaron brought one of your nipples into his mouth.

The rough skin of his right hand felt like heaven on your right breast, eliciting moans of his name to fall from your lips. He was leaving deep, purple marks around across your tits, fueled by the sounds you were making. The light tugs of his hair had him painfully hard in his dress pants.

You pulled away to look him in the eye, “Bedroom?” Aaron shook his head no, lifting your body to lay flat on the couch. “Wanna take you right here,” he rushed through. Stoic, well-spoken Aaron Hotchner was reduced to slang like “wanna” in these moments with you.

From his spot between your legs, he kissed down between your chest, down your stomach, to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, asking for permission to take them off. You nodded and your pants quickly joined your ever-growing pile of clothes. “Aaron?” He let out a ‘hmm’, entranced by the wet spot in your panties. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” This broke him out of his spell and he stripped himself down to his boxers.

His hands made their way under your thighs and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your clothed sex. “Take ‘em off?” You nodded at his words, lifting your hips so he could pull them off. As soon as your panties were off, he licked a long strip up your slit.

You let out a moan as he began to bury himself into your pussy. His tongue delved into your hole and his nose nudged your clit. Your hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer. You weren’t sure if he could breathe with how he was pressed into your pussy, your juices spreading all over his chin. Once your grip on his hair relaxed a bit, he pulled his face away. As he slid two of his thick fingers into your hole, he said, “Taste so good, honey.”

As soon as he finished his sentence, he moved down to use his tongue to draw little figure eights along your clit. You let out a loud moan, “Aaron, ‘m gonna,” you cut yourself off with another moan, “gonna cum.” Your thighs held him in his spot as you reached your high. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t move from his spot as you came on his fingers.

His fingers didn’t stop as he rode you through your orgasm. Once your thighs relaxed, he brought himself up to you. You could see the way your juices glistened on his chin as moved himself to kiss you, then you could taste them on his lips.

“Taste yourself?” He asked. You felt your pussy clench at his filthy words and gave him a shy nod. He smiled, before resting his head in the crook of your neck, pressing more kisses into it. Your arms came to wrap around him, holding his bare chest against yours. You two stayed like that for a little bit, basking in each other’s aura.

“Gonna fuck you now,” He informed, lifting his body a little. He looked you in your eyes, making sure you were still okay with it. You nodded, reaching down to align his dick with your entrance. He kept his eyes on you as he pushed in, noticing the way your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out.

Aaron’s cock wasn’t too long, but the thickness of it left a satisfying burn inside you. Aaron wasn’t one for an intense sex life. He was mostly content with missionary, enjoying the closeness and eye contact that came with it. You’d begun to get him out of his shell, testing things like riding him and doggy style throughout your three months hooking up.

His thrusts were deep and slow, drawing out the delightful burn in your pussy. After your previous orgasm, the stretch of his thick cock was almost enough to send you over the edge again. Everything about him was intentional, especially the way he held your legs so he could angle himself to hit the spot inside you that made your toes curl.

“Faster,” you moaned out, needing more. “You take what I give you,” he demanded, letting his rare dominant side come out. He knew you liked that by the way you clenched around his cock, squeezing him just right. It only took a few more strokes for him to start increasing his speed, never wanting to displease you.

He was chasing his own high, bottoming out with every deep thrust. You could feel the way you were leaving a ring of your arousal at the base of his dick. “Aaron,” you sighed out, trying to let him know you were about to cum again. While you couldn’t get the words out, he could tell by the way your muscles were beginning to tense up and you were letting out higher-pitched moans.

The way you clenched his dick had his orgasm following close behind your own, allowing him to ride you through your high. He let out a deep sigh as he came down, burying himself back in the crook of your neck. He placed gentle kisses along your neck as your hand drew loving circles along his shoulder.

You willed him to keep his head buried in your neck so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes began to fill with tears. It’s not that you were sad, or even disappointed. There was a deep longing feeling in your chest. In your heart, you knew this was where you wanted to be, but, in your brain, you knew it wouldn’t last.

Aaron let himself lay there with you for a while. He didn’t move as his dick softened inside of you and as your loving caress left goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill in the room, he was comfortable.

A few moments pass before he pushes himself off of you, making his way to the bathroom to clean up. When he reappears in the living, he asks “Do you want to take a shower?” You eagerly accept his offer, getting up to guide him to your master bathroom. He smiles behind you as you turn on the water.

You’re very surprised at his actions but scared that if you mention how different he’s acting, he’ll stop. He usually doesn’t stay to clean up with you, besides retreating to the bathroom. You both step into the shower, muscles relaxed by the hot water. Aaron flinches away from it. “Too hot?” You ask, forgetting that not everyone takes scalding hot showers.

“I’ll get used to it,” he compromises. It’s a tight fit, but you both make do. He’s the first one to reach for the wash rag. Soaping it up with your lavender-scented body wash and bringing it to your shoulders. He allows himself to enjoy washing you, taking time to massage and caress your skin. He moves gently and lovingly, as if he would break you if he pushed too hard.

Despite the amount of times you had sex, this shower was the most intimate thing you and Aaron had ever done. It would’ve been easy to convince yourself that you two were a couple, one that is deeply in love and would never hurt each other. However, you could never do that because of the gnawing knowledge of his future departure. You weren’t a couple and he would be retreating to his home any minute now.

Aaron let you stay under the warm water as he washed himself, both of you opting to not worry about washing your hair tonight. You stepped out first, grabbing a towel off of the rack attached to the shower. You wrapped it around yourself, moving to get Aaron one from your towel closet. He enjoyed the warmth of the shower while you were gone. Once you appeared in the steamy bathroom, he turned off the water and wrapped himself in the towel you handed him.

It was quiet for a moment, both of you just enjoying the presence of each other. Aaron was rubbing the towel, trying to dry his hair when he spoke up, “I don’t believe I have any clothes here. Do you have any you think could fit me?” You were gobsmacked at his words. Luckily, you weren’t facing him, so he didn’t see the way your mouth dropped in surprise. You quickly turned around to face him, “Are you staying the night?”

“Is that okay?” He sounded awkward, not really knowing what to do. Sure, he’d left every other time, but he thought it would be okay since you spend so much time together anyway. He was trying to be better than he was before, trying to overcome the fears that had been keeping him from truly being with you. “Of course it is!” Your voice was excitable again, almost as lively as it was the day he met you. “I think I have some sweatpants, I can look.”

Your heart was pounding as you left the bathroom to dig through your dresser, seeing if there was anything you wouldn’t mind Aaron keeping. He followed behind you, settling on the edge of the bed. He was distracted as you looked, admiring you in just a fluffy towel. He wished he saw this side of you more often.

Once you found an old, gray pair at the bottom of your third drawer, you tossed them at him. You got dressed and he slipped them on, choosing to forgo underwear rather than put on the precum-stained ones from earlier. “What do we do now?” You asked sweetly, not really knowing how to go about this sleepover, but excited to have it nonetheless.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” He suggested, subtly pointing at the TV hung on your wall. “Sure! What kind of movies do you like?” You asked him as you moved to sit criss-cross on your bed. He chuckled at your cute demeanor, “Me and Jack tend to watch action or comedy, but I love a good romcom now and then.” This sent you into a fit of giggles, picturing Aaron curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and ‘When Harry Met Sally’ being the only thing illuminating his face in the dark room.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” He said with a fond smile on his face. He laid down, leaving space for you to curl yourself against his side, tucked right into his armpit. You felt like you belonged there. “I just didn’t realize you were such a softie,” You said with a few more giggles. He shifted his head down to look at you the best he could, “I can be.”

You two settled on ‘Do Revenge’, playing into Aaron’s apparent love of chick-flicks. You two got comfortable under the covers. About halfway through, Aaron heard your gentle snores filling the room. He reached across you to grab the remote and turn off the TV. He reached back over you to put the remote on your nightstand, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he settled himself down, falling quickly into a deep slumber.

The next morning, you woke up to an unfamiliarly cold room. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, looking at the messed up bed. Your gaze followed the blanket that had been thrown around to an empty bed.

Your eyebrows crinkled in confusion, remembering that Aaron had spent the night. A part of you hoped when you got up, he’d be making breakfast for you like the husbands always did in the cheesy romcoms you two talked about last night. The other part of you knew he had left.

To confirm your suspicions, you made your way to the living room, trying to ignore the steadily increasing beat of your heart. You made your way to Jackson, who was asleep in his brand-new bed. You sat next to him, tears filling your eyes. His clothes were gone. Even the stupid sweatpants you let him borrow. Jackson snuggled closer to you, almost providing the warmth Aaron took with him when he left.

You let yourself lay there for a while, dwelling on the hurt in your heart. It wasn’t as if this was unexpected, but he could’ve had the decency to not lie to you. You explicitly asked him if he was staying the night and he said he was. How could he just leave? As if your time last night didn’t mean anything? As if any of the nights you two spent together didn’t mean anything?

You were forced to get up when you heard your phone alarm going off in your bedroom, indicating it was time for you to get ready for work. You had a busy day ahead of you that would consist of work and catching up on homework. You didn’t have time to worry about a man who wasn’t worrying about you.

You felt numb throughout your whole shift. You ignored Elise’s texts asking you to go out tomorrow, considering you hadn’t had a Friday night out in a while. You ignored pretty much everything, burying yourself in your tasks. You were on autopilot as you drove home. You quickly took care of Jackson, taking him on a brief walk and feeding him. You went out your back door and followed it until you knew you couldn’t see Aaron’s house. You didn’t want to think about him, and you definitely didn’t want him to see how sad you were.

You did homework for the rest of the night, ignoring the world around you. You didn’t turn on the TV or look at your phone once. You took another scorching shower, basking in the burn it left on your skin.

You went on like this for another day. It wasn’t until you returned home from work late on Friday night that you had to come face-to-face with your feelings.

It was actually your choice. No one forced you to slam your car door as soon as you saw Aaron get out of his in his own driveway. No one forced you to stomp your way across the street. No one forced you to yell his name.

No, you were solely guided by your own anger, your own sadness, to approach him. You didn’t know who was around, and you didn’t really care as you started yelling at him. “Fuck you,” You spit out first, “You said you were staying. I wanted you to stay. But you fucking left. I was going to make you breakfast, you know that? The best fucking baker around was going to make you breakfast. But you left. Without saying goodbye.”

You didn’t normally cuss, or yell, really. The anger you felt became too much and you were talking before you could really think about what you were saying. Your eyes started to fill with tears. “Y/N,” he interrupts. He wasn’t yelling at you, more raising his voice so you’d let him talk. “I didn’t want to leave you.” He confesses, a guilty look spread across his face.

You’re instantly quieter and the tears start falling as you speak. “You didn’t?” You quietly question. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to scream and cry and cuss at him so he could feel just a little bit of the hurt you felt when you woke up yesterday morning. But that wasn’t in your nature. You were good and kind and sweet, not mean and nasty.

“No, honey, of course not,” He speaks softly, taking a few more steps towards you. You let him rest a gentle hand on your shoulder as he continues, “I got a call from Jack’s friend’s mother. They had snuck out and gone skateboarding. Jack fell on his arm and they were on their way to the emergency room. I had to meet him there.”

Guilt started to fill your chest as you listened to his explanation. “Aaron, I’m so sorry,” You breathed out as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he spoke, “There’s no need to be. I should’ve called you but I got distracted with work.” You nodded against his chest. He held you as you calmed down, letting your tears subside. “I’ve got to run, we’re leaving for a case and I forgot my go-bag,” You nod at his words, “Be safe, please.”

“Of course,” He said as he started taking a few steps backward. He turned around and made his way to his door. His hand was reaching out for the knob when you called his name. “What are we?” You asked the dreaded question that had been weighing on your chest. It seemed childish, but there was no other way to phrase it. You hoped he wanted to be in a relationship. You hoped he wanted you the same way you wanted him.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” He said as he made his way back to you. “I owe you a conversation, that’s for sure.” You nod at his words, “When can we have it?” You asked, knowing he needed to leave for work. “I’ll text you as soon as we wrap up the case.” You nod again as he makes his way back to his front door.

He’s the one who turns around this time, calling out your name. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “For everything that happened before. I’m going to make it right as soon as I get home.” You give him a soft smile and a gentle nod before turning around to make your way home.

It takes a full week for the team to wrap up the case. Reid and JJ ask if they can spend the night in Phoenix, not wanting to be on the jet at three in the morning. However, Aaron vetoes this immediately, knowing he needs to be home as quickly as possible to talk to you.

He texts you while Luke drives the SUV, letting you know he will be boarding shortly and to expect him to be over sometime in the morning tomorrow. You’re fast asleep and do not reply, but Aaron knows you’ll see it in the morning.

And you do. You check your phone first thing in the morning. Usually, your Saturdays are spent catching up on missed homework throughout the week, but today you immediately made your way to the kitchen. When you are stressed, this is where you usually find yourself. You threw on the “kiss the cook” apron Elise had given you a few Christmases ago, pulling up the recipe for raspberry cheese danishes you had seen online the other day.

You had just put them in the oven when you heard the knocks on your door. Aaron had gotten just a few hours of sleep before he made his way to your house. His heart was beating in his chest as he waited for you to open the door.

All of his nerves quickly dissipated as he saw you in your apron. He smiled at it, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in for a kiss before either of you could even say hello. You giggled when he let you go, opening the door wider so he could come in. You were glad he greeted you the way he did. It took away some of the awkwardness that was looming over you due to the conversation topic.

“It smells phenomenal in here,” he complimented as he made his way to the dining room table. He sat down at the of the table and you settled into the seat on his left. “I’m sorry I had to run the other day, duty calls.” You nodded in understanding at his words. “Did you think about my question?” You asked timidly, wanting to get the conversation started so it could be over sooner.

“I did,” he said with a thoughtful nod, “I’m not quite sure how I would define us if I’m being honest.” His answer left you speechless. Not in a bad way, and certainly not in a good way, but in a way that signaled that you didn’t know how to reply. “I mean, I don’t know how I would define us back then.” He continues on.

For the first time since he kissed you when you opened the door, he made eye contact with you. “I would like to define us as a couple now if that is alright with you.” He didn’t miss the smile that quickly spread across your face and the way you started to twiddle your fingers. “Aaron Hotchner,” You let out an overdramatic gasp, “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Aaron laughed at your theatrics, “Yes, I am.” You immediately threw yourself in his lap, pressing a kiss to his blushed cheek. “I would love to!” He could feel you smile against his face as you threw your arms around his neck. He let you love on him for a little bit before you made your way back to your seat. “I think there are a few things I have to tell you first, though,” Aaron informed again and you noticed the way his body tensed up. You didn’t say anything, creating a safe space for him to get anything he needed off of his chest.

“Ever since the day I barged in after you left me that voice message, this is what I wanted. I wanted to kiss you when you greeted me at the door. I wanted to watch cheesy films with you. I still really want all of that,” He let out a deep breath, “but I come with a lot, Y/N. Even just being with me puts you in danger. My last relationship ended due to my job, and I lost her. My wife, she, uh,” His eyes began to well up with tears.

You reached your hand out to hold his, understanding what he was trying to tell you. His wife, Jack’s mom, had died because of something related to his job. You weren’t going to force him to continue if it was this painful for him to talk about. “I understand,” You spoke gently, not wanting to upset him more, “And I’m okay with that risk.”

Aaron nodded at your words, not really knowing if you meant them. You did. Even if you wouldn’t admit it quite yet, you were in love with Aaron. You understood his job was scary and he dealt with a lot of evil in his line of work, but not even that could keep you from wanting a relationship with him.

“And, there will be times when I’m not around. My job, it is very demanding and very important to me, and to the world, I think. When they need me, I have to go.” You knew this part, he was away a lot. That’s why you had spent so much time texting before he was aware of the crush you had on him. However, before you could respond, the oven dinged, telling you it was time to take out the danishes.

Without thinking about it, you jumped up from the table, exclaiming, “My danishes are done!” Aaron laughed at this, following you with his eyes as you made your way to the oven, pulling out the desserts and sitting them on the counter to cool. You were looking over them are you spoke, “I know that, Aaron. I’m a busy bee, too. I think I’ll be okay when you’re away.”

“These look this delicious,” he complimented, reaching for one. You quickly swatted his hand away, “They need to cool!” He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. “What are they?” He asked, not moving his face from the crook of your neck. “Raspberry cheese danishes! It’s a new recipe.” You could feel yourself getting giddy at the thought of Aaron Hotchner, your boyfriend, and personal taste-tester.

“Well, they look and smell amazing. You’ll have to make some for the BAU holiday party.” He said, very casually. You froze in your spot as he unwrapped from your figure. “You want me to go?” You were surprised at his invitation. From getting to know him, you’d realized that the people in the BAU were some of the most important people in his whole life. “Of course,” he smiled, “Everyone brings their significant others.”

♡ TAGS: @himboelover @zaddyhotch @lcvdoll @h0t-as-h3ll @lamentis-10 @cherubswhispers

disclaimer: i will only tag accounts that have an age on their profile that indicates they are not a minor

#aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds drabble #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you

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ktsumu · 6 months

Text

retired apartment neighbour!john price who just misses protecting someone warnings: he's tampering with your stuff, implied home invasion, stalking

belatedly dedicated to @soumies who brainstormed this!!!

Your sink isn't working again.

Two months ago, it was a worn washer and something else the repair guy that your landlord sent told you. The last time, the drain wasn't up to fighting anymore.

This time? You don't know what the fuck it is.

Sometimes, you can fix it yourself— save some good money. Sometimes, something's obviously loose, because you remember that you tightened it well the time before. You make it right again and leave it, but then it just drips again. It makes you worry about the day you don't notice the sound and the wood starts to rot.

You've asked down the hallway a bit about whether their kitchens suck too, but they give you funny looks. You don't know why you've got the cursed unit, but it seems that everyone else is doing just fine.

Everyone but John, at least, because he worries about you.

John Price is half-neighbour, half-friend, half-stranger. That's too many halves, but he's big enough to fit them all.

The five months he's lived next to you, he's been nothing but kind. He's caring, funny when you're tired, helpful. You call him Price in passing, John when you need him for something; he answers dutifully to both.

(He's protective, too, frightens boys you bring back for yourself. You guess that nature came with the dog tags.)

He's kind, but you don't know him outside of when you need him, really. Neither of you seem to mind, though, since you're sure he's a busy man and he probably thinks you're too young to waste time on.

Now is one of those times that you need him.

The wrench in your cramping hand clatters against your kitchen floor, sweat beading at your hairline and under the neck of your shirt. It's the hottest night recorded in a decade and here you are; working on your fucked up sink instead of taking a cold shower.

Being too loud isn't a concern— your hallway is full of rabbits and your building manager lives below you; you hope he hears you groaning.

When you hear a knock, knowing who it's from, you start to care a little bit.

"Everything right?"

"I'm fine," you tell him, but it's wheezy. "Sorry for being loud."

Price simply opens your door, enters your home. It's barely ever locked when you're here, you aren't as careful as you used to be. Sometimes, if he's talking to you, he walks right in.

You never really say anything about it. You don't mean it as an invitation, but it comes out as one.

"It's that sink again?"

"How'd you know?"

Price is already in your space— looming over you, squatting to a kneel. One of his hands guides you away from the cabinet and you follow him without question.

He takes the wrench you gave up on. "S'always the sink with you, kid."

You see glimpses of history in Price. Like how he slides himself under your sink even though it's small, almost silent. Like how he grips your rusty wrench like a knife, backhanded, thumb closed over the handle's end.

His skin is covered in sweat, too, dewy under your kitchen light. It beads by his beard.

There's an ugly grind of metal versus metal, something tightening or being forced back into place. Price drops his thick arms again, lifting himself out from under your counter, and he hands you your tool back.

"How did you," you trail, "how did you know—?"

"Knew where to look, love." He laughs quickly when your face is blank. Price is taller than you remember when he stands, leaning on your kitchen island. "I've seen worse than some sink pipes, yeah?"

Of course he has.

It's why you mostly get him to fix things up in your place. Always knows what's wrong with your stupid apartment.

"Yeah, sorry."

Price doesn't leave when he helps you, either.

He waits, eyes trained on you when you get around your kitchen, getting the water jug and your tray of half-frozen ice cubes, asking if he wants some water. You think most people would kindly refuse, but Price always sticks around.

This time, though, he seems like he's gotten his fill, eyes lidded as he waves a hand when you go for the fridge. "M'good, love. Just call me when it goes again."

Your kitchen is uneasy. You know it isn't him, and it's probably you and the stress from the fact you can't sleep in the heat. The AC sounds like it's fighting in your window.

"How do you know it's gonna break again?" you ask. You know it sounds dumb, because you know your whole unit is a bit of garbage, but he's quiet. "Didn't you fix it well?"

John isn't looking at your eyes, he's looking at where your arms are crossed over your chest, hiding the sweat under your arms and collar. He's looking at your bare legs.

"I did," he assures you, always. "It's just a bad sink, lovie."

Just a bad sink, s'all it is.

"Yeah, it is, huh?" you ask, breathing a laugh at the stupidity of it all. At this rate, he'll be coming in to help you until you move out.

He steps toward you again, resting a heavy hand on the small of your back. You don't realize, don't even notice the fact he's nearly guided you out of your apartment until you're at the door.

Are you seeing him out, or is he seeing you?

John feels intimate when he's this close— head tilted, brows slightly raised, thumb tapping on your spine.

"Call me next time, alright?" he tells you, like you'd imagine he'd coo at a rescue. "I'm always around.”

You just nod. Something is pushing you closer and something is pushing him out.

"I will, promise."

"Have a good one then, kid. Take it easy tonight.”

"Thanks, John. I really, really appreciate you helping."

"Just what neighbours do, aye?"

He waits by the door as you close it, watching your smile just as you watch his, warm like a fire. Something makes your hand rest on the lock.

(You know you shouldn't need to, but you kneel in front of your sink when he leaves, knees pressed against the cold floor.)

Something itches in your stomach, not intuition but not ease either, nipping at the back of your brain. You almost feel stupid, using your phone flashlight to feel around the pipe that's never right, looking for something to tell you that you aren't acting crazy for doing this.

There's something you remember seeing earlier, right? Something obvious that you checked to see if it was the issue, or something you replaced last time, or something you paid for.

Your fingers feel nothing where there should be something— a piece is definitely gone, a washer or a nut, maybe old putty you remember cringing at.

It could be lost under the lip of the cabinets, maybe. Maybe that's where it is. It isn't him, surely. He wouldn't do that. There's nothing for him to do that for.

John Price has does done nothing but be kind to you— who are you to blame him for anything?

A missing handful of little metal pieces is dropped into a duffel, out of his fisted hand. It clatters against the rest of them.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #price x reader #task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #tw stalking #tw obsessive behavior #kit writes #neighbour!price #cod

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seokgyuu · 10 months

Text

part of the @svthub 70's collab

Lee Seokmin is a very successful and admired Detective in the NYPD. Up until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. But when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of New York City and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile Serial Killers, which contains none other than you - Seokmin’s High School Sweetheart.

Pairing: Detective!Seokmin x FBI Agent!Reader

Genre: Criminal Minds/Detective AU, exes to enemies to lovers, Serial Killer AU, angst, Smut (MDNI!)

Warnings: Serial Killer theme, description of violence, description of dead bodies, cult themes, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide, character death (none of the main characters); smut warnings: fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, usage of the word “baby”, begging, reader has female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie

Wordcount: 15.8k

a/n: I finally made it!! after months and months of writer's block I finally finished this fic, and I am actually really happy with it. Please mind the warnings, as this goes into darker themes. I also want to note, that I am no expert in terms of criminal language especially during the 70s in the us. So, if you spot anything that isn't all that accurate, i apologize! I also want to thank @multi-kpop-fanfics, @bitchlessdino & @strawberryya for reading through this and telling me i, in fact, do not suck at writing lmao. ily guys!!

taglist: @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, @wongyuseokie

Lee Seokmin was a proud man. Proud of his grades in school and university. Proud of the man his parents had shaped him into. Proud of all the cases he had solved as a detective. With pride comes vulnerability, though. Especially in cases like these when he doesn’t have the right to be proud of himself. When he feels lost and helpless and his superiors look at him as if he had never solved a single case in his career.

He knows. He knows he isn’t giving them or the people of New York City anything to go by. All he can do is say he needs more time. Time that no one has.

“More people will die, Lee.”

Seokmin hates Jeffrey Stolper. Hates him like fire burns. There is nothing he can do about it. Balling his fist under the table, Seokmin slowly raises his head. There is a certain emotion in Stolper’s eyes, an emotion Seokmin was happy to say he hadn’t seen many times before. His older colleague was gloating. While they were working together, their boss put Seokmin in charge because of the very obvious numbers differentiating them. Seokmin solved cases. Stolper left them cold. Seokmin couldn’t count the amount of times he had helped Jeffrey from drowning in his own misery, and this was the thanks he got. The older man was gloating because, for the first time in practically ever, Seokmin was lost.

“Thanks, Stolper, couldn’t figure that one out myself,” he mumbled, letting his free hand roam over his sweaty face. Scoffing, the older male with the slowly graying hair leans back in his chair.

“Not the hot shot everyone says you are, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, this is not the time.” Seokmin’s voice is quiet but sharp, and Jeffrey laughs, his chest heaving as he seems to be vibrating with the horrendous sound of his arrogant laugh. It takes everything inside Seokmin not to get up from his chair and punch the hell out of the man.

“Lee, Stolper.”

Both of them get up when their superior walks in, a big man with a receding hairline, a stubble on his strong face, and an old suit on his large frame. Frederic Bream isn’t much of an empath, but he does a good job.

“Captain.” Seokmin and Stolper speak at the same time, watching as the captain nods and then waves his hand, telling them to sit back down. Once all of them are seated, he clears his throat.

“I know you hate to admit it, Lee, but we have no leads on this. No leads and a new victim.”

Seokmin’s heart falls down to his feet. Fuck. Another dead girl? Who will it be this time? He feels sweat starting to form at the top of his head.

“Another one?” Stolper is serious and reaches for the case file Bream put on the table. Seokmin feels as if someone had dumped him in ice water, unable to move, shivering. He hates the fact that Bream is right - there are no leads. So far they haven’t gathered anything from what this monster does except that he always does it the same way.

“Lauren White, 23. Student at Columbia,” Stolper reads, his face in a grimace, “she was found near Times Square, too. Fuck, Lee, I told you to put more patrols out!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if we put every man we have on the streets, this city is huge, Stolper. He could just start moving them somewhere else.”

Stolper doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves the file over to Seokmin, who takes it with his jaw tensed.

“This is different from before, boys,” Bream clears his throat, “this is a high-profile murder. She is the daughter of the district judge.”

Seokmin looks up from the file.

“Why is this different from the other four victims? Because she has an important dad, suddenly the tables turn?”

Bream sighs, pulling a hand over his red face.

“It’s not fair, I know that, Lee. But this changes everything. The judge is furious. Was a real fucking asshole about it too, even for someone who just lost his daughter. He wants the slasher to be caught yesterday.”

“Oh, and we don’t? Captain, please, this is bullshit!” Seokmin scoffs, throwing the file back on the table and glaring at his superior, who looks straight back at him.

“I know. We all know Seokmin. It’s a bad situation. But, some might say, it did bring something good.”

“And what’s that?” Stolper speaks up, crossing his arms. Bream clicks his tongue.

“We got sent help. From the FBI.”

Silence is what follows. Seokmin feels the ice inside his veins melt and instead get replaced by fire. He knows Stolper feels the same. Everyone here feels the same. The fucking feds.

“They can’t take this from us. We’ve been on this for months,” Seokmin hisses, and Bream nods again, licking his dry lips.

“They won’t take it from us, Lee. They are only here to help. In fact, they aren’t… our usual feds.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin raises his brows, leaning forward, hands on top of the table.

“They are a completely new department. Focused on the behavior of criminals, analyzing them, trying to figure out what is wrong with them.”

“They are killing people. That’s what's wrong with them!” Stolper shouts, and Bream holds up his hand.

“I understand that you’re upset. God knows I am, too. But there is nothing I can do. Go talk to them. They just arrived.”

The ice is back, and this time it hits Seokmin right in the face. They are here already? Waiting for them? Embarrassment flows through his veins, mixed with an emotion he has never felt before regarding his job: failure. His legs are shaking as he gets up, but he tries to play it off, his body tensing when Bream leads them to the door and opens it.

The hallway to the main hall suddenly feels longer than it is. The walls are closing in on Seokmin, the gray concrete threatening to suffocate him as he walks over the horrendous blue tiles he never understood were placed in the first place. Nothing really seems to be matching in this precinct. Most especially Seokmin and the federal agents waiting for them downstairs. He doesn’t know how his legs lead him to the glass front that shows the inside of the busy station downstairs. Everything is the same gray color. Everything is the same horrible blue. The only difference is the people standing in the right corner of the room all gathered around the whiteboard Seokmin has so carefully put together these past few months.

His hands are sweating. This isn’t fair. This is his case. They aren’t supposed to be here and take credit for what he has done so far. What exactly have you done, Lee Seokmin? The voice in his head reminds him, and he balls his hands into fists as Bream opens the door leading to the stairs that will finally bring him to the federal agents he knows he’ll hate already.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. More tense than usual because everyone in it is unhappy with the current situation. As if it isn't hard enough that there is a killer on the loose, now there are FBI agents trying to take this away from the NYPD? This is his town, Seokmin’s town! No one knows it as well as him. He knows every corner, every store. Every good place to eat, every bar to avoid. The people know him; they trust him with this, and now he is just supposed to accept that he can’t continue what he started?

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, he does end up right behind all the agents and one of the other detectives, Jeanne, and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is bitter. His arms are crossed as he listens to Jeanne explaining what is on the board. She had been a part of this - just like all the other detectives had been whenever they could. It’s not like crime suddenly stopped in New York City just because a serial killer was roaming around. If anything, it just got worse.

“That’s about all we’ve gathered. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” Jeanne closes her explanation, and Seokmin watches the backs of the agent's head nodding. Bream then clears his throat, making the others aware that they have joined and once the team of strangers turns around, Seokmin thinks someone has yet again taken a bucket of ice and dumped it all over his head. Because why on earth are you here?

You see him the second he sees you. It’s almost funny how your professionalism slowly slips out of your control, how seeing him makes memories flood your brain and almost drowns you. Why is he here? He, who had left you with a sour taste seven years prior to this moment? Why is he standing there in a well-fitted suit, looking the best he ever had in a precinct that shouldn’t have anything pretty inside it?

“Detectives, may I introduce you to agents Son, Song, Kim, Seok and Y/L/N. They were sent here by the FBI to help us with the investigations.” Jeanne smiles, but Seokmin knows it’s not an honest smile. You see it, too. When you had gotten the memo to go to New York City and help with the slasher murders, you had already known the detectives wouldn’t be too happy to see you and your team.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m the team leader, Hyunwoo Son.” You hear your boss speak, and you want to look at him, but your eyes are back to being glued to Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. The one who had taken everything from you when you were nineteen.

“You too. I’m Detective Stolper. This is Detective Lee.” Bream doesn’t sound sincere. For once, Seokmin is relieved his older colleague likes to speak over him. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to say a word.

Catching a serial killer is one thing. Catching him with someone you share an uncomfortable history with, another. You are sitting as far from Seokmin as you possibly can. With as many people between you as there are.

Hyunwoo is standing at the front with Matthew, explaining what your team has gathered as of now. The rest of the precinct is listening to the presentation, and you just know they are all biting their tongues. No one wants you here. All of them think you’re a fraud. While you understand where they are coming from, you also think it’s time for them to accept the newly found ways to analyze the behavior of killers like the case at hand: the Manhattan Slasher. The air is thick with sweat, and you are sure 70% of it is yours.

“We want to make clear that the work your precinct and especially you, Detective Lee, have done so far is incredibly helpful. We don’t want to discredit what you’ve done and we also don’t want to make you feel as if you’re getting kicked off the case. We aren’t your usual federal agents, Detectives, we are here to be of support to you. You still go outside and look at the crime scenes. You still get to do your work. We are here to assist, to see things we have been trained to see, things you cannot see, not for lack of smarts but lack of training.”

You had always admired Hyunwoo. How he spoke so clearly and calmly, how he never failed to make a person feel seen. You can feel the atmosphere shift. Some of the police officers visibly relaxing in their seats. You still don’t dare to look at Seokmin.

“Now, to what we have gathered. Dr. Matthew Seok will lead you through it.”

Seokmin wonders how old Matthew Seok is. He can’t be any older than 23. How on earth is he already a part of one of the newest FBI departments? And gets to be in charge of the presentation? And how does he already have a god damn PhD?

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Matthew Seok. With the help of the information you’ve gathered, we were able to come up with a profile for our unsub.”

Seokmin feels a scoff in his throat but manages to hold it back. A profile? What is he talking about?

“We are positive the unsub is a white man in his early to late 30s. He most probably grew up with an abusive mother, which explains why he only picks women as his victims. He doesn’t care about their race or social standing, which tells us he doesn’t hate one specific type of woman, but all of them. The age range of his victims is from early to mid twenties, meaning his mother had him young and gave him up around that time.”

You should be used to it by now. The reaction from the precincts. But it bothers you just as much as it usually does. The way they look at each other, the way they are already fed up with you being here. Your eyes wander over to the rest of your team, who you know are just as fed up as you, but they are better at hiding their emotions. Yuqi just stands there with her gum in her mouth, her arms crossed, and hoping she’ll get to go on the field soon. While she is an excellent profiler, she did train to become a field agent. It was pure coincidence that Hyunwoo had overheard her talking about this one case even Matthew had been struggling with. Jungwoo is the quietest one of your team, especially in situations like this. He just stands there, hands folded in front of his frame, eyeing the situation calmly. The team leader himself stands next to Matt still, his arms crossed as well and his gaze wandering over the crowd of people. A traitorous part of you envies him for being able to look at Seokmin without any repercussions.

“How the fuck do you know that?” A voice now erupts from the sea of people. You turn around to see the man who had walked in with Seokmin. Stolper, you think his name was. A frown appears on your face.

“It’s not our job to explain profiling to you,” you say coldly and the older man’s eyes find you - just like Seokmin’s do. You decide to ignore them and turn back to face Matthew.

“Uhm. Yes, well, we do ask you to look into certain… well, behaviors. People like our unsub aren’t exactly the most masculine. He is probably very thin and might even have a disability - perhaps a prosthetic leg or something that makes him feel inferior. Look into churches, veteran centers, see if you find anyone that could match the profile and-,”

“You mean to tell me that the killer could be a vet?” Bream now interrupts, his eyebrows raised. Seokmin presses his lips together. If his colleagues hadn’t been wary of your bunch before, they sure as hell are now. War Heroes? Their precious American patriots that fought for their country and won a war? How could you even dare to speak ill of them?

“No. He most probably didn’t serve. He tells people he did and that that’s the reason he has said disability,” Matthew continues calmly and you smile slightly. It was a reach, your reach, but so far all your reaches had been a shot to the bullseye.

Then there was a sudden thud somewhere behind you, followed by hurried footsteps and news none of you could pretend didn’t make you sick to your stomachs.

This feels wrong. It’s broad daylight, there are people everywhere. You stand next to Matthew, your hands buried in your pockets, and listen to the statement of the girl that had called the police.

“She was just next to me and then.. and then suddenly she wasn’t. I- I was confused and looked around and then I saw this- this man and how he dragged her by the arm into his car. No one did anything, no one- no one helped her and I- I didn’t-,” her voice breaks off and another set of tears well up in her eyes. Seokmin nods understandingly.

“Miss, you have nothing to blame yourself for. It is a busy street and you and your friend were not glued by the hip, alright? We will do our best to find her and you shouldn’t worry about what you could have done differently. You called us right away and that's the best thing you could’ve done.”

Tears are rolling down her face, sobs are erupting from her tiny body, and you wonder if Seokmin would ask her out if it wasn’t for the circumstances. The second the thought hits your brain, you freeze. What the hell? Why on earth would your mind go there? In a situation like this? You shake your head to yourself and look around - the police have put tape around the area where Kelly has gotten abducted. Her friend, Jean is being questioned, along with the few other people who claim to have seen something. But other than the witnesses, there isn’t much to go on about. The car he had dragged Kelly into had been an old one and Jean couldn’t exactly tell what kind. She also hadn’t been able to make out the license plate. So, all in all, it was all more or less useless information.

“Detective Lee, I will need you to go to the morgue with Dr. Seok and Y/N,” Hyunwoo is suddenly there, right next to Seokmin and you hear his voice and feel your stomach tighten. The professionalism has to stay in its place, you know that. There is no room for you to fall back into old patterns; that one silly thought you had earlier was enough. You can’t let it get any further.

But the tension is there and it's suffocating. You’re in the backseat of Seokmin’s car and Matthew is talking the man’s ear off with information you have heard millions of times before. Thankfully your friend and colleague doesn’t feel what you feel, what Seokmin feels, and for a short second you ask yourself how he even became the youngest member of your team - only for you to remember you have never met a mind as brilliant as his, with the exception of human interaction. He isn’t too good at those.

The morgue is just like any other you’ve been in. This one still feels different, though. Probably because of the young girls you know shouldn’t be dead laying on top of the examination tables with nothing but a thin blanket over their pale, lifeless bodies. You should be used to this by now, you think. But you doubt you ever will be.

Matthew is standing next to one of the women, the fourth victim, Fernanda Franco, with this look on his face you’ve seen many times before. You’re standing opposite him, your arms crossed and your eyes shifting over the body, wondering how much pain these women had been in.

“He did a thorough job with the cut,” the coroner says now; he is standing on the side of the room, holding a file, “my guess is he is good with a knife, maybe working with animals.”

“Right,” Matthew mumbles, a frown on his face as he leans forward, eyeing the victim from top to bottom. It’s somewhat fascinating how good he is at spotting things others haven’t seen before. Perhaps it had made you jealous a while back, but fortunately, that is over. Instead of being jealous, you appreciate his work and his abilities.

Seokmin, meanwhile, is also looking through files. Mostly from the crime scenes. How the women looked before the coroner took care of them. The fact that they are all still here, and not yet down under, no funeral held at this point, makes his stomach turn. He knows it’s wrong. But as long as they haven’t found the killer, as long as there might be more evidence on the bodies… Seokmin suppresses a sigh. He wants to give the families the chance to find closure so badly. If only by giving them the opportunity to put their daughters, sisters, grandchildren to rest.

The pictures are still hard to look at. The blood everywhere. The stained clothes. The signs of clear torture. Nothing sexual, at least. But then again, perhaps the killer doesn’t need to sexually assault them to feel arousal. That’s what Matthew said earlier. Seokmin closes the file and pulls a hand through his hair, his hat safely stored on one of the cabinets.

“Dr. Richmond,” Matthew’s voice makes Seokmin look over to where you are standing.

“Dr. Seok?” Richmond walks over to Matthew who is standing bent over the body, his hand holding… the victim’s ear. Immediately, you and Seokmin step closer, both of your eyes glued to the women’s earlobe. Something inside your stomach turns, goosebumps suddenly all over your skin and you feel your breath getting stuck in your throat.

“Why wasn’t this in the files?” Matthew now continues to ask, his eyes not leaving what he found. Dr. Richmond feels his face go pale and sweat starts to form on the palms of his hands. Blood is rushing through his ears and there is nothing he can say, nothing he can try to come up with because the bitter truth is-

“He didn’t know it was there,” Seokmin finishes the thought and Richmond swallows hard, hands wiping away at his lab coat. The detective is right.

“Do all of them have this?” You ask now, finally able to move away from Fernanda and move over to Jennifer Cartwright, who looks way too peaceful for what had happened to her. But then, you are happy she does. A part of you hopes she is feeling peace wherever she may be. When you reach for her earlobe, you already know it will be there. You take a deep breath.

“I’m- I don’t understand. I never… nothing like this ever happened, I-,” Richmond’s voice echoes through the room, but none of you pay him mind. The small crosses, carved into the soft tissue of the women’s earlobes, take all of your attention.

There were only a handful of people in the meeting room. Your team and Seokmin and his superior officer. It bothered you, kind of. More people had to know.

“These crosses, they have been used before,” Matthew is pacing through the room and Hyunwoo is right there at the front of it, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth. He is thinking, listening.

“This was in the late fifties, early sixties. A cult, they all followed this one man, Jonathan Brixley. He claimed to have somewhat superpowers, and while most didn’t actually believe him, he was such a good preacher, they followed him anyways. They weren’t known for being violent up until they seemed to vanish. Many thought they might have done a suicide pact, but no bodies were ever found. But what we do know is that whenever one of their own died, they would carve a little cross into their earlobe. Almost unnoticeable. Almost like a birthmark - it’s not even that surprising Dr. Richmond didn’t catch on.”

“He didn’t catch on that all of the girls have the same strange birthmark?” Seokmin frowns. You roll your eyes.

“We are all aware that this isn’t the ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps being bitter about it doesn’t make it better.”

It’s the first time you and Seokmin have directly talked. Or more like, the first time you had openly acknowledged each other's presence.

“With all due respect, Agent, I don’t care. I want to be bitter, I am allowed to be bitter. If we had known this weeks ago, we might have cracked the case by now!”

“I highly doubt that, Detective. With all due respect,” Matthew chimes in and the (unpleasant) moment between Seokmin and you is over.

“And why is that?” Seokmin’s superior officer asks.

“Well, as I said, the cult vanished. Finding out where the last remaining members are is almost an impossible task. If there even are any - I doubt they’d wanna be found. For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.”

The atmosphere gets even more uneasy. If that’s even possible at this point. Seokmin scoffs and looks away, his hands in fists. You should know how to de-escalate but your head comes up empty. It’s almost as if there is an invisible barrier that forbids you from actually trying to be reasonable with Seokmin.

Just when Hyunwoo seems like he wants to say something, the door opens. One of the police officers, a woman with red hair you don’t know the name of, comes in.

“We have a situation,” she says and her eyes are full of something even you, a profiler, isn’t so sure what the meaning of is. It looks like fear, confusion, but also something like hope. Immediately, everyone gets up and follows her outside, where you spot the board with all the pictures of the victims on it… and a red thread connecting one of them to a new face.

“That’s the girl I talked to earlier.” Seokmin breathes and he looks over at Ruth, who nods.

“Yes, Detective. Jean told us that she knows one of the girls - Rebecca Twain. They used to go to the same church, same goes for her friend, Kelly, that she called in as abducted.”

Your eyes widen at that and you look over at Matt, who has his hand over his mouth, his face in a frown. A church. That fits the idea of the cult. All of you who were in the room earlier know that. This is good, this is an actual clue, one that might even lead to something after all!

“What church?” Bream now asks the police officer named Ruth.

“She wasn’t too sure. Said they haven’t been there in ages. She knew Rebecca when they were children and Kelly came to join them a few years later. But they haven’t gone to the church in at least 12 years. She said she would call us with more information, but so far she hasn’t.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why she hasn’t called the station yet. You sink down, leaning against one of the desks now, a hand rubbing over your face. This was bad. Seriously bad. Whenever a cult was involved in anything, it could only be so much worse than anticipated. Of course, her parents wouldn’t let her talk about it. Who would ever want to talk about something like this? Being part of a cult, if now or in the past - with everything happening these past years.

“We need to speak to her parents. Now.” Hyunwoo is already out the door, probably heading to his car and you look over at the rest of your team, who all seem more or less as lost as you. It turns out to be Seokmin who follows your team leader first and once you see his figure speed past you, you also begin to move.

The ride is quiet. Hyunwoo’s hands are white around the steering wheel. You sit next to him in the front, Seokmin in the back. All of this feels surreal to you and you are sure it’s not that different for Seokmin. Serial Killers were a constant part of both of your lives, but you - you haven’t been for a good amount of years. It’s like a bad taste in your mouth, as if somehow the food you would always cook perfectly suddenly went bad, had a foul ingredient in it, was cooked for too long. You’re not sure what it is, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

Seokmin, in the back seat, feels about the same as you. He is used to gruesome murders, to killers who don’t care about anything but themselves, but he isn’t used to having you around in all of this. Someone from his old life that he doesn’t associate with any of this. Never in a million years would he have predicted you becoming a federal agent. When you dated back in high school, you had always talked about wanting to go into politics, fighting for women’s rights, feminism, all that jazz. You had even applied to all the IVYs, wanting to study political science. So, how did you end up here?

“We will have to be careful.” Hyunwoo now breaks the silence and makes Seokmin and you look at him.

“The parents won’t be too happy to share their story, I can imagine. No one likes to admit they were in a cult, not after Manson.”

You nod and Seokmin scoffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

“One would think people wouldn’t even join any cults after Manson,” he says and Hyunwoo laughs bitterly, nodding slightly as he takes the next right at the intersection.

“Right. Sadly, it isn’t as easy as that.”

You look at Seokmin through the rearview mirror, watch how his jaw is tightened and how his arms are crossed, how his suit jacket is discarded next to him on the backseat. You wonder how long he has been part of this lifestyle, how long he’s been a cop. You hadn’t heard from him in years, not even when your friends offered to do some digging for you. It wasn’t because you weren’t interested. More so because you felt like you would get too invested. Looking away again, you straighten out your shoulders. This isn’t the time to think about the past, there are way more important things to focus your energy on.

Five minutes later, Hyunwoo finally parks the car in front of the house of the Roger’s and the three of you get out to walk over to the front door where Hyunwoo rings the doorbell twice. It only takes about twenty seconds before the door opens and a slim woman with bright red hair and red lips stands in front of you, an apron around her waist and a mitten in her hand.

“Yes?” She looks at you with blinking eyes and the three of you take out your respective badges. The woman’s eyes widen.

It is safe to say that getting information out of Jean’s parents is almost impossible. They are a middle class family with middle class friends, he works in real estate and she does her best to keep the house and children under control. They don’t want to talk about their past at the church, or more like, they try to deny it ever was a part of their lives. Talking to them comes close to talking to a wall, if the wall felt guilt and shame and was worried about its reputation. Only when you mention Jean for the third time, reassuring her parents that they aren’t in trouble and that no one was going to find out, that the only mission you had was to find the missing girl and find out who had killed the other innocent women - they budge.

Mr. Rogers gets up, a certain shake in his knees, and walks over to one of the dark hardwood dressers standing on the right side of the spacious living room, where he opens a drawer and takes out what looks like a little notebook. You, Hyunwoo and Seokmin look at him attentively.

“We haven’t talked to anyone from that church in years. Or well, we hadn’t. Up until a few weeks ago. You see, there used to be this… this farm. It was for retreats, we would go there every other month. Sing and pray, meet new people from other parts of the country,” he begins to explain as he walks back, reluctantly handing the notebook to you. Taking it with a small thank you, you look at the page he had opened it to and see a number and a name.

“This is the name and telephone number of the couple that bought the farm years ago. We- we haven’t been going to the retreats since 1961, but a couple weeks ago an old acquaintance from the church called us. Kathryn Anderson, she was pretty close to Pastor Brix-,” he stops himself mid sentence, “to, uh, to Mr. Brixley. She wanted to know if we knew who bought the farm.” “And what did you tell her?” Seokmin asks now.

“He told her no. That we were never interested in knowing,” Mrs. Rogers now answers the question for her husband, “you see, when we left the church it was mostly because of Jean. We figured after a while that perhaps this church wasn’t what we wanted for our daughter. So, we left. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. A couple months later, the whole thing fell apart anyway. Kathryn wasn’t around for that because she had been arrested about six months before we left the church. Got a good couple of years behind bars for attempted murder, the woman. When she got out, she couldn’t reach anyone - after all, the church didn’t exist anymore. Jonathan had perished, no one knows where he ended up and she was unsure what to do. So, she finally got a hold of us and wanted to know everything about the farm. But again, we told her we didn’t know who bought the farm. We just told her it was over and that she needed to find a different safety net.”

You look over at Hyunwoo, wondering if he thinks the same thing you do.

“But you obviously do know who owns the farm now.” He says calmly. The housewife swallows, then nods.

“We do. Paul actually sold the farm to them.”

How convenient, you think. Hyunwoo smiles and Seokmin clicks his tongue.

“I see. Well, thank you for the name and number, but now it would be great if you could also let us know the address.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, your arms crossed in front of your chest. Hyunwoo is sitting at his makeshift office desk, rubbing his temples.

“What exactly do you not understand, Y/N?”

“Why we need to go to the farm. Or no, why he and I need to go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Matthew confirmed it, the cult used this farm back in the day. There could be a lead there. And you and Detective Lee are going because you’re my best agent and he’s their best detective. I also feel like you two need some bonding time. Honestly, I’ve got no clue what your issue is with him, but you’ll need to get your act together. This is a serious case and I can’t have you dislike the main detective.”

Dislike. That’s one word to describe it. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“So, you will drive to the farm with him and talk to the couple as well as check out the surroundings. See if you find anything that could be helpful to the case, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hyunwoo nods, satisfied. He then waves his hand, telling you to get out and do your job. You suppress a sigh and instead walk out and almost into your newly assigned partner - Seokmin. He looks about as happy about the situation as you feel, but neither of you says a word while you walk out of the precinct and to the car that would take you the 100 mile drive to Schnecksville, Pennsylvania.

“You drive.” Seokmin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts and you thankfully react quick enough and catch the keys he throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you walk over to the other side and open the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat. The second your door is closed and Seokmin’s door is closed, his presence almost drowns you.

“I was always better at reading maps than you,” he mumbles next to you and you feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach turn and you decide to ignore him and instead start the car.

Seokmin presses his lips together, the map on his lap and his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears. Bream really thinks he did something. Putting Seokmin in a car with you for the next two hours. Apparently, your little bit of tension did not remain unnoticed and now this was his punishment. But what was he supposed to do? Tell Bream that you were his ex-girlfriend from high school who he had left seven years ago with nothing better than a pathetic letter goodbye. It hadn’t been his finest moment, but god, he was nineteen. Back then, he had enlisted in the army after high school, something he was bound to do anyways, and being cowardly as he was, he just hadn’t felt like telling you in person. Then, when he had been discharged, he had signed up for the academy and here he is now. He knows he should say something, apologize for the way he left you. But his pride and the shame don’t let his lips move, don’t let the words come out. And so he just looks at the map and waits to give you instructions. That’s what he can do. That’s how he can cope with being next to you.

The drive is long and quiet and you turn on the radio at one point, listening to quiet music almost soothing. The highway is wide and the city is behind you and you wonder how long you’ll have to be in this car before your head starts to actually fume from all the thoughts running around.

When you see the sign for Schnecksville, you almost sigh in relief. Seokmin tells you which exit you have to take and you follow his instructions, wondering how you actually got through this drive without any actual communication besides his directions.

Schnecksville is filled with nothing and a gas station. You also pass a motel and a convenience store on your way to the farm that is a few miles away from the city center. Once you finally arrive, you can’t get out of the car quick enough, shoving the keys into your jacket when the car is locked. The farm is bigger than you had anticipated and Seokmin, who has discarded his jacket and hat on the backseat, looks just as surprised as you.

“Guess we have some ground to cover. Come on.” He takes the lead and you follow him, even though a part of you feels the need to run ahead. You don’t. You’re not a child.

The woman who opens the door is in her early sixties with graying hair and a cat in her arms.

When you and Seokmin introduce yourselves and show your badges, she gasps slightly.

“Oh, you know, my sweet peach always runs out when I open the door, she is sick, can’t really find her way back when she gets out. Come on in, agent, detective.”

Her name is Mabelle Travis and her husband is Keith Travis, but he isn’t at home right now. He is getting some groceries for them.

“How kind of your husband to help you with that,” you say as you sit down on the couch in the pastel colored living room. Mabelle nods, letting the cat back down.

“Oh, he is the one with the driver’s license, dear. I can only go grocery shopping if he comes with me. Or our son is in town.”

You nod and look over at Seokmin, who is looking at some of the family pictures on the dressers by the door.

“Your son doesn’t live with you, ma’am?” He asks and Mabelle shakes her head as she sits down on one of the horrifically green armchairs.

“No, Detective. He used to, you know, live with us. But that was before we bought the farm. My husband always dreamt of having a farm. When he retired, he thought it might just be the time.” She laughs and looks from Seokmin to you.

“But, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we were wondering if you’d be alright with us looking around the farm? We don’t know if you know, but the farm used to belong to a church before you bought it.”

“Ah, yes. We did know. I think that’s why we got it cheap. What exactly are you looking for, agent?”

“We’re not sure. But we think the church might have some connections to a case we are currently working on.”

Mabelle nods, her face in a frown.

“Oh my. Well, you’re in luck then. We bought the farm years ago, but only recently moved in. So, most of the barns are still untouched. Only this house has been through some construction,” the cat jumps up on her lap and Mabelle smiles down at it, her hand carefully caressing its fur.

“That’s good news, Mrs. Travis. We’ll go take a look then.” Seokmin nods his head towards the back door and you smile at Mabelle before getting up and following Seokmin outside. There are three barns in total - one is large and two are on the smaller side, leaving the two of you with enough ground to work with for the next few hours. You exchange looks and decide to check out the smaller space first, a barn that is completely bare except for a wooden table at the far right that holds a few blueprints. Seokmin checks them out, his eyes scanning them for anything out of the ordinary. You, meanwhile, begin to knock at the wall, listening for hollow spaces, but also come back with nothing. The barn seems as normal as a barn could be.

The second one is a little trickier. It’s not empty, instead it’s filled with boxes that, after checking as good as each and every one, all seem to be empty. You check your wrist for the time, wiping your forehead with the back of the other hand. You’ve really been at it for the last two hours.

“I think we should move on to the last barn. I doubt the rest will hold anything of worth. Come on.” Seokmin is next to you all of a sudden and you flinch, looking away from your watch and at the man, who has sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes are set on your face and you wonder if you look just as exhausted as he does. Clearing your throat, you nod and turn away from him, walking out of the barn and to the next one.

Seokmin sighs, following you outside and grabbing your arm once he catches up with you.

“Y/N, I am just as delighted about doing this with you as you are with me, believe me. But perhaps we should at least try to do our job.”

His words sting more than they should have and you are well aware of that. Funny to think that such wounds would have healed after seven years. You shake off his hand and turn around to face him.

“Oh, is that right, Seokmin? You’re just as delighted as I am?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “As far as I can remember, Detective, you left me with nothing more but a joke of a letter.”

Seokmin bites down on his tongue. You are right. Maybe it wasn’t right of him to compare the two of you.

“I know that. I know I hurt you. And I should have apologized for that years ago. I was young and-,”

“Let me guess? Stupid? That is in fact correct, Seokmin. But I don’t care about an apology, at least not anymore. I just want to get this over with, not have chit-chat with you about the past which neither of us can change anymore. So, will you go to the third barn with me so we can finally leave this stupid town?”

Seokmin watches you walk away, his heart heavier in his chest than before. He really should have reached out sooner. Pulling a hand through his hair, the detective suppresses another sigh and finally follows you to the third and last barn for you to check.

The Travises invite you for dinner and Seokmin and you are both too polite to decline. Thankfully Mabelle is incredibly talkative, loves telling you all the tales about their son, Henry, and how they used to live in the city but then moved to a smaller town. She is excited about her husband’s birthday coming up soon and Henry coming over to visit, and basically her favorite topic to discuss is him. You try your best to resist the urge to look over at Seokmin next to you, to see if he is as amused about this as you are. He is not your ally, not your friend. You shouldn’t be looking for his gaze, shouldn’t be curious of his thoughts.

“Does your son visit you often?” Seokmin now asks after taking a sip from his glass filled with tap water.

“Not as much as we’d like.” Mrs. Travis sighs and pats her husband’s hand.

“He is busy with working in the city, not always available.” Mr. Travis now explains and Seokmin and you nod. That makes sense. You try to remember the last time you had time to visit your own parents. You couldn’t even really remember.

“If there is something we want to check again, would it be alright if we came back?” Seokmin asks when you finally stand at the front door, saying your goodbyes. The Travises nod, allowing you to come back whenever. After waving at them you walk back to the car, Seokmin now getting into the driver’s seat. As you sit down on the passenger seat the atmosphere quickly becomes tense now that you’re alone again. The second your doors are closed, a familiar sound is heard.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

Rain. It’s starting to rain. What starts with a few drops on the windshield turns into a full on piss of rain that has the both of you staring at the scene for a few seconds. When a second later you hear thunder so close it almost shakes the car, Seokmin reluctantly starts the engine.

There is no way in hell you can drive home in this weather. As much as the both of you hate it, you’ll have to stop somewhere and wait out the storm. Seokmin suggests the motel you had seen on your way here and you nod, knowing there wasn’t much else you could say or do. Having to stay somewhere with Seokmin, somewhere you couldn’t just flee from, seems like the number one worst scenario you could find yourself in. You look at him from the passenger seat, trying to my sly about it but of course he notices your eyes on his face.

“Believe me, I would rather not do this either, Y/N. But I’d rather be safe than drive on the highway in this weather.”

You don’t answer him. Mainly because you would have to tell him he is right and that’s most definitely not going to happen.

“What do you mean by that?” Seokmin looks at the bored looking woman in her fifties. She sighs and shoves the one room key towards him again.

“I mean, Sir, that there is only one room left. We are fully booked. Have you seen the rain?”

It’s very obvious a rhetorical question but Seokmin is about to go on a rant to tell the woman that, of course, he has seen the rain but how on earth does this justify there only being one room in a god damn motel miles away from any big city?

“We’ll take the room,” you quickly interject, handing the lady your credit card that she looks at with a straight face.

“Honey, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think we take those things?” You feel your cheeks heat up, retreating the card again.

“That’s 16.50$ for the night,” she continues and you hand her a twenty that she takes without a word, shoving the change over the wooden surface, “have a pleasant stay.” She shoves down the small plastic window and you and Seokmin exchange a quick look before making your way to the room you will now have to share.

There is only one bed. You stare at it and so does Seokmin. Because - of course there is. How could you have not asked the woman at the counter? But then again even if you had… there wasn’t much you could have done about it. Maybe a saw, you think, just saw it in half. The two of you stay silent for a good minute, before Seokmin finally sighs, pulling a hand over his face.

“Looks like we can’t do much about this. Just… it’s just one night, alright? We can do this.”

You don’t really understand why he would say that. Why he would speak for you, when you both know it isn’t okay and you most definitely can’t do this. You take a deep breath, throwing your bag onto the very dirty looking armchair next to the door.

“Whatever,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you make your way into the bathroom, if only to get away from Seokmin for a short while. His presence is stressing you out more than you thought it would. Perhaps that had been foolish of you - thinking this wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to ever happen. But at the same time, it’s not like Hyunwoo had given you much of a choice. He had straight up told you to get your act together and yet… You sigh, the door closed next to you. The bathroom isn’t even half as bad as you had feared. It’s small and the shower could need a scrub (or three), but other than that it’s decent. The toilet looks clean and the mirror hanging over the sink shows you your exhausted face. Dark circles under your eyes that you touch with your cold finger tips. You remember how you looked back in High School. How much you smiled, how happy you were almost every single day. And all because of him. He, who promised you the world only to rip it away when you needed stability the most. It wasn’t fair. Him being here, him playing such a big role in something so important to you. Finding this killer that took lives like it was nothing. Seokmin is here with you and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere else. The effect he has on you is annoying, to say the least. You don’t want to feel this way, feel insecure and small and like you need to prove yourself to him. He isn’t worth your energy, your thoughts. Not him as a person at least. Him as a Detective is a different story. Another deep breath followed by some water that you splash into your face, is what finally makes you step out again and face your ex-boyfriend that has taken a seat on the bed, the case file spread next to him.

He is handsome. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped eyebrows. His hair is styled back, but slowly the front strands are falling into his face. His face is in a small frown as he looks at the documents, as he tries to make sense where you all fail to find any. Your heart betrays you by skipping a beat, by suddenly sending a wave of sadness over you. He never told you why he left. He just did.

“Anything making more sense now?” You ask cautiously, walking over to him with slow steps. Seokmin looks up slightly before shaking his head.

“Not really,” he mumbles, “it doesn’t make sense. None of this. Why is he curving the crosses into their ears? Why is he choosing these girls specifically?” You sit down on the other side of the bed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Well, Matthew told you our theory. Abusive mother, hatred towards women.”

“But why- why would he just go after any woman if his mother was a certain type?” Seokmin looks up at you and you feel a sting in your chest. You shrug.

“You’re right to question this theory. It’s not perfect and it will take a few years until we can really say that we have a high percentage of accurate profiles. So far we’ve been good, very good. But not as good as we can be. This unsub is unique because he doesn’t have a type - it almost seems random. Like he goes out on the street and sees a girl and just takes her,” you lick over your lips, letting your eyes wander to the window, the storm on full display, “he is violent, but he also kills them quickly. No signs of sexual abuse. It’s odd and not like anything we’ve seen before.”

Seokmin listens to you speak and allows himself to actually listen. The whole profiling thing - it most certainly hasn’t been something he trusted so far. But now, hearing your words, seeing the look on your face - he almost feels ashamed of his earlier suspicion.

“It’s just-,” he begins, his hand pulling through his hair, “it’s confusing. Why would he not go for people who look like his mother? Why is he not taking revenge on her over and over again?”

You feel your thoughts stumble over that sentence for a good thirty seconds. Seokmin is right - why wouldn’t he take revenge on his mother over and over again? Why would he kill women that look nothing like her? Without really noticing, you get up, your feet carrying you over to the window, staring at the rain outside, hoping it would give you the clue you so desperately need right now.

“You agree, don’t you? That it is odd!” Seokmin gets up too, only to turn around and look at the files again, his arms crossed, eyes scanning all the pictures and clues the team has gathered so far.

“Yes, it definitely is odd,” you mumble, heart racing in your chest.

“Okay. We’ll go over this again. There has to be something we’re missing. A connection between them, a club they all go to. Anything, just… fuck, it feels as if there is clue right there, hidden in plain sight and we are missing it because it’s too damn obvious!”

Hidden in plain sight. You blink against your reflection in the window. Hidden in plain sight. Matthew had said the same thing back at the precinct.

For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.

You swirl around, eyes wide and Seokmin looks at you with a confused expression.

“What?”

“The barn,” you breathe, eyes flickering to the table, where the car keys lay right where Seokmin left them, “we need to go back.”

Seokmin tries to stop you, the storm still howling outside, but you’re not letting him. This is too important, too obvious. You want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. For seeing something that was right there, but not actually seeing it.

You run to the car, soaked from head to toe when you sit down on the driver’s seat. The door to the passenger seat opens and Seokmin plops down, just as drenched as you are.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, will you tell me what the fuck is happening right now?”

Instead of answering, you start the engine, the wipers doing their best to clear your view.

“Y/N!” Seokmin repeats loudly and you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“It has to be in there! In the barn. All those god damn empty boxes. One of them has to have something in it, something they don’t want us to find. Fucking hell, we could have had the whole team here by now, Seokmin! If only we hadn’t been lazy!”

“Wait, hold on. So you think the Travises have something to do with this?” Seokmin asks and you shrug.

“Honestly? I don’t think they do. But it’s still their property now. And most of these boxes are theirs. I’m sure we’ll find something there. We just have to look at every single box.”

You’re almost in a haze, Seokmin thinks. Your eyes have completely changed and the way you drive this car would have been scary if only you weren’t so damn impressive. You have been impressive the whole day, Seokmin thinks. He would never say it out loud (not to you at least) but this job seems to fit you like a glove. Never did it cross his mind back in High School that you’d end up in the same field as him. He gulps down the nostalgia and instead looks out the window, wondering if the rain will stop anytime soon.

It hasn’t been long since the two of you left the Travises and yet, when you arrive, the house is dark. Checking your watch you see it's already after 9pm.

“They said we can come back whenever.” You say more to yourself than Seokmin, but the latter still nods, cursing under his breath when he steps out of the car and into the horrible weather. You run alongside him, passing the house and first barn, setting foot in the one you had a hunch about with both of you drenched from head to toe. Ignoring the cold creeping up, you begin examining the boxes once again. There is nothing extraordinary about them. They are the usual cardboard boxes one uses for moves, all over the country. It’s nothing you haven’t seen thousand of times before and-

“Y/N, look at this.” Seokmin’s voice fills the silence that has only been accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder before. Looking over at him, you see that he is holding up two different boxes upside down. There is a green dot on both of them. Your eyes widen. Quickly, you check your own box - but nothing. There is no dot. Confusion mixed with frustration begins to rise within you and you throw the box to the side, pulling clam hands through wet hair.

“There has to be a system,” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down. Seokmin hears your words and looks around the room, trying to make sense of how the boxes are lined up. They all look the same. They were all stacked the same when you came in earlier today. There isn’t anything about them that makes one different from the other - except for the dots he had discovered. His brain is working at full speed, his eyes roaming from one side of the room to the other. Only when he looks down, does he see something.

“Y/N, look,” he puts the two boxes he held up to the side and crouches down, your figure standing over him a second later. There were clear lines painted on the floor. He looks up at you and you feel your eyes beginning to shake, as you move as quickly as possible, shoving more boxes to the side and focusing on the floor. And yes, only a few moments later you find yet another line, one that contains boxes with more dots - orange ones. But it doesn’t stop there. Seokmin finds another line and boxes that, once again, don’t have a dot. He wants to pull his hair out, but once you begin looking at the boxes with him, your gaze full of determination, he calms down. Together, the two of you turn over every single box until, after what feels like hours, you let out a gasp. The box you’re holding now doesn’t only have a red dot on it - it also contains something. Seokmin is next to you right when you pull out the small key that makes both of you almost jump in glee. Your hunch had been right. Now all you had to do was find where the key belonged. Your eyes met and without words, Seokmin went to the left side of the room and you to the right one, both of your hearts beating at rapid speed at this point. Neither of you wants to or will leave this place until you find whatever door is hidden behind the wooden planks decorating the walls. Your hands flew over them, knocking to hear a hollow sound, anything that would indicate there being a hidden space. Nervous sweat was now mixing with the rain on your face, the earlier cold all forgotten thanks to the adrenaline you were feeling.

“I got something!” Seokmin suddenly yells after a few minutes and you immediately turn and run over to him, seeing him break the wall free of the plank. Just that there is no wall. It is a thin wooden door with a small lock that looks like it was made for the key safely stored inside the pocket of your jeans. Without any hesitation, you move forward, key back in your hand after pulling it out, and reuniting it with its lock - the door clicking open a second later. Seokmin and you look at each other again before you push the door with your hand, it easily swings open for you and Seokmin to see a narrow hallway led down by an old looking staircase. There is a string hanging down from the ceiling which Seokmin pulls on, lighting up the hallway for you to see more clearly.

“Well, let’s go,” you say and Seokmin nods, both of you with one hand on your gun belts as you walk down the stairs, all the way down to a door that, thankfully, isn’t locked. Pushing this one open as well, you are met by another hallway, longer this time, with three doors leading to different rooms on each side. You feel adrenaline rush through you as you begin walking, Seokmin right behind you. The first two doors lead to empty storage rooms, you taking the ones on the left, Seokmin on the right. Your hands feel clammy and your senses are all heightened as you continue to the next door, opening it at once and checking the insides carefully, gun in your hand. No one is in there - but it’s also not empty.

“Seokmin!” You call out and the man is beside you right then, eyes scanning the room. It’s an office, or at least it appears to be. Right on the wall across from you hangs a portrait of a beautiful landscape and only barely hides a very obvious closet of some sorts. You shove your gun back into your belt and walk straight up to it, while Seokmin goes to examine the desk standing at the left side of the room. He pulls out a pair of gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls them over his fingers before he begins to open each and every drawer.

“There isn’t much dust around here,” you suddenly say and Seokmin looks over at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone comes here regularly. Cleans it of dust, keeps the floors clean.” You look around for a moment, then your focus is back on the painting hanging over the closet. Your hands are also wrapped up in a pair of gloves and you move slowly as you grab the edges of the frame to heave it off the wall. It occurs to you that the last time someone was here, they hadn’t succeeded in putting the painting back into its usual spot. You can tell because it comes off the wall without any problems, having been crooked from the beginning on. Now, you lean it against the wall next to you, before your hands open the closet.

“Is something in there?” Seokmin walks over to you now, nothing interesting inside the desk.

Once he comes to a halt next to you, he feels himself gasp. There is a whole shelf with files that seem to be alphabetically organized. Your heart beat speeds up once more as you grab a random file (Br-Bu) and open it.

“That-,” Seokmin’s eyes widen. As you continue staring at the page, he moves to pull out more of the files. He brings them over to the desk and opens them one by one, until he finds all the names he has been looking for.

“Broshard, Cartwright, Franco, Rogers, Twain and White.”

Seokmin and you are staring at the files. It was all of the girls’ parents. They had all been part of this cult before. It made sense, of course it did. And yet, having it here, black on white, was still a shock. This meant their connection had been right there, so easy to grab, and none of the parents had thought about sharing this with the police. You lean against the desk, hands pulling through your damp hair. Seokmin’s hands are propped on his hips, his eyes reading over the names over and over again.

“We have confirmation now,” he states, “we need to call the precinct.” He looks over at you and you nod, your hands still resting in your hair. Worry rushes through Seokmin and he finds himself standing in front of you a second later, his hands around your wrists to bring your hands back down softly.

“We will get him,” he says then, eyes boring into yours, “we will get him and he will be punished, Y/N, I promise you.”

It’s unprofessional, he knows it and so do you. You don’t ever promise to catch a killer.

“Why didn’t the parents tell you?” Your voice is quiet and Seokmin sighs, shrugging. His hands are still holding you.

“I don’t know. Shame, fear? Whoever is doing this is a cold blooded murder, Y/N, they were probably scared he’d take even more from them.”

“More than a child?” You look up at him, letting the feelings that you’ve been holding back finally crack through.

“I guess so? We will find all of this out tomorrow, we just need to get back to the motel and call the precinct.”

He says the words but doesn’t move. Neither do you. You both stay right where you are, your eyes locked on each other. The air around you shifts, the exhaustion mixes with something you only have faint memories of.

“You are incredible, do you know that?” Seokmin whispers finally, “the way your brain works - it’s incredible. Admirable.”

His body heat engulfs you, makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. You swallow down your doubts and instead let your heart do the talking.

“You’re just as incredible, Seokmin. All the work you’ve done in this case already… if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Seokmin feels himself holding his breath as his one hand moves from your wrist to your fingers, interlocking them with his own while the other moves up, cupping your cheek, thumb caressing the side of your chin. He feels your skin, the softness he remembers better than he wants to admit.

Neither of you is sure who does it. Who dares to close the distance. But you’re kissing, his lips warm and familiar on yours. Your arms move by themselves, wrapping around Seokmin’s neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking over your bottom lip slowly, asking for entrance that you give him without any hesitation. He kisses better than he did back in high school and his hands are more experienced, moving down and up to grab your hips and hoist you on top of the desk, standing in between your legs now. You grab his face, your tongue licking against his, feeling the stress and discomfort of the day leave you with every touch of his skin. The kiss grows more and more desperate, both of you panting against each other and only after a good five minutes do you part, his hands in your hair and yours on his nape.

“We should get out of here,” he mumbles against your lips then and you nod, letting him help you down the desk.

This time the drive isn’t awkward. It’s filled with something else, something you haven’t felt in so long. Not just regarding Seokmin - but in general. Your work is your everything and you and your team travel around the country more than you don’t. Wanting someone, feeling wanted by someone, this hasn’t happened to you in a while. Your gaze keeps wandering to the driving Seokmin, to the man that had once hurt you so much and now was the only thing you could concentrate on.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I will park this car on the side of the road and not give a fuck about anyone seeing what I want to do to you, Y/N.”

His deep voice made your insides turn deliciously, the heat between your legs rising as you licked over your dry lips, eyes shaking as you nodded, averting your gaze from Seokmin’s intoxicating frame. As much as the idea excited you it also seemed like a stupid idea considering the motel really wasn’t that far away.

It doesn’t take half as long as it usually would with Seokmin speeding down the road, finally parking the car in the parking lot, getting out of the car and opening the door for you, his hand around yours in no time as he leads you to the door, both of you drenched again when you step inside. But even with all the tension between you two, Seokmin walks over to the telephone on the wall, passing a young man who just seemed to have left his room to go outside. You present him with a nod when he smiles at you, quick to look at Seokmin again who is now dialing the number of the precinct.

When he explains what you found, he speaks quietly and rushed, you by his side the whole time, holding his fingers between yours. The tension doesn’t subside, it only gets shoved to the side as Seokmin talks to his superior, who was still at the station at this time, waiting for your call. Your head feels dizzy, the situation bizarre but also somewhat addictive. The second Seokmin hangs up, knowing his colleagues will leave for Schnecksville as soon as the storm gets better, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to your room with hurried steps.

The door falls shut behind the two of you and your body is pressed against it, Seokmin’s one hand skillfully wrapped around both of your wrists, pinning them over your head as he dips down to kiss you, his thigh pressing between yours. A moan escapes you, your hands wiggling under Seokmin’s grasp. He kisses you with the same desperation as before, his free hand underneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin.

Nothing is inside your head except the need for him. You don’t want to feel anything but his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours - hot and wet and perfect. He moves his arm around you again, picks you up as if you weigh nothing, carrying you over to the bed where he drops you, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. There is no light in the room beside the one coming from outside, making him look angelic. His carefully styled hair is falling into his face now, his lips red from your kisses. His pupils are blown out and the look in his eyes runs shivers down your spine. You watch as he gets rid of his jacket and belt, following his movement as you sit up a little bit, skillfully opening the belt with your gun and leaving it on the floor next to the bed, feeling the mattress move the next second as Seokmin lowers himself onto the bed. Your hands find his nape once more just as he presses his lips against yours again, hands roaming from your hips to your stomach and under your shirt, gripping your breasts one by one and moaning into your mouth when his thumb feels the stiff nipple underneath your bra.

His tongue licks against yours again, your back arching against him as he moves to kiss down your neck, biting and licking and kissing all the same. When he hears your sounds, he feels himself growing harder, his composure almost breaking as he takes off your shirt with your help, shoving the cups of your bra to the side to dip down and suck your nipple into his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist as you push him closer to you, teeth sinking into you bottom lip. It feels like electricity between you, the way he touches you sends shocks through your body in the best way possible.

“God, I can’t believe I have you under me again, fuck,” Seokmin breathes against your neck now, his breath tickling you. “Been thinking about you so much, you know? About how much more I know now… how I can make you cum, baby, eat your sweet pussy and have you scream my name.”

His words send another wave of shivers down your body and you nod, wishing for nothing more than for your and his clothing to land on the floor.

“Seokmin… just want you to fuck me, please, need you so so bad.”

He groans, cock twitching and he finally moves to open his pants. It’s all hurried and a little bit frantic, the way you pull on his shirt next and the way your bra basically gets ripped off your frame by him. It drives you crazy, how he kisses you, pushing you further up the bed, your head hitting the pillow as he devours your lips and tongue, his hand squeezing your tits over and over, his stiff cock right there between your legs, still caged in by his briefs.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He breathes out, his fingers now moving downwards, ending up over your clothed pussy, making you squirm.

“Fuck, so bad, Seokmin. Please.”

He sucks on the skin underneath your ear and lets his fingers shove your panty to the side, sliding through your wet folds and moaning against you. You’re so wet, wet and ready for him.

“I wonder if you still taste the same, baby,” he mumbles, continuing to let his fingers glide through your lips, letting one of them sink into you. Your pussy practically sucks him in, eager to feel him inside. Seokmin kisses you again and your nails are dragging along his back as your hips move against Seokmin’s digit inside of you.

“M-more, want more of you,” you cry out when you come up for air and Seokmin nods, letting a second finger slide in too, fully finger fucking you now as he smothers your neck with more kisses, preceding to suck marks onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, your whimpers becoming more and more frenzied. You need his cock and you need it now. So, you let your hand wander down, grabbing around the wrist of his hand that is currently fucking you.

“Want your cock, Seok… fuck me with your cock.” His eyes meet yours, gaze almost crazy as he curses under his breath, nodding before pulling his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean - making you whimper in the process. He licks his lips after.

“Still so tasty, baby… all for me.”

He kisses you one more time, deep and emotional and dizzying, before finally ridding himself of his briefs and you of your panties, hand pumping his length a few times. You watch and swallow, remembering how he had felt back then. He had been your first. And now he was going to claim back what he had made his so many years ago.

When he sinks into you, both of you cry out in pleasure, his arms on the mattress next to your head and his lips kissing your cheek, chin and lips. You are still hugging him close, fingers pressing into his nape and back. His first thrust is deep and slow and your eyes roll back, a long moan escaping your kiss-bruised lips. He can’t keep going slow, he knows that. As hard as he tries - he knows he won’t be able to control himself. Which leads to his thrusts becoming faster, to his moans becoming louder and your pussy clenching around him more often. It’s hot and wet and quick, it’s making you feel like you’re in a dream, his teeth sinking into your flesh, your cries spurring him on. Your legs are around his hips, his cock hitting you right where you need it to with every thrust and when you feel his hand sneaking in between you, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing it in perfect circles, you know you won’t last long.

“You feel so good, baby, take my cock so fucking well.” He moves, on his knees in front of you now, your legs over his shoulders the next second. The new angle makes you see stars, especially with his thumb still on your clit.

“F-fuck, Seok! I’m so close.” Your cry makes him smirk, his movements becoming less and less controlled, as he is chasing both of your releases. You give up on keeping your eyes open, enjoying the way he feels, the way he hits you right where it feels so incredibly good. Your body is on fire, everything feels more intense and if you had the capacity in your brain you’d probably worry about exploding.

And you do - you explode only a few seconds later, your orgasm hitting you hard, leaving you to cry out his name, nails back in his skin, leaving clear marks that he will be proud of later.

“That’s right, baby, look at you, so pretty coming on my cock, fuck,” Seokmin feels you pulsate around him, feels how your pussy clenches over and over, milking him for all he has and there isn’t anything he can do but reach his own high, cum shooting out his cock and into your spent core. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, spasming at the intensity of your climax. His breath is right there in your ear and you finally open your eyes again, fingers moving to stroke through his hair. You stay like this for a while, just catching your breath, feeling him so close after so long. Only when he slips out of you, laying down next to you, his lips pressing a kiss to your cheek, do you regain some senses. Smiling at him, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

When you come back out, Seokmin is asleep. Chuckling, you pick up his shirt from the floor and slip it over your head before laying back down, cuddling into his side and letting yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

For Seokmin it’s not a dreamless sleep, though. It hasn’t even been two hours he’s been asleep when he wakes up, cold sweat covering his body. He looks down and sees you peacefully sleeping right beside him, one of your hands on his bare stomach, the other under your own cheek. In any other case he would have loved to look at you for as long as he could, but this isn’t like any other case.

The man, he thinks, the man we saw yesterday. Seokmin gets up, careful not to wake you up, grabbing his underwear from the floor, just like his pants. You’re in his shirt so he has no other choice but to leave the room with his chest still bare. His feet carry him out the room and to the small entrance space, right to the phone where he dials Bream’s number again. The second someone picks up, Seokmin begins talking.

“It’s the son, Sir, the Travises son - he’s the unsub.”

The area in front of the farm hasn’t been this busy in years. There are cop cars everywhere, a S.W.A.T team is about to arrive. Seokmin has his hands pushed into his pockets as he talks to his superior officer. You are standing further away next to Matthew and Yuqi, listening to Hyunwoo’s orders.

Seokmin had recognised the son, Henry, from the pictures at the house. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“Don’t linger on those feelings, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says, “it had been a long day.”

Yes, a long day that ended with you being too horny to do your job properly. You don’t tell him that of course. Instead, you press your lips together and just nod.

Henry is inside the barn now, the barn you and Seokmin found the secret door in last night. His parents and the missing girl, Kelly, are with him. It’s a classic hostage situation and yet even your team is at a loss of words. It all doesn’t make sense right now. Why is Henry doing this? You let your gaze flicker over to the barn, wondering what he is doing to them right now.

The head of the S.W.A.T team is walking over to Hyunwoo now. They apparently arrived just now

“We are ready for your orders, Sir,” he says, shaking Hyunwoo’s hand. Your boss nods.

“Alright, thank you. I’ll let you know when you can go in.” The man leaves again after that and you look at Hyunwoo, unsure.

“We need him alive, don’t we?”

“In theory, yes. But it’s not always easy, you know that. Whatever is going on inside of him, we will only find out if we get him out, but we need to look at the bigger picture. We need to figure out what his deal is.”

Just then, Jungwoo arrives at the scene, carrying a white box.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, putting the box on top of the police car next to you. Seokmin is suddenly next to you, his arm brushing against yours and making you shiver. You ignore the effect once again.

“Henry Crawl, 36, was adopted by the Travises when he was 9 years old. It says here that his mother committed suicide and the Travises took him in - Mrs. Travis being is paternal aunt. She felt responsible for him, considering the father left right after his birth and his mother died.”

“So, they aren’t his biological parents. They didn’t mention that.” Seokmin frowns.

“Which means that there is a chance his mother was part of this cult. Is there an autopsy report for his mum?” You take step closer to the box and Jungwoo nods, handing you the document. Scanning it, your eyes widen as suddenly the reason for all of this is starting to make sense.

“There were signs of abuse - of years of abuse. Scars, bruises, internal damages.” You shake your head, “he isn’t killing women because he hates them. He kills them because he is avenging his mother.”

“She was part of the cult, probably around the same time as the parents of the girls. They probably knew about the abuse and he somehow figured it out.” Matthew chews on his bottom lip as he shoves his glasses up his nose.

“We need to talk to him. Need him to let the girl go as well as his parents.” Hyunwoo looks over at the truck where all the special units are gathered. He excuses himself and goes over to them. The atmosphere shifts, there are nervous droplets of sweat running down your face. The storm might have stopped, but it’s still slightly drizzling down on you. Seokmin’s hand finds the small of your back. You flinch, your head turning to look at him wide eyed.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re going to get them out of there,” his voice is soothing you, as much as you hate to admit it. You swallow down whatever you’re thinking and shake his hand off, before walking over to Hyunwoo and the special forces, leaving Seokmin behind.

“I want to talk to him.” Your voice breaks through the conversation Hyunwoo is having with the captain. Both of them look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Y/N-,” Hyunwoo starts, but you interrupt him.

“You know it has to be me. I am roughly the same age as his mother was back then. I am a woman. I know what is going on inside his head. Please, Sir, let me do this.”

If there had been more time, maybe they would have argued with you. But there isn’t any time. And so, they nod. As much as it makes you nervous, you also know that you’re right. You’re confident that you can do this, that you have the ability to save this girl and Henry’s parents. Taking a deep breath, you look over at Seokmin, who’s eyes speak more than a thousand words. He knows why you walked over there and he knows that you are the only one for the job. The smile on his lips reassures you more than you want to admit.

Not even five minutes later you have a walkie-talkie in your hand. The other one landed in the barn roughly a minute ago. Now, you’re waiting for Henry to respond after your first attempt at contact. The rain is still falling softly, the sun nowhere to be seen in the sky. It’s early, you’re not sure how early, but you estimate it to be sometime after 6 am.

“I won’t let them go!” The voice coming from the device in your hand brings you back to the here and now, blood rushing in your ears.

“Henry, hello, it’s good to hear your voice,” you say softly, looking over at one of the windows of the barn, wondering if he is watching you.

“I don’t- I won’t let them go,” he repeats and you lick your dried out lips.

“Okay, Henry. I hear what you’re saying, alright? You don’t want to let them go. Could you tell me why?”

“They need to pay for their sins!” It’s not hard to make out that he’s enraged, crying, but still hurt and confused.

“What are their sins, Henry? Can you tell me?” You look over your shoulder at the rest of your team, Hyunwoo nodding at you and you nod back.

“You- you really want to know?” The shift in his voice tells you that your question had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, Henry. I want to know, I want to understand.”

There is silence on the other line for just a few moments. You remain calm and don’t ask again. It’s important you give him space, important for the hostages as well as to earn his trust.

“They- they knew about my mum. My adoptive parents. I heard them say it. They knew why the police came to visit. It was because of her, because of mum. She was tortured by them, by the whole cult! And everyone who knew about it and didn’t do anything needs to be punished.” His voice is shaking as he speaks and you wonder if the hostages are in the room with him or if he has them hidden underneath the barn in one of the rooms you found last night.

“You’re doing this for your mum, Henry? You’re avenging her life?”

“Yes!”

“I understand. You did well, Henry. You hurt them the way they hurt you. They should have never taken your mother from you, Henry, that was wrong of them,” the words leaving your mouth aren’t what you’re actually thinking, but they will do the trick. Henry will trust you, he will listen to what you have to say.

“I- I did this for her. I wanted her to know I never gave up on her. B-but-,” he stops and you hear a sob, sure now that he is indeed crying.

“But? You can talk to me Henry, I am here for you.” You bite your lip, hoping you’re not pressing the matter too far.

“B-but…,” Henry starts again, “but he- he betrayed me. He told me- he told me they were the only one’s at fault. He told me he wanted to avenge her too…”

He? You once again turn to your team, all of their faces in frowns.

“Who is “he”, Henry?”

No answer. Henry isn’t responding. You feel a slight panic arise inside of you.

“Henry, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me, okay? Just- tell me about you, about your mum. You must miss her dearly, right?”

“My mum deserved better than what she got. She shouldn’t have killed herself, she should have fought through it! But she couldn’t. She was so scared of what they had done to her, what he had done to her! I wanted them all to suffer, wanted them all to know what it feels like losing someone they love. And I did that, I did that to him too!” He gets louder with every word.

“Henry, you’re frustrations are valid. But, please, it is enough. You’ve showed them, you’ve hurt them. Enough people have died, Henry. Let your parents and Kelly go and you will be free.”

Henry is silent for a short while again.

“If he doesn’t respond, we’ll go in,” the S.W.A.T team’s leader is now saying to Hynwoo and latter holds up his hand, as if to signal to give it more time.

“Henry? Can you do that for me?” You ask again. Everyone is growing more and more uneasy, the more time passes. Your hands are sweaty and you feel like the rain isn’t the reason for why your clothes are damp again. Just when Hyunwoo is about to take his hand down, to let the special unit do their job - the doors of the barn open and Kelly runs out, the Travises right behind her. They all seem completely out of it but there are clear signs of relief on their faces. Seokmin and Stolper run towards them, helping them when they see, that Mr. Travis is limping and both women are spurting wounds on their face. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before pressing the button to talk again.

“Henry? Henry, are you there?”

“My parents always loved me. They raised me when mum died. But they knew, you know. They knew! Which means, they need to suffer, too.”

Your heart skips a beat when you throw the walkie-talkie to the side and run towards the barn, your team right behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever run as fast as you do right now. The air is tight around you and its rough to breathe.

Henry is right there at the back of the barn, holding a gun to his head. You scream and Hyunwoo shoots forward to tackle him down - but it’s too late. The shot is heard but your eyes are closed, your knees growing weak but you stay standing. Henry is dead even before he hits the floor and there is nothing you can do.

The hostages are free, so it counts as a win. The Manhattan Slasher is finally caught. He lays there, dead on the ground. He is getting carried away now, by two coroners who present you with a nod as you wait for Matthew and Jungwoo to come back upstairs. You hadn’t felt like you could go downstairs and see whatever Henry had left for you to find.

You're sitting outside now, seeing Seokmin approach you, with a file in his hands. You look up at him, blinking against the rain. When he stands in front of you, it’s almost like the sun showed its face after all. He isn’t smiling, though. He just radiates this energy that immediately gets your spirits up.

“The judge,” he says, handing you the file, “it’s all in here. He was the one controlling Henry. Told him all those parents were the reason his mum suffered. And while it’s not all a lie - the judge himself was the actual perpetrator.”

With a slightly shaking hand, you reach for the file and open it, reading through what is evidence of Seokmin’s words. Now, this was something neither you nor your team has predicted. You swallow down a set of tears.

“He used Henry. But for what?”

“My guess is as good as yours, but, if I may try myself at your job: They probably got fed up with his shit. Told him they would rat him out to the police if he didn’t turn himself in for abusing that woman. He began killing their children as a way to keep them quiet. My guess is, that he has been keeping them quiet ever since Henry’s mum committed suicide and they all only recently began to wonder if maybe this was wrong.”

Seokmin’s words reach your brain and they make sense as much as they don’t. You’ve been working this job long enough to know that there will never be something as full closure. People act irrationally all the time, do things no one understands. There is nothing you can do about it but wait it out, wait for the injustice to die down within you. In the end there is no point to try and understand people like this. Not that these parents deserved to have their daughters get killed.

You thank Seokmin with a small nod and he sits down next to you. Next there will be the arrest of the judge. Then the parents will be questioned, and will get a punishment of their own because they didn’t stop the murders when they had the chance. You know they couldn’t because they were scared, but the law is clear.

You feel Seokmin’s hand capturing yours and you look over at him. The business around the farm isn’t done yet. Boxes get carried and there is more forensic personnel than you’ve seen in a while, probably taking apart the basement you and Seokmin had found. It should be relief you’re feeling but right now you’re just tired.

So, when Seokmin pulls you against him, arm around your waist, you don’t even try to stop yourself from laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

header by @wongyuseokie.

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jame7t · 11 months

Text

Now, we don’t know what’s coming through the hairline fracture between worlds, but the United States military is dedicated to killing it before it can declare any semblance of peaceful intentions

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jtrav · 9 months

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J Travis - United Hairlines Tote Bag • All-Purpose Canvas Shoulder Tote • 15 oz Natural Cotton • 18″ wide x 14.5″ high with 25″ Spun Poly Handles • Screen Printed with Blue Ink

#totebag #United Hairlines #J Travis #Albatross #Skull #Basketball #Bunny #Rabbit #Tote #Screenprint

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mizusnose · 3 months

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An Orange for My Love

mizu x reader June heat

hello again. been a while, huh? life’s been busy and moving fast. here’s a little something to make up for it. more writing in the future i hope. send in some requests :)

———

The heat of June makes you sweat around the edges of your hairline. You can feel the dry heat stick to your skin and cover you like a thin sheen of fabric. It’s suffocating and the AC unit has broken down, and now the windows are thrown open despite Mizu’s assurance that she felt fine. You knew she didn’t.

Somehow, the work you’d both been doing had sludged fo a stop, fragmented bits of your productivity melting off with each minute of the summer heat.

You glance Mizu’s way, a tired lazy grin on your face. She’s wearing huge basketball shorts that go past her knees when she stands up fully. The ones you bought her from the thrift store in town. Her wrists and arms and shoulders are out. Covered only by the chunky tank top that dips low and shows off her collarbones, freckled and red from the heat. Your thirst only grows as she smiles lazily back at you.

“Floor time?” You ask, unsurprised by Mizu’s eye roll.

“Fifteen minutes tops. Gotta get some stuff in.”

“Lame.”

“That’s adulthood” Mizu shrugs, slipping down past the coffee table and scooting off your thrifted carpet.

“Adulthood sucks” You sigh, meeting Mizu’s gaze once you’re both on the floor. You stretch your arm out and tip your fingers towards Mizu. There’s a patch of sun making its way towards you both, but not quite there yet. It creates a halo glow around Mizu’s body. Her hair staticky and frizzed from the humidity.

Time passes like this: you both drifting in and out of bird song and breezes that shift the tree leaves. Eventually, Mizu stands and groggily makes her way to the kitchen.

“what’re ya doin’” you mumble, too heat-soaked to properly pronounce.

Silence. Only the sound of a drawer opening and closing, the clatter of plates, and Mizu sniffling.

You don’t bother following. Content to stay put and not do anything until nightfall when the cicadas become silent and the air thins out to see the stars overhead.

Mizu’s foot pokes you in the side and you’re met with her long limbs and longer hair that she’s adjusted into a bun.

“Up. Eat.”

You listen only because Mizu sits next to you and helps you up. Her touch burns hot and you blame the weather, the season. Anything but the thunder in your chest, a quiet frenzy in your bones.

“Oranges.” You declare. Like a little kid learning colors and shapes. Mizu nods proudly regardless of the childlike wonder.

The thick orange slices are washed and cleaned, their skin ripped to reveal the glisten of the fruit. Color like sunset and lava, you take a bite and hum appreciatively.

Mizu sets the plate between you. This way, its thigh, plate, thigh. The glass the only thing separating you both.

“Good?”

You nod, swallowing quickly to answer: “Farmers market?”

Mizu nods, taking one for herself.

The sun spot that had started at the edge of the wall is now sitting cozily on Mizu’s hip. It splashes up her ribs and dips to her bellybutton. It’s undoubtedly hot, yet Mizu says nothing. Instead, she rips the skin of the orange slice off decisively, suddenly licking into the fruit.

It’s no use. She’d pulled too hard and the juice runs down her arm and collects at her elbow, into the crease of it. It catches the light and you start to stare as it drips onto Mizu’s basketball shorts.

“Shit—let me..”

And her lips are back to the fruit, a sharp suck sounds and mizu hums as she rips the skin away and eats the entirety of the orange slice. The juice only multiplies and is now creating a small puddle on the fabric of her shorts. It stays for a second before soaking into the cloth.

“Sorry. Messy.” Mizu jokes, lifting her arm and licking the juice off, starting from the elbow to her fingers. She sucks the rest of the juice from her fingers and wide palms. The sound makes you shiver despite the bead of sweat making its way down the center of your back.

“All good. Oranges are a mess—uh, messy. They’re messy. Not your fault at all!”

You fear Mizu will finally find out about your feelings for her because of an orange of all things. Yet, when you meet her eyes, they’re closed. Crinkled in a bright smile.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

The summer heat doesn’t die down for a while after that. But even when the night arrives, your cheeks still burn and your blood runs hot.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #headcanons

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naturalscalp · 1 year

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IS SMP FOR SCARRING USEFUL?

An injury or surgery usually causes the main reasons why someone may have a scalp scar. The most common surgical scars we see on the scalp are that of hairline scalp micropigmentation donor areas. There are two different types of hair transplant scars, FUE and FUT. SMP stands for Scalp Micropigmentation, which is a cosmetic tattooing technique that involves the use of tiny needles to deposit pigment into the scalp. This can be used to create the appearance of a shaved head, add density to thinning hair, and even to cover up scarring on the scalp.

Types of Hair Transplant Scars

FUE

FUE is follicular unit extraction, which involves removing tiny individual grafts from the scalp’s back or side, creating many small individual scars.

FUE (Follicular Unit Extraction) is a minimally invasive hair transplant procedure that involves the removal of individual hair follicles from a donor area on the scalp and their transplantation into the balding or thinning areas. Compared to FUT (Follicular Unit Transplantation), which involves the removal of a strip of scalp tissue, FUE leaves smaller, circular scars that are less noticeable.

However, it's important to note that FUE scars are still visible, especially if the hair is cut short or shaved. The size, shape, and visibility of FUE scars can vary depending on several factors, such as the size of the punch tool used to extract the follicles, the density of the hair in the donor area, and the healing process of the individual.

Fortunately, SMP (Scalp Micropigmentation) can be an effective solution to camouflage FUE scars. During an SMP procedure, a technician will use specialized pigment and techniques to create the appearance of hair follicles on the scalp, effectively concealing the scars and creating a more natural-looking hairline.

It's important to consult with a qualified SMP technician or hair restoration specialist to determine whether SMP is right for you and to discuss the best course of treatment based on your individual needs and goals.

FUT

FUT is where the grafts are removed altogether in strip formations. FUT will leave a strip scar in the donor area (as you can see in the picture to the right).

By using the scalp micropigmentation technique, the scars can almost be camouflaged entirely in amongst the existing hair follicles by implanting pigment in and around the scarred area. Not only does scalp micropigmentation conceal the scars, but the technique can also contribute to restoring some health to the injured skin.

FUT is a Cardiff hair transplant procedure that involves removing a strip of scalp tissue from a donor area on the scalp and transplanting it into the balding or thinning area. This technique can leave a linear scar on the back of the scalp, which can be visible if the hair is cut short or shaved.

The size, length, and visibility of the FUT scar can vary depending on several factors, including the size of the strip of tissue removed, the tension of the wound closure, and the individual's healing process.

Fortunately, there are several ways to minimize the appearance of FUT (Follicular Unit Transplantation) scars, including:

Trichophytic Closure: This technique involves overlapping the edges of the wound during closure, allowing hair to grow through the scar and camouflage it.

Scar Revision Surgery: This involves removing the scar tissue and re-closing the wound using advanced surgical techniques to minimize scarring.

SMP (Scalp Micropigmentation): This technique involves tattooing the scalp with specialized pigment to create the appearance of hair follicles, effectively camouflaging the scar and creating a more natural-looking hairline.

It's important to consult with a qualified hair restoration specialist to determine the best course of treatment based on your individual needs and goals.

#SMP #Follicular Unit Transplantation #Cardiff hair transplant #FUT #Scalp Micropigmentation #Follicular Unit Extraction #FUE #hairline scalp micropigmentation

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talesfrommedinastation · 8 months

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Only daughter of five here, and the second oldest kid in the family. Parentified since forever and still pulling the most emotional labor.

Stoutly disagree on this.

No guilt tripped knifeboi here for me. No.

Give me a dependable, sassy, easy-breezy, focused, quick thinking, efficient guy who is in the background making sure my oil’s changed, all schedule’s are completed, he’s done the taxes already, and we’re going out to dinner because he found a Groupon for a kid- friendly restaurant.

“Focus on your work, baby, it’s under control.”

Give me….this myopic dingaling with his Receding Hairline of Glory.

“Get in, loser—we’re dropping the girls off at your moms and then going to a death metal concert!” - my IRL husband on my birthday

BRIDES OF TECH UNITED!

#tbb #cloneforce99 #thebadbatch #the bad batch #tbb tech #tech the bad batch #brides of tech #starwars the clone wars #tech clone force 99 #the bad batch hunter #bad batch hunter #sergeant hunter #oh hunter #just saying

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wraithdance · 26 days

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Good Boy [Part 2/?]

CW: Mentions of canon childhood trauma & abuse, ptsd depictions, awkwardness, Afab!Reader, I’m a dirty liar there will be more parts of this so enjoy the calm before the storm or whatever. This is apart of the Stray Dogs series

Simon is put on leave.

He’d received a nasty hairline break in his wrist after a fall out of a moving car during a recent op. (He’d been pushed out really but semantics didn't matter in the end because he'd gutted the man that had done it.) Price had nearly come to blows with him when he threatened the medic who signed off on his medical leave. Simon had been escorted off the property with strict orders to not return until he was cleared.

The cast is uncomfortable, the sensation of his bare fingers out while in public sends the talons of anxiety coursing through his body. So, he stays in his bare flat. The silence is loud and suffocating, not even the occasional echoes of his neighbors or the drone of a forgotten Manchester United game helps against the heavy weight of isolation.

After a week he’s spiraling in the dark of his own home. Stray lights bounce off the walls from between the cracks of his blinds, sending him into wide eyed paranoia. He had begun seeing things that weren’t there. Shadows moving to embrace him like a burial shroud, movement from the corner of his eyes. Nothing there when he points his pistol at the corners. He can’t sleep for long before the sound of the dull thunk of dirt on a coffin locks his body into paralysis.

When Johnny calls to check in Simon’s teeth are chattering uncontrollably from the chills that wrack his body. He manages to get through the call by grunting and humming when necessary. Johnny takes it as Simon still being upset about the forced medical leave.

‘No good to anyone wit’ yer hand like that LT.’ MacTavish says with sympathy. Simon is silent on the other end of the line.

No good to anyone without a gun in his hand because a dog that can’t be sicced, is not a dog.

He hangs up the phone when Johnny jokes that he thought Simon was invincible, an immortal surpassing the fragility of man.

“Fuck.”

Simon's eyes meet the business card in the mirror as he wipes sick from his mouth. It takes him more than once for his fingers to unclench at his will. The indents from his nails sting as blood rushes back to the digits. He stares at the card for too long before he brushes past the string of texts from Johnny and dials your number.

One ring, two and a third. He hangs up when the call connects. You’re calling back seconds later, he lets it go to voicemail. He’s watching his own eyes dilate in the mirror when you call again.

This time he picks up.

You’re silent and he listens to your breathing. There's a shuffle and he thinks he can make out the sounds of sheets shifting.

“Um? Hi… is this the guy from the pub?”

Simon grunts. “Don't give out your number a lot?”

You laugh despite his flat tone. “Nah, I don’t have anyone who calls me. Just my mum and dad really.” You’re hesitant, he can feel it through the phone like a tangible thing.

“Wasn’ gonna call.”

This makes you laugh again, he realizes you laugh a lot at things that weren’t funny.

“I figured you weren’t after the first week. I’m glad you did though, I still meant what I said.”

There's another lapse in silence before you must realize he won’t assist in driving the conversation.

“Listen, let me show you what I’m working on okay? I’m going to send you an address to a coffee shop and you can show up when you want. I won’t hound you if you don’t.”

“Didn’t give me a time.”

“Oh Yeah! I dog walk in the mornings before the shop opens. I’m there pretty much everyday stealing the free wifi and working on my manuscript, so you can show up anytime and I’ll probably be there.” You laugh again in self deprecation.

His fingers twitch around the phone. Simon thinks you’re too free with your joy. There's a part of him that wants to pluck the mirth from your throat and pocket it inside his own chest for warmth.

He doesn’t promise you anything but you still thank him profusely when he gruffly tells you he’s hanging up.

Your soft good night rings inside his ears for the rest of the evening, it’s louder than the endless quiet or the memories of being buried alive. In the morning when he wakes he squints at the bright light of his phone, clicking on the text thread of your unsaved number. An address and a reminder of your name followed by a smiling emoji.

You’re the fourth contact he saves to his phone.

He shows up after two days. He’d looked at your text for the umpteenth time and pocketed his keys into his jacket, commuting to the building on autopilot. It’s more of an outdoor food court that serves coffee than the coffee shop you described. Simon makes eye contact with you from the entrance of the outdoor patio. Your smile is dampened like you're afraid of scaring him off with your excitement. He’s nearly to the bench you sit on when you suddenly shoot up and throw your hands out to stop him.

“Wait!”

He stops in his tracks. The space in his mind where Ghost exists takes over him like a thick fog as he searches for a threat. His good hand spasms against the fabric of his jeans-covered thigh.

You must realize your error because you grimace.

“I’m so sorry I have a client's dog with me. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t scared or allergic before you saw him.”

Simon is taken aback. His knee jerk instinct is to lash out, ask you if you were an idiot or something else needlessly vitriolic, but he can’t bring himself to with the genuine worry you emote.

The fact that you were concerned enough to check in is an oddity. He’s unfamiliar with being on the other side of care from a woman that wasn’t related to him by marriage or water of the womb. It guts him how easily he wants to lean into it, desperate for the small connection not severed by death.

“Not ‘fraid of dogs,” He rolls his shoulders back, eyes taking in everything but your smile. “I don’ drink coffee either.”

That makes you laugh loudly, you smack a hand over your mouth to cover the giggles that escape. Simon stares down the flickering dance of your irises. You’re unbothered by his leering and instead offer him another grin.

“O-kay! Just let me introduce you to him and I’ll grab you whatever you want okay?” You’re moving before he can say anything.

Despite his objection to being afraid, he still braces himself to be met with a four legged behemoth. The long forgotten dog bite on his right calf sings with phantom pain like he’d received it yesterday and not twenty years ago. His father had let his drunken friends dangle Simon in front of his illegal Japanese Tosa. An eight year old Simon had kicked out in fear and had been mauled by the dog in return. Simon’s mother had sobbed inconsolably at the sight of the deep wounds.

You turn around after a moment of shuffling and he can’t help but to blurt, “Wot the steaming hell is that?”

You’re pouting and holding your free hand over the ear of the pint sized rodent trembling in your embrace. The small elderly chihuahua looked ready to leap from your arms in pursuit of the sweet relief of death.

“This is Sprinkles, he’s my neighbor's dog! Mr. Allens is in the hospital for a bit so I’ll just be taking care of Sprinkles for a few days in the meantime. Do you wanna say hello?”

He grunts, giving you a side eye as you inch closer, “Rather not.”

You huff turning to the mangy mutt with a sad smile. “It’s okay, he just doesn’t understand you like I do.” You tell Simon to sit down while you grab some tea. He’s thankful that you bring Sprinkles with you, uncomfortable with the imagery of the dog meeting its much needed end on his watch.

When you return you hand him his steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and launch into your pitch. Simon makes no plans to drink the beverage instead tapping the digits not in the cast on the paper cup. Sprinkles sits in your lap trembling in his tiny sweater.

Fockin’ hell.

Simon interrupts you mid sentence.

“You want me to pose for a bloody romance?”

You blink “Yep, that is what I’m writing so essentially that's the idea.”

Simon cuts you a look not liking the sass but you return it with a cheeky grin. “I know it's unconventional but when I saw you in the pub I couldn’t help but think you looked like a character of mine. I had to see if you’d be willing to model for me.”

“‘Haven’t even seen my face.” He huffs in disbelief.

Cocking your head you look at him in consideration, taking in the black balaclava and stroking Sprinkles as you do. “Yeah, I figured you were sensitive about it since you’re covered from head to toe. Technically you wouldn’t need to take anything off. I was more so interested in capturing your overall aura.”

Simon doesn’t say anything for a while. Just watches you with narrow eyes. You’re mid sip when he asks you to read the manuscript for himself.

“Ack!”

He’s mildly impressed that you manage not to sputter tea all over the dog. Your eyes burn with tears from the effort to not choke to death. “W-why would you want to read it?!” you’re squeaking with wide eyes.

He gives a half shrug, warmth pattering at his chest. “‘Didn’ hear you say anything about payment so thought I might see what’s the fuss. Got a reputation and all so I can’t just agree to anything.”

The look you give him is unimpressed. “Are you being funny? I can’t really tell and I’d rather you just say no rather than tease me.”

He leans back, raising his arm to rest near you on the top of the bench. You glance at the closeness of his gloved hand but he ignores the pointed look.

“Serious as a heart attack. I wanna read it before I give you an answer.”

There's a moment where he thinks you’ll say no, he’s expecting it, but you set your shoulders back and tip your chin up at him. “Fine. You can read it, I don’t mind whatsoever.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” you pop the ‘p’ in the word. “Absolutely fine with it. I encourage it actually, fair is fair and all.”

He snorts out a dark chuckle. “Right.”

You ask for his email address and Simon gives you an encrypted email containing a string of numbers. You make a joke about him secretly being a spy that he doesn’t laugh at. It doesn’t bother you any, you continue chuckling to yourself as you press send.

Simon watches you pause in hesitation as you gather the half dead dog and your belongings. You’re chewing on your bottom lip in thought stroking Sprinkles whose eyes are half lidded in your arms.

“Wot?” He asks gruffly, startling you.

“Sorry,” you smile sheepishly. “I was just wondering… can I sign your cast?”

Simon’s eye twitches.

“Why would you wanna do that?”

At his tone you squint your eyes at him. “Because that’s what friends do?”

Simon wants to say something snarky around the lump in his throat. Condemn you for assuming they were friends after meeting only once prior. The urge fizzles out when you give him a startled expression.

“Has no one ever signed your cast before?”

No.

He’d broken many bones in his life starting from the age of childhood. Tommy had tried to sign his leg cast once when they were teenagers, he’d earned a broken nose from their father before he’d been able to finish scrawling out the second ‘m’ in his name. He’d never been close enough to anyone else to be asked.

In his reverie you’ve rifled through the tote back at your arm, shifting sprinkles on your hip. You procure a sharpie and hold it up like a trophy.

You approach him cautiously waiting for his objection.

When you’re standing toe to toe with his army grade boots you flick your eyes to the cast and his covered face. “So… Can I sign?”

Simon shifts on the bench, neck tensed. After several beats he looks away and lets out a gruff ‘fine.’ You don’t give him a chance to change his mind.

When you’re finished you pop up with a satisfied smile, slipping the cap on to the marker. “There, all done!”

Simon says nothing. He lumbers to a stand that causes you to stumble back. He watches your flickering eyes and the waver of your smile.

“Okayyyy… I have to get this one home now so just let me know when you want to meet?”

You wave enthusiastically at him and walk away. You only get a few feet before you stop and turn around. Simon watched as you take Sprinkles or in hand and wave it as well. “Say bye to Sprinkles!”

He cuts his eyes at you. “I’m not sayin’ goodbye to the bloody dog.”

You pout and shrug, whispering something to the dog as you go. Simon stands in place for several minutes watching you retreat.

Bloody Hell.

At home on his couch he pops open a can of ale with one hand taking a long gulps. Simon opens the email attachment you sent him, momentarily distracted by your blocky letters on his cast and the lopsided smiley face drawn in sharpie. He squints at the pages before him in his lap trying to make sense of what he was reading.

His eyebrows twitch when he reaches fifty pages in and realizes you’d sent him written porn.

“Wot the bloody hell.”

#once again don’t care if it’s good #this is all yall getting from me I’m just tired of looking at it #yall better thank wren because that’s who motivated me #we need more ghoap x reader food in the fridge smh

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helen-with-an-a · 6 months

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The Object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 2

Hi. So here is part 2 (it will have more parts ahahaha - I am incapable of writing small things)

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Ona Batlle x Reader

Flashbacks are in italics.

TW: Injury, suggestiveness, Vilda

Word Count: 3.5k

Description: R gets hurt

It was the final 10 minutes of the game. You were exhausted. England were down 1-0 and you felt like you were fighting for your life. You had the ball at your feet as you pushed forwards. You had made a simple pass to Lucy as you started your run up the pitch. It was a perfect cross back as you arrived near the box. You could feel it, this ball was going into the back of the net.

Something icy and white hot exploded in your leg. You didn’t even know what had happened.

One minute, you were pulling your leg back for a perfect strike, and the next … agony. The silence of the crowd told you it was something bad. The lack of arguing on the pitch told you it was something really bad. You wanted to move, to stand up and continue playing. You had to stand up. All you could see were legs. The pain was growing with every second. It scared you more that people were stopping you from seeing it. That only happened when it was really bad. You were quickly becoming a danger to yourself. Thrashing around – trying to escape the pain, trying to see what was happening to your body. You were petrified. Lucy clasped one of your hands, Alex pressed a hand on your stomach, Cata held your head, and Aitana held your other hand, all attempts to stop you from moving. You think it was Mariona and Millie who were trying to keep your other leg still. All of them trying to talk to you, to calm you down enough for the medics to do their jobs.

“Hey,” Alessia called out to a frozen Ona. Ona hadn’t been anywhere near you when it happened. She couldn’t have stopped the tackle, even if she knew how to. “She needs you.” Tooney gently shoved Ona in your direction. They might not have known what had transpired that fateful day in Manchester, but they knew how deep your love ran for Ona. Alessia had shared a room with you at every international camp. She saw the red shirt you slept in. At first, she thought it was an old United shirt – until she saw the Spanish crest over your heart. The pair of them saw the kiss you pressed to Ona’s hairline as you engulfed her in a hug after the Spain game at the Euros, whispering sweet words into her ear as she finally allowed herself to cry. Tooney saw Ona gently push a stray piece of sweaty hair out of your face in the tunnel after the Euros final, standing too close to be just friends, both of your smiles blinding. They saw the book and rose you left in Ona’s cubby on Sant Jordi. They saw how Ona looked to you first before making any decisions – no matter how small. They saw the devastated Ona look on the first day back at training in January.

Your pained screams eventually snapped Ona out of it. She was suddenly shoving Cata out of the way and replacing her at your head. Even in your pain, you recognised the rough but soft hands and blunt nails that scratched your head. You stopped writhing as Ona placed gentle kisses on your hairline. You stopped screaming as Ona softly shushed you, promising everything would be fine. As the medics carted you away, all the Ona could think about was how to make this right with you. She was moving to Barca after the summer. She was fairly sure you knew, but she couldn’t know for sure as nothing had been officially announced yet. She could tell by your reactions that somewhere, somehow, she was still a calming presence to you. You had always told her that.

You were pacing around your flat. From the counter to the table, table to the fridge, fridge to the couch, couch across to the TV, TV back to the counter. You had been walking in a loop for almost an hour now.

“Amor, calm down. She’s going to call.” Ona laughed, but she was still slightly concerned.

“But what if she doesn’t?” Your voice was weaker than Ona had heard in a while.

“She will. You have received a phone call from the Lionesses every camp since you were what? 19? She will phone.” It was 3.30 pm. On the day of the Euros squad, phone calls. You knew Sarina did it randomly. She had said as much when she first became manager. That way, no one can be sure they were bubble players. That way, no one’s egos could get too big. Ona had already had her phone call yesterday. There was a flurry of Spanish, and she had been a mix of emotions. She was terrified of the camps themselves. Sleep deprivation. The harshness from the coaches. The emotional and mental abuse. The borderline physical abuse. But she was so excited to be back in Spain with her friends. She loved Manchester, but she loved being around her people, where she didn’t have to translate everything in her head first or be the last one to laugh since she had to interpret the jokes into her native language.

“But what if she doesn’t?” This was the one thing Ona disliked about you – your inability to understand just how great you were. Not just at football. Yes, you were incredibly talented. Your ability to read the pitch, to pick out players and send perfect crosses to them, your technical skills with the ball were unparalleled. She didn’t doubt a Ballon d’Or was coming your way. But you were so much more than football. You were kind, and gentle, and honest, and funny, and beautiful – so beautiful. But you couldn’t see it.

“If Sarina doesn’t call…” she began, “which won’t happen”, she added quickly as your eyes widened. “You can just be my WAG. Sound good?” A peel of laughter erupted from you. If she could make that sound escape your lips every day, she would die incredibly happy. As you were about to open your mouth to respond, a buzzing cut you off. SARINA flashed across your screen. Ona made ‘go on then’ gestures at you as you panicked for a split second.

The phone call was short and sweet—just like every other phone call. You liked that it was to the point. As you hung up the phone, Ona came charging at you, pushing you back onto the sofa and kissing across your face. “You know… I’m kind of sad you don’t get to be my WAG now.” She said as you squealed, trying to escape the onslaught of affection.

“Shush Oni. You know I’ll always support you. I’ll always watch every one of your games, and you know it.” You laughed as she settled on top of you, the weight comforting as you began to play with her hair.

“Gracias,” you whispered into the quiet a little while later. The world outside seemed so far away whenever you were with Ona. The smell of her apple shampoo mixed with her perfume and something that was indescribably Ona.

“What for?” She whispered back, afraid to break the softness surrounding the pair of you.

“Everything. You always calm me down. Even if you don’t say anything. Just you being with me. I don’t know.” You laughed gently, slightly embarrassed at the confession.

“No need to thank me. I will always help you in any way that I can.” She replied as she shifted from your chest to hover over you, strong arms bracing either side of your head. “Ya sea que necesites un abrazo, un hombro sobre el que llorar, alguien con quien reír, alguien que te disuada de cualquier pensamiento desagradable que tengas en mente. I will always be here for you.”

“What if I need help in another way?” You asked shyly, shifting your hips up in an attempt to get the message across. This wasn’t the first time you had initiated sex with Ona, but you were always unsure what her answer would be – never wanting to push her too far. You would take whatever she was willing to give if it meant to could keep her in your life.

“Quieres que to folle?” She asked so bluntly. This dynamic you had with Ona was something you adored. Sometimes she would be the shy one, especially in the beginning when alcohol was required to get you into the bedroom. Sometimes she was so blasé about everything. It made your head spin in the best way.

Ona still had 10 minutes left to play. No one wanted to continue. You were integral to the English team, most of them considering you more of a sister than a friend or teammate. You were a good friend to a lot of the Spanish girls as well. You played with a lot of them at Barca, and through Ona or the others, you had met most of them multiple times. The game had lost any and all fight; the ball being passed around with little attacks from either side. Eventually, the final whistle went. Ona didn’t know how to feel. She had just won to World Cup – something she had dreamed about since she knew what a football was. But it was at the expense of her good friends. She went round and tried to comfort people, but she didn’t know how to help them.

And then there was you. Seeing you again had helped ease the ache that ran so deeply in her soul. She had known from the minute she’d left your flat in Manchester that she was the biggest idiot known to man. After a drunken night, she spilt everything to Laia and Leila. They had berated her for hurting you and herself, comforted her as she cried heart-wrenching, painful sobs into their arms, and helped her concoct a plan. A plan for what, she wasn’t so sure, but she was so desperate to see you again, to talk to you again, and if you would let her, to love you again. And then there was that stupid, reckless tackle. It was a straight red. The studs were obviously up, and she didn’t even make contact with the ball. The way you crumpled in a heap, the pure agony that was written across your face. Your leg was horrific to look at – the sight of blood and bone made Ona want to gag. She didn’t want to wait around and collect her medal. She wanted to run to wherever you were – hospital, hopefully – and help nurse you back to health if you would let her. She had tried to leave, but Vilda had been keeping a close eye on the ones that were closest to you.

You had met Vilda once. After the Spain game in the Euros, he had come up to you to shake your hand. You had refused to; you knew all about him from Ona. You knew it wasn’t professional, but you could find it in you to care. You were aware of the beginnings of a movement to stand up against the RFEF, and you hoped this would show the Spanish girls you were with them. He grabbed your shoulder roughly as you blanked him, your gasp catching the attention of those around you. He pointedly looked at his outstretched hand. You stared him straight in the eyes, shrugged his hand off you and carried on walking to Ona, wrapping your arms around her waist. It was caught on camera. You apologised to Sarina, the Lionesses, and the public for your unprofessionalism, but you didn’t mention his name in the apology.

Vilda made sure every girl received their medal, insisted everyone still stay for a minimum of an hour to celebrate the win and forced them all to get on the coach back to the hotel before finally allowing them to do as they pleased.

All of the girls from Barca travelled with Ona to the hospital. Lucy had given them the information as soon as they notified her of their plans. The room was crisp and white and smelled of antiseptic. Even the waiting room, with its plastic chairs and out-of-date magazines, had a sterile feel to it. The room was full to the brim. Every seat was taken. Your family was in a little huddle in the corner, speaking in low tones, talking to a man in scrubs. Everyone was quiet as they awaited news from your parents.

“She’s out of surgery for now,” your dad said to the expectant crowd. They have to go in again in a few days, but she’s stable.” The weight slowly crushing Ona’s heart lifted slightly at your father’s words. She had met your family a few times at games, but you had always seemed reluctant to let her get too close to them.

Ona had sat so still throughout all of it that people were convinced she had fallen asleep. She hadn’t. She was just so lost in everything she was feeling that the world around her faded into obscurity. A gentle cough from someone at the door brought Ona crashing back to earth.

“Um, I’m sorry to disturb you, but you’re the last one in here; even her parents have gone,” the nurse said. Do you want to see her?” She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t expecting to actually see you.

“Sí,” She cleared her throat. “Um, yeh. If I’m allowed.”

“She’s in room 4, if you want to go to her” She pointed in the direction of the room you were currently lying in.

You looked so strange, lying in the bed. You didn’t look like she was expecting you to. Ona was anticipating you to look washed out and pale. But you looked almost normal like you could have been asleep in bed, not recovering from surgery and facing another one in a few days’ time.

“Hey,” your voice was a little croaky. You hadn’t seen who it was at the door. “Oh…” you trailed off as you realised.

“Is it ok ... that I’m here? If you don’t want me here, that’s fine too. Totally your call.” You had only heard Ona be so unsure of herself once before. She was always confident in herself and her abilities.

“Ona, you’re starting tomorrow,” Marc called from across the room. It was her first start for United. She wasn’t expecting it either. She had been sure she would be brought on as a sub for a little longer. It was the first Derby of the season, and she was getting her first start. It was too sudden. She couldn’t think very clearly. She was blindsided.

“Oni, estás bien?” Your sweet voice asked from beside her. That voice that she was slowly falling in love with.

“I… I’m starting… tomorrow. I’m starting tomorrow.” Her voice was shaky. You hadn’t known her long, but this was something else. She sounded so small, so unsure of herself.

“Really? Oh, my god, that’s great.” You jumped on her in excitement, her arms automatically catching you, keeping you close to her. She wanted you to always be this close to her. “We have to celebrate. Come back to mine, yeh? We could do a movie night or something. We could cook … well, actually, you could cook for me; you know how much I love your food,” you babbled excitedly. “I would suggest we order something, but with a match tomorrow, we should eat decently. But tomorrow we’ll properly celebrate after the match. We could go to that bar we’ve been wanting to go to? Have a few drinks?” You were seemingly oblivious to her nerves, too busy playing with the baby hairs.

“I’m starting tomorrow” She whispered again. “No puedo empezar mañana. No estoy listo. Esto es un error. Debería decirle a Marc que no puedo.”

“Now that Ona Batlle is complete and utter bullshit.” She hadn’t heard you swear before. It sounded wrong coming from you. “Estás más que listo. Eres perfecta.” The Spanish you were quickly picking up on sounded adorable to Ona. The way she was trying to learn and incorporate as much of her native language as possible was to make her feel more at home. She didn’t know that you had a steady streak on Duolingo that you kept up with to impress her. “You will start tomorrow, and you will have a great game.” You responded with such confidence and authority that she had no other choice but to believe you. “Now, we are going to go back to my place. You are going to cook me some of your fantastic food, and then we are going to watch a movie before having an early night.” You slipped out of her arms and took her hand, pulling her towards your cubbies.

“Umm … you can… stay … if you want to.” You answered her.

“I don’t want to impose. If you want to rest that’s fine. Simplemente me iré” She turned to leave. God, it was so awkward between you to. Everything used to be so natural.

Ona had just entered the changing rooms when she was jumped on. She knew immediately who it was, even without the excited squeal you let out. “See, I told you, you would be great. A start and the full game! Best day ever. We are most definitely going out tonight. Because Manchester is red, baby.” You chatted away as you clung to Ona’s back. Everyone around you was confused. You were never this talkative; you were always the one to soak up the atmosphere in silence, only really contributing to conversations when you had something you thought was valuable to say. Katie had seen this side of you, but she wasn’t upset. This new, chatty, happy Y/N was something they hoped would stay. They hoped your newfound confidence with shine through and you would finally realise how good you were.

After showering, you waited by your car for Ona. You were taking her back to yours before heading out for some drinks with the girls. All your attention was on her as she left the building. Ivana was chatting animatedly to her as Ona laughed, her head thrown back and the most amazing sound drifting across the car park. You knew you were falling in love with her. You had been from the moment you met her. She was shy and slightly awkward, not knowing much English, but you had quietly approached her and, with schoolgirl Spanish, introduced yourself. You liked who you were around her. She brought out the loud and carefree side of you. A side that you hadn’t let out in a long time. But you couldn’t help it, not with her around.

“You’ll catch flies” Tobin giggled as she walked past, her arm wrapped around Christen. You hadn’t even noticed you mouth was slightly open.

“Shut up” you grumbled as Ona arrived, looking concerned at your irritated tone

“Qué ocurre?” She asked immediately, trying to stop whatever was making you sad. You just shook your head, gesturing at her to get in the passenger side.

You arrived at the bar with her arm wrapped securely around your waist. Whilst she was a definite fan of your outfit – a black bralette and jeans – she didn’t like how much of you was exposed to people who weren’t her.

“Is that what your wearing?” She asked as you reached for your bag. She was wearing long sleeves and was already a little cold.

“Yeh… Why do I look not look good?” You looked down at yourself, slightly hurt but the insinuation.

“No, no … you, um, you look beautiful,” she was quick to reassure you. “It’s just … won’t you be cold?” You laughed loudly at her concern.

“Oni…” You cooed. Oni. You had never called her that before, but she liked it. It made her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t felt before. “I won’t be cold, I promised. Whilst you might think it’s freezing, not all of us grew up in Spain. I’m Northern – this is a pretty mild night for me. And besides, it's sacrilegious to bring a coat on a night out, and I’ll have an alcohol jacket for warmth fairly soon. And even after all of that, if I’m still cold, you’ll keep me warm, right?” You grabbed her hand, pulling her out of your flat with ease.

The night was full of dancing and laughter. It felt like the most normal thing to press your body against her as you swayed your hips. It felt right as she stared into your eyes, stealing a sip of the fruity drink in your hand. It felt normal as your eyes focused on her lips more than what she was saying. The way your heart pounded felt nice when her arms looped around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The way the world slid sideways as your lips pressed delicately against her felt like the more natural thing in the world.

“Llevame a la cama.” You wouldn’t have heard her if you weren’t already staring at her lips. It took you a moment to translate it. She could tell the moment you understood what she said. That dazzling smile spread across your face, your arms pulling her even closer to you. You didn’t even bother to say goodbye to your teammates.

“Stay … please” You called out.

I'm not too sure when the next part will be, but I hope you liked it.

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