#i hope you like it ms. metal

[mrs-kmikaelson]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K

Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)

a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!

1. The myth

Quantico, Virginia, 2004

The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.

Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.

Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.

You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.

Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.

You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.

Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."

"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.

Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."

"Do they?" you drawled.

The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."

You hummed.

"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."

You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.

"That's cute," you remarked.

He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."

It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."

You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."

He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.

Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"

Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."

You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately. 

Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"

You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."

Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"

"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"

Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time. 

A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."

You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.

Eventually, he nodded.

You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"

Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.

And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.

2. Smile

Langley, Virginia, 2006

"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."

Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.

"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."

Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."

With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.

As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."

You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.

❧

You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."

They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.

After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."

"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.

Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"

"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.

Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."

You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."

"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.

"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.

"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.

"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.

"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"

You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.

He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."

This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."

❧

Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.

Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"

You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."

He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."

You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.

"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."

Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.

Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."

"Just like John Summers," you drawled.

Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"

"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.

Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."

Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.

Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.

Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.

You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"

You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."

He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"

You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"

Realization dawned upon him. "Money."

"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."

He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"

You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.

In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.

They valued revenge.

But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner." 

Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.

❧

Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.

Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.

You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"

"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."

You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."

He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."

You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."

Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."

You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."

You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]

The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.

[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]

Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]

The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"

Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"

Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"

[Gideon, we got a situation here.]

You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."

"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided. 

You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"

Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]

"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"

[Bruno?]

This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"

Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."

[Say it!]

"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."

He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."

"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."

"Finish him."

"Gina, don't you dare do this."

[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]

"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.

And then you heard four gunshots. 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."

You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"

Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."

That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."

Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."

"Oh, you son of a—"

Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.

He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.

"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her. 

"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."

Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."

"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."

You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."

You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."

Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."

Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."

Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.

Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.

And it was your job to see to that.

❧

You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."

He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."

Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."

He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"

You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"

He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."

Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"

Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back. 

You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."

And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.

3. The games we play

Washington, D.C., 2007

The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.

Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.

You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"

You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.

When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain. 

But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.

Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random. 

But you knew better than that.

There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"

You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."

He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"

"Detective Walker."

At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.

Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."

Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."

Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."

Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."

"What do you mean?" 

You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"

"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."

"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."

"A code to what?"

"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."

❧

After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.

"You're going to need help."

You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist. 

You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."

Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."

He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."

Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"

He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"

You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.

You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.

Yes, that's why I didn't send him away. 

You didn't explore any other option.

❧

Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned. 

You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.

"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.

You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"

His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."

"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."

He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.

You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.

You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV. 

"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"

"You're— you're her."

You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."

You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"

"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.

"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.

Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."

This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."

His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."

Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."

"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.

"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.

Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."

The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"

"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."

Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."

Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."

Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."

"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."

"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."

Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"

You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."

Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"

"Already on it, Sir."

He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."

They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.

It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.

Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"

Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."

He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.

Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.

And you'd be sure to return the favour.

❧

After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.

Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.

That's what you explained to Hotch.

"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.

You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."

This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?" 

You gave him a look.

His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"

"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.

Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.

"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"

He didn't respond.

"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."

Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.

You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.

Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.

It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.

You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.

In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.

But you didn't.

You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside. 

"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."

You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."

You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."

He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty. 

"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."

"I can tell."

He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.

Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"

He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.

You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"

He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."

You nodded and let him get away with it.

Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."

"Dating," you repeat.

His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."

Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."

"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.

"Oh."

He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.

And you didn't mention the ring again.

❧

Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.

In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.

Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.

He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."

You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.

He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"

Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."

"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."

You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."

The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."

You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.

If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.

The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.

You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."

At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.

The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.

It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.

You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.

You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.

And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"

He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."

You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."

"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."

"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."

He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."

You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"

He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.

You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.

With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.

Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off. 

The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.

Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.

As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor. 

He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.

In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.

"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.

He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."

Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."

He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.

"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."

Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.

Where he was going, he'd never forget it.

❧

You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off. 

"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.

His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.

"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."

"Who was driving that car?"

"A CIA agent."

"And where is he going now?"

"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."

He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."

You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."

Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."

Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong." 

He still didn't look at you.

You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change. 

The game was over.

You just couldn't tell who won.

By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.

You were gone.

And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.

4. Unpredictable

New York, New York, 2008

Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.

He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."

Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.

Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."

Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"

Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.

You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."

Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?" 

"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."

"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"

You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.

Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."

Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"

Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.

"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."

❧

Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.

Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.

You didn't look back once.

"So, terrorism, huh?"

You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."

He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"

You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"

Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."

"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.

His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."

"You insinuated it."

"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"

You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"

"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."

"What?" Shock laced through his voice.

"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"

"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."

"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."

Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.

❧

By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.

With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."

Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"

You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."

Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."

"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."

You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"

He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.

Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.

"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."

It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."

Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."

She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?" 

You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret. 

"Talk to me, babygirl."

Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"

Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."

"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"

"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.

"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."

While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.

"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"

❧

That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.

You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.

You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.

You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"

Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."

You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.

You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.

He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."

You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"

"Yes, you have."

"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."

"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.

You didn't like the unpredictable.

And Aaron Hotchner was just that.

In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"

Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.

He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.

A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.

"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"

Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"

Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."

"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.

Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.

Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?" 

Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."

You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."

"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"

A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."

Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."

"We lost the visual," another woman said.

Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"

"Negative."

And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.

Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"

"I had every available man on the street."

Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.

Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek. 

"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"

Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."

Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"

"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.

Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."

"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."

"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."

Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.

And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.

With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."

Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.

He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.

Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.

You hated it.

❧

You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.

Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."

You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.

When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"

A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."

He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."

You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.

He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."

He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."

You hummed. "Or you want to go back."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."

You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."

"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."

"Get over it, Morgan."

And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.

❧

Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.

Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.

Suicide by cop.

You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."

Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."

You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this." 

You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."

"You got it, angel."

You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."

"Good. And Spencer—"

He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."

You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."

Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking. 

You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were. 

Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.

Hotch and Kate.

They hadn't left yet.

They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.

You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.

Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."

Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.

Fuck. They parked next to you.

You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.

Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.

But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.

Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.

Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.

Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then everything went black.

❧

New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.

No, not a dream. A hallucination.

There's been an accident.

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.

Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.

No, not an accident. This was planned.

But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?

It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.

Hotch and Kate.

They were with you.

With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.

Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.

You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"

Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"

"Yes, I think so." 

You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.

You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?" 

He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"

"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"

Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.

Determination.

"What's your name?" he questioned.

The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"

Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"

As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.

Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911." 

"Yeah— yeah, I did."

"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."

"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"

Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"

"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.

"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"

You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.

By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!" 

His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.

Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."

He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."

"Aaron, my purse."

Shock. She's in shock.

If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.

"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.

"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."

She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"

You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.

"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."

"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.

Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"

Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"

Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.

You were gonna be sick.

Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"

You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.

"Do it."

"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.

Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"

Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"

Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.

The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.

"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."

"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."

"Y/N—"

"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.

Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.

The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"

A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"

You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"

"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."

"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"

He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."

"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."

Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."

Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"

Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.

"This area is restricted," he said.

He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"

"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."

Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."

"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."

"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."

He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"

"My orders are what they are." 

You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"

"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."

Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"

"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."

"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."

As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.

"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"

Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."

Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."

He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.

When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"

"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.

"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"

"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."

Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.

The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.

Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."

Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.

He didn't even think about it. "Go."

With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.

Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.

This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.

You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.

You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.

You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.

"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.

You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.

"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"

No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."

Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.

You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.

"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.

You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"

A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."

"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"

You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."

When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"

The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.

Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."

"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."

Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.

He just killed himself right in front you.

"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."

"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.

"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"

"I— it didn't feel this bad before."

Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?" 

"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"

You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.

Please let them be okay.

❧

You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.

Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.

You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.

That wasn't too far off.

The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."

"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.

She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."

You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."

She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."

You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."

Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."

At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?

Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.

She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.

You were 7 years sober.

You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."

She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."

You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."

She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.

Hospitals were unpredictacle.

You didn't like that.

You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way. 

He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?" 

You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.

Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."

At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"

If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."

You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.

But you did.

You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"

"No. Nothing."

An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."

"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.

[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]

Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.

Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.

"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.

"Derek," you started.

Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"

You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here. 

Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.

It was meant to take you here.

When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.

"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."

❧

After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.

Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.

You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"

Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.

You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"

"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"

You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary." 

The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.

"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."

"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."

You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.

The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand. 

Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"

The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed. 

"Is that a cell in his hands?"

Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."

Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."

"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where. 

His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."

Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"

Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."

You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.

You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.

You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."

You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time. 

None of you said a word.

By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop. 

At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.

Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.

You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.

You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.

Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."

The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man. 

He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.

But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."

Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.

Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.

Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."

Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.

You didn't have many of those.

You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.

But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.

You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.

He's fine, you thought. He was fine.

And so were you.

❧

You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.

The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.

With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.

Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.

However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.

You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.

You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.

You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.

You told yourself it was the job.

Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."

He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.

 You hated that, and you hated what it implied.

The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.

To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.

But he was.

"Yo—"

You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."

Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.

Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.

But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.

"You're avoiding me."

He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.

"I'm not."

"You are."

Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."

"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.

"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."

"But I want to."

Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."

You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.

He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.

Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."

He took another step forward. "I do."

Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."

"Y/N—"

The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."

You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."

And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.

He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.

And then you were gone.

He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it. 

You left your coffee there, he realized.

With all the other things you left, too.

5. The gavel and the gun

Southbridge, Virginia, 2008

You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.

"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."

You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."

He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."

"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"

His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."

Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."

He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.

You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.

That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.

Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."

The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending." 

You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"

He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."

You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."

He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.

You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!" 

To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.

She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.

A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."

For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."

Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.

Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.

When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.

You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.

He was.

"Y/N."

What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer. 

"Hotchner."

You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.

❧

If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.

Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.

You've been avoiding me.

And maybe that was true.

A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.

It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar. 

No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.

At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.

Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.

And then there were two.

Fuck.

Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.

You were nothing.

Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.

"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing. 

You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to. 

But you didn't.

You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."

Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.

So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?

That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."

Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"

Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner." 

He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."

"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.

"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."

You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"

He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."

Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."

He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."

You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.

"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"

Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.

But you had more. 

You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.

You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"

When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.

If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.

If only you could always have it your way.

❧

You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.

Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.

Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.

Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.

If you know what I mean ;)

Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.

Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it. 

You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"

Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."

"With Garcia?"

You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.

"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."

He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?" 

Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."

He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."

Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.

Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."

You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.

For a second.

❧

The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.

His presence was already pushing it.

If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.

He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.

A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.

You knew what instability looked like.

The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.

The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.

Prepared.

But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.

Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."

"I can see that."

He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."

You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."

He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.

The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.

You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."

"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."

"Um—"

He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.

So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.

You. In his apartment.

You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.

God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed. 

He was the gavel, and you were the gun.

And that was that.

He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.

"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."

You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.

Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.

There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face. 

On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.

The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.

You're kidding me.

There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."

Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"

Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"

"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.

His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.

Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.

"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.

You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.

In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"

He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"

You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?

Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."

"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"

He shrugged. "More or less."

Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."

He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.

"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."

Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.

You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"

He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"

What am I hiding from?

Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?

Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding. 

What are you hiding from, Y/N?

You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.

Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.

"Y/N—"

"Um, thank you for the water—"

"Y/N."

Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.

But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun. 

This wasn't gonna happen.

So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.

You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.

And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.

6. A lie is the truth (link)

taglist: @flow33didontsmoke

extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You

Hello! This is my first time ever posting onto here, so please excuse any mistakes or any tags that may be missing. I wanted to write about a poly!ghostface au and age up all the characters and place them into college. I hope this gets at least a few reads!

Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

Context: Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader, Eventual NSFW, All characters 18+

You bit down on the tip of your pencil, chewing the metal part of it as you spaced out for the hundredth time today. A few days ago news broke of one of your best friends being killed, Casey Becker, and like every day since that fateful night, news reporters were swarming the campus. Woodsboro University was famous overnight for it, a crazed killer on the loose in the town and no one knew why Casey and her boyfriend Steve were the victims. What made it truly unnerving was that no one knew if they were going to be the only ones.

It didn’t make you scared, not really at least, you were more intrigued than worried if you were going to be the next person to get a mysterious phone call. No, you spent the next morning with Randy and learned all about what happened. How Steve was found bound to the chair, duct tape and blood practically branded onto him, and how the Beckers found Casey. She was one of your best friends, you couldn’t deny you felt like you needed some therapy for not crying for more than maybe an hour over her, but something in you was more interested in who did it.

That was what was on your mind for the hundredth time today, any of Casey’s boyfriends all the way to fucking pre-k could be a suspect, maybe her family, or maybe it was some random stranger who decided to take their anger out on an unsuspecting teenage girl. Randy and you talked all first period about your suspicions on who it could be, even accusing each other of being the killer, it did fit after all, the two horror buffs who knew every goddamn easter egg in every horror movie there was, it seemed perfect.

“Sidney, can you please tell your friend the answer to at least make it seem like she was listening?” Ms. Crane asked, Sidney nudging you and whispering the answer as the class laughed. “ah, um, phosphorus gas.” You answered, looking at Sidney with wide eyes after you answered. “Phosphine, but I will take that. You guys can pack up, let me take role before you all leave.” Ms. Crane said with a sigh.

“What’s up with you? Are you totally sure you don’t want to go to the grief counselor after school? I mean even Tate went-“ “Sid, I’m fine, seriously. I just, it’s freaky is all. I mean not knowing who did it? What if they have a thing for college chicks, I think we fit into that category very well and-“ “And we will be fine, it was probably just a one-time thing…I mean it's more likely that it is, right?” Sidney asked as she packed her bag, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, if you want you can stay at my place for the week, my dad’s on a trip and I would kinda enjoy the company,” she offered, smiling at you reassuringly. You gave a nod, “yeah, let me just at least spend tonight at my place, my mom will kill me if I miss dinner tonight and take off for a week out of the blue.” “Are you sure you’re really 19 and not 9?” Sidney asked jokingly, earning a laugh from you.

After dinner you had taken a shower, your parents had gone out for the night to take a late-night date- which you theorized was them renting a motel to not risk traumatizing you. You brushed out your hair as you sat down on your vanity chair, putting it into a braid before you went to bed. Your cat was sitting peacefully on your bed, moving every now and then to change her position before darting out of your room. “Irena!” You called after her, scoffing when she didn’t come back to the room. You put your hairbrush down onto your vanity, taking a look in the mirror before getting up from your seat. “I hope you don’t think you are eating even more food, missy, you got fed so much while I was at class today,” you said, acting as if Irena could really understand you. You made your way to your door, nearly walking out before noticing a paper had fallen onto the ground near your desk. You picked it up, reading the headline, Casey Becker and Steve Orth- funerals to be held on Friday the 27th at 9-11 AM. You sighed and set it down on the other papers stacked on your desk.

You walked out of your room, heading downstairs “Irena! Come on, I wanna go to bed,” you whined out, calling the cat to your room. You found her in the living room, hiding under the couch and refusing to come to you. “Fine, I’ll leave you a blanket out and don’t you dare come scratching at my door at 3 AM,” you told her, going to the hallway closet to get a blanket out for her. Once you had gotten one, you spread it out across the couch for her and said goodnight.

You were about halfway to your room when your phone began to buzz, digging it out of your pocket and seeing your mom's number you quickly answered. “Hey, what's up? You guys heading back already,” You asked, continuing up to your room.

“Heading back? Who said I ever left?” A strange voice asked on the other line, making you pause for a moment as you moved to make sure it was your mom. “Listen asshole, I don’t have more than 15 dollars in my bank account so have fun with whatever hot cheetos and mountain dew you can get with that,” you said before hanging up on them, putting your phone back into your pocket. You were up the stairs now, deciding to use the bathroom before you went to bed for the night but before you could open the door your phone rang again. “Didn’t I already say I don’t have money? What the fuck do you want?” You asked angrily, “Irena, right? Like Irena Dubrovna? Who did you prefer, Simone or Natassja?” The same voice asked you, making you look down the stairs. Irena hadn’t moved yet and no one was around her, or at least from what you could see. “If you hurt my fucking cat I will personally cut off your balls and feed them to he-“ A laugh from the caller cut you off, “I don’t have fun with animals. I’m not Bundy or Dahmer, I like to see my victims, human victims…struggle.” You heard your parent's bedroom door open, letting out a scream before running into your room and slamming the door shut, locking it quickly before the person began to bang on it. You looked around, going to your window and trying to lift it open.

The door cracked, it was like the scene from the shining, except this killer bore a white mask, you recognized it from the Halloween store- father death. You struggled with the window again, before giving up and grabbing the lamp from your bedside table and throwing it at them. The killer moved out of the way before they were hit, pushing their body against the door once more and climbing in through the opening. You could see them fiddle with their knife as if they had held it in their hands a hundred times already and were skilled at fidgeting with it.

You grabbed a glass organizer from your desk, taking the scissors from it before chucking the holder at them. The papers you had stacked before scattered from the throw as they fell down. You rushed to the window as they struggled to get up but never heard them stand. When your head whipped around to check if they were behind you, you instead saw them looking at the papers around them.

Masked killer, Casey and Steve headlines, Maureen Prescott, Cotton Weary trials, even the cutouts you had of Sidney from court. You were obsessed. There were drawings, suspects lists, hell all these needed were red kiss marks and ‘please fuck me mr ghostface!’ written in pink glitter pen ink.

You stared wide-eyed at them when you saw their gaze now on you, their head cocked to the side as a laugh sounded from behind the mask. Just then you heard the sound of gravel being crushed around from the driveway, your parent's car was pulling in, you saw them getting out from your window. When you turned back you noticed the person was gone, you ran downstairs and met your parents at the door, crying and beginning to blubber on about what nearly happened. 

[jeonsbabygirlsworld]

SUMMARY: Life was easy until you meet the eye candy of your life and the adventure with him is a hell of ride, but there is certain someone who seems to get hurt in this.

PAIRINGS: Gynecologist Jungkook X reader ft. bartender yoongi

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

A/N: lol I see no one wants to get tagged in this when I posted the snippet but anyway the tag list is open, and please guys don't let this flop; [ I worked really hard to get motivated enough and write, and this a series and this the first part.✨smut will be there eventually ✨

Note : this is inspired by a web series and I’m GONNA EDIT IT , I’m not gonna make it a whole ass 3 season containing 10-12 episodes per season and I felt like I could do something with this series. Thankyou

Your surroundings suddenly felt hot, the interns did a great job explaining the project to the clients sitting in front of you. The air conditioner did a shit job of keeping the surroundings but it's just you because you see your other intern rubbing her palms under the table.

The meeting was about to end and just when you were about to get up from the chair to leave the hall, the intern called out your name just so you could brief out the entire thing and thank the clients, grabbing on the metal stick you stand in the place where your intern was speaking.

"I hereby extensively elaborate on the profile success of our company, we all can see the numbers of shares growing quickly, see for yourselves" You point to the whiteboard where the graph was made, your company making progress in these past years.

"We can be a great profit for the leading country, sir, I hope you can see the numbers growing live" You then point to the laptop which has a live count of people buying the shares from the company, in the middle while everyone was focused you undo some of the buttons of your red satin shirt and mutter about the poor air conditioner "why am I so damn hot?"

Just when you were about to continue you see Mr. Jeon sitting on one of the chairs that too naked, just in his Calvin Klein boxers, what the fuck? "Yes Ms. Kim, why are you so damn hot?" Jungkook says he rises from his seat climbs over the desk and walks towards you.

you can see the client in shock and eye him, while he climbs down from the table your doctor "Mr. Jeon" is in front of you, his eight packs abs and muscular biceps all out to see, just when you are registering about his details, he picks up the glass of water on the table and drops it all over the neck and you hiss at the cold feeling.

Jungkook scurries the files away from the table and picks you up so you can sit on the table, your shirt is then unbuttoned by him, and he lays soft kisses and slowly bends you down completely until your back is pressed on the table.

Beep beep beep

A loud beep of your alarm drags you out of the dream and you gasp and sit up "fuck did I just have a wet dream about my doctor?" you mutter and grab your phone to off the alarm, you check the number of notifications you had overnight and stumble upon the "doctor's appointment" reminder.

Gasping for the second time now you scurry away from the bed to get a nice warm shower and head to the mister ever so sexy man your doctor "Jeon Jungkook".

"It's itchy lately, hasn't got better since last week" You talk to the man who is between your legs while you keep trying to not moan while checking your vagina. "You may get dressed now and it looks completely fine, and I can't see any infection" Jungkook says and stands straight and moves to his chair right behind the desk giving you some space so you can change.

closing the blinds and getting dressed you place the hospital gown tidily in the basket and move to his table, you grab on the sanitizer which is on his table pump a few drops on yours and apply it while your doctor writes down the prescription.

You notice the hot features of a sleeve tattoo of his you saw on his Instagram when you stalked him on the first day of meeting him, the depth of his gaze looked enchanting, and the afternoon sunlight complimented his skin tone well while you were busy studying his features a small cough brings you out of the daydream.

"Here miss y/n" The doctor hands you the prescription and you widen your eyes seeing at the statement which had written "bath three times a day" You eye him and check yourself by smelling when he isn't looking, and you smell perfectly fine because you sprayed almost the bottle of the perfume and bathed with the new soap bar you bought recently. Giving him a crooked smile you leave the room embarrassed.

Crumbling the paper you place it in your purse and straight away call your best friends to meet up for a brunch and she gladly accepts.

"No, but like seriously y/n" Chae and Yuna both seem shocked and confused and you appear to be more embarrassed "Yeah, he wrote that in the prescription" You show her the paper Jungkook gave you, and she says he wrote it so that you could maintain a proper hygiene and you buy it and proceed to eat your brunch in the cafe.

"Chae Yuna, you can go ahead I'm staying back so I can spend some time with Yoongi, I haven't been catching up on him." Tell her you give her a hug and a kiss on the cheeks, and you part ways.

You head to the bar where yoongi works as a bartender and you make sure to buy his favorite chocolate on your way, you reach there in less than five minutes and there you see Yoongi arranging the glasses in line just to make them fancier.

"Hey, how are you?" Yoongi is slightly confused to see you in the middle of the day and that too a weekday, you chuckle at him, and you tell him you are fine, and you had to meet a friend and not tell him the details about the meeting with the doctor.

"You up for a drink y/n?" The sweet boy asks you and you gladly accept it, looking here and there you realize he is working alone and his intern who never fails to hit on Chae is missing.

"Is Taehyung not here?" you ask him, and he says he had ditched today just because he had an early date and will be here for the night shift nodding you accept his famous highball, "you want any help? I'm free for the day" you offer him, and he casually refuses, and you become a bit sad, but you play it cool.

Yoongi looks at your features and chuckles and tells you he is just kidding and won't mind your help and he's rather happy you want to help him, before coming back to the other side of the table you hand him the chocolate you bought.

Helping him and chatting for a while you hug him and say goodbye, you notice a bit of blush creeping on his cheeks but you wave it up because it can be the alcohol you both drank, and you get back to your home and get a bit of rest so you can wake up fresh and get back on your work from home.

Taglist: @jungk97kwife, @kimmingyuswifee ,@kingofbodyrolls

A/n : this short but hehe more is yet to come 💖

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school. 

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell. 

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him. 

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!” 

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week. 

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son. 

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV. 

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace. 

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom. 

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head. 

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight. 

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you. 

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows. 

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie. 

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me. 

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.  

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable. 

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted. 

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here. 

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun. 

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot. 

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically. 

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door. 

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

--

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[hearts4golbach]

could you write something johnnie x reader where the roles are reversed in cuff me?

Yes, Officer.

pairing:

Police Officer!Johnnie Guilbert x Prisoner!Fem!Reader.

a/n:

also based off of this request.

i wanna write more interesting oneshots like this. GUESS WHOS GOING TO GET TO ACTUALLY SEE FALLING IN REVERSE LIVE??? (if youve read the night shift, you know.)

proofread/not proofread

warnings:

slight gun play, guns, blood/violence mention, pet names (sugar, ma, mama, etc,) SMUT 18+, oral sex (M receiving,) spanking, rough sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, unprotected sex, fanfic logic.

word count:

2.0k

your feet slapped against the pavement as you ran as fast as you could. rain patted against the street, a soft sound mixed with your harsh panting. you dipped into the forest, hoping no one would find you there, you needed to rest. your chest burned as you heaved, trying to catch your breath. rocks stabbed into your feet, making them ache and bleed. your white, stained tank top was now wet with sweat, and you could've sworn there was a puddle of it in your neon orange joggers. you began to walk further into the woods, promising yourself no one would be able to find you.

you found a decent place to sit on a log that was covered in dirt, but it was better than the slick grass and mud. you sat there, staring at the ground as you contemplated your options. you needed to get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. but how? you had no money, no car, no jo-

"put your fucking hands up!" a voice yelled from behind you. you whipped around, "if you run, i will shoot you." he added, walking towards you carefully. "you don't want me to call for backup, do you, ms. L/n?"

you stood up slowly, tossing your hands in the air as you turned around. there stood officer Guilbert, his gray camouflage gun pointed directly at your head. he walked towards you slowly. officer Guilbert was your favorite officer form the prison, not to mention, the most attractive. his sunglasses seemed to be glued to his face, seeing as they were on this late at night.

"still won't take off those damn glasses?" you teased. at this point, his gun was pressed into your forehead. the cold metal sent shivers down his spine. he didn't react to your snarky comment. "you wouldn't dare shoot that."

"don't fucking test me, sugar." Sugar was officer Guilbert's pet name for you. he had obviously taken some what of a liking to you, seeing as he hadn't given any of the other girls a nickname of any sorts. a light pink blush glowed on your face, making officer Guilbert smirk. "you wanna tell me what the hell you're doing out here?"

you rested your aching arms on his shoulders, stepping closer to him. " i want to feel free. don't you get it, officer?" he loved when you called him just 'officer,' you knew it for a fact. you knew he was holding eye contact, even though his sunglasses kept you from knowing for sure.

he lowered his gun slightly, dragging it down your cheek and to your chest. he dragged it down further, resulting in him slightly pulling down your tank top to reveal some cleavage. "you know, you're too pretty to be out here all by yourself. I'm sorry, ma. I'm going to need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back."

you groaned, giving him puppy dog eyes before turning around and doing as he told you. "yes, officer." you hummed, trying to weisle your way out of the situation.

he took a pair of cuffs off of his belt and locked them onto you. "why don't you turn back around and get on your knees, sweetheart?"

your heart jumped at his request. you slowly turned to face him before dropping to your knees. dirt clung to your pants and wood chips stabbed into your knees, but you found it extremely hard to care. the pain attributed to the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Officer Guilbert squatted down, coming face to face with you. "you think i wouldn't hear about your little crush on me? your cell mates don't know how to keep their mouths shut. i know about your fantasies about me, ms. L/n. you wanna tell me what that's all about?" a strong hand gripped your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"well, if you've heard, then i'm sure you already know." you spat, slightly embarrassed.

"you wanna get out of this? use your words, sugar. we can stop any time and i'll take you right back." he teased, a devious smirk plastered on his face. the way he was speaking to you made you throb. you felt arousal pool in your panties. "i have to take you back either way, sweetheart. now is our only time alone, and i plan to use it."

"p-please, officer." you whined, eyes fluttering shut as his calloused thumb ran over your scarred cheek.

"tell me what you want from me, Ms. L/n." he tisked, gripping your chin tighter.

your mouth watered as you noticed the growing bulge in his pants. embarrassment flushed through your body as you spoke, "'wanna suck your dick s'bad, officer Guilbert."

you leaned into his touch, making him smirk. "really?" he replied sarcastically. you chewed your lip and nodded. he pressed a harsh, short kiss to your lips as you melted into his touch. he pulled away and stood up, making you let out a soft moan at the loss of touch. "my pretty girl is just so touch starved, isn't she?"

you watched intently as he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down slowly, revealing the briefs that were restraining his hard cock. your hands strained against the cuffs as you tried to reach out and touch him. "fuck," you whined, looking up at him.

he moved his glasses on top of his head so you could finally see his watercolor eyes. "only good girls get to touch, sugar." yo frowned at his words but didn't protest. "you sure you want to do this?"

you nodded quickly. "yes, yes officer. i want to so fucking bad." you sunk your teeth into your lower lip once more, picking at the shredded skin.

he pulled his boxers down and his dick sprung out. pre cum beaded at the angry red tip. he kept his pants gathered around his mid thigh. you leaned forward, licking from the base of his cock up to his tip. you wrapped your lips around him, making him buck his hips up. you swirled your tongue around his tip, making him groan at the sensation.

"shit," he muttered as you looked up at him with watery eyes. "you're doing s'good. don't worry, sweetheart. i'm gonna get you out of trouble, i was goin' to even before all this." word vomit flowed from his mouth as he watched your every mood.

you hummed against him, making his cock twitch in your mouth. you took him further down your throat. Johnnie choked out a groan. his hand moved to your hair. he grabbed a handful of your hair as he tossed his head back. you bobbed your head faster, rolling your tongue over every detail of his shaft.

"fuck, that's it." you stared at his ink covered skin, admiring his tattoos as you took his cock further into your mouth.

his sensitive tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag around his length. he let out a low whimper, grasping your hair tighter. you couldn't help but smirk, the best you could, at the sounds he was making. "i wish i could break you out of that hell and have you all to myself."

you moaned in response, sending shivers up his spine. he pulled you off of his cock by your hair, the pain making a whimper slip past your lips. his cock was dripping with your spit mixed with his juices. he helped pull you to a standing position. his hand met the area where your jaw meets your neck, gripping it gently as he brought you closer to his face. "you want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours?"

"fuck me, please." you pleaded, leaning into his touch and kissing his jaw.

he let out a grunt in response. "that's what i thought. so fuckin needy for me, hmm?" his lips crashed against yours as he walked you backwards into the nearest tree. he tasted himself on your tongue, making him groan into your mouth. he kept your hands cuffed as he flipped you around. your face was pressed into the tree as he tugged your baggy sweats down. "you look so fucking good, even in these state ordered tidy widys." he teased, placing a light slap on your ass.

you jumped, giggling as his joke. he kissed along your bare shoulder as he slid your panties down around your ankles to meet your sweats. you arched your back, giving him better access to your wet cunt.

"you're so pretty," he muttered against your skin as he alliance his tip with your wet entrance. he thrusted inside you quickly, causing you to let out a loud moan. "so fucking tight." he grunted, setting a quick face.

he drilled into your pussy, savoring the feeling of you clenching around him. you let out pornographic moans, which amused him and turned him on even further, this was the first time you were being fucked in a year and a half, and he was giving it to you good. his hands gripped the chain of the handcuffs tightly. "fucking shit, officer." you teased the best you could, your. mind fuzzy and cock drunk.

he groaned at the name, pulling the handcuffs so you were up against his chest. he wrapped his freehand around your torso and began to massage your tit. "i'm always staring at you. i love when you wear these white tank tops with no bra, fuck." he said breathlessly. he pinched your pebbled nipple between his finger.

"fuck! 'm so close, officer guilbert. please let-" you cut yourself off with a moan. "please let me cum."

"i got you, mama. let go." his sweet tone was contradictory to his manhandling. he pounded into you relentlessly, his only goal bringing you as well as himself past the edge. "where do you want me?"

"shit, my- my mouth." you panted, your jaw falling open as a loud whimper came out of you. your walls clenched around his cock hard as you came. he helped you ride out your high.

your legs were wobbly as you turned around and dropped to your knees once more. his cock was pulsing, begging for release. you stuck out your tongue, resting his tip on it. you pumped his cock quickly as you looked into his eyes, not breaking eye contact for a second.

he tossed his head back with a loud groan as he came inside of your mouth. you swallowed it all. he looked down  at you with nothing but admiration. his gaze softened. "here, get up."

you did as he instructed. he turned you around and unlocked the handcuffs, taking them off and rubbing your wrists gently. he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder before pulling your underwear and pants back up. you turned around and placed a soft kiss against his lips. he wrapped his arms around you and held you close as you kissed.

you helped him as well, pulling up his pants and buckling them for him. "still can't believe you knew about my crush on you the whole time." you joked, still slightly embarrassed.

Johnnie smiled, pressing one last kiss against your lips. he sighed. "fuck it. go."

you looked at him with a quizzical look. "what?"

"go."

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟏 |

a/n: about fucking time lol im so exhausted. hope yall enjoy <3

Warnings: Contains cursing

AU Inspo: Soulmates can hear each other listening to music. The further the distance, the softer the music. The closer, the louder until they find each other.

| [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] |

— — — — — — — — — — 

“Soulmates are essential to survive. There is nothing like the sensation of meeting each other for the first time, and subsequently knowing that you’re fated to be with each other forever. Through thick and thin, they'll always have your back.”

You snort. Miss Grenadine lifts her brow into a delicate arch, her unamused expression remaining the same as you cover your mouth, trying to fake a cough. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class on your last day?”

People around you start to snigger, and you can feel the glances poking your skin like tiny mosquitoes buzzing all over. “Not really.”

“No, no. Please, enlighten me as to what exactly you find so amusing about soulmates.”

“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t found hers yet?” Another classmate suggests. You turn around to see Henry smirking, high-fiving the rest of his friends who’re evidently entertained by his jab.

You roll your eyes, letting a huff slip past your lips. “And you keep arguing with yours, no wonder I’m not jealous that I don’t have one yet.” His friends suck in a sharp breath between their teeth in a hiss, glancing warily between you both. 

“Thank you for your input, Henry. But I asked your classmate, not you.” He’s silenced from uttering another word under Ms Grenaline’s sharp gaze, wilting into his seat with a muttered retort under his breath. 

You turn your attention back to your teacher who’s waiting patiently, hands folded over her stomach in a motherly manner. But you know better. This is fake sympathy, flaky pity in her eyes as she thinks to herself how unlucky you are for not having yet met your soulmate. 

You get it. You’re an anomaly. It’s ‘not normal’ for people to not yet meet their soulmates by the time they’re 18. One way or another, the universe always finds a way to pull two people together by the age of 16. Yet, you’re the exception. 

“I just think the whole music thing is annoying. I mean, do you all not get annoyed? What if you hate metal, but they love it? Even then, it’s just insane how much our lives border on needing someone. Why not just travel alone? Enjoy life?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms defiantly as Ms Grenaline’s eyes widen with every word.

You watch her take a moment to compose herself, plastering a smile on her face as she comes up with the right words to say. Honestly, you couldn’t care less what she wanted to say to you; it’s your last day here anyway. 

“Well,” She pauses, clearly struggling on how to phrase her words in a way that wouldn’t get you to retort once again, “It’s…a very difficult process to describe in words. I understand where you’re coming from with the music aspect, but over time just like how one day you can wake up and decide that you like the colour purple, you’ll experience something similar.”

“You’re right.” You nod. She’s momentarily taken aback by your agreeable response, only to frown when you continue speaking. “It is a difficult process to put in words. And you know what? Maybe not everyone needs a soulmate.” You flash her a toothy smile just as the bell rings, grabbing your bag and starting for the door. “Been good, Ms G.”

You don’t turn to see her reaction, focused on getting to the diner on Sixth Street where you’d promised to meet up for one last meal with your friends before you moved to Ninjago City. Putting the earbuds into your ears makes you wince, shaking your head slightly as the familiar yet nauseating sound of jazz plays faintly in the back of your mind. 

Stupid jazz, stupid music, stupid soulmate.

Right. Your soulmate. You still haven’t told anyone this, but a few months ago, you began to hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz play now and then in your head. You thought you were just going crazy at first, but upon further observation, you concluded that there could only be one cause: Your soulmate was nearby. 

But for some annoying reason, your soulmate loves jazz with a passion. it was always either that or soft rock. Plus, they’re always annoyingly far enough to not have it impounded into your head, but still close enough to have it constantly on repeat in your head. 

The day it first started, you had just finished watching a horror movie and were about to go to bed. However, your soulmate had decided that 5 AM was the perfect time to start listening to soft rock. The sharp twangs of an electric guitar and the steady beats of the drums were enough to keep you up instead of getting your beauty sleep. 

lil binder [ 02:00 PM ]: u otw yet? 

You grin at the message on your screen, typing out a reply to your friend, Melody, as pop music blasts away through your earbuds and effectively drowning out the beginnings of a saxophone.

smartie pebble [ 02:00 PM ]: yea be there in 7

Melody was just one of many of your friends. She had found her soulmate at the tender age of 15, accidentally spilling ice cream on him because she had been too distracted talking to you. Having bore witness to the entire ‘love-at-first-sight’ moment between them, you scooched away as she proceeded to forget about your entire existence in the next hour.

However, now Luke and her were inseparable, and wherever she was, he was bound to be there too. Luckily though, you had bonded with him over your mutual love of cooking, with Melody constantly being on the receiving end of many of your competitive inventions. 

“Yo, it’s the one and only rockstar of our generation!” Luke crows as you enter the diner, and you instinctively stick up your middle finger at him. He grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you set down your bag in the booth seats. 

“About time you got here.” Brendan greets, subtly nudging Nico who glances up from his game for a moment to say a quick ‘hi’. The former is in his uniform as usual, while Nico decided to change out of his, relaxed vest and tapered pants his go-to outfit.

“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Nico arches an eyebrow, though his gaze is focused solely on the rhythm game on his screen.

“Let me guess, you got into another argument about soulmates again.” You look up to see Melody arrive at the table with a large tray of food, tucking away the strings of the apron around her waist. “When will you learn that it’s inevitable?” She sighs, pinching the skin between her eyes and shaking her head in disapproval. 

“Maybe it’s because she’s around us too much,” Luke pouts, snaking his arm around her waist. She grins, ruffling the top of his head. 

“Please, for the love of the First Spinjitzu Master, make it stop,” You groan, pretending to gag and narrowly dodging the packet of chilli she throws in your direction. Picking it up, you tear it open and squeeze out the sauce, dipping the fries into it and eating them with relish.

“So, what’d Ms Grenaline say this time?” Luke focuses his attention on you, letting go of Melody who slides into the seat next to him. Nico steals a fry, munching away even though his meal is right in front of him. He even put away his phone, eagerly waiting to hear what new fight you’d gotten into today.

“She just said some shit about soulmates being essential to survive. Y’know, the usual mumbo jumbo.” You shrug, unwrapping the double cheeseburger and taking a bite. 

“Sounds about right to me.” Melody raises her hands in surrender once you glare at her. “But hey, who am I to judge? Definitely not because I have a soulmate, and definitely not because he’s right next to me.”

“You’re so right.” She rolls her eyes at your automatic reply, barely audible through the massive chunk of pickle in your mouth. 

“I know your family’s kinda complicated, but it doesn’t have to affect your outlook on soulmates forever. Besides, aren’t you moving to the city for your stepmom? That’s kinda progress.” Brenden volunteers his opinion, sipping away at his diet coke. “Don’t you glare at me young lady, you know perfectly well why you’re going. You like her.” 

“As if,” you scoff, forcing down the last bite of lettuce and crumpling the empty wrapper. Melody doesn’t blink an eye at how fast you’ve consumed the burger, already having seen it for at least 6 years.

“She got you the signed copy of Black Beauty, remember?” Nico says quietly, tilting his head. “And besides, you haven’t fought with her in a long while.” 

You bite back a retort, hating how right he is. It’s been at least three months since you’d gotten in a fight with your stepmother - the longest duration so far. “Look, she can try to bribe me all she wants, but I’m going to quickly get through school and move out so I can travel away from her.”

“Mmhm. You’d have a good chance, considering that you got into Business Relations at Ninjago University, so…” Your friends go quiet at the mention, as if just realising that you’re leaving tomorrow morning.

“I’ll be back for summer vacation anyway,” you casually state, finishing off the fries with a satisfied grin. “With autographs from those ninjas you’re always raving about.”

“You promise? I’ll cut off your pinkie finger if it doesn’t come true. You know a pinky promise is legally binding.” Melody warns. 

“I don’t know how you put up with her.” Luke shrugs as you turn to him, amusement in his eyes as he glances at Melody who’s still glaring at you. 

“River time?” Brenden suggests, trying to lighten the mood. Melody nods, turning to face the kitchen staff behind the counter a short distance away. 

“Hilda, I’m heading out!” She calls out, untying the apron and draping it on the seat as everyone leaves the booth. 

“Fuck off!”

“Will do!” Melody grins slyly, gesturing to the exit. “Let’s bounce before she realises I didn’t clear the tables.”

“Love you too Hilda!” You shout back to the grumpy old lady with a fond smile, waving goodbye as you leave. 

“River time! River time! River time!” You join in on their chanting, laughing without a care in the world - and ignoring the faint sounds of guitars and saxophones playing in the back of your mind.

— — — — — 

The truth of the matter is, picnics by the river are among the top few activities you’d willingly leave the house for. After having a few drinks and getting up to a couple of shenanigans, your friends dropped you off at your place with tearful goodbyes.

Nico had refused to let go of your arm, citing ‘who would I hug when you’re gone?’ as the reason why. He had let go after you promised to hug him all he wanted when you came back. It was also then that you vowed to never let him drink again.

After showering and emerging from the steam with a clearer (and significantly less tipsy) mind, you make your way to the comfort of your futon, avoiding stubbing your toe on the luggage near the door. The moving company had already taken most of your stuff, and all that you have to your name now is a singular suitcase, a sling bag, and your futon. 

You wriggle under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the tiredness finally hit you with full force as your eyelids slowly close. The warmth draws you to sleep, dreams calling your name and reckoning for you to come into their embrace. 

Unfortunately, your soulmate doesn’t like to sleep at 1 AM. Soft rock starts playing, and you press your face against the pillow to muffle your annoyed groan. You press the pillow on top of your face, wishing desperately for the music to stop, though you know it’d do nothing to help. Forcing your eyes shut and thinking of anything else to drown out the noise is the go-to method for you, and hopefully, it’ll work this time as well.

Stupid jazz, stupid music. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

A quick Google search in the morning while you brush your teeth reveals a plethora of cafes in Ninjago City, all ready for you to explore. Accidentally clicking on a notification, however, brings you to a separate page where the headline of a news article practically screams at you.

‘Famous Author to make an appearance at Ninjago Museum Fundraiser! All proceeds from the auction are to be donated to preserve local history.

The bestselling author who goes by her pen name of Hanla will be making an appearance at the Ninjago Museum’s Fundraiser occurring next week. Locally curated pieces of artwork and a book of poems written by Hamla herself will be auctioned off. Hamla has also stated that 100% of all proceeds made in her name will be going toward the local conservation of Ninjago’s history. For all fans of her works - You, Me, and the Beat, Beauty and her Phone, and critically acclaimed bestseller Honey, Where Are My Pants?, be sure to stop by for an autographing session that Hamla will be attending! Our local heroes - the Ninja, will also be attending the session, so make sure to get your photos taken with them!’

 “Are you ready yet? We gotta leave in an hour, Munchkin.” Your father calls out from downstairs. You pause to spit out the toothpaste in your mouth, gargling the residue and letting the menthol sting your lips after rinsing. 

“Yeah, just gotta shower and I’m good to go.” You reply loudly, turning your attention back to the mirror. A round, puffy face stares back at you, eyebags apparent after only managing to fall asleep at two in the morning.

You really should stop drinking so late at night. Luckily, a shower helps to reduce the puffiness in your face, and you step out of your room looking somewhat presentable in a lavender hoodie and shorts. 

The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath. 

Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your father is waiting.

“Shall we?” He grins, placing the last of your luggage in the car boot. He closes it, offering a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to guide you to the front seat where the radio is already playing your favourite pop songs. 

As he starts to drive, you’re momentarily distracted with taking the perfect picture for your Instagram story, singing along with your tone-deaf father who’s belting out ABBA as he drives past the massive signboard signalling goodbye. You watch it pass, fields and clouds dotting the sky moving by steadily.

It’d be a lie to say you wouldn’t miss home. But this is a chance at a new beginning - maybe one that could change your life for the better. As faint jazz starts up in the back of your mind, you smile softly. Not even that could dampen your mood.

— — — — — 

You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you. 

You're here. 

Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush. 

You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and he immediately turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything. 

Luckily, he turns back around, choosing to let it pass. 

You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. “Dad, could you drop me off here?” He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk. 

You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront. 

'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'

“Emily’s already making dinner, so just meet us back at the new apartment.” He texts you the new address quickly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Be nice.” He warns, satisfied with the small nod you give in reply. 

“Yeah, just gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow.” You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back. 

“See you later then, munchkin. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around.”

Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent.

“Right. Ninjas.” You mumble with a shake of your head, striding off toward the comic book store. The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him. 

“Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?”

“Well, right here, of course!” You cringe at his response, realising how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you. 

“Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?”

“I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man and throwing in your name as well as an afterthought.

“Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too.”

“Right,” You smile emotionlessly at him. Is everyone here such big fans of the Ninja? Sure, Melody’s a fan, but not as much as bringing them up every chance she got. “Good to know.” 

Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips. He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating. 

“It should be fine then….” He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up. 

“Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics.” He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over. 

The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.

Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze. 

Oh no. He’s hot.

You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gives you. It wasn't a good one; more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.

You finally find the comic you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair. 

After all, what would you be if not cursed with horrid coincidence?

You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.

You stiffen, eyes shifting into a glare.

Rude.

Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. “She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first.” Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.

“Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay.”

Oh. Oh. I see now.

You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pants' voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier. 

Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.

“I trust Rufus. He's a good friend.” 

“...Maybe.”

“Is that…? OMG! It's them!!”

You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past ten minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago. You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you. 

“Fuck.” You watch all the colour drain from Greenie's face while Mr Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression. 

"Not again…" You hear him mutter. “And watch your language,” He adds, elbowing Greenie who just sticks out his tongue. The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realise that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both. 

"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.

"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.

At least now you know his name. 

You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the apartment and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.

You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from a ramen store, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost falling. 

A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier. 

What the everloving fuck-

His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, summoning all the strength in your body to land a solid punch on his chest. He yelps, pressing his lips tightly together to silence himself. He glares at you, and you return it just as angrily. Your fingers close into fists, readying yourself for another punch, aiming for his jaw next.

He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. He had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.

"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your hands slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist before you can protest.

Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.

Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.

Your soulmate's a celebrity? 

For a celebrity, his music taste sucks ass.

"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.

"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you. 

"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seems to display. "And what do you mean nauseating? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily! I mean, who wakes up at 4 AM?? Only a psychopath, apparently."

You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper. 

"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants. 

You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realises the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory. 

“You really gotta get more variety.” Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line. 

“Speak for yourself.” You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you are.

He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. “Out of all people…” You mutter under your breath with a scowl. 

“I could say the same. I don’t know how someone like you ended up as my soulmate.” He retorts, seemingly having overheard. 

“I’m glad we share the same view then. At least that’s one thing we can agree on. Now, let’s make a deal. You go right, and I go left and we never run into each other again. Deal?” You propose, holding out your hand for a handshake. He eyes it for a solid moment, mulling over his decision. Instead of shaking your hand, however, he merely nods, crossing his hands over his chest. Your eyes narrow.

How insufferable.

“Looks like they’re gone.” He takes a moment to glance out of the alleyway, starting in the direction opposite and leaving you to your own devices. You continue to glare at his retreating figure, driving home your irritation by placing your earbuds back into your ears and hitting play.

Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated groan, turning to glare at his broad back. Curse his well-chiselled body and toned arms. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

“So, how was your first day in town?” Your stepmother, Emily, sits down opposite you, taking out one of the hair clips she used to keep the bangs out of her face. Her hair is messy, tied into a ponytail and her skirt is stained with spaghetti sauce. 

“Decent. Went to a comic book place.” You say through a mouthful. Your response is short, but it’s more than what used to be quiet dinners around a tension-filled dining table in the past. 

“That’s good. Doomsday Comix, I assume?” She doesn’t flinch from your wide-eyed gaze, caught off guard by how eerily accurate her guess is. “I used to work there when I was younger. I hope you found the comics you were looking for. Starfarer, right?”

“Right,” You reply unsurely, spooning another bunch of pasta into your mouth. You forget that Emily had been born and raised in Ninjago, only having met your dad during one of her trips for ‘inspiration’. You and she had a rocky relationship, but one could say that you’re currently making progress - you think.

“Did you meet the ninja?” Your dad asks, taking some sliced-up steak on his plate and placing it on Emily’s. You eye the way she lights up at the action, a nauseating feeling beginning to stir in the bottom of your stomach. “I hope if you got in trouble, they got you out of it.”

“Oh yeah? What’re the ninja gonna do, spin me around till I get a headache?” You snort, chewing on an irritating broccoli stem that refuses to get chowed down on. “Mystify me to pieces? Bore me to death?” 

The sarcastic jabs don’t phase your dad in the slightest. He shrugs, used to your disbelieving comments. “Just be careful out there still, okay? I know Ninjago City is safe but there are still pickpockets around and petty crimes.” 

“Which is exactly why I called in a favour from an old friend.” Emily smiles softly at your father, but it fades slightly when she looks at you, uncertainty in her gaze. “He’s an instructor, and I’ve asked him to teach you self-defence so you can at least protect yourself.”

Your hand slows to a halt, the singular piece of spaghetti dangling off your fork as you blink owlishly at her. “I never asked for your help.” The words slip out before you can stop yourself, hurt flitting across Emily’s face before she composes herself, clearing her throat and picking up a piece of broccoli.

Aaand that’s a streak of 3 and a half months without being mean, gone.

“I just thought that maybe you should stay safe. Besides that,” You can sense the carefulness in her words, trying to choose the right ones to say. “I have an event coming up that I’d like you to attend. It’s a fundraiser, and I would like you to be there.” She pauses for a moment, looking from your father to you. “Both of you.”

“No thanks,” The clang of the metal fork against the porcelain plate makes her wince slightly at the harsh sound. You stand up with your half-empty plate, appetite vanishing just as quickly as a passing breeze. “I’m gonna head out. School stuff to catch up on and all.” You spot your father starting to stand up with a frown, only to stop when she places her hand on his arm and shakes her head sadly. 

You ignore it.

Besides, you have a best friend to call.

— — — — — 

“I think I met my soulmate today.” You instinctively pull the phone away from your ear just as she starts screaming. 

“What? Where?? When?? How????? WHO???”

“Comic book store, today,” you reply, playing with a strand of your hair to distract yourself. 

“Comic book store? Oh no, he’s a nerd.” The mock horror in her voice makes you suppress a defeated groan, picturing exactly how wide her smug grin is. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to inhale slowly. Damn. She remembers. 

When you were younger, you had made a bet with Melody as to what kind of person your soulmate would be. Being the naive child you were, you had bet on him being a superstar. 

Melody, on the other hand, had bet that you'd end up with someone the complete opposite of you. A secret nerd. 

Even at the tender age of 15, she had already read countless romantic books filled with cliche tropes. Right now though, this knowledge is absolutely terrifying to you. You hear a sigh of satisfaction over the phone, lips curling into a frown. “I’m not going to do it.”

“You have to! We pinky promised. Plus, Todd’s back home and if you don’t want me to tell him about-” 

“I’ll do it,” you groan, cutting her off from the effective threat. “The First Spinjitzu Master sent you down for just one reason and that was to make my life even worse.”

“Wait.” Melody says, “What happened to your whole spiel about ‘oh I hate soulmates and I never want to have one, bleh bleh bleh’ ?”

“First of all, that is not how I sound. Is that really how I sound to you??” You gasp. Maybe your whole stance against soulmates was getting a bit too much, even for Melody. “Besides, it’s nothing new. His stupid jazz started a couple of months back or something.” You grumble, deciding to collapse on your bed instead of pacing your room.

“And you didn’t tell me??” She says incredulously, her voice raised. You can hear a faint “What didn’t she tell you?” in the background, recognising the voice as her brother’s. 

“Nothing!” She shouts back at him, “I expect details. Right fucking now.”

“It’s not much,” You sigh, looking up at your ceiling and letting your phone rest beside your head, her voice filling the quiet room through the speakerphone. “It came outta nowhere and honestly? If nothing happened, no way am I about to fly across the world just to see him. I have school. And homework.”

“You’ve never handed in a single piece of homework on time.” Her voice has a hint of accusation. 

“What can I say? Moving gives you a whole new perspective on self-reflection.” You shrug nonchalantly, though you know she can’t see it. 

“What’s his music taste?”

“Smooth jazz and soft rock.” You groan at her awws on the other end, “Yeah, let’s see if you still find that cute when you’re trying to sleep and he decides to blast music at 4 AM.”

“An early riser. Maybe he works out?” Melody’s wistful voice doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“I sense dissatisfaction with your current soulmate.” Your snarky reply makes her chuckle. 

“You wish. Luke’s gonna start going to the gym 'cause I said I liked his biceps last week.” She says with amusement, “Right, I have a date tomorrow. Should I wear the pink blouse or blue?”

“Blue.”

“Pink it is.” 

“Why do you even bother asking me?” You say blankly, grinning when she barks out a laugh. “Have fun on your date.”

“Remember to get autographs!”

“I won’t if you don’t shut up and get to bed.” The call instantly concludes with a monotonous dial tone after you hang up, placing your phone on your table with a grin. You open your laptop with a new sense of purpose, searching for articles on the ninja. Your unfulfilled promise haunts you, knowing full well that although most of your friends thought it was a joke, Melody would be intent on at least fracturing your pinky finger if you didn’t get their autographs.

A sudden knock on the door startles you and your hands quickly close the laptop instinctively. The door slowly creaks open, and your dad steps inside. You turn away, pretending to busy yourself with tidying your desk with minimal clutter. “Is this about dinner?”

“Well,” you hear him hesitate. “Kind of. Look, it’d mean a lot to her if you went, y’know. Besides, the self-defence instructor we asked to teach you has already accepted.”

“Can’t you get a refund?” You finally turn to face him, lips parted to say more until you scan his face. Sunken cheeks and eyes filled with sadness stare back at you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d be more open towards his wife. Towards her. 

And just like that, your temper which had slowly begun to bubble up again at the mention of your stepmom dies down, left with nothing but wisps of resentment. You swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Fine. Tell Hamla that I’ll go to her charity fundraiser, whatever.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief, while you focus on your fingers already picking away at the skin on your thumb. Tiny flecks of peeled skin land on the floor, invisible in the lack of light. The skin is red and raw underneath, but you can’t feel the pain, focusing instead on the repetitiveness of the action.

“Thank you, munchkin.” 

The door closes without any further conversation, and the weight on your chest suddenly lifts. It’s still there, but significantly less than before. You close your eyes, hands curling into fists as you breathe out slowly but shakily. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

You open the laptop back up, allowing the bright screen to distract you from any further thoughts. The picture of the ninja fills your screen, one in a black gi catching your eyes. What was he again? The Earth Ninja? 

Glancing at the closet, you mentally flit through your outfit options for the fundraiser. A thought nags away at your brain, as if on the edge of remembering one very important fact. You pull up the article from this morning, rereading it once more as it hits you, looking from the article to the picture a few times before your lips pull up in a slow smile.

Looks like you’d get their autographs sooner than you thought.

[seramilla]

I ended up binging all your posts about Vaggie being related to the Carmine's and ended up having a dream about all the wedding prep, including Carmilla actually meeting Charlie and thanking her for loving and helping Vaggie heal and grow from her time as an exorcist

I'm sorry, but this gave me ideas, so have some fluff instead of angst on this goddamn page for once.

Charlie Morningstar paces back and forth outside Carmine Industries for several minutes before she even thinks about touching the buzzer. A myriad of thoughts race through her mind as she steels herself for what she came here to do. Vaggie is distracted, back at the hotel helping Alastor with some kind of workshop or other for their guests. She has at least an hour until her presence is needed again -- plenty of time, she hopes, for a meeting with Carmilla Carmine.

Ultimately, it's not her who buzzes herself in, but one of the other Carmine girls. Charlie literally falls over in surprise as the metal door clanks open, but she manages to right herself before face-planting on the concrete outside. Odette, if memory serves, is standing there with a confused expression on her face, cocking an eyebrow at her and turning her head 30 degrees like a curious puppy. Charlie clears her throat, blushing profusely at her almost-fumble.

"Od-Odette! Hello! Did I get that right? Um, yeah, hi! I'm here to see Carm--Ms. Carmine. Is she home--at work--do you live or work here? I guess I don't know. I'm sorry, that's a dumb question, I just--!"

Odette chuckles. "She's here. Are you looking for an audience with her?"

Charlie lets out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Yes! Ma'am! Yes, ma'am! Oh, I'm sorry, do you mind if I call you ma'am? Is that weird? Should I call you something else?"

Odette chuckles again. "Odette is fine. No need for any formalities, your highness. You know you're welcome here. Follow me."

"Thank you so much! I'm coming!"

Charlie talks Odette's ears off the entire time they're walking toward Carmilla's office. Up a huge flight of stairs, around a corner, and all the way down a long hallway, Odette is given a crash course on all the current events happening at the Hazbin Hotel. She could probably give a lecture on the topic, given how good Charlie has gotten at really drilling home all the highlights of her redemption program.

When they finally stop in front of Carmilla's office, Odette gives Charlie's hand a firm shake, saying, "It's been a pleasure, Miss Morningstar. Now I must return to my tasks for the day." Then, without another word, she's gone again.

Charlie pauses at the ornate door leading to Carmilla's office. It's tall, and imposing. She's the princess of Hell, goddamn it! Something like this should be super simple for a daughter of Lucifer Morningstar!

Shaking all her misgivings out of her head, she says to herself, "Right! Let's do this!" before knocking firmly on the door three times. After a moment, a muffled yet prominent, "Come in!" reaches her from the other side. Taking another deep breath, Charlie opens the door, and steps inside.

Carmilla Carmine is at her desk, working away at a stack of files and papers that are practically as tall as Charlie is. Other stacks, she assumes the finished ones, are scattered in boxes around the floor at Carmilla's feet. Charlie doesn't even begin to know where to look -- the office is so busy. Instead, she ignores it, and smiles at Carmilla when the other woman's gaze meets hers.

"Charlotte!" Carmilla says, a happy lilt to her voice. She immediately stands and greets the princess with open arms. One of the privileges of dating the daughter of Carmilla Carmine is she's often privy to the woman's more maternal side. A notion that is quite welcome, as far as Charlie is concerned. It's nice, feeling that kind of maternal love again -- it's been so absent from her own life since her mother...left all those years ago.

"It's so nice to see you, Charlotte. Please, have a seat. What do I owe the pleasure of your company today?"

Carmilla gestures Charlie over to the plush couches on the opposite side of her office. The furniture has been upgraded since the last time she's been here. Charlie obliges and takes a seat. Carmilla joins her.

Charlie debates whether to break through her own misgivings with small talk, but decides better of it. She came here with a purpose today; she only has so much time before she's needed back at the hotel, so she decides to just get to the business at hand.

"Well," Charlie starts, immediately fumbling all the words she'd so diligently practiced earlier. That's so like her. But she won't be deterred! She grips the fabric of her pants tightly in both fists and continues.

"As you know, Vaggie and I are coming up on our 5-year anniversary in a few months. It's a big milestone for us, and I wanted to do something really special for her..."

Charlie pauses, waiting to see if Carmilla will interject. The older woman is as poised and stoic as ever, waiting patiently for Charlie to continue. Charlie wishes she could better gauge what the woman is thinking at the moment...but it can't be helped. Charlie's not a mind reader. Nowhere else to go now, but forward!

"...Anyway...um...what I came here to do today was...uhh...oh, fuck, why is this so hard?"

"Take a breath, Charlotte. It's okay."

That definitely is not helping Charlie's nervousness at all, being reminded to breathe, like she doesn't have two perfectly capable lungs, all her own. Carmilla is still looking at her with that face, like everything is fine. How does she know it's fine? She doesn't even know what Charlie's going to say!

Breathe, Charlie!

"God, okay. Hoooo boy. Carmilla. I came here today to ask...to tell you...that I love Vaggie very much. More than anything in the world. My life was not complete until she literally fell into it, and every day since then has been more rich, more fulfilling, and more full of joy than I can ever put into words. I'm telling you this because I'm going to...I want your blessing when I... I'mgoingtoaskhertomarrymeandIwantyoutotellmeit'sokay! Okay?"

The last part comes out of Charlie's mouth in a flurry of words. She lets out a sigh of relief, thankful she was able to get it out. She hopes Carmilla had understood her. Thankfully, the sparkle in Carmilla's eyes tells her that she has, and so much more. Before she can even protest, Carmilla pulls Charlie into a hug that's so tight, her spine nearly bows from the force of it.

Shit, this overlord's strength is nothing to sneeze at.

"You don't need my permission, Charlotte," Carmilla says, squeezing Charlie even harder around the waist. Charlie squeaks.

"I...I don't?"

"Of course not. You're already family. And Vaggie's a big girl. She can make her own decisions. But if you want my blessing...then of course you have it. I can never repay you for protecting her, loving, her, and watching over her when I couldn't. I would love nothing more than to welcome you into our family...officially."

"You, too!" Charlie says, not wanting to diminish the other woman's contribution to Vaggie's healing process. "Also, I almost asked my dad if he would do it, but...I want you to be the one to walk her down the aisle, if she says yes! I know she would want that!"

Carmilla can't hide the fact that she's the one crying now. Charlie sees her trying to hide the tears behind the hand in front of her face, but the cracks are breaking around the older woman's facade like a dam trying to overrun its banks. She smiles at Charlie, and nods.

"Of course I will. I would love nothing more than to give my girl away to you."

Charlie can't wait for the day she can pop the question to the love of her life. She's already bought the ring, got the date planned with Asmodeus, and booked an opulent night full of food, dancing, and every other pleasantry the Lust ring has to offer. She vows to make it the best night of Vaggie's life, second only to their wedding day, if she accepts Charlie's proposal.

Beyond that, all Charlie can see is happiness. She never dreamed as much for herself. But it's so close, she can almost grasp it. She leaves Carmilla's that day feeling more light and airy than she has in a while, and more full of conviction that she has the strength to see this through.

She deserves it. Vaggie deserves it. Carmilla deserves it. Her heart is so full of love and raw tenderness, she could practically burst.

[urfavstargirl1]

Here’s a little prompt ig you can call it for you Eddie fluff buttttt Eddie is crushing on shy!reader? Idk if that helps with ideas but yea :)

hey anon, don't think I forgot about you babe. still in the mood for fluff but finally found the time to write

-----------------------------

Talk

"Psst," Eddie hisses from the desk next to you.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, turning your head slightly to the other side.

“Hey," he gently taps your desk, giving you no other choice than to nervously peer up at him, "Do you have a pencil I could borrow?”

Borrow. No amount of stars in his eyes or sweetness in his smile could distract from the fact that this would be the fourth pencil in a row he’s borrowed this week.

You almost want to say something, but it’s not worth the trouble. Why make a big deal out of something as small as a pencil?

“Please,” he whispers as the person in front of him passes a stack of papers to him.

You reluctantly oblige. You always have a stash of pencils in your bag. Eddie seems to have observed as much and was poised to use it to his advantage.

Failing to prepare is preparing to fail. At least that’s what your parents always said.

So, of course, you were always prepared for anything. Having a backpack with extra pencils, a sharpener, mini first aid kit, period products, hair ties, and even a snack or two has come in handier more often than you'd like to admit.

It always astonishes you to see people like Eddie who don't seem to be prepared for anything. At least not that you could see in class.

However, it was just your luck that Eddie Munson would be the one to identify this fact of yours, thanks to the stupid seating chart Ms. O’Donnell had in class forcing Eddie sit to right next to you.

You almost resented her for it. Teachers were always sitting the bad kids or the loud kids next to you, hoping your shy and quiet demeanor would somehow cancel theirs out like some stupid pemdas math equation.

But no, that was not how the laws of the universe worked. Sitting next to Eddie didn't make a difference in his behavior, much to Ms. O'Donnell's dismay.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” Eddie grinned at you, making your eyes widen and heart constrict in your chest. And perhaps that was one of the few plus sides, not nearly enough to counteract the many downsides to sitting next to Eddie: that thing you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Some could call it charm. Others might call it charisma. You weren't sure what to call it. But all you knew was that before this class, you wouldn't have given much thought to Eddie. If you saw him in the hall, you would either not notice him completely or if you did, you probably wouldn't get any goosebumps or an alarmingly high pulse like you do now.

Whenever he smiled at your or talked to you, even about something as simple as borrowing a pencil, he always said it like you were special, and his smile or words were for you and you only.

No one had ever made you feel that way before.

You could barely admit to yourself how much you liked your minute daily interactions with Eddie, let alone tell him.

So like always, you turned your attention forward, failing to ignore that thump thump, thump thump feeling of your heart beat somehow louder or maybe just faster as a result of that stupid smile and tried desperately to ignore the feeling and instead, get to work on your pop quiz.

****

After you've turned in your pop quiz, waited a mind-numbingly boring amount of minutes between the quiz and the end of class, the bell rings.

The sound of the tinkly metal chime brings you back to life. You organize your things in your bag and get up from your desk.

From the corner of your eye, you see Eddie barely finishing up with his quiz.

Just like yesterday and the day before, you know he's not going to give you your pencil back. For all you know, he'll need it for his other classes. Which makes you wonder how he survived the periods before yours.

But for now, you're just relieved class is over and you can enjoy a much needed break at lunch.

You make your way to the door of the classroom and exit into the hall, thrust into the sea of students making their daily migration to the cafeteria. Before you can even make it to the end of the hall, Eddie catches up to you.

"Hey neighbor," a deep voice reverberates behind you and suddenly, a warm shoulder lightly presses into yours.

You turn your head to the side of the offender and find a wild head of frizzy tousled waves framing the face of none other than Eddie Munson.

Your eyes widen and lips part. Your expression frozen as you process the fact that Eddie is currently standing next to you, and closely enough that you can feel the warmth of his body.

"H-Hi," you say as more of a question than a greeting.

"I believe this belongs to you," he says as though he's handing you some sort of precious gem despite only the wooden pencil being offered from his rough ring clad hand.

"O-oh. Thanks," you say in bewilderment, slowly accepting the pencil from him.

He smiles at you again and it that same heart-wrenching smile that just makes you want to faint into his arms.

"I should be the one thanking you. Can't army crawl my way to a D without the proper equipment," he jokes.

You smile and awkwardly laugh, instantly feeling guilt about being so annoyed by lending him a pencil when he's obviously struggling in class.

You settle into a silence. Something you're usually comfortable with, but as you've somewhat gotten to know Eddie in class, realize he may just be the opposite.

"So, you don't really talk much, huh?" Eddie ask as you both continue walking to the cafeteria.

You guess you and Eddie are walking to lunch together now.

You shrug at his question. This isn't the first time someone has asked you this and it definitely won't be the last. "What's there to say?"

"Lot of things," Eddie shrugs and smiles at you.

How can you talk, when Eddie's stupid smiles send you into a mental frenzy, preventing any sort of coherent speech.

You shake your head and try to find the right words, something you seem especially to have trouble with around Eddie.

"I don't know. Talking's overrated. You can learn way more about a person by listening."

"Gotcha," Eddie nods, "So what have you learned about me?"

"That you never come to class prepared," you say without even thinking.

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you wish they hadn't. Instantly feeling remorse and embarrassment at the fact that the filter you are usually good at using when speaking to anyone besides your friends has somehow seemed to disappear in the presence of Eddie Munson.

Meanwhile Eddie is doubled over laughing at your blatant response.

"I'm sorry. What I meant was-"

Eddie places a hand on your shoulder and smiles at you with both his mouth and his eyes, "Don't be. It's true."

You face forward and nod, already feeling a warmth crawl to your cheeks.

"Hey," he nudges your shoulder, making you look into his warm brown eyes, "But if you don't talk, how am I ever gonna learn anything about you?"

You gasp as though you got sucker punched in the stomach.

Your brain can barely even scramble to mutter a coherent response.

Your eyebrows raise and your eyelids blink.

This is also why you don't talk a lot. Half the time, the thoughts in your brain don't seem to know how to make it to your mouth, and the other half, well, your mouth just ends up doing all the talking for you.

"Watch where you're going freak," someone shouts near you and Eddie.

Before you've even realized it, you've made it to the cafeteria and got into the lunch line with Eddie.

Eddie scowls and merely flips the student off before turning to you and smiling.

You shyly smile back, but still severely aware of the comment he had made.

Eddie... wants to learn about you?

"Seriously though," he laughs, a certain sort of rasp more pronounced in his voice, "What's a guy gotta do?"

You shrug, not sure how to answer what is a rather loaded question for you.

"I don't know," you answer frankly. "Talk is cheap. A lot of times people are saying things without really saying anything important, you know?"

"So you only talk when you really want to say something, when you mean it?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," you nod.

"I see," Eddie nods and gestures for you to go before him as you approach the food station.

As you grab your tray Eddie leans over to you and says, "Why don't you sit with me and my friends today? They can be a bit of a riot but I think you'll like 'em."

On any other occasion, his offer would practically give you a heart attack, but seeing as all your other friends are either in study hall or have a different lunch period leaves you no other choice.

"Um, sure," you nervously smile and let him lead the way to his table.

"Gentlemen, meet Y/N. She'll be sitting with us today so let's give her a warm Hellfire welcome," Eddie announces as he sets his tray down at the end of the table. Two rows of boys sit on either side of the table, letting about six sets of eyes land on you.

You smile nervously and wave awkwardly, "Hi."

There's no empty seats next to Eddie, but before you can find another one by the other end of the table, Eddie shoos some of the boys to his right to scoot down a seat creating an empty one next to his.

You gracefully take a seat and mutter a quick thanks to the closest boy.

"So, what's Hellfire?" You ask nonchalantly. But perhaps it was a naive question because it causes the rest of the boys to go into a full tizzy.

"Eddie!"

"You didn't tell her?"

"It's the only saving grace in this god-forsaken hell hole."

Comments and exclamations come flying at you meanwhile Eddie can only smile and stare at you, simultaneously making your chest feel warm and like you want to crawl under a rock.

Eddie lays a warm palm along your forearm, "Patience, young jedi, you'll soon learn the ways of the Hellfire Club."

You eyes instantly shoot down to look at his limb connected to yours. And instinctively, you look up at the boy across from you, as if to silently ask, "Are you seeing this too?"

And he looks at you with widened blue eyes and eyebrows that almost reach the head of light brown wavy hair as if to say, "Yeah, I'm seeing this too. It's weird, right?"

You subtly nod, because it is weird. Not entirely unwelcome, but definitely unexpected.

Eddie retracts his hand and begins to say something. The table has all eyes on him, but not you. You're still replaying what just happened in your brain over and over again like a carousel projector caught on the same slide.

"Right Y/N?" Eddie asks.

You shake your head and mutter a quick apology. "Huh?"

"Well while you were off in la la land and, trust me, I don't blame you. I do it all the time myself. But we were just talking about tonights Hellfire meeting. You in?"

Oh no, he caught you. Does he have any idea you were thinking about how warm and rough his hand felt on your skin? Or how strong his fingers felt?

Hopefully not.

But the more important thing to worry about now is the fact that Eddie just invited you to Hellfire Club!

What does this mean?

Should you say yes?

You kind of have to say yes right? It'd be rude not to. And it seems like a big enough deal to him and his friends. But you still have no idea what Hellfire is or what's gonna happen tonight. But you guess you're just going to have to find out.

"Um, yeah," you reply with a shy and bright smile.

"Yeah," Eddie fist pumps in the air. "Okay, so I gotta warn you, these guys can get pretty reckless. But I know you can handle it."

You smile with your lips closed and nod. Oh god, what have you gotten yourself into?

"Meet us in the drama room after school, okay?"

"Sure," you nod and shyly smile at the other boys.

After school comes like clockwork and you find yourself nervously approaching the drama room doors. A poster with messy handwriting reads, "Hellfire Club Meeting in Session."

Okay, here goes.

You open the door, and enter the dark space. You wander through the room, guided by the warm stage-lights turned on further inside.

You eyes land on Eddie, who's sitting at a throne prop no doubtedly used by the drama club for the upcoming play. He's seated at the head of the table, just like at lunch.

He goes between reading a piece of paper and adjusting figurines on the table.

As you walk further into the room, you see no one else is here yet. It's just you and Eddie.

And before you can even say anything, your footsteps are enough to announce your presence causing Eddie with a face of concentration adorning his scrunched up brows and pursed lips, to a full on grin and lit up eyes as he sees you.

"Hey neighbor," he gets up from the throne and jogs over to you.

You nervously grin and offer a small squeaky, “Hey.”

He gets closer to you and swiftly encloses you in a bear hug.

Your body tenses and your eyes flinch shut. You didn't expect him to make such a move, much less so casually. But then you take a second to embrace the feeling of his strong arms around you. The warmth of his body against yours. Or the scent of soap and tobacco lingering on his clothes.

And before you can even think to hug him back, he pulls away, but leaves one arm wrapped around your shoulder and guides you to the table, "I'm glad you could make it."

You make a sound adjacent to a nervous laugh, “Yeah.”

Eddie pulls the chair closest to throne out for you to take a seat. Eddie sits on the edge of the table and looks down at you.

“Alright so before everyone else shows up let me fill you in on how things go down in Hellfire.”

The feeling of your surprise and almost fear at the unknown of what will happen must be evident on your face because Eddie leans forward and places a comforting hand on your forearm again.

“Don’t worry okay, it’s gonna be fun,” he says in a voice you find utterly endearing but aren’t poised enough to really appreciate it because all you can focus is on is the feeling of flames at the point where Eddie’s skin and your meets.

“O-Okay,” you force yourself to utter.

You focus as best as you can while Eddie explains the game of Dungeons and Dragons to you, but by god is it easy to get lost in those stars in his eyes.

Soon the rest of the boys start showing up and they help explain a few other things too.

Before you know it, you're in the midst of your first campaign. You have no idea what you're doing half the time, but Eddie was surprisingly right. It is fun.

So much fun in fact that you've lost track of time. And now you really should be heading home before your parents start to worry.

But Eddie has hypnotized you. You don't want this night to ever end. But it has to. And now, all the boys are packing up their things and getting ready to leave. And so should you. So you do.

And as the boys begin to trickle out of the room, Eddie looks at you and says the magic words: "Hey, can I give you a ride home?"

If someone would have told you earlier today that you'd be spending the evening with Eddie Munson at Hellfire Club and would even be getting a ride home from him, you would have never believed them.

But anything could happen.

"Yeah," you nod breathlessly.

The night sweeps you by as you find yourself in the passenger seat of Eddie's large beat up van with loud metal music blaring from the speakers.

But it feels oddly comforting. And you don't mind being the passenger seat princess with Eddie's music and fast paced train of thought filling the space.

You could listen to Eddie talk for hours. Whether it be in that silly medieval accent he does for Hellfire or in his normal voice with just enough rasp and deepness to it that you love.

As Eddie's van crawls along the curb to your front yard, and as he shifts the gear into park, a wave of sadness overcomes you.

You look out the window and over to Eddie. You press you lips together and shrug, pointing out the window with your thumb, "This is me."

Eddie nods and rubs the palm of his hand along the nape of his neck, "Yeah. Listen, uh, I had a lot of fun with you today."

"Me too," you squeak.

Eddie's eyes light up as he looks into yours, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you shyly smile, feeling heat crawl to your cheeks and neck.

"Cool, yeah, I'm glad," Eddie flounders around his words as he lays his palms flat along his thighs and rubs them along the denim, slightly avoiding your gaze.

"Eddie," you ask as you shift your head, looking for his eyes. When he lets you find them, he smiles nervously.

Eddie. Nervous? No way.

"Sorry, uh, I don't usually get like this," Eddie looks away and awkwardly laughs. "Kind of funny how I'm the shy one now."

"It's okay," you reassure him.

He pauses for a moment, and you decide to do something unexpected. You place a gentle hand on his forearm, attempting to comfort him the way he had for you.

He briefly flits his eyes up to yours and lets out a breathless laugh. With his other hand, he guides your hand to move down and interlock with his. He squeezes firmly, grounding himself in your touch.

"You're really cool, you know that?" Eddie smiles at you earnestly.

"No, but thanks," you shyly smile back, feeling about one million butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Would it be cool if I, um... Could I have your phone number?"

Now, you've officially died and gone to heaven.

You nod giddily and sweetly whisper a soft, "Yeah."

You take out a notebook and pencil from your bag. You tear off a corner from a blank page and write your phone number.

You hand it over to Eddie and you can practically feel the buzz of electric excitement coming from him.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, just don't forget to bring a pencil this time," you tease as you put you things back in your bag and unbuckle your seatbelt.

"Then what excuse will I have to talk to you," Eddie responds.

You laugh at first until you realize he meant it. He was actually doing that just as an excuse to talk to you.

Holy shit.

"Um, I'm sure you'll come up with something," you nervously laugh. "You seemed to work that Munson magic pretty well today."

It was something you said rather off-handedly, but that sort of is what drew you to Eddie. Some sort of magic he seemed to possess. Someone who was rather unsuspecting from the jump, seemingly with magic had you utterly charmed.

"Munson magic, I like that. Guess you'll just have to find out tomorrow then," Eddie said confidently.

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, "Whichever one you want it to be."

You rolled your eyes and smiled as you opened the car door and slide out of the seat, "Goodnight Eddie."

Eddie smiled at you as you looked at him one last time.

"Goodnight Y/N," he smirked.

You close the door behind you and giddily walk up the driveway to your house, hoping Eddie nor your parents would be able to tell just how giddy you'd felt.

Or how strange this whole day has been. Or how Eddie's Munson magic has you feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

[azsazz]

Strips and Sutures

Daddy!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian helps stitch up his daughters doll.

Warnings: None, fluff!

Word Count: 1,208

_________________________________________

“Daddy! Daddy!” The screams for him are ones he hopes he never has to familiarize himself with. Choked cries for help through shaky breaths on lungs too little to sound so loud.

Cassian’s heart screeches to a halt in his chest. His fingers clench around the utensils he’s using to swipe jam onto a slice of bread for his daughter’s lunch. The blunt butterknife isn’t his first choice of a weapon but he could make it work, has made less work. He knows there’s no intruder in his home, you had taken Gideon and Castor to school today and were running some errands in town, leaving Cassian and your youngest daughter, Sif, to some time alone.

The metal clangs loudly against the countertop as he darts from his station, the snack splattering on the stone with a squelch by the time he’s through the doorway, on his way to find his daughter. He can hear her little feet pattering his way and he slows his pace so he doesn’t go barreling into her.

He’d only left her alone for hardly a minute, how could something have gone so wrong already?

“Sif?” He calls out, halting with warrior-like quickness as his daughter rounds the corner, stumbling right into his legs. She buries her face into his shin, wrapping her arms around his calf with surprising strength for a four-year-old.

She has fat tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks and it takes some effort to pluck her from his pants to cradle her in his arms, the doll she’s clasping to sweeping up with her. A quick scan proves nothing wrong; no cuts or bruises to be seen, and Cassian brushes away her unruly hair sticking to her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt?” He asks because he doesn’t know what else to do. She’s full on sobbing now, hugging the doll tightly to her chest like a lifeline. The sight makes his heart ache, he’ll do anything to see her happy.

He’s a split second away from calling out to Rhys or alerting you through the bond because of the absolute pain rushing through his veins. Cassian’s become accustomed to the accidents and cries of his children, but it never gets easier.

“No,” Sif sniffles, blinking the tears from her big, beautiful hazel eyes. She holds up her doll but it’s much too close to his face to be able to see what she’s pointing out. “But Ms. Genavieve is!”

Cassian leans away, uncrossing his eyes to see the slight tear in the little doll, right where her arm and body meet. He lets loose a breath, shoulders melting in relief because Sif is perfectly in one piece, even if her toy isn’t.

“My poor baby,” Cassian coos, brushing her hot cheeks, wet with tears, once more. He rocks her against his chest, soothing the upset babe in his arms, pressing kisses to her forehead. “Daddy can fix her, don’t you worry.”

Tears line her eyes as she looks from the doll to him, and Cassian wants to cry at the way her little lip juts out in a pout, wobbling as she questions him. “You can?”

“Of course, pretty girl,” he soothes, “Let’s find mommy’s sewing kit and then I’ll finish your lunch. You can eat while I sew up Ms. Genavieve.”

“Okay,” she nods, fingering the threads hanging loose from her doll.

Cassian carries her throughout the house, beelining for the closet he knows you keep all of the miscellaneous supplies within the home. Sewing kit, medical box, art supplies, and games line the shelves, overwhelming in itself. 

He lets loose a sigh, beginning his search.

“Come on mommy, come on mommy,” he mutters, scanning the shelves, shoving things out of the way. “Where is it? Ah-ha!”

Sif giggles at his excitement, pulling the kit from the shelf. Cassian kicks the door shut, cringing when he hears something clatter to the ground on the other side.

He’ll blame it on Gideon when he gets home.

They make their way back to the kitchen where Cassian sets Sif in her seat, pulling it up to the counter. He rounds the counter, grimacing at the half of the sandwich that landed face down on the counter. Sif giggles, still holding her doll tightly to her chest as Cassian shrugs, folding the bread in half and stuffing it in his mouth as he reaches for a fresh slice for his daughter.

“Can’t let that go to waste now, right Siffy?” he mumbles through the mouthful.

She wrinkles her nose in response, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, daddy.”

Yep. Definitely her mother’s daughter.

He makes quick work of making her sandwich, humming and making silly faces to keep her happy while he does so. Sliding the plate across the counter to her makes Sif giggle and his heart soar. He fills a cup with milk for her to sip on and clears his station before setting it all up for Ms. Genavieve’s procedure.

Cassian matches the strand to the color of the fabric, and threads the needle and sets the doll before him, all of the supplies he needs are ready by the kit should he need them.

He takes a deep breath, glancing up to his daughter who has her sandwich occupying both hands, a tiny bite taken from the middle of it. Sif chews while she watches intensely, waiting for him to make his first move and it makes him more nervous than it should. He doesn’t want to disappoint his little girl.

Cassian stares at the tear. It’s not big by any means, and Mother be damned if he’s going to wait for you to get home or ask one of the wraiths to help him. He’s sewed up injuries plenty of times, when he’d been on missions or in wars and needed to quickly close a wound so he wouldn’t bleed out before getting to a healer. He’d even patched up Az once, back when they were teens and the shadowsinger was much too nervous to go to the medical tent because of the pretty girl that he couldn’t seem to stay away from. 

The shadowsinger wouldn’t let him near with a needle since. 

“Right,” he mutters, lowering the needle, “Nice and easy now.”

The first stitch is the worst, but Sif doesn’t make any noises to tell him he’s doing it wrong so he keeps going, keeping focused on the task at hand. He makes the suture as straight as possible, taking his time to align them perfectly, not skipping over any areas and pulling the thread tight before tying it off with perfection. 

“Well, little Miss Sif, I think Ms. Genavieve is very happy to once again have her arm at full capacity,” Cassian boasts, holding up her doll like a trophy. Sif cheers from her seat, making grabby hands for the toy and he hands it over before realizing with a start that she’s probably a mess from her lunch.

Indeed, she smiles, hugging the doll tightly to her chest and rubbing her jam-smeared face against the cloth toy. He cringes, sighing as he packs away the sewing kit.

“I suppose we should get Ms. Genavieve in the bath now, right, Siffy?”

[moonstruckme]

Feels like home by bae miller and Jessie reyez with Eddie. This just screams causal dominance. Like they go to a party her dress is rising up but she’s alittle too drunk or faded to care so he pulls it down and she drinks to much so the next morning he fills her in on all the shenanigans they got up to. And even tho she does not like metal music she keeps the records in her room for him. So like after the party they come back to her place(I’m a sucker for Henderson reader) and then they take a nap after they wake up hung over and then stay up all night talking and being cuteeeeeee

Thanks for requesting honey! I forgot to include the part about the records, but I hope you like it anyway <3

cw: mentions of alcohol, hangover, blackout/missing memories

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 833 words

Eddie is a bit worried for himself. He’s woken up before you, face a whisper away from yours. Your mouth is open, a lazy river of drool pooling on his pillow, you’ve got total raccoon eyes going on after rubbing your eye makeup all over the place, and there is not one but two m&ms crusted to your cheek. And you’re the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. 

That’s got to be a problem, right? It can’t be good for his sanity to be this delusionally in love. 

It’s not long after he’s woken that you make a muffled whining sound, rolling onto your stomach. Eddie sets a hand between your shoulder blades, rubbing firmly. 

“Hey there,” he says, because he’s a selfish asshole who’d rather have you up with him than let you sleep. Whatever. He practically carried you home. You owe him one. 

You groan, a dragged-out sound of great hardship. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Fuck,” you whimper. 

“Hey, at least you didn’t throw up. Way to go, hot stuff.” He holds up your limp hand and high-fives it, grinning at his own stupid joke. 

You turn your head to the side, lids peeling open until dim slivers of consciousness are visible through your mess of makeup. “I didn’t?” 

Eddie chuckles at your confusion, giving your shoulder a loving squeeze. “No, you didn’t, baby. Don’t remember much about getting home, huh?” 

“Don’t remember much, period.” You start the miserable climb up the wall behind Eddie’s bed, clawing your way upright. An m&m falls from just under your cheekbone, leaving a small pink circle in its place. You reach up confusedly, brushing off the other one. “How did those get there?” 

Eddie shuffles closer to you, trading his pillow for your thigh. “You dug through a bag of trail mix for them before you knocked out.” 

Your lips pull to the side, considering, before you pick up the m&m and pop it in your mouth. “So, what did we do last night?” 

Eddie can’t honestly say it’s all crystal clear for him either. Some things stick out, like the image of your ass hanging out of your dress in the moments before he pulled the fabric down, over and over again, or the blissed-out look on your face when Eddie took a hit from his joint and blew the smoke into your waiting mouth. The feel of your lips against the shell of his ear when you leaned in close to whisper, I know we don’t like the same stuff, but can we agree that the music here is crap?

“You insisted on pissing on the Carver’s lawn on the way home from Sweeney’s place,” he reminds you. “I tried to stop you, but your ass is quick when you want something, you know that?” 

Your eyebrows raise a second before you nod approvingly. “Good. Very deserved, after what they did to you.” 

“My fucking hero,” Eddie drawls, twisting upwards to give you a kiss. It turns salacious fast, you burying your fingers in his curls and him sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. He climbs on top of you, hands bracketing your hips, and you make a magnificent keening sound a second before breaking away with a gasp. 

“Eddie,” you say breathlessly, an air of epiphany about you. “Eddie, you know what would be so good right now? Like, would be the best thing ever?” 

“What, sweet thing?” He rests his cheek against yours. Your hair smells like sweat and weed. 

“A McDonald’s hashbrown.” 

A chuckle rumbles through Eddie’s chest. “You’re still drunk.” 

He can hear the eye-roll in your voice. “Whatever, so are you. But doesn’t that sound good?” 

“Yeah, baby, it does.” He kisses your nose before leaning back to see you. “Two problems, though. McDonald’s doesn’t open for breakfast until five, and my van’s still parked at the curb outside Sweeney’s house.”

You go quiet, pensive. You start to chew on your lip, but Eddie thumbs it out from between your teeth, tutting. “Isn’t McDonalds on the way there?” you ask after a minute. 

He thinks about it. “I mean, if we go the way by the tracks, I guess it is.” 

You grin. “Then if we start walking now, we can hit it for hashbrowns on the way, and pick up your van after.” 

Eddie heaves a long-suffering sigh, letting his body slither down until his head rests on your lap again. 

You laugh, toying with the baby hairs at his temples. “C’mon, Eds, they’re gonna taste so good. Plus, you’ve gotta get your van anyway. Two birds, one stone.” 

“I know, my girl’s a fucking genius.” Eddie passes a hand over his face, steeling himself. “Okay, sweet thing, but you’re gonna have to change. I can’t be on dress duty when I’m double-fisting two hashbrowns.” 

You bend to kiss him happily between his eyebrows before shuffling out from under him. Eddie’s head hits the mattress, and he wonders if he might regret this.

[thesapphictimelady]

Ad Astra Per Aspera Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.2K

TW: Implied previous domestic abuse, references to alcohol

A/N: I’d like to point out I am NOT a plumber, the plumbing mentioned in this chapter is something that worked in my old classroom. It is not meant to be a solution for everything! Anyways, this is not proofread but I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

“New kid, time to wake up,”

Cassie groaned and rolled over on the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes, “Go away, Jenny, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jenny? Geez kid, how much did you drink last night?” Melissa chuckled, “It’s me. Ms. Schemmenti?”

Cassie sat up, “Oh my god, Ms. Schemmenti I’m so sorry! I-I thought you were…”

“Don’t worry about it kid, get dressed. We gotta get to school.”

Cassie hastily grabbed a dress out of one of the boxes that were strewn around the small space and headed into the bathroom to change. Once she had pulled her dress on, she set to work removing the makeup from last night and reapplying. She winced when she saw the bruising on her neck was still a sickly green color but she made quick work of covering it up and then applying some mascara and lip gloss.

When she left the bathroom, she saw Melissa had settled herself on the couch.

“I’m really sorry about the mess,” Cassie said, “This was all I could find on such short notice and it’s…it’s really small.”

Melissa snorted, “Really small is certainly one way to put it.”

Cassie flushed and started digging through a box until she produced a thin gray sweater to layer over her pink dress.

“Ms. Schemmenti, you don’t have to wait for me. I know you drove here last night,”

“Nah, I’m giving you a ride. I might as well. Plus the parking might be limited today,”

“Why would the parking be limited?” Cassie asked, pulling on her shoes, “There were tons of empty spots yesterday,”

“The Eagles are playing and Ava rents out parking spaces,” Melissa said, twirling her car keys around one finger.

“Is she allowed to do that?”

“Ava just does whatever she wants. Besides, sometimes you gotta bend some rules”

Cassie opened the front door and the two stepped outside. Despite the time, it was already hot out and Cassie was glad she had chosen a thin sweater.

“Come on,” Melissa said, opening the car door, “I want to make sure we get seats with Barb.”

Cassie got into the car and set her bag by her seat. Melissa’s car smelled like vanilla but there was a lingering scent of menthol. The drive over to the school was quiet, and Cassie rested her head on the cool window. Before she knew it, they had pulled into the school parking lot. It was already crowded and the smell of barbecue filled the air.

“Barbeque? It’s 7 in the morning!”

Melissa shrugged, “They get started early. Now let’s get inside.”

Just like Melissa had said, Ava was hungover as hell. The lights in the gym were dim and the principal was wearing sunglasses and sipping gatorade.

“Hi,” Cassie said, going to introduce herself, “I’m Cassiopeia. I started yesterday.”

Ava waved her away, “Girl, it’s too early for this,”

Melissa snorted and pulled Cassie over to where the folding chairs were set up, setting her bag on a third seat for Barb.

“I’ll be right back,” Melissa whispered, before going back to where Ava was and whispering something to her. Ava pulled her sunglasses down to eye Cassie before handing Melissa a gatorade.

The redhead handed the gatorade to the younger teacher, and then produced a bottle of aspirin, “Here, you’re gonna need these. That hangover is gonna hit you. Plus it’ll help hold up the fact that I told everyone that you went home sick yesterday”

Cassie took the aspirin and settled into the cold metal chair, closing her eyes.

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob called.

Cassie smiled and waved at him, “Hi Jacob,”

“I’m so glad you’re still here!” he said, “I was worried something might have happened when Melissa said you went home sick!”

“Something did happen,” Melissa cut in, “She got tsick.”

Jacob flushed, “I know that! I just meant…well, Melissa you don’t have a great track record with aides and teachers,”

Cassie held up a hand to stop him, “I’m fine. I feel much better today.”

“Well that’s good! I want you to meet Gregory and Janine,” Jacob said, gesturing at the pair behind him, “They weren’t here yesterday so they didn’t get to meet you. Guys this is Cassiopeia. Did you know…”

Cassie closed her eyes again, shutting out Jacob’s explanation of her name.

“I’m glad you’re here Cassie,” Barb said softly, taking her seat next to them, “Melissa told me you weren’t feeling well. How are you feeling this morning? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Howard, thank you. Ms. Schemmenti brought me some aspirin and Ava gave me a gatorade.”

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. They aren’t comfortable, but if you need to take a nap I can get out the mats my kindergartners use.”

Cassie smiled softly, “Thank you, Mrs. Howard,”

“Alright nerds, find your seats,” Ava said, “Let’s get this started so I can go take a nap. I mean, run the school”

Melissa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“First things first, we have a new teacher,” Ava said, “Her name is…Princess Leia or something,”

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob corrected her.

“Yeah that. She’s in Ms Schemmenti’s classroom until we can open up a classroom for her. Next, the sinks in the 1st floor bathrooms are backed up so until Mr. Johnson gets back or the city sends someone, I’m putting hand sanitizer in the bathrooms,”

Cassiopeia raised her hand, “Do the sinks share pipes?”

“Girl, how am I supposed to know? What do you think I am, the city?”

”Yes,” Melissa cut in, “the sinks share pipes and a wall.”

“I can fix it then,”

“No!” Barbara said quickly, “No, these things are best left to the experts. Do you all remember when Janine tried to fix the electricity?”

“No, I really can fix it. It’s super simple to temporarily fix it, at least until a professional can take a look. I just need two plungers and someone to help me.”

“Fine,” Ava said, rolling her eyes, “Schemmenti, you can help Peia,”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at the nickname, “Peia? Really?”

“Told ya someone would give you a weird nickname,” Melissa whispered.

“Janine has some team building activities this afternoon,” Ava continued, “And Gregory and Jacob have worked together to cook some of the produce from the garden for lunch. Now get to your classrooms and do…whatever it is you people do.”

“Come on,” Melissa said, grabbing their bags, “Let’s put our stuff away and I’ll find the plungers,”

Once they got to the classroom, Melissa set their bags on her desk and dragged a second chair over to it.

“Sidown kid,”

“Don’t we need to get the plungers?” Cassie asked, tugging on her sleeves.

“That can wait,” Melissa said, closing the classroom door, “I wanna talk to you,”

“Ms. Schemmenti, I already told you-”

“No, ya didn’t. Lemme finish. I wanna talk to ya about what you said this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Ya called me Jenny.”

Cassie groaned and put her head in her hands, “Ms. Schemmenti, I was half asleep!”

“Did Jenny do that to ya?” Melissa gestured to her arms.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I-”

“S’okay,” the redhead said, “I get it. Let’s just go get the plungers.”

“I got ‘em,” Melissa said, her cheeks slightly pink from running around the school.

”Perfect, you take the boys, I’ll take the girls. We’ll probably need to call each other to be able to hear.”

Melissa nodded and Cassiopeia went into the girls bathroom, locking the door behind her and taking her sweater off. She quickly dialed the redheads number.

“Hey, okay, so when I say go, put the plunger over the drain and start plunging,”

“And you’re sure this will work?” Melissa asked.

Cassie bit her lip, “Well…no. But it worked at my old school! It’s worth a shot.”

“If you say so, kid.”

“Okay,” Cassie cradled her phone between her shoulder and her cheek while she got the plunger into position, “Go,”

Within a couple minutes of plunging, the dirty water that was in the sink started to drain.

“I’m impressed kid,” Melissa said through the phone, “I didn’t expect that to work,”

Cassie grinned as she set the plunger down, “I told you I could do it! At my old school, this happened every other week.”

“What did the plumbers say?”

“Oh, we never had anyone come out to look at it! The district said it wasn’t necessary,”

“That’s ridiculous. Alright, I should get these plungers back to the closet.”

“Hang on, I gotta unlock the door,” Cassie hung up and tugged her sweater back on. Melissa knocked on the door and Cassie unlocked it.

“Geez kid, you look like you need some fresh air. Lemme put these away. You head back to the classroom.”

Cassiopeia made her way back to the classroom, collapsing into a chair and chugging her gatorade. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash can and reached into her bag, pulling out a folder of paperwork.

“Hey,” Janine said, poking her head into the room, “We didn’t get a chance to talk this morning. I’m Janine, I’m the other second grade teacher!”

“Hi,” Cassie said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you’re here! I see you met Melissa already.”

“Ya, she did,” Melissa said from behind Janine, “Whatdya need Janine.”

“Nothing! Just wanted to introduce myself! Actually, I’m trying to get some clocks to teach time…”

“Did you check the teacher supply closet?”

“Yeah but those clocks are made of cardboard and they’re falling apart!”

Melissa sighed, “Okay okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Janine squealed, “Thank you! Cassiopeia, you are working with the best teacher!”

Cassie laughed as Janine danced out of the room.

“She sure is…energetic,”

“That’s one word for her,” Melissa said, wrestling one of the windows open, “Want me to close the door so you can take off that sweater?”

“You don’t have to! What if one of the teachers need you?”

“They can email me,” Melissa said, closing and locking the door, “Ya look…actually you look pale. Your cheeks are pink but the rest of you looks…” The redhead held her wrist to Cassie’s forehead, “You’re not running a fever. Do you need to go see the nurse?”

“No, I’m fine, Ms. Schemmenti. I’m not sick. I-it’s makeup. I probably put too much concealer on my neck this morning.”

Melissa dropped her hand, “I’m sorry kid, I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Cassie cut her off, “I’m fine. I just…want to get to work.”

“Ya know, if you need someone to talk to…”

“Thanks, but I’d like to grade some of these math tests right now.”

“Okay kid,” Melissa handed her a red pen and a stack of papers, “Make yourself at home wherever.”

Cassiopeia tossed her sweater on one of the desks and went to sit on one of the beanbags in the back. Once she had found a comfortable position to sit in, she pulled out her earbuds, putting one in and starting her playlist while she started grading.

Melissa sat at her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she tried to focus on the papers in front of her. She couldn’t get the girl in her classroom out of her head. She set her pen down and put her head in her hands, thinking back to that morning.

After Cassie had fallen asleep on the couch, Melissa had set to work making the pizza dough. She preferred making it from scratch. The young woman had been curled into a ball and Melissa knew she wasn’t sleeping well. She would whimper or cry out every few minutes but Melissa couldn’t bear to wake her. She had looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in months.

Once the dough was finished, she had knelt on the floor and stroked Cassiopeia’s hair until she settled. She had wiped tears from the sleeping girls face and sung softly to her.

“Ms. Schemmenti?” Cassie said, breaking Melissa from her memories.

“What’s up kid?”

“Do you want me to grade those? You look a little distracted.”

“No, I’m fine. Just a little distracted.”

Cassie nodded and put her earbud back in.

“Melissa,” the door handle jiggled and the redhead jumped up and threw Cassie’s sweater at her.

“I’m coming!”

Cassie tugged her sweater on and Melissa unlocked the door, letting a confused Barbara into the room.

“Hey Barb!” Melissa said.

Barbara looked back and forth between the two, “Is everything okay in here?”

“Of course, Mrs. Howard!” Cassiopeia said, standing up. The second she stood, however, the room began to spin and she swayed slightly.

“Cassiopeia?” Barbara said, rushing across the classroom, “Sweetheart are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting back down, “It’s just…it’s just hot in here.”

Barb glanced over at Melissa, who was already rummaging in her mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Here kid,” she said, “drink this.”

“Why don’t we take this off…” Barb reached for Cassie’s sweater.

“No!” Cassie and Melissa said at the same time.

“I need my sweater, Mrs. Howard,” Cassie whispered.

“If you say so…” Barb said.

“Kid, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning did you?”

“No…we were in a hurry…”

“Melissa, go get Cassiopeia the apple off my desk,” Barb said.

“I can’t take your food!” Cassie argued.

“You aren’t taking, I am giving it to you. And you will eat it. Stay here. I’m going to see if Ava has a fan we can use to cool you down.”

[jaydedstories24]

For who YOU are– Michael Langdon AHS apocalypse

Summary: after Cordelia kills Ms mead Michael Langdon kills the other witches but takes the reader hostage when he sees that the others have escaped. For the first time in Michael’s life, someone wants to know what he wants.

Warnings: kidnapping, being held hostage, Burning someone at the stake, swearing, talk of abuse.

Word count: 1.6+

Tags: @ajokeformur-ray

Y/n POV

“where did you guys go?” I say to everyone that's just walked in the door.

“To take care of a problem, dear” Myrtle says.

“and is there a reason why you went without me but everyone else” I asked.

I take a look at Zoe, Madison, queenie, Mallory and Cordelia they're all dressed in black.

“ You burnt someone at the stake didn't you” I accuse.

“Yes y/n if you must know we burnt someone at the stake” Cordelia walked passed me.

“Who” I asked.

Cordelia hasn't really spoken to me or has been really arrogant since Michael came into our lives apparently I'm the only one here that doesn't see him what everyone else says he is.

“Who” I yelled.

“the old lady with the black hairstyle” Madison answers.

“Ms. Mead you killed Ms. why on earth would you do that” I freak out.

“To show Michael that I’m done messing around with him” Cordelia says

Taking her by surprise I put both of my hands on the side of her head and forced myself into her memories.

Flashes, the burning, the smell of charred flesh.

“I will kill you all” Michael promised.

I take my hands off of Cordelia.

“I am your supreme you may have gifts that the others don’t but you will not use them on me” she orders.

“Some supreme you are you’ve practically signed our death certificates with that you do understand right? At least Fiona would’ve made a truce with him” I yell.

“Do not use my mother against me y/n” Cordelia scolds.

“I have gifts you don’t that is correct it’s also why I told you not to attack Michael everything I saw everything I warned you about” I told Cordelia.

“What you saw maybe true but that side of Michael is long gone I gave him a chance today and he turned it down” Cordelia replied.

“Of course he did you killed the one person he thought who loved him what did you think that you were going to walk off arm in arm, embrace the coven that killed the closest thing to he ever had to a mother. I don’t think he would want to bake cookies with you Cordelia” I spat

“I’m strong enough to take him y/n” Cordelia says.

“That’s a laugh” I smiled.

I turned around to walk back up the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going Missy?” Cordelia questioned.

“To paint my nails so that they’re fresh for my inevitable death, are you coming Madi? I invite her.

“No, this shits crazy I’m out for what it’s worth y/n I hope you live you’re the only one I like around here.” She walks out the front door.

“When Michael comes here and trust me he will. I won’t fight him and I won’t protect you” I warn

I walked upstairs.

Red.

Red I think is a fantastic colour to paint your nails before you die. I think painting them black is just a little on the nose.

It has started my blood runs cold I can hear the witches downstairs especially the younger ones calling out for me. But if I have any chance of being able to really meet Michael for who he is I can’t do anything. So I put my headphones on and paint my last nail.

I look up when I smell the metallic scent that blood gives off.

Michael stands at my door my breath hitches. It’s different looking into Michael’s eyes they’re look hardened much unlike the sweet past version I saw him as in murder house. However they still have the Same jaded look on his face

He stands there for a moment before racing towards me I only flinch when he blows black dust into my face.

Floating? I feel I’m floating I don’t open my eyes I’m too tired and strangely I’m at peace.

I feel someone put me on what feels like a wooden chair and put something on my wrist.

My head rolls forward and I wake up.

“Thank Satan I thought you were going to sleep forever then you wouldn’t have been very helpful to me” Michael says.

“Yeah well that stuff smells like goats ass” I say half smart.

“No that would be me actually” he tells me.

Now that he says that it gives me a moment to take in his appearance disheveled, dirty but mostly he looks broken.

“Listen Michael I know you’re going through a hard time–“ I start.

“A hard time your witches killed my Ms mead and now you’re going to help me” he yells.

“I’m not going to be much help to you” I say quietly.

“You will help me whether you like it or not” he towers over me.

To my surprise I don’t quiver when he stands over me.

“You see when the witches when they notice you’re gone they will have to come out of hiding and look for you” he tells me.

“No they won’t we got into a disagreement. I’ve been arguing with the coven for months now” I disagree with him.

There’s a look in his eyes that proves he wants to believe me but some part that thinks he can’t after everything he’s been through.

I struggle with the rope’s around my wrists. They start burning.

“They’re cursed ropes they won’t hurt you unless you try to escape” he says.

In this moment I found that interesting he doesn’t intend to hurt me. I stop resisting and relax.

“You say that the coven has had a disagreement with you. What could possibly cause that much of a rift that they wouldn’t protect their own” he asks me.

Michael sits down on a wooden box waiting for my answer.

“You, we had a disagreement about you” I answered hesitantly.

He leans forward slightly, “what about me?”

“They think you’re evil” I answered.

Michael seems suspicious for a moment, “you don’t”

I shake my head.

“Why” he scoffs.

“Because after you performed the seven wonders and the extra challenges Cordelia made us look into you. She sent Madison and I to the house you grew up in”

“What did you find there?. Did you find whatever proof you were looking for?” He seems intrigued.

“The others found what they needed to crucify you but I don’t agree with them” I answered honestly.

“If you went looking then you would have also found that I am the Antichrist” he says.

“But that doesn’t make you evil Michael it makes you powerful. I know about your upbringing, about Constance’s abuse, trying to get to know Tate as your dad and your interesting relationship with Ben. Michael I know a lot about you and I understand it but everyone your entire life has done nothing but force their opinions on you” I say softly.

He takes a moment to comprehend everything I just said to him.

“So you know full well everything I am so you understand why I’m so upset about Ms. Mead she is the one person who didn’t force anything on to me” he says softly.

I sighed. He hasn’t realised it yet but she was using him too.

“Don’t suggest otherwise to me don’t lie to me” he orders.

“Michael I’m not I promise to you I’m not” I tell him.

He seems to be waiting for an explanation.

“I have a particular gift that allows me to adsorb a memory and share it with other people would it be okay if I could share it with you” I asked him.

“That’s a trick I know better than that do not take me for a fool. You just want me to untie your hands” he says.

“No, Michael I use touch to transfer the memory using touch. I don’t want you to untie my hands until you’re ready, until you trust me and only then. I’m asking for permission to touch you” I explain.

He walks over to me and kneels down to my level, “do whatever you have to do, show me”

I lean forward the smell doesn’t really bother me anymore. I lean forward far enough that I’m barely touching him. I just need confirmation that he’s okay with this.

He stares at me with his blue eyes that seem to be staring into my soul. “Y/n it’s okay, kiss me.” This is the first time he’s said my name.

My lips touch his and lock my touch is as light as feather. I whisper the spell I need to to show him the memory.

He stays there absolutely shocked for a moment tearing and shaking.

He quickly undoes the ropes.

“I don’t even know what to say as shocking as it is I am thankful for the truth how can I thank you,what can I do for you ” he tells me.

Tears slide down his face.

I hug him. “Michael I want to get to know you for who you are.

The end

Author’s note this is my first post on my new account hope you like it. Anyway this is inspired by a conversation I had with a friend sorry I didn’t get to it sooner I’ve been busy

Requests are open

[vidalinav]

A Taste of Milk and Honey

Summary: Part 1 of omegaverse nessian; Nesta is an omega in heat when Cassian (alpha) is delivering the queens' letter in Wings and Embers. If you know, you know. This is likely to get smutty... for obvious reasons.

~

Delivering a letter shouldn't have been so hard, Cassian thought. Not for an Illyrian warrior who had centuries on the young woman who lived in the estate he currently circled.

He wondered what the humans might have thought about his behavior if they could see him past the glamour and wind. What did they see? A squawking pigeon or a tortured crow? A vulture circling the house like a ill-fated omen?

Cassian couldn't yell out that he wasn't here to devour dead human flesh, but he wasn't even sure that was true. Even now he could feel an ache in his jaw. He was ready to bear teeth, bite and feast... human flesh and well... An Archeron sister appeared in his mind and the thought of her pale neck. The way her chin raised so high, her nose held up in such a way that he could see exactly where his lips could press.

This Archeron hated him, though.

And he wasn't so fond of her either. He would give the letter to the queens to her simply because it was his task... not because fae feasted on flesh and he yearned to learn exactly how Nesta Archeron tasted when he licked--how sweet she'd be when he bit. Would she blush as pretty as the rosebuds not yet blooming, a fresh spring after snow and ice?

No, he thought, shaking his head. He was here to deliver a letter and to leave. So what if he agreed too quickly? So what if he circled the estate nine times already?

Was he scared?

Cassian didn't know. Rationally he knew that he should never underestimate humans. Humans were unpredictable, even if he was likely to best them in combat, and there was no human more unpredictable than that blasted woman who sneered in distaste, dismissing him so thoroughly he almost wondered if he was young again... there was no one better than Nesta Archeron at reminding him how dirty his boots were and how many callouses ran across his palms. He'd sully her with a single touch. Not that he was even allowed to touch her.

She'd hate him.

But she already hated him, so Cassian took a deep breath and held it as he made his way down to the front door. That was their plan afterall. He'd knock and she'd open it. She'd tell her maid it must have been the wind and he'd slip inside and try not to breathe in her scent.

Lavender and books so thoroughly loved, he'd get dizzy and Cassian knew he would hope somehow that it would get caught on his clothes so he'd scent her all the way back to Velaris. That he would give anything, even an ash arrow or two, to bottle it like perfume.

But Cassian straightened, shaking his head as he rid himself of such foolish thoughts. He wasn't a boy, and Cassian had a job to do, so he knocked as instructed.

Nesta Archeron opened the door, just as planned.

When Cassian had first laid eyes on her, he thought she was an alpha. No one that fierce could be anything but. She had radiated dominance. Her gaze was the color of knives and her tongue was just as sharp. Now, he could see that her eyes were actually a pale blue.

Skies and wind and the freedom of fresh air. Not as intense as metal but just as piercing. Already he could feel a tightness in his chest as if she'd stabbed him.

But her lips were a soft budding pink and he knew he'd suffer for just a sip from her. A taste of milk and honey.

"Who is it?" a woman called from somewhere beyond her.

But Nesta gripped the door handle, slightly shifting as to let him glide past. She shut the door with a thud.

"No one, Ms. Cartwright. It was just the wind."

Cassian stood as still as a statue as he spotted the housekeeper trudging forward with a furrowed brow. Nesta merely continued to the stairs without a glance to the woman.

"Are you sure, you don't want me to stay?" she admonished, the furrow deepening as she wrung her hands. "I know it's quite a private ordeal, but I'd hate to leave you when you're... like this. You don't have a mother to see you through and your sister plans to be away I hear."

Nesta's hand clenched along the banister and she barely spared a glance at the concerned housekeeper. Cassian didn't know if he should be thankful that her icy demeanor was not solely reserved for him or indignant that it was not his alone to keep.

Her spine stayed ramrod straight and her knuckles resembled the color of bone.

"I only need privacy," Nesta answered without even looking at the poor woman, but something about her answer made Cassian pause. His gaze had never left her form, but he surveyed her now with a warrior's assessment. What was wrong? What could he do?

"Just as originally planned, you may come back in five days time."

The housekeeper only nodded lightly, but Nesta spared her no glance as she made her way up the stairs.

Cassian followed, but he held his breath along the way, clenching his fists. Dizzying scent and his calloused hands that wanted to reach for her--he needed to finish delivering this letter and then stay far away from Nesta Archeron.

[peachesyeo]

The Maestro 0001 - the invitation

word count - 2.8k words pairings - seventeen ot13 x fem!oc genre - mature, dark romance, cultish/yandere, mystery, crack chapter warnings - none

author's notes - no preview, whoops. anyway, do you like the new outline? i really hope you do! if you want to join the chapter's taglist do comment down on the masterlist page!

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

series taglist — pernament taglist — @sousydive @yeodeulz @oddracha @jaerisdiction @yukichan67 @evidive @onysmamas

back to masterlist?

Dear Ms. Kang Raeyang,

It is with sincere solemnity that we extend our invitation to you. You have been chosen to reside within the Maestro, as per your parents' prior instructions, following their untimely departure.

In the midst of our condolences, we trust that you will heed this summons and join us promptly.

Yours faithfully,

The Residents of the Maestro

The apartment complex loomed over the quiet street. Its sleek exterior, while undeniably contemporary, exuded an aura of mystery and unease. The building's design was a juxtaposition of sharp angles and smooth curves, creating an unsettling yet intriguing silhouette against the skyline. Dark tinted windows lined its façade, offering no glimpse into the secrets hidden within.

As I approached, a chill seemed to linger in the air, sending shivers down my spine. The atmosphere around the Maestro seemed to be cloaked in a thick fog, obscuring the true nature of what lay beyond its imposing exterior. Despite its modernity, there was something ancient and foreboding about the building, as if it held secrets that had been buried for centuries. It loomed over the surrounding landscape like a silent sentinel, watching, waiting.

A heavy iron gate stood sentinel at the entrance, its bars twisted into elaborate designs that seemed to writhe and shift in the shifting light. Beyond it, a cobblestone path disappeared into the darkness.

In front of the entrance, a small security post with tinted windows stood like a sentinel, its presence adding to the eerie atmosphere. My breath hitched as I grip the invitation tightly, slowly approaching the post. 

Upon inspection, the post seems to be empty. Its tinted windows give no clue of whether there was anyone inside of it. I raised my knuckles, politely knocking on the window three times. 

“Hello?”

The sound echoed hollowly in the still air. For a moment, there was no response, just the faint chirp of a passing bird. Then, a shuffling noise came from within, followed by the creak of a chair.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their features obscured by the tinted glass. They leaned forward, peering out at me with unseen eyes.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Their voice was muffled, distant, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Erm, h-hi," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I received an invitation to... to live here."

There was a moment of silence, as if the figure was considering my words. Then, with a slight nod, they reached out and slid open a small panel at the base of the window.

"Give it here," they said, their voice low and gravelly.

I hesitated for a moment before passing the invitation through the opening. The figure took it, their hand disappearing back into the darkness.

It felt like eternity, before they slid the window door open with a metallic scrape. A man sat behind the window, holding the invitation. He wore a black, security guard’s outfit and had a chiselled, handsome face with a strong, angular jawline and piercing eyes. His sleek black hair frames his face in waves, and he ran a veiny hand back his hair as he handed the invitation back. 

“You're… Miss Kang Raeyang?” he asked, his voice deep and resonant, carrying a hint of intrigue.

I nodded, nervous under his strong and commanding presence. The man observed me with a judicious gaze, his eyes seeming to weigh every aspect of my being.

“My name is Choi Seungcheol,” he said, his voice low and measured, as if each word carried a hidden weight. His lips formed a tight smile, but there was a hint of something unreadable in his eyes, shrouded behind a veil of mystery. “I’m a resident and the security guard here.”

“I’ve been told to… show you around,” he continued, his tone betraying a reluctance. Cautiously, I bowed in response, feeling a shiver run down my spine. “I’m Kang Raeyang. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol shut the window panes with a deliberate click. The iron gates slowly opened, and he stepped out of his post, his movements smooth and controlled. He handed me a card, his eyes flickering to the luggage behind me.

“Your apartment has been prepared by your parents, Miss Kang,” he informed me, his tone neutral but his gaze penetrating. “This is the key card to your apartment, 201.”

“Thank you… You can call me Raeyang, by the way,” I replied, my voice a little uncertain as I peered at the keycard with interest. It was the size of a credit card, plain black with a ‘M’ logo in gold. A small ‘201’ was etched in the corner of the card.

Seungcheol hummed softly, his expression unreadable as I looked back up at him. “Likewise. You can just call me Seungcheol.”

There was a period of awkward silence. Seungcheol's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as if assessing something beyond the surface. Then, with a nod, he motioned towards my luggage.

"You can leave them here," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "I'll take care of your luggage. Follow me."

With that, he turned and began walking towards the entrance of the building. I fell into step beside him, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about what lay ahead. As we walked, the grandeur of the Maestro became even more apparent. The intricate details of the architecture seemed to come alive in the fading light, casting long shadows that danced across the cobblestone path.

Seungcheol remained mostly silent as we walked, his footsteps echoing in the quiet surroundings. Occasionally, he would look towards a certain direction, as if expecting somebody to be waiting there. But nobody ever showed up.

Finally, we reached the entrance, where the heavy black doors stood slightly ajar. Seungcheol pushed them open with a gentle push, revealing the dimly lit foyer beyond.

"After you," he said, his voice soft but commanding, as if granting permission to enter a forbidden realm.

I stepped inside, feeling a rush of anticipation as the doors closed behind me with a soft thud. I found myself in awe of a grand lobby adorned with marble floors and ornate chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The room was bathed in a warm golden glow, the light casting intricate patterns on the polished surfaces.

Seungcheol gestured towards the row of gleaming elevators at the far end of the lobby.

"Your apartment is on the second floor," he explained, his voice echoing faintly in the spacious room. I nodded, following him towards the elevators. The doors slid open silently as we approached, revealing a plush interior with mirrored walls. Seungcheol pressed the button for the second floor, and the elevator began its ascent with a soft hum.

As we rose, I couldn't help but steal glances at Seungcheol. There was something about him, something mysterious and intriguing, that drew me in despite my apprehension. 

After Mum and Dad died in the sudden car crash, they left me nothing but some money and an instruction to wait for an invitation to an apartment building, which they had signed me up for. But why? Why this place? Why didn’t they tell me anything when they were alive?

These questions plagued my thoughts as the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open, revealing a long hallway lined with doors. Seungcheol led the way, his steps echoing on the polished floor. As we reached the door marked with the number 201, Seungcheol paused. “Here.”

With a deep breath, I slid the keycard into the lock and pushed open the door, stepping into the apartment that was to be my new home. Inside, the space was bathed in soft lamplight, casting a warm glow over the furnishings. It was tastefully decorated, with touches of elegance and comfort that spoke of my parents' love and care.

But even as I took in the familiar surroundings, a sense of unease lingered in the air. What secrets lay hidden behind these walls? And why had my parents chosen to keep me in the dark?

"New neighbour?" I jumped at the new voice, turning around. A young man stood in front of the door opposite mine, his almond-shaped eyes peering at me with interest. He was dressed in a plain white tank top that accentuated his toned arms,and blue jeans that hugged his legs comfortably. Seungcheol frowned.

"Soonyoung, you scared her."

"Sorry," Soonyoung scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I was just about to go over to Chan’s; he had a new routine to show me."

If Seungcheol’s aura was commanding and mysterious, Soonyoung was the opposite. He cheerfully walked over to us, holding out a hand. "Hi, I’m Kwon Soonyoung. You can call me by my stage name Hoshi," he beamed, revealing two rows of pearly white teeth. "I live in 202.”

“I’m Kang Raeyang. You can just call me by my name,” I said, shaking his hand carefully. His skin was cool to the touch, like it was dipped in iced water. “Nice to meet you, Hoshi.”

Soonyoung gave me another huge smile before turning to Seungcheol. “How come you’re the one showing Raeyang around? I thought Jeonghan hyung was supposed to do the job.”

Seungcheol's expression shifted subtly, a shadow passing over his features before he replied, "Jeonghan is busy with other matters."

Soonyoung nodded, though there was a curious glint in his eyes as he glanced back at me “Well, I really need to go. You can always look for me if you need help,” he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his apartment door. “See you around, Raeyang.” 

With that, he flashed me one last bright smile before bouncing off towards the elevator. Seungcheol cleared his throat, attracting my attention. 

“Your parent’s lawyer lives in the Maestro,” he said. “He will be here shortly to explain some things to you. I advise you to wait in the apartment while I go get your luggage.”

I nodded, taking in his words. The mention of my parents' lawyer only added to the mystery surrounding this place.

"Alright," I replied. "I'll wait in the apartment."

Seungcheol gave a curt nod before heading off to retrieve my luggage. As I watched him go, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to this building—and to my parents' intentions—than met the eye. 

I entered my apartment. It was small and cosy, with a few decorative plants scattered around. The soft light filtering in through the windows added to the warm atmosphere. Seungcheol mentioned that my parents had decorated the place for me, and I smiled when I saw a framed photo of my parents and I on the counter.

The sight of their smiling faces brought a bittersweet pang to my heart. Despite the unanswered questions surrounding their sudden passing, it was comforting to have a piece of them here with me.

I moved further into the apartment, exploring the space. The living area was furnished with a comfortable-looking couch and a coffee table, while the kitchenette boasted modern appliances and neatly organised cabinets. Another soft smile found its way to my face when I saw a bookshelf filled with books on the wall. 

A hallway led to the bedroom, where a cosy-looking bed awaited me, adorned with soft blankets and plump pillows. It was a simple yet inviting space, one that felt like home despite its unfamiliarity.

I left the bedroom, taking a book from the shelves before settling on the couch. The Girls, by Emma Cline. I frowned, staring at the cover of the book.

Strange. I don’t read books of this genre.

Just as I was about to open the book and flip through its pages, the doorbell rang. I hurried over to the door, revealing a tall, lean man standing outside. His presence exuded a sense of polished professionalism. He stood tall and composed, with an air of confidence that commanded attention. His dark hair was neatly styled, framing his face in a way that accentuated his striking features.

Dressed in a well-fitted suit, the man spoke, his voice was smooth and articulate, carrying a sense of assurance.

"Miss Kang Raeyang?" he said, his tone professional yet warm. I nodded. “You’re my parent’s lawyer?”

His lips were set in a gentle curve and his eyes crinkled kindly into a crescent moon. “Yes. My name is Hong Jisoo, or Joshua. Do you mind if I help you with these?” He gestured to the luggages behind him. “Cheol had to rush back, so he told me to help you.”

“Oh, thank you, Joshua!” I said gratefully. Joshua flashed me a small smile before he easily lifted the two heavy suitcases into the apartment. "I am sure that you have many questions, Miss Kang," Joshua said as I quickly pushed the suitcases into the bedroom. "I’ll try my best to answer them.” 

“Please, take a seat. I’ll make you some tea… Do you have a preference?” I turned to Joshua, who sat on the couch. He thought for a moment.

“Some earl grey tea will do, Miss Kang,” Joshua replied.

“Alright. Do call me Raeyang,” I replied as I busied myself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and retrieving the tea leaves and cups. The layout of the kitchen was surprisingly similar to the one in the house where both my parents and I lived.

As I waited for the water to boil, I couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation and nervousness that hung in the air. Peeking from the kitchen, I could see Joshua looking around the living room, humming contentedly. He seems nice… and very handsome.

In fact, the three men I’ve come across were all very good looking. Seungcheol, mysterious. Hoshi, friendly. Joshua here gives me an aura of a gentleman.

I shook my head, dispelling the thoughts, and went back to preparing the tea. When it was ready, I set it on a tray, placing it in front of Joshua.

"Here…" I said, offering Joshua the tray with a small smile.

Joshua gave me a nod of thanks as he took a cup and had a sip of the warm tea. “Like I said earlier, Raeyang, I’m pretty sure you have many questions about this arrangement. I cannot promise that I know the answer to all of them, but I am pretty sure I can answer some basic ones.” He sat the cup down back on the tray, turning to me. “Let’s hear them.”

“Firstly, when did my parents get me an apartment in this place?” I questioned. 

“Your parents actually own this building, Raeyang,” Joshua dropped the bombshell, his words heavy with significance. I gaped at him in shock. “What?”

“In fact, I am considered a tenant of yours,” Joshua continued, taking another sip of tea. “Now that your parents have passed, and the building is under your name.”

“I-I see…” I stammered, still digesting the fact. “I never knew…”

“Now you do.” Joshua said kindly. “If I am not wrong, the documents are in your letterbox already. Have Cheol shown you where it is?” I shook my head robotically in answer. “No worries, I'll retrieve it for you.”

“Thank you.” I composed myself. “Secondly… Did my parents leave anything else for me other than this building?”

Joshua shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” I nodded. “I see. Since when did my parents own this building?”

“For quite a long time.” Joshua answered. “Perhaps, around the time when you were born.”

Twenty five years? I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of disbelievement. How could Mum and Dad keep something like that from me for twenty-five years? What other secrets are they keeping from me? 

“I understand how you are feeling now, Raeyang.” Joshua’s smooth voice pulled me out of my darkening thoughts. It was then I realised that tears were gathering in my eyes. I quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. “Sorry…” 

“There’s no need to apologise, Raeyang,” Joshua said gently, his eyes filled with empathy. “It’s perfectly natural to feel overwhelmed by all of this. Your parents loved you very much, and I’m sure they had their reasons for keeping this from you.” 

I must have said my thoughts out loud. "I guess so…" I sniffed, dabbing at my eye. Joshua turned away for a moment, peering intently at the artificial plant next to the couch. I was grateful for him to give me a little private moment to gather my thoughts.

When I composed myself, Joshua turned back to me. “Let’s talk about this another day,” he suggested, reaching for the tea again. “Over here at the Maestro, we usually would have dinner together. The residents of the Maestro,” he added, noticing my look of confusion. “You should join us; it’ll be a great way for you to get to know the rest of us later.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief at the suggestion. "That sounds like a good idea. Thank you, Joshua."

Joshua smiled warmly. "Of course, Raeyang. Over here, we all support each other. You’re part of us now.” He stood up and I followed him. “Dinner starts at seven, apartment 301. If you’re not sure of where to go, just look for Soonyoung. I believe you have already met him.”

“I’ll see you out,” I said, following him to the door. Before he left, Joshua turned to me, holding out his hand with a smile on his face.

“I forgot to say this,” he said softly as I held onto his ice-cold palms, shaking them. “Welcome to the family, Raeyang.”

next

©peachesyeo, 2024

i do not own the dividers nor pictures used in banner. all credit goes to their original owners. owner of animated / 18+ banner ; owner of rose banner

[samkerrworshipper]

Begging for you to write something involving Sammy concealing a strap plsss 😘🫶

based off of her most recent pics from the esquire cover….

i know we all want another chapter of 2s a company, 3s a crowd and i promise it’s on the way just taking longer than planned !

warnings: insinuations of smut

———————————————————————

Sam looked utterly delectable.

It wasn’t often that you were able to sit in on her photoshoots, or interviews, scheduling conflicts always seemed to arise.

It was a sacred opportunity, a little special sweet moment that you were more than happy to experience from the sidelines. It was rare that you got to sit on the sidelines, got to appreciate Sam in this kind of way, so you were more than happy to be someone in the background as they got her dolled up.

You could hardly contain yourself when she walked out of the dressing rooms in the first suit, a classic black suit with a crisp white shirt. You almost choked on the air, blinking rapidly as you took it all in.

“You likey chick?”

You weren’t even sure what to say to that, did dogs bark? Was the sky blue?

“Feeling cocky are we Ms Kerr?”

Sam smirked at your, a big fat grin covering her flawlessly makeup covered face, it was rare to see Sam so made up, you loved her in all of her forms, sweaty after games, bed hair in the mornings, but this made you feel things, things you weren’t exactly proud of.

She walked towards you, extending the sleeves of her shirt and two cufflinks. You took the two pieces of cold metal in your palms, before gently taking her hand in yours and beginning to secure the cufflinks.

“Cocky, baby? You wound me, good looking, beautiful and stunning yes, but definitely not cocky.”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, smiling lightly as you continued to work on the starched sleeve.

“Add humble to the list.”

Sam snickered a little bit, your banter was her favourite part of your relationship, you both knew how to have fun, but you also knew where the line was between jokes and going too far.

“Soo, do you like the outfit?”

Sam sounded almost bashful, the previous confidence had faded from her voice, she sounded more raw and hopeful.

You looked up from Sam’s sleeve, again taken aback at just how breathtakingly good she looked.

“Sammy, baby, you look absolutely perfect, the picture of beauty.”

She preened a little bit with your praise, whether she wanted to admit it or not, nobody's opinion mattered to hers beside yours, you were the only person in the world that’s thoughts of her she truly valued.

“Good, now sit here like my good little wag and I’ll give you a reward once we’re done, I’ve got a surprise for you waiting.”

Your whole body shivered as Sam leant down to your ear to whisper the words directly into your ear. You could hardly think with her in that suit, but her in that suit plus the insinuation that she had something planned for once you were done was enough to send off fireworks from your core to your spine.

She pressed a little peck to your jaw before standing herself up, righting her clothes and then walking towards the photographers, leaving you ultimately high and dry.

Sam had done enough photoshoots to know exactly what she was doing, how to pose, how to act, how to smile. It was magical watching her at work, a different kind of work that you were used to.

Dating Sam Kerr ultimately included a lot of pitch-side watching, it was extremely rare that you were ever able to see her engage in this kind of work, you valued all kinds of her work, but this was especially perfect.

It didn’t take her long to get it done, she was well versed in the media and the photographers were extremely happy to let her take the lead and do whatever she was comfortable with.

You just sat on the side, she looked ethereal in your eyes, a figure of perfection.

When she was all wrapped up you were more than happy to follow her into her changeroom to enjoy some peace before you were dragged off to whatever else she had planned for the day.

Sam sat down on the couch in the corner of the room, already beginning to unbutton her shirt loosen the bun that her hair was in.

“Come over here honey.”

Sam pointed to her lap, you were more than happy to oblige her request and walk towards her, setting yourself down across her lap.

“M’ so proud of you, that was incredible.”

Sam smiled at you, pressing a little nudge of a kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you baby, I think it’s time I give you your surprise hmm? You’ve waited long enough.”

Sam’s hands came down to your hips, tugging you further down her lap.

It took you a few seconds to adjust to the new feeling, and once you did your jaw dropped slightly.

You nudged yourself around just a little bit, making sure that your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you, but from further investigation your jaw only dropped further, your mind going dangerous places as the cogs ticked in your brain.

“D-Did-were you wearing that the whole time?”

Sam’s sardonic smile was enough of an answer for you.

“Mm, your favourite one.”

You struggled to contain a moan, as your ass relaxed against the feeling of the hard silicone pressing directly against your muscles.

“Samantha May.”

Sam nudged her hips up against yours, half thrusting the appendage further into your clothed ass cheeks.

“What?”

You bit down on your lip.

“You seriously wore a fucking strap during a serious shoot, what if you’d gotten caught?”

Sam just chuckled, her hands snaking their way around your waist and gently resting on your hip bones.

“Twitter probably would have gone crazy.”

You rolled your eyes at Sam’s effortless excuse, the humour coming to her tongue concerningly easily.

“You're teasing me Samantha.”

Your voice is matter of fact, calm, cool, collected, it’s nothing like what your body is feeling with a dildo pressed directly into you.

Sam leant up to your ear, her breath tickling against your neck.

“Well then, how about I get changed then and we head home, hmm? Or you could just save the horse now and ride your favourite cowgirl.”

It took every part of your self control to not hike your skirt up in that moment and reach down for Sam’s fly, but you had some self preservation, and enough common sense to know that it was not a smart decision to start something here that you couldn’t finish.

“Hurry up and get changed then, before I change my mind.”

Sam practically shoved you beside her on the couch, springing out of her seat and beginning to quickly remove all of her clothes.

You averted eye contact on purpose, you knew that if your eyes came into contact with the strap then you were a complete goner, self preservation or not.

Once Sam was changed and stripped of all the makeup you were more than happy to have her lead you out to the car, with a promise of a good time when you finally made it back to your apartment.

[agoldenchara]

A Bat's Ultimate Plan for Vengeance!

Ch. 2: Absolute goosebumps! What the hell?!

CW: Rina's food. W/C: 2.9k

Though he was upset at your behavior, Mr. Lycaon took no action to move you, nor did he raise his voice. “When our client comes, it is your agreed duty to maintain the reputation of our establishment.” “Fine, fine.” You scoffed. Just at the delivery of your remark, the door to the foyer swung open.

Softness blanketed around you, bringing a source of unfamiliarity and discomfort. Your body ached lightly while your wings twitched numbly beneath your form on the mattress. ‘…. That's weird.. Why is the ground so soft?’ 

Opening your eyes, you squinted as the coffered ceiling came into focus. The room was dimly lit for your comfort, curtains blacking out the sunlight. The comfort of the situation made you feel fuzzy and warm…’This is wrong’. You jolted up.

“Ahh! Please lay down, my lord!” Your servant from beside you sat up from your bedside and pushed you back into the mattress. “You're still injured from before,” she sniffed. The memory of cold hard metal returned to you, leaving your chest pulsing and aching. “...My dear lackey..” You began by clearing your throat, staring back up at the ceiling, “Just where have you brought me?”

“Uhm, you're at the café the Victoria Housekeeping Co. uses as their front.” She rambled, hoping to satiate your curiosity. You didn't interrupt, favoring to listen instead. “We’re a human resource dispatch agency… We do normal housekeeping, but sometimes we venture into the hollows if we're asked to! The aristocrats like our cafe, and it gives privacy for our clients when they want to hire us. Mr. Lycaon is the boss around here, but Ms. Sebastiane is like the second boss. Ah, wait, you haven’t met her yet..sorry..”

“Hmm.. really?” Corin made a noise of agreement, though it sounded like a squeak instead. “You guys sound like mercenaries. Or like. Assassins. Does that mean you.. can't serve me?” Corin silently helped you sit up as you leaned forward, piling more pillows behind for you to lean on. She opened her mouth to respond, but three knocks on the door interrupted.

Corin pursed her lips, pausing, and turning to answer the door. From behind her, you could make out the intimidating figure of the wolf-thiren from before. “How is he?”

The girl twiddled her fingers nervously. “Mr. Lycaon! They're awake. Would you like to talk to him?” Without answer, she moved aside to let Lycaon through the door. “If that is alright with them,” He responded stiffly.

Corin looked at you, and you looked away, but you still nodded. This wasn't your territory, but his. 

He walked forward to your side. Each step he took against the tiled floors made you want to curl in on yourself again. As the distance between you two shortened, you had to forcibly keep your hand from shaking beneath the blanket. “Master..” He tried, but you only bit your lip harder. 

“Y/N.” You corrected him, not willing to accept the title. Though you boldly said so, you refused to make eye contact, staring at the blanket below you. Somewhere in thought, you realized that they had changed your clothes. Gone was the ragged sleeveless bodysuit you wore, replaced by a pristine white button up and black shorts. You couldn't tell if you liked this change or not.

“Sir Y/N, do you have anywhere to return?” 

“Hmph. I don't need anybody else but Corin by my side. Those loser batholes don't deserve me anyway.” You crossed your arms in defiance, attempting to look smug, but that only put pressure on your chest. You wheezed lightly and uncrossed your arms.

From Lycaon’s eyes, you looked like a kicked puppy instead, ostracized and left alone. Corin perked up and tugged at his sleeve, gesturing for him to bend down so that she could reach his ear. The two whispered back and forth, Lycaon clearly hesitating, but giving in with a sigh. He did not put up much of a fight. Corin beamed, blinking away the tears that had formed from her pleading.

She gently grasped your hands, “Why don’t don't you join us, my lord?” 

The longer you stared at her, the more she grew puppy-eyed, lips trembling in embarrassment. “That is.. if you want to..” She trailed off, flushing at your lack of response.

You were torn. Would you stoop as low as to become a servant yourself? “But.. how am I supposed to be seen as a top-notch villain when I'm out there serving others? No one's going to see me as imposing!” Corin side-eyed her boss before looking back at you, letting go of your hands. “S-so you don't want to stay with me? I'm- I'm so sorry for assuming! You probably don't want to be with someone like-”

Before she could completely let go, you held on tighter. “Now, hold on!” She stopped. “If the corporate pyramid scheme is truly a pyramid, then there's absolutely nothing that’s stopping me from climbing it. Your company will be my stepping stone to success! Therefore, you will have me.” Declaring your plans, you clenched a fist up, as if solidifying your emotions.

“So.. you will join!” 

“Yes, my dear lackey. That’s what I just said.”

Lycaon- Er, I guess Mr. Lycaon now, cleared his throat after allowing the two of you to have your moment. Seeing as you weren't truly a harm to the agency, he decided to allow you to continue your theatrics, though it would have to be toned down when you were inevitably allowed to interact with the clients. The two of you paused and stared at him, blinking owlishly. He felt as if he had interrupted something between you two.

“Then, in the meantime, we shall have you accommodated. After you're deemed healthy enough to move out and about, your training will begin.”

You nodded at your new superior. Corin raised her hand from beside you, “I can help you.. if you'd let me..”

You swung your arm around her, forcing her to lean closer to your bedside. “I wouldn't have it any other way, my dear servant.”

You realized that it would take you a while to get adjusted to not only the new etiquette of the agency, but to not being constantly out and about as well. Instead of hunting for critters, you were granted packets of thiren-specialized… food, your taste buds unable to cope with the palate of homemade dishes that Rina served you. Lycaon allowed Corin to tend to you especially, Rina encouraging this so that Corin could gain more experience as well as confidence.

“It’s just this way, my lord…!” Corin guided you, your hand on her shoulder as she led you towards the kitchen. You slumped your head over her shoulder dramatically, careful not to put pressure on your bruised ribs. “Ueheuhehh.. I’m so hungry...I could eat a..” Corin nodded. “Yes, Ms. Sebastiane told me that recovering can take a lot out of the body, s-so she said that she would cook up a special remedy for you.” Corin had a good feeling about this dish in her heart, though in her head.. She feared that you would not last. “Um.. if you don’t want to eat it, it’s okay. Don’t force yourself..!” The two of you made your way through the velvet carpeted floors which blanketed the checkered tiles, passing through the beams of sunlight which streamed through the window. Your shadows phased and glided across the floor, dancing between each fleck of light.

Past the double doors was the dining room, where Rina glided to and fro, her skirt swishing delicately as her bangboo spun past, delivering cutlery to their designated places beside the engraved charger plates. “Ah! Corin, little lord. You’ve arrived on time.” “I’m not little.” You replied on reflex. “Wow, this place is super fancy. I’ve only seen stuff like this in movies. Do you all normally have lunch together?” You questioned as you sat, the little bangboo with braids pushing in your chair. You watched the puppets curiously as they twirled about the room, not unlike fairies. The blonde bangboo pushed the dining cart closer as Ms. Sebastiane lifted the lid to the pot, stirring the ladle, the braided one bringing her more plates. “No, unfortunately not. Lycaon will not be joining us because he will be preparing for the arrival of our next client. Ellen is out with her friends at the moment. Sometimes, we all have shifts at different times, according to our clients. This is a special occasion.” Corin spoke up from behind your chair, “Miss..Is it okay if he tries a small serving? I think he should see if he likes it first..” “Well, if you say so~” Rina gently placed down the plate before you, pointing at the specific cutlery you needed. “Remember, outside inwards.” “Right…” You began to sweat. “Nothing that the likes of me can’t handle! Ahaha..” The soup appeared downright unappealing, the broth swirling like purple miasma. It bubbled with unidentified ingredients, shifting around the soup on their own. The soup actually lacked a distinct smell despite its appearance, but seeing as it was soup, that was worrying. You gulped. Corin was practically shaking behind you in fear and worry. If you listened closely, you could hear the beating heart of her bear plush speed up to match its owner’s.

Quickly, you placed the spoon into your mouth, gulping down the soup. 

Immediately, shivers ran down your spine, and you dropped the spoon back onto the plate with a clang.  Complex flavors flooded your senses and the texture of the liquid was indescribable. Your mouth tingled and your throat numbed as the spices left its aftertaste, the particles roughly sliding down. You’d never tasted anything like it. A gasp was heard behind you. “How is it?”

“G-goosebumps..” You hung your head in shock, though Rina took it positively. You could still feel the warm soup make its way to its destination, burning through your gut. In restrained excitement, she prattled off the exotic list of ingredients she had acquired for the recipe. You recognized none of the herbs or spices used, but Corin seemed to grow paler and paler. “Ms. Sebastiane..” You weakly began, though she corrected you. “Please, call me Rina. We’re soon to be co-workers.” And perhaps her new taste-tester, seeing as you had reacted so strongly.

“Rina… I don’t think anything you listed off is healthy for me..I’ve never been fed those things.” Her dolls giggled behind her, mocking your reaction. One of them hung their head like a limp doll while the other exaggerated you by choking on air and falling over. “What a shame. I’ve heard many call this recipe reenergizing, but I wouldn’t want to force it upon you if you cannot stomach it. It’d only be worse for you in the long run.” She turned to Corin, “Dear, would you like to help me finish off the soup?”

Said girl stuttered and quickly shook her head, headband almost coming loose in the process. “N-No thank you! I’m not hungry.”

Later, Corin would bow to you repeatedly as you downed nutritional packets that you had found in the back of the cupboards, promising to cook for you the next time as an apology. “I get to try your cooking?!” Your head shot out of the compartment in surprise.

The maid nodded meekly as you chewed on the plastic, your teeth piercing through. “Well why didn’t you say so? You’re mine right? Make that an everyday thing and we have a deal!” You pointed at her from halfway within the shelf, your other hand continuing to unwrap the prepackaged meals. “Ahh! D-deal! Please slow down..” 

You were granted a small wardrobe of your own that fit the aesthetic of the company. Not quite the uniform, the clothing given to you was both flowy in order to appear elegant, and form fitting at certain points to allow for mobility when you wanted to be more active.

Active, as in.. “Sir Y/N, please come down from the ceiling, or I will have to call Rina to fetch you.” Lycaon sighed as he found you perched upside down on the chandelier, swinging lightly. From beside him, Ellen stood uninterested, tapping away at her phone while leaning on the side of the guest sofa. You clicked your tongue disrespectfully, “Well, you’re no fun, Mr. Lycaon. Rina only captures me because you tell her to. Why don’t you just come up here instead? Didn’t you tell me I had to watch? I can see the whole room from here!” You taunted him, watching as he narrowed his eyes. You wrapped your wings around yourself in a cocoon as your knees bent around the metal frame.

Though he was upset at your behavior, Mr. Lycaon took no action to move you, nor did he raise his voice. “When our client comes, it is your agreed duty to maintain the reputation of our establishment.”

“Fine, fine.” You scoffed.

Just at the delivery of your remark, the door to the foyer swung open. Rina walked through, stopping to acknowledge the person following. “After you.” She bowed her head and folded her hands, awaiting their entrance. 

With a silent ‘swoop’, you appeared to the right of Ellen as Lycaon side-eyed you, sparing no more than a glance. You winked and mouthed the words ‘eyes and ears’.

Your boss stepped forward to greet the client. As if a hidden cue played, the attendants of Victoria Housekeeping Co. bowed simultaneously, minus you. Ellen sighed inaudibly and pushed your head down so that you were unable to make eye contact with the aristocrat, or embarrass them.

“Thank you for using the Victoria Housekeeping, where your wish is our command, Master. Please, make yourself comfortable.” Lycaon greeted the client, and only sat when the client did so. From beside, Rina poured out tea, her bangboo delivering the cups.

From behind the sofa, you could tell the guy was oddly young. His coat looked elaborate, yet colorfully pleasing, and his rings glimmered from his fingers, the gems in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Though, his most noticeable feature was his long purple hair, which was tied into a low side ponytail. In fact, he looked so regal that if he had sat still enough, people would assume the scene to be a portrait of an unnamed historical figure. 

All in all, this person seemed very unreal to you.

“Let’s.. skip over the pleasantries, shall we?” The client began, placing both hands on his decorative cane. “I’d like to request a few of your attendants to work as temporary bodyguards for my daughter. I’m afraid that one’s a bit too rambunctious for her own good, always sneaking out somewhere.”

He exaggeratedly sighed, like the noble he was. “That girl will probably go and get lost somewhere, and I really need to keep an eye on her. I’ll be away for two weeks, so it’ll probably be in that timeframe.” From behind the man, you silently mimicked his sigh, placing a hand on your forehead in mock worry. Ellen pinched your arm. “Is that something you can do?”

Lycaon nodded in understanding. “Yes, our services do include protection. Is there anybody you would like to request, in particular?”

The man leaned back into the sofa and gestured a hand to his side. The side that you and Ellen were standing at. You began to sweat.

“How about these two?” The butler hesitated. “Master, I’m afraid that will not be possible. Those two are not full time workers. Furthermore, I have yet to train the other. He is simply here for observation.” The man waved a hand in dismissal. “Bah, it’s fine! I’ll just pay extra for the overtime. Young workers like that, right? Besides, people who are a little feisty are perfect for my daughter.” He leaned forward and picked up the teacup, placing the rim of the cup against his lips to test the temperature. “The girl always complains about how stiff her personal maids are. Those two look like they can keep in line enough.” Lycaon hardened his eyes. “Master, no amount of payment shall sway me to jeopardize the completion of the commission nor the safety of my workers if I do not believe them to be ready.” “Can’t he just have training on the job? There’s nothing like on-the-field experience, so I’ve heard.” The man grew increasingly agitated at the resistance, though he smoothed it away with a sip of the tea. “How about just the shark girl?” Lycaon looked to the both of you for your opinions on the matter. Even if he was your employer, he prioritized your decisions first. You and Ellen looked at each other. 

‘What do you think?’ You raised an eyebrow. 

She nodded her head in the direction of the man. ‘Do you wanna do it?’ She seemed to signal back. The two of you looked back at Mr. Lycaon. 

You nodded and grinned while Ellen shrugged uncaringly.

Ellen looked back at you and also nodded in agreement with you, though still shrugging.

Lycaon looked back at the man, him tapping impatiently at the rim of the cup, his cane lay leaning against his leg. “So?”

Lycaon held back another sigh. “Your selected attendants shall do their best to carry out your wishes.” His response pleased the man. “Wonderful. I expect them to be ready at this address by tonight.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thin business card. Lycaon received the card with both paws and stood to bow. This time, the entirety of the Victoria Housekeep bowed along. “Thank you for reaching out to us. We hope to meet your expectations throughout the duration of our partnership.”

“As promised, I’ll send over a check for half of the commission.” The man stood with his cane and gleefully sauntered out the room, Rina escorting him out.

Lycaon looked back at the two of you, signaling you both to follow him. It seemed like your smooth recovery at the household would be briefly interrupted.

[Wait, backtrack!] [Onwards!]