quantockorienteers

[writercole]

Lost Song of Love

Summary: The heart knows the sound of its love through all manner of time and distance. Words: 1525 Warnings: Angst. I'm sorry. Canon references to Bucky's story. A/N: This is being posted unbeta'd because I want to be able to get all the yelling with my tea and popcorn. Sorry, Stacey.

Part of the Unforgettable collection.

Bucky Barnes stared at the letter in his hand. His luck had run out. He’d been drafted.

“Jaime, what’s wrong?” Rebecca, his sister, questioned.

“I’ve been drafted,” he whispered.

“How long?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Then you’d better get everything done today so you can spend tomorrow with your girl.” Rebecca kissed Bucky on the cheek and walked back to the bedroom she shared with their mom, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The next morning dawned with cloudy skies, typical of Brooklyn in the fall. Bucky hurried out of bed and dressed in the uniform that he’d picked up. Steve was waiting for him at the theater, though, knowing Steve, he’d pick a fight and Bucky would find him in an alley facing someone much bigger.

Bucky arrived to find exactly the scene he expected. He smiled and shook his head at his small friend before stepping up to help.

Once the scene was dispersed, Steve looked at him with a slight bit more scrutiny. “What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the green Army uniform.

“Been called up,” Bucky replied proudly.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Do you know what unit?”

“107th.”

Steve sighed, the surprise in his eyes being replaced by disappointment and jealousy as Bucky watched. He couldn’t stomach knowing that he was leaving his friend behind, his friend that desperately wanted to join up, to fight. He let his shoulders sag for just a moment before putting on a brave face and wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Come on, punk,” Bucky laughed, “the girls are waiting for us.”

Steve and his date ditched Bucky and his girlfriend halfway through Howard Stark’s presentation. Bucky didn’t really care since he needed to be with her. 

They walked down the streets of Brookly in silence, her hands wrapped tightly around Bucky’s elbow, both of them unable to find words to express their devastation, their apprehension, their fear, or their love.

The opening strains of a Nat King Cole song started, trickling out into the misty streets from one of the smoky pubs leeching smoke from an open door. Bucky stopped on the sidewalk and pulled her towards him, his left arm slipping around her waist and pressing her warmth to his chest.

They swayed in silence for a few measures as they tried to commit every smell, every feeling, every sound to memory.

“JB,” she started.

“Don’t say anything, doll,” interrupted Bucky in a whisper. “Please.”

“I’ll never forget you,” she stated, a voice almost too quiet for Bucky to hear over the noise of the New York borough’s streets.

“Neither will I,” he mumbled, “I’ll be back before you know it, doll. I’ll come back to you.”

“I’ll wait.”

It had been weeks since she’d heard from Bucky. The last time that happened, he’d been a prisoner of war until Captain America rescued him.

This time, though, something felt different. A heavy melancholy had settled over her long before she realized how long had passed since his last letter.

A knock sounded through the apartment she shared with two other women and she furrowed her brows before she walked to the door. The man on the other side looked familiar from the distorted image she could see of his bowed face.

She opened the door and gasped as he raised his head. “Steve?!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, swallowing hard. “Can, uh, can I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” She stood aside and let the now-hulking friend of her boyfriend inside, shutting the door behind him. “Gosh, Steve, you look…big,” she smiled, a forced emotion that didn’t light up her face like it used to.

“Science can be good for something,” he chuckled as he twirled his cover in his hands. “That’s not why I came, though.”

The look on his face confirmed her worst fears. “No,” she protested.

“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled.

The room started to spin around her. Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. A distant scream reached her ears, barely registering the furniture rising around her.

A pair of thick bands wrapped around her, her face landing against a hard surface as a wailing filled her ears. Warmth seeped into her from somewhere and the bands tightened.

Soft strokes up and down her back grounded her to the apartment and slowly, she began to register what was happening.

The wailing was her own voice.

The rising furniture was her knees giving out.

The bands were Steve’s arms keeping her from falling.

The hard plane was his chest.

Her breath came in short gasps, stretching her aching chest between sobs.

“Steve, tell me it’s not true,” she pleaded, “tell me this is the worst dream ever. Tell me, Steve. TELL ME!”

“I’m so sorry,” replied Steve, his voice warbling. “I saw him fall from a train half a mile in the air. His body wasn’t found. He’s gone, doll. Bucky’s gone.”

October 1991

Bucky recognized very little of what they called Brooklyn. The date showed that nearly fifty years had passed. He wondered how he still looked as though he were in his twenties. When he tried to remember how he had gotten to these crowded streets, all he was met with was fog. The last real memory he could conjure was Steve’s face getting smaller as he fell backwards.

The only thing he knew for sure was her name. He passed a hospital just as a young woman stepped out. He saw her face and spoke a name in revered whispers.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”  The woman looked stunned, color draining from her face and eyes wide.

“I - you look like someone I used to know is all,” he stammered as he stepped backwards.

“This is impossible,” she scoffed. “JB Barnes?”

The nickname triggered a memory - dancing in the street, a sweet perfume, a beautiful dame pressed tightly to his chest.

“It is you, isn’t it?”

Bucky could only nod in response.

“My grandmother gave up on you. Please, do you have a minute to come with me?” she pleaded, stepping towards him.

Bucky nodded again and followed the woman through hallways to a shut door. 

“She’s in there. With my aunt.”

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside, his gaze landing on two older women, one asleep in a bed, the other with her back turned towards him.

The door shut and the woman in the bed opened her eyes, gasping when she saw him standing there. “Bucky?”

“Rebecca, honey, Bucky’s been gone a long time,” the friend in the chair soothed, a sadness in her voice.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky breathed out. Her voice had ignited a flurry of emotions in his chest. His heart was racing and he struggled to keep his breathing stable. Something deep inside of him recognized her, like a lost song of love clinging to him.

The woman in the chair froze, slowly turning her head to the side and gasping in shock herself. “JB,” she whispered. “How is this possible? You haven’t aged a day!”

“I don’t know,” he replied as he stepped forward. “I woke up a few hours ago in clothes I didn’t remember carrying a weapon I’d never seen with this,” he explained, raising a metal arm. “I stole these clothes from a clothesline and started walking. I saw this girl outside that looks just like you…”

Bucky trailed off as she rose, her face showing the passage of time but her eyes were the same soulful eyes he’d fallen in love with decades ago.

“You’re real,” she whispered, her wrinkled hand reaching up to caress his face.

“I’m real. I made you a promise, doll.”

“I’m so sorry, JB. I didn’t know,” she mumbled as tears slid down her cheeks. “Steve told me you were dead and then he -”

“Did…did you marry him?” Bucky interrupted, sick to his stomach at the thought of losing her but okay if it were Steve. 

“Um, no. He disappeared. Plane crash,” she explained. “Your sister always believed you’d come back.”

“I could feel it,” the woman in the bed confirmed, “I could feel that my brother was alive. I surely didn’t expect him to show up looking like he’d stopped aging when he left.”

“Becca,” he sighed in relief. “You stayed friends all this time?”

“We’ve been great friends,” the woman in front of him said. “Becca helped me through it all.”

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back,” he apologized as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

The sound of boots thudding across the roof alerted Bucky to the incoming danger. He knew he was the reason for the sounds; whoever it was would never stop looking for him. He had to protect the two most important women in his life.

“I have to go,” he told them. “I’ll try to come back.”

“Please don’t go, JB.”

“I have to, doll. It’s for your protection.” He pressed kisses to both of their cheeks and rushed out of the room, not expecting to be able to keep the last promise. But one thing was sure. She would be unforgettable once again.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[xcrystalzero]

all the things i believed

pairing: xiao x reader

summary: you've only seen the boy who lives in the apartment one over from yours a few times, but you knew the look of someone who wanted to seem intimidating when you saw one. so, why was his music taste so adorable?

alternatively, xiao thinks that the apartment walls are a lot thicker than they actually are and accidentally exposes the fact that he's not nearly as angsty as he wants everyone to believe.

note: soft xiao makes me way too happy. also, here is xiao's playlist! i recommend listening while you read :) if you guys like it, i'll make playlists for my fics more often!

"I'll miss you!" Your roommate had her arms wound tightly around your torso and it didn't seem like she planned on letting go any time soon. She was also squeezing just a tad too hard and it was starting to hurt.

Gingerly, you patted her on the shoulder, subtly attempting to pry her off of you with your other hand. "I'll miss you too... But remember, it's only two weeks and then you're back!"

That only served to make her pout even more as she finally pulled away "Two weeks is so long though! How am I going to survive without you and your brownies?"

"Hah, so you're really only worried about not having brownies huh?"

"You know that's not what I meant!" she whined, causing you to giggle slightly. Honestly though, there was no way anyone watching could possibly think that she would only be gone for two weeks. Your roommate had decided that she needed three full suitcases and the world's largest carry-on purse for her little trip, and you were honestly a little worried about it.

"Ahem..." Your bonding moment was promptly interrupted by a soft but very present voice directly behind you. Whirling around, you came face to face with a vaguely familiar figure.

It was the golden eyes that caught your attention first. Even in the strange fluorescent light of the hallway, they almost seemed to have a light of their own, a hypnotizing sort of gleam that you couldn't bring yourself to look away from. Of course, the rest of him was no less than stunning either. Dressed head to toe in black with his angular features and lean build, he was striking.

His eyes widened slightly as you turned towards him though they settled fairly quickly back into what you could only assume was his trademark glare.

"Just... trying to get through." His voice was gruff, but much softer than you had anticipated. Perhaps even gentle?

Oh yeah, that was how you knew him! Your schedules must have been somewhat similar since you were sure you passed him at least a few times a week. You had never talked but you were pretty sure you had seen him going into the unit one over from yours quite a few times.

So this was your neighbor huh? He was cute, if a little intimidating.

"Oh sorry!" your roommate chimed in. "We were just leaving, we'll get out of your way!" She began to scoot her bags to the side and you quickly joined in, wheeling one of the suitcases to the side, though you couldn't seem to keep your eyes off of the guy. Every time you looked away, it was as though your gaze was drawn back towards him by some unnatural force.

It helped that he seemed just as awkward with the whole thing as you did, alternating glancing between the you and your roommate, the floor, and his phone. As soon as there was enough space for him to squeeze by, he did, mumbling a quick thanks as he made his way down the hall, unlocking his door and disappearing into his apartment in what felt like a second.

After a moment of silence, your roommate piped up again. "He's cute!"

"He can probably still hear you!" you whacked her across the shoulder, causing her to pout in your direction again, though the teasing look never left her eyes.

"He's kind of your type too isn't he?" she all-but waggled her eyebrows in your direction to which you rolled your eyes.

"Aren't you already late for your flight"

"Oh shit!"

~~~

The apartment felt so strange when you were alone. Usually around this time of night, your roommate would have come banging on your door to join her for her late night rom-com marathon or to help her chose an outfit or the party she was going to. Tonight however, everything was quiet.

With a sigh, you slumped over onto your bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone in hopes of finding some sort of entertainment.

That was when you heard it. The soft sound of an instrumental through the wall, slowly building in volume as you assumed whoever lived in that room turned up the volume.

"40 days and 40 nights... I waited for a girl like you to come and save my life..."

Aww cute, love songs! Had you been busy or doing literally anything else, you might have been annoyed, or at least a little worried about exactly how loud they had to be playing their music for you to be able to hear it. As things stood though, it was a welcome distraction.

"You were out of my league, all the things I believed, you were just the right kind yeah you were more than just a dream..."

Oh yeah, you knew this song too! There was a sort of second timbre to the sound and you wondered if the person playing the music was singing along as well.

Wait, who was playing that music. Judging by the sound, it was likely the unit one to your left where their wall joined with yours. The unit one to your left...

Multi-colored hair and golden eyes... The cute guy? Pulling yourself immediately up into a sitting position, you pressed yourself to the wall before immediately realizing how crazy you were acting.

He was just playing music, that wasn't anything weird.

"Romeo take me, somewhere we can be alone..."

Taylor Swift. He was playing Taylor Swift. At that, you started laughing. Wow, appearances really could be deceiving huh? You sighed as you leaned with your back against the wall, letting the vibrations from the music soak into your very being.

You were sure that you'd heard music coming from that unit before but he wasn't usually loud at all. Maybe something was different today? Maybe you'd ask him when you next saw him. And maybe, he'd actually want to talk to you when you did.

Or maybe not.

So for now, you let your head rest against the wall, letting the music and soft singing lull you into relaxation.

~~~

That was it, you despised public transportation. All you wanted was to get out of your apartment for one day and take your work to a nearby cafe. So of course, when you ran outside to catch the bus that came once every hour, the bus driver looked you straight in the eye as he closed the door right in front of you and drove off. And then for good measure, it started raining.

You sighed, burying your face in the backpack on your lap. If the bus app was right, which it rarely was, there was another bus you could take arriving in the next few minutes, so maybe this wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

The sound of footsteps entering the little bus stop booth got your mind off of your moping as you raised your head just enough to peer over at who it was that had just joined you.

Oh. Standing there, hood pulled up over his multi-toned hair and seemingly permanent scowl fixed on his lips, was your hot neighbor. Your hot neighbor with very interesting music taste if last night told you anything.

Since nothing could go right for you, the moment that you looked at him, he looked at you, meaning the two of you got to share a few agonizing seconds of awkward eye contact before he pointedly turned away with a soft "tsk". That being said, you were sure that you weren't imagining the slight tinge of shock you had seen in his gaze for a moment.

"You've got good timing, there's one coming in like 5 minutes." You had no idea how you had managed to get the words out without stuttering or blushing the moment he turned back to look at you.

"That's good..." Yup, that was an expected response, and yet, you really just wanted him to keep talking. So this was the end of your story with the gorgeous emo boy next door. Relegated to exchanging conversation about public transportation and nothing more. It was really the wasted potential here that was killing you. So many cute interactions that would just never happen. Ah if only the bus would come so that you wouldn't have to wallow in your despair any longer.

"I... thought you were leaving yesterday?"

Oh? You whirled around way too quickly to face the man, causing his eyes to widen as he shifted away instinctually.

"Oh, I was just helping my roommate move all of her stuff," you managed to get out, summoning what you hoped was a non-nervous smile to your lips.

"Those were all her bags?" he seemed horrified, enough so that you couldn't hold back your laughter.

"I said the same thing! She's kind of insane sometimes but I love her..." Well, it was no or never. "I'm [name] by the way!" You smiled and extended a hand out towards the boy.

He regarded you for a moment with a look you couldn't put into words. After what felt like an eternity however, he gently took your hand in his own, holding it for barely a moment before pulling back again. "Xiao."

Xiao. There was a strange sense of relief that came with this new knowledge. Know that you knew his name, was it couth to ask him what his favorite Taylor Swift song was? Probably not. But there was a chance that you might literally never be able to talk to him again... Meh, it was as you were thinking before right? Now or never.

"Hi Xiao. I liked your playlist last night by the way." The words came out more effortlessly than you had thought they would, carefree and teasing.

You were a little bit surprised though when you glanced back over at Xiao, only to find him eyes blown wide as a deep red spread quickly across his cheeks. "Y-You!"

"Honestly a pretty good curation! If a little unexpected..." You had no idea what it was about this guy but he really brought the snarky, teasing part of you out. Maybe it was the fact that while he usually looked cold and intimidating, blushing, embarrassed Xiao was strangely adorable.

"I thought you left!" Xiao blurted out. "I mean... There were so many bags... And your roommate said that you guys were leaving..."

You stared blankly at him for a moment before immediately dissolving into peals of laughter. Xiao had the gall to pretend to be offended for a moment before he looked away with a soft huff. "What..."

"You know, I kind of thought you were scary at first," you managed between giggles. "I guess not though!"

"Ugh, you're insufferable." Xiao rolled his eyes though you were sure that you saw the slightest hint of a smile as he did. "Why were you listening through the walls anyway?"

"Xiao, it was literally so loud."

"It wasn't that bad!"

"And I think I heard some singing too! Say, you in a band? Do you guys usually just write love songs?"

"I was not singing!"

There was a strange warmth in your chest as the two of you went back and forth. So things could go right for you after all?

~~~

Sadly, you and Xiao hadn't been going the same way, so when his bus came - before yours you might add - the two of you had parted ways. The sun had been going down when you made your way back home, satisfied with a productive day, though the memory of your conversation with Xiao was still taking up a lot more headspace than you would have liked.

So this is what it was like to simp for a guy? You weren't sure you liked it.

Setting down the takeout you had picked up on the counter, you crashed onto your living room couch with a low groan. Sleep would be nice right about now, but also, you had to eat and shower and clean...

"I wonder what Xiao's doing?" The thought appeared in your head suddenly and you almost smacked yourself right then and there. Why were you always thinking about him? You'd literally spoken to the guy once, and it wasn't anything special! Just some teasing and his little retorts... And his cute blush... And his little smile... And the way he pretended to be annoyed when he was clearly enjoying it... Wow, this was worse than you thought.

"CAN YOU FEEL MY HEART?"

You yelped, jumping up in your seat at the sudden noise, coming once again from the wall separating you and Xiao's units. You paused for a moment but before you could stop yourself, you were back up on your feet, making your way over and banging against the wall.

"You're not fooling anyone Xiao!" you yelled, not sure if he could even hear you. Apparently he could since the music stopped as quickly as it had started. There was a moment of silence as you pressed your ear to the wall, waiting for his next move. What you did not expect was to hear sound in the other direction. A knock on your door.

Confused, you made your way over, unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal, Xiao? He was still wearing his giant black hoodie, though the glare was missing.

"Did you run out of sugar or something? Or fake angsty songs to play?" you questioned with a grin.

As expected, he let out a soft huff, turning his head away in fake exasperation. "You're a menace."

"So what I'm hearing is that you want me to send in a noise complaint!"

"You idiot... I'm just here to-" For whatever reason, he was blushing again.

"Here to?" you prompted, wondering if you should invite him in or offer him water or something. He was tugging at the collar of his hoodie too...

"J-Just here to say that if you're going to sit there listening through the walls, you might as well just come over..."

Did you hear that right? You stared at him for a moment longer, blinking slowly. This was probably a dream right? You were so tired when you got home that you fell asleep and now you were dreaming.

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to..." Or maybe not.

"You know, normal people just invite people over without pretending to be edgy right?"

"Shut it, are you coming or not?"

"Yeah yeah I'm coming. Oh yeah, I got takeout, I'll bring it. It's from that new place down the street, Wangshu Inn. Have you ever had Almond Tofu before?"

"... you're unbelievable."

note: i want a hot neighbor like xiao... i did have a hot neighbor who i did hit on, but then i found out that he had a girlfriend so i stopped... but xiao would be better.

[gaiuswrites]

World's Best

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: Not every day is easy. Frankie makes it better.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.2k~

Warnings/tags: smut, vague-ish descriptions of depression/mental health, hurt/comfort, fluff

Notes: Do y'all ever get into a funk and then attempt to write yourself out of one? Well, this is the v self-indulgent product of said instance heh. I have tagged a random assortment of potentionally interested people but obvi no pressure? idk? :) Sending so much love and well wishes to you guys. x

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

A sea of knotted sheets spans between you—as tangled as your legs—too tired, too leaden to unweave. The fan rotates in the corner, blowing stale air your way every few clicks. You dangle a foot off the bed, skin prickling as the weak breeze sweeps over you and a bead of sweat licks from your knee to slope down your calf. Morning sun leaks through the window— the finch perched on the tree just outside it chirping once, twice, before flitting off.

You’ve been reading the Sunday paper for a solid twenty minutes—which, in all honesty, is an overstatement; you started and quickly abandoned the Sudoku after a measly ten, and you’ve been staring at the same sentence in the local section for the other half, blinklessly hovering over the fine print.

You’re not here today. Not all of you.

There’s this sinking feeling, hollowing you out and unmaking you. It’s as if something unseeable is oozing over you - dripping - something treacle, something thick. You’re far away from yourself—far from the cornflower blue walls and the framed photos hanging on them—the happy faces in the pictures smiling back at you— far from the plants basking in the tines of filtered light by the sill, far from the body lying beside you.

You’re not always this way. Not every day drags like an inky smear, your mind meandering sluggishly in circles, holding you hostage in a prison of your own making; but you can’t say it’s foreign to you either. It’s old, familiar—like that sweater in your closet you’ve had for centuries and rarely wear, but can’t bring yourself to get rid of. You know it well, this slog—you have unwillingly memorized it’s sodden intricacies, and today you feel it. You feel every single one of your days—each grey hour— weighing heavy on your very bones.

heavy heavy

heavier, still.

If you’re not careful, you’ll sink straight through the mattress. You’ll nestle deep into the springs and make a home in the down. You’ll sleep there until you become it. Comfortable. Catatonic.

Frankie sips his coffee. He doesn’t look up from the email he’s skimming. “What’s wrong?”

The baritone of your boyfriend’s voice sucks you back to the present—to the tick of the clock marking the seconds, the whir of the fan. The paper crinkles as you lay it to your chest—big eyes feigning ignorance as you blink up at him, chewing your lip. “Hmm?”

“Baby, I know that face.”

“What face?”

“The one you’ve got on,” he replies, “that’s your ‘I’m-upset-and-I’m-trying-to-hide-it’ face.’”

“I-” you frown, “no it’s not.” Gingerly, you pat a hand around your temple, your cheek, as if you could see your expression through touch.

“Uh huh.” Frankie rolls his digit upon the mousepad, clicking and scrolling down the webpage, and your vision glazes over again—ugly thoughts fogging up the panels of your mind—

“You gonna talk to me about it?”

You blink, swallowing, “nothing to talk about.” You flap the paper, ironing out the pleats, and scan for that pesky paragraph you never managed to finish.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly, bringing the mug to his lips and drinking with an all too obvious slurp.

“Really, I’m fine,” you say weakly. You’re not that convincing—you barely convince yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. If you say so.”

He’s too casual; he’s letting it all go too easily and God, he’s gotten good at this—at coaxing the truth out of you. He doesn’t even have to try any more. He’s so kind and open and sincere, all he has to do is crack the door ajar—tempt you with an inch of space, with only a sliver of leeway—and immediately you want to plunge through it and chase after him, like a dog and a bone.

He makes you want to share; not because of what he says, but by everything he doesn’t—the welcoming gaps he leaves you with, the gaps you’re urged to fill. This happens every time—it’s pretty damn annoying, actually. You’re so miserably predictable. After three and a half years together, sometimes you think Frankie might know you better than you know yourself.

A scary thought—wonderful, too.

“I’m just-” You run a hand over your face, pressing into the bridge of your nose and you grunt, frustrated. Exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Frankie settles his coffee cup on the hill of his sternum, closing his laptop quietly. He swivels his head to you, hair mussing into the wall.

“Of anything in particular?” he asks, linen soft.

“No, yes—I don’t know,” you heave—an errant thing fluttering around in your chest as you fold the newspaper, letting it float to the floor with a splat. “It’s just-” you worry the inside of your cheek raw, fumbling with the blur of your emotions. You shake your head. “It’s just a bad brain day.” Your voice is small as you slump into him, letting your body go limp.

“I’m sorry I get like this. I’m okay—I’ll be okay,” you mumble, face burrowed into his arm. He smells summered, like sweat and heat and the promise of long days fading into even longer nights, and you take a heady drag, inhaling his scent.

You hear him sigh, stretching as he sets the mug and computer down on the side table. He shifts back to you, snaking an arm under your body as you coil your own around his center, hugging him close.

“You know, it’s alright if you’re not,” Frankie murmurs into your hair, planting a kiss at the crown of your head. “And you know you don’t have to hide from me when you aren’t.” His thumb finds your arm, the chewed nail bed scratching soothing circles along your skin.

Your gut somersaults, flipping and purring, and all you can do is press your lips to the cottoned shoulder of his tee shirt—the one with the holes in the collar and motor oil stain on the hem; all you can do is tighten your grasp, wringing around his cozy waist.

“And you know that nothing you say is gonna scare me away, right? I’m always going to be here for you.” Frankie gives your forearm a reassuring squeeze.

God, this man.

You nuzzle further into his chest—snuggled and swaddled in the safety of his warmth—and you mumble something incoherent, muffled against his relaxed body. His beard catches on your fly-aways as he dips to hear you better. “What was that honey?”

“I said,” you crane your neck, lifting out of his side, “you really are the ‘world’s best uncle’.”

A ripple of confusion twists over his features before you bat your eyes up to meet his, shooting a glance over to that exact phrase wrapping itself around the ceramic cup beside him.

You got stuck with it at some terrible white elephant exchange last Christmas. It’s fucking tacky and aggressively large—not even you - you, in all your caffeine dependency - can chug that much coffee fast enough in one sitting without it going cold— and neither of you have any nieces or nephews to speak of…

Naturally, it’s become your favorite mug.

Frankie barks out a laugh, his stomach flexing against your grasp. “Oh yeah? Is that all I am?” he smirks, a glint of mischievousness reflecting in his irises as he bores down at you.

You quirk an eyebrow, a coy tug blooming across your lips. “I dunno,” you drawl sweetly, “you going to prove me otherwise?”

His face is split into a grin now, wide and aching and unnecessarily endearing. His hair is a mess, wavy tufts jutting out every which way, and his eyelids are still puffy from what little slumber he was lucky enough to get in your hot, cramped apartment.

You really can’t keep putting it off—you need to buy an AC unit.

His focus dances from your eyes to your mouth, breath hitching as he watches you skip your tongue over the plush mound there. “I just might,” he growls playfully, maneuvering you onto your back with one broad swoop, pinning you to the bed.

/

He makes love to you like a man unburdened - untouched - by time. He fucks into you slowly, unhurriedly—at a pace that’s mind numbingly measured and patient. Frankie devastates you, dragging himself through your walls from head to hilt, letting you feel every ridge, every vein of him; filling you up so impossibly well—his thick cock sauntering in and out, and in and out again. Each roll of his hips makes you gasp, his blunt tip brushing against that deep, uncharted chasm within you that tempts you into oblivion. Your legs are locked around him, crossed at the ankles, and the perspiration at the pits of your knees slicks his sides.

Frankie’s palms dimple the fitted sheet as he brackets your head, burying himself into the crook of your neck. He moans—hot breath ghosting over the prickled skin there, babbling disjointed strings of guttural praise into your ear.

Fuck baby—fuck you feel good

How’d I get so lucky, how’d I-

God, you’re a— fuck

You’ve got the perfect pussy—made for me

Made for me, made for me, made for-

You turn your head and capture his mouth with your own, whimpering into him as he nips at your bottom lip and bites. You scrape your fingers through his scalp, pulling at his locks, and Frankie whines a tortured noise—giving an especially hard thrust that pries a yelp from your throat. He rears his head back, catching your gaze, a concerned line creased into his brow. “Y-You okay?”

“No- nono, yes Frankie. Again, right there,” you beg, lashes fluttering.

He darkens—the timbre of his voice made husky and raw as he drinks in the sights and sounds of you mewling for him, splayed and needy. “You like that?” Frankie drives into you again, sharp and searing as he bottoms out, the smattering of curls at the base of him soaked with your gloss. “You need it hard, baby? You want it rough?”

You whimper, clawing desperately at the nape of his neck. “I just—I just want you, all of you,” you pant as you hold his stare—the gorgeous, chestnut gleam of it—and the wordless expression that crests over his features makes you want to cry. The precious indent in his cheek, the stubble littering his jaw, his sculpted nose and clever lips, the sad rings under his eyes—the grooves he thinks you don’t notice, the grooves he tries to mask by always taking care of you, always putting you first, even when he shouldn’t.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful—he’s so beautiful you could weep.

“You have me,” he rasps breathlessly, bowing to meet you in a messy whirl of tongue and teeth before breaking away—forcing himself up off his hands and back onto his shins. He hooks an elbow under your knee, letting the other frame the outside of his hip. “I’m right here—you have me, you have me-”

Frankie’s hips are frantic now, pulsing in short, strong bursts as he grinds into you. He dips a hand to your center, pad of his thumb working erratic, sloppy flicks over the sensitive nub of your swollen clit. Your feet arch, the muscles there constricting as the tension in you mounts.

“Babe.” You’re whining now, vulnerable and shaking and fuck, you’re going to come apart—any moment now, any unbearable second, you’ll snap. “F-Frankie, baby oh god—”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes screwing shut as you shatter. Like a vase crashing onto kitchen tile, you break into a million jagged fragments. Your cunt seizes, legs spasming against him as he fucks you through your orgasm, and it doesn’t take long for the tight contractions of your heat to yank him right off that same ledge. The both of you—tumbling and fracturing into terrible, perfect shards—to be intermingled and scattered among each other’s glass pieces.

Indiscernible. The same.

When you glue yourself back together again, you will find parts of him there - here, within you - filling your jigsawed cracks like golden ore.

Frankie slips out of you with a squelch and a huffed groan, collapsing to the mattress in a panting heap. His cum dribbles from your apex and you shiver at the feeling of it—at the feeling of him, warm and wet and lingering inside you. He rests his cheek on your breast while you both catch your breath—rising, falling. Waxing, waning. Two pitter-pattering hearts beating in time.

The sheets have been sloughed, lazy and forgotten, to a crumpled pile on the wood floor and the steam once rising from the mug on the nightstand has long since disappeared. It’s too muggy for you two to be this entwined—his leg draped over you, a big arm slung across your belly—but neither of you dare move. Neither of you have the energy, never mind the desire.

The clock whispers in the morning quiet.

A new bird claims the branch the finch left—she sings now, roosting there in the birch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sleepily, drawing patterns into the valley of his spine, mapping out his freckles and moles and scars. “Thank you,” you say. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for understanding me, thank you for listening even when I cannot speak. “I love you so much.”

Gently, silently, Frankie tilts his head, bristled hair peppering your flesh as he mattes your skin with his lips; laving along your breasts, across your clavicle and up the plain of your neck—each kiss a response, each kiss a truth.

You don’t have to apologize

You don’t have to thank me

I love you

I love you

I’m right here

I love you

tags:

@pedros-mustache @roxypeanut @frannyzooey @djarinsbeskar @read-and-rec @keeper0fthestars @krissology @greatcircle79

[honeypiehotchner]

delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot

Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.

Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.

Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead

Hotch Masterlist

Hotch doesn’t go to bars.

When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.

Not at a bar.

But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.

He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.

But Aaron is alone this time.

You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.

You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.

It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.

But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”

You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”

You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.

Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.

The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.

Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.

“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.

“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”

She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.

Tonight, you’re married.

You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.

So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.

It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.

The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.

It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.

But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.

Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.

You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.

“You come here often?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”

“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Can I buy you another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Why, do you work here?”

“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”

“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”

“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.

The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.

“He’s on a work trip.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”

“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”

“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.

It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.

“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”

Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.

You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”

You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.

“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.

“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.

“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”

Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.

But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.

“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.

The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.

Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.

Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.

When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”

“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”

He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.

You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”

Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”

“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”

“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”

“Arresting him? For what?”

“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”

Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”

“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”

Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”

“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”

“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.

Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.

You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.

Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”

She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.

“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”

He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”

“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.

“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”

“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”

“So far?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

He smiles through his next swig of beer.

+++

It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.

To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.

It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.

It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.

But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.  

You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.

Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).

“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.

“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”

“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”

You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.

“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.

You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”

“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”

“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”

“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”

You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”

“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”

You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.

So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.

The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.

But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”

Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here. 

But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?

Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”

Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”

Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.

You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.

Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.

Good plan.

Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.

He says something for you, though. “Hey.”

Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?

“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.

And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.

“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”

“Yeah, we are.”

Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.

To your surprise, Aaron sits down.

Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”

Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”

You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.

“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.

Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”

“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”

“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.

“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.

“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”

“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”

He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”

“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.

“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.

Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”

Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”

Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.

“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”

Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”

That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.

“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”

You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.

“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.

“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”

“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.

“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.

“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”

Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.

“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”

Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.

He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.

After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.

What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.

[tracle0]

hey hi, happy storyteller satursunday! I remember you posting a super neat ramble a while back about TSS and language? among other things you mentioned you were telling the story as a translator! I was wondering if there are any fun language facts you can tell me about how things might differ between original and translation? would there be certain untranslatable concepts? any odd idioms or phrases that pop up that we might not be familiar with? anything that might get lost in translation and require a footnote or two? :P or maybe in general, 'cause you talked about uhhhh potentially having spoken differences between spider and Spider for instance - any other funky little twists like that for how language operates? ok bye have a lovely day xoxoxo

Hi hello! Read this yesterday and went “oh boy” so that’s a good reaction! Sunday now! Hi!

So mmm yeah! The way I approach TSS and TCD is as a translator - but it’s more for convenience than anything? If I were to try to make up new weekdays and units of measurements and swears and numbers constantly, it’d be hard to follow the story because you’re juggling all these essentially useless facts.

Like. Sure, it’s cool to know that “Jyipday” originated as a tribute to the Rabbit for whatever reason, but it’s not necessary to the plot. So to make it easier and to stop myself from going “hey why would they have Thursday without Norse mythology” I just approach the entire story as if I’m translating it into normal English.

I can totally tell you some cool language bits though lmao I have a grand total of four (4) idioms that I’ve come up with since starting this.

First of all, if you were to think someone were lying to you, you might accuse them of “spitting Spiders” on account of the Spider being the god of lying. Not many people believe it’s hugely active in the world they’re wrong but they’re aware of it enough to assume all lies stem back to it.

Example in a sentence: “Can you believe that asshole looked me in the eye and said that? Spitting Spiders the whole time, I’m telling you.”

Second; if someone were to be a bit of a daydreamer or be a bit drifting in terms of attention, you could claim they were “dancing with the Magpie” - also possible as specific forms of dancing, eg: waltzing, tangoing, fukkin,,, rocking, idk, I’m a writer not a dancer. The Magpie is the god of sleep and dreams so. Yeah. Pretty self explanatory.

Example: “Dannels a good kid. Very sharp, very articulate, but he dances with the Magpie a bit too much to be the perfect student.”

Third - if you damage your nail enough that it starts to turn black (either marginally with blood trapped under it or entirely as to fall off) you’d diagnose it was a “Foxes claw” - the Fox is the god of perception, but when it sponsors people, it gives them black nails, just to mark them out really. You do not get magic if you damage your nail. You just get a damaged nail.

Example: “Yeah, the fall was pretty bad, but I’m not too hurt. Bit of a headache and a Foxes claw, nothing to worry about.”

Fourth and finally, if someone were to hyper-fixate in something, be consumed on a new topic or medium or idea to the point of obsession, you could say they were “answering the Salmons lure” (or yknow just diagnose them with ADHD or autism but whatever man). The Salmon is the god of determination, and although it doesn’t sponsor anyone, it’s often assumed that those who work tirelessly on one thing/hyper-fixate are blessed by it.

This mostly came about cause I was like hey why is there rarely if ever any mental illness in fantasy. Fuck that let’s make an idiom

Example: “I’ve not actually seen Nara for about three days. She comes down in the night for food and water, but I think she’s been pulled in by the Salmons lure again”

None of these have come up in story yet, but maybe soon. Maybe maybe.

In terms of how language exists! Re: Spider/spider/liar as different words, I’m. Mm. Settled in most places. I’d like to maybe make up specific swears and curses. I’ve been avoiding using things like “Jesus Christ!” As an exclamation cause that would imply the existence of Christianity and I do not want that.

Oh that’s a tangent actually. Religion! In world, there’s some specificity about what makes up a god - most people may accept that the gods they have are gods, but some disagree. A god has to be all powerful, and the gods they have are not - they’re limited to specific domains like sleep or heat or biology. Therefore, they are not gods. Some decide there is another, higher being above the gods they know that is a true, capital-G God, that gave the other gods their magic. Some assume it means there are no actual gods.

This is the conclusion Andy eventually reaches in TCD. The man really encounters the god of death in person and decides “nah you ain’t shit”

On! The topic of Andy, I’ll mention accents too! Glalis has a very distinct accent that’s mostly informed by the environment - because they live in a cave, there’s a need to keep their voices quiet, to prevent a horrible echo from breaking their ears constantly. The Glalis accent achieves this, hushing the harsh sounds like D or T or CH and keeping the voice soft. I personally am very happy with it

Atlas also has a fun voice but that’s not really any language or accent thing, just a hangover from original Sonder, and tiny tiny me going “well they’re not a girl or a boy, so what kind of voice would they have?” Two voices is apparently the answer, one high, one low, harmonising to make their words. They are an excellent mimic.

Maybe a good time to mention that the main characters names might not… actually be their names?

I mean, the main offender is Atlas tbh. Much like Norse mythology does not exist in TSS, neither does Greek mythology, which is the root of their name, with the titan who holds up the sky. I could brush it aside as “atlas” having another origin as a word…

Or I could be difficult about it!

See I know their name would have to be something map related - specifically because Sam comments on it at one point. I could brush it aside as their name sounding like whatever the god of the planet or earth or fakkin… mapmaking is, but I can’t see the Spider letting one of its servants be named after another god. I could also give “map” a proper translated word, work from there to condense it into a potential name, and then claim I was translating “map” from whatever this word is, and “Atlas” as a result of the similarity.

Or.

I could just.

Let their name be Atlas.

And stop overthinking this so much lmao

[sithsecrets]

proposal | din djarin x reader

you and din discuss the customs of his people, and then you take a trip to see the armorer.

---

3.4k words

mentions: piv sex, marriage customs, fem!reader, marriage proposals, reader discusses interest in having kids, nervousness/anxiety about being rejected, weddings

this is part 6 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

Only in the dark are you brave enough to ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for weeks now, speaking the words into the hull’s empty void as Din breathes beside you.

“Do Mandalorians have weddings?”

So maybe that’s not exactly what you meant, but it’s what comes out of your mouth. What you really want to know is if Mandalorians marry in the first place, but something about asking Din this more directly seems entirely too serious. Too heavy. Couple that with the fact that you lie here naked and drunk on sex and wine, and you find yourself glad that you asked him the way you did.

“No,” Din says, palm warm on your back, “at least not the way people most people do.”

You let his words sink in for a moment, pondering what sort of marriage customs Mandalorians could have. Where you’re from, weddings are huge affairs, the celebration of two families joining together made complete with eating and drinking and music. It is a day devoted to dressing impractically and marveling at all the future holds, a day where two people become a unit, their whole lives spread out before them. You know that every culture isn’t like yours, obviously, but you wonder what else could be done for such an occasion. Every wedding you’ve ever been to, regardless of setting or context, has always involved merrymaking and splendor, or as much as could be afforded. Even this evening, all the way out in the Tatooine desert, Cobb Vanth and his husband and all their friends in Mos Pelgo managed to scrape together quite the little party. There was wine and food, and everyone danced until they couldn’t go anymore. If marriage isn’t a celebration to Mandalorians, then what else could it be?

“Do they— Do you just say you’re married? Is there an officiant?”

Din lets out a sigh, but it’s by no means an exasperated one. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was trying to steady himself, his bare arm flexing around your waist.

“No,” he answers, “there’s no officiant. When two Mandalorians get married, they exchange vows in mando’a, and then they look at each other.”

“They take off—”

“Their helmets,” Din finishes for you, “yes. They say their vows, and then they see each other’s faces for the first time. That’s why it’s done in private— no guests, no one to oversee things.”

“And then after you see each other, you’re married?”

Din nods, affirmative, and the weight of all he’s said presses down on your mind. Two Mandalorians, that was his exact wording, but is that really what he meant? Is there no other option? There has to be another option…

“Can Mandalorians marry other people? Or is that not allowed?”

It takes everything you have to ask this question, anxiety churning in your stomach until… until you realize that Din’s already sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest even and measured against your cheek. The feeling that comes over you is equal parts relief and horror, an odd reaction to the fact that he didn’t hear you, but you decide agonizing over all of this isn’t important right now, not tonight. You’re half-drunk, exhausted, and emotional aroused— hardly the right state to be in when you’re talking about something so serious as this. And so you simply pull the blankets up around you and Din, trying in vain to fall asleep like he did.

---

Thirty-six hours later, the Crest is back in hyperspace, you, Din, and the baby off to chase down a quarry on some distance planet. It’s going to be a long ride, a fact that you’re dreading. Since you watched the Marshal and his husband say their vows and exchange a kiss as husbands, your head’s been filled with images of marriage and weddings and wifehood. The conversation you had with Din the other night plays in your mind on loop, the one unanswered question bothering you to the point of distraction.

Can Mandalorians marry other people?

(Can you marry me?)

You try to keep busy, cleaning and doing laundry, cooking an elaborate dinner, but nothing helps. Even as you play with the baby and tuck him in the for the night, you’re bombarded by anxiety and feelings of unresolved tension. The most frustrating part of it all is that it’s completely one-sided— Din wouldn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, even if you told him, because he wasn’t fucking awake. Din Djarin, a man who never rests, fell asleep in the middle of talking to you about his people and their customs. You truly never thought you’d see the day, and now that you have, you pray it never happens again. You’re not sure you can take this, this limbo. You have to know.

With the Child asleep, you’re officially out of things to occupy your time. You’ve scrubbed every floor and every surface of the Crest, cleaned out the pantry and changed the beds, washed and folded all the clothes. And so you decide it’s time to fuck up your life, climbing up to the cockpit to talk to Din like you have a hundred times before with a rock in your stomach. Never in your life have you professed to be brave, and you nearly chicken out the minute your eyes land on the glinting beskar, on the curve of his helmet. In that moment, you realize that this is it, this really could be the end of it all…

And yet somehow, you’re not afraid anymore.

“Hey,” Din says softly, reaching out to you. The visor remains fixed on the holograms in front of him even as you come over, but his arm is tight around your waist, grounding. “Kid’s asleep?”

“Yeah.” You pause, enjoying the weight of his embrace. “Din?”

He hums in acknowledgement, still focused whatever he’s studying on the holo display. You’re undeterred.

“Do you— Do you remember what we were talking about the other night? After Cobb’s wedding?”

Din’s still half distracted, fixed on an image of two alien beings in what appears to be a hangar bay. “Yeah, Mandalorian weddings. You wanted to know what it’s like when we marry.”

You study him for a moment, gather up all your courage. “Mmhm. And you said that that was the custom for two Mandalorians— vows and then you look. But— But—”

“But what?” Din cuts, still not looking at you.

“Does it… Does it have to be two Mandalorians, or can it be a Mandalorian and someone else?”

Your question hangs in the air for one long, silent moment, and then it would seem that you finally have Din’s full attention.

He turns to you slowly, letting the holograms flicker into nothingness as the pilot’s chair creaks in your direction. You think you might actually pass out right there, petrified to face him in the wake of this question. The both of you are long past all the uncertainty of the early days, far away from the time when you didn’t know what you meant to one another. But this is no insignificant matter, and Din’s not a stupid man. You aren’t asking, but you certainly aren’t not asking either.

For a second there, you think he’s going to prod for more information, make you say what you mean out loud. Din’s good at that, at making you talk when you don’t want to, but he usually resolves it for more playful situations, times when what he’s making you say outright doesn’t matter as much. But mercifully, he skips the games, reaching for you with one gloved hand.

“Come here, mesh’la,” Din murmurs, maneuvering you into his lap like he has a hundreds of times before. It’s all muscle memory at this point, and you settle on the width of his thighs without even thinking about it. Still, though he’s being gentle, though you’re filled with hope, you wait to hear news that will break you.

… It never comes.

---

If someone asked you to make a list of all the things you thought you’d do in your lifetime, visiting a Mandalorian covert wouldn’t even make the top fifty. But here you are on some distant planet in the Outer Rim, snaking through a tunnel system on your way to meet with someone that Din only refers to as “the Armorer.” Apparently, she used to lead his old covert on Nevarro, and now it would seem that another group of Mandalorians has banded together under her leadership. You don’t know what to think of this person, but Din seems to have great respect for her, and that only makes you more nervous.

When Din asked you to sit on his lap, you were sure that he was about to tell you that you and he could never be more than what you already are. In that moment, you had to ask yourself some hard questions. Were you comfortable with that? Could you live with never seeing Din’s face? Was marriage something you needed, or was it something you wanted? But it turned out that all this introspection was pointless, because Din told you flat out that he can marry whoever he wants… So long as he has the Armorer’s permission.

“It’s just because you’re not a Mandalorian,” he told you, trying to soothe you fears as you became more and more worked up about the whole thing. “It’s purely a formality.”

You were unconvinced. “If it’s just a formality, then why do we have to do it? What if she says no?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we have to, but I doubt she’ll turn us down.”

All of this was said under the cover of darkness, of course, you and Din naked and sprawled out under the blankets. He’d made love to you for hours after you asked him if the two of you could get married, saying over and over again that he loved you and that he couldn’t believe you wanted to be his wife. The attention made you breathless, but in the aftermath of it all, you still asked Din three separate times if he was serious, if he really wanted to have you. You couldn’t bear it if he called the whole thing off at the last minute, and you certainly didn’t want him to agree to something so serious just because you’d expressed interest in the idea. But Din was insistent, promising time and time again that he’d made up his mind. You should have known better than to question the conviction of a Mandalorian, especially one as devout and loyal as Din— they don’t make their choices lightly. All of it felt so fast, but also so right, and you’d fallen asleep that night awash in the glow of your engagement. Now that it’s time to face the Armorer, though, you’re anxious and petrified.

All eyes are on you as you and Din make your way down a cavernous, dimly lit corridor, the blackness of many visors tracking your every movement. Even two children stop to stare at your, their helmeted heads shining dully as you pass.

The sound of metal on metal fills the air as you approach what appears to be a chamber within the tunnel system, the noise growing louder and louder with every step you take. Your first impulse is to turn tail and run, but you force yourself to remain steady, counting your steps and standing tall even as a feeling of all-consuming anxiety overwhelms you.

“Hey,” Din says, reaching for your hand just before the two of you enter the room. “Okay?”

You squeeze his palm, lying through your teeth. “Yeah, I’m good.”

And then you’re walking into the chamber side by side, ready to face the woman that will determine the path of your lives.

The Armor is a tall, broad person, helmeted and sheathed in armor like all the other Mandalorians you’ve seen. She pauses her work the minute you and Din walk into the room, a heavy tool made of beskar held aloft in one hand. To be watched by her is intimidating to say the least, her air of importance only heightened by the fact that she stands three feet off the ground on a dais. Din sits down before her without saying a word, and you follow his lead, unsure of what to do with your hands or face.

“Brother,” she declares, dropping her gaze back to her workspace, “it is good to see you. If you have come for repairs, I am afraid you’ll have to wait some time. We have just combined forces with another covert, and I have had much to do as a result.”

The Armorer glances up.

“Where is the Child?”

It takes you three whole seconds to realize that she’s speaking to you instead of Din, and you rush to answer her. “He’s with friends,” you explain, “people we trust on Nevarro.”

“’We,’” the Armorer intones, picking apart your words. You can’t decide what she means by this.

Two clangs of beskar on beskar, and Din finally speaks.

“I haven’t come for repairs,” he says, voice even and strong, “I’ve come to speak to you about an important matter.”

The Armorer does not so much as look up. “I assume it has something to do with the girl, yes?”

“Yes,” Din affirms. “I want her to be my wife, and I seek your permission for a vow exchange.”

It is a long time before the Armorer speaks again, her demeanor never changing once as she continues to work on the piece before her. She pounds away at the metal, laying it over the jets of flame before her, setting her tools aside carefully.

“You want to marry this Mandalorian?”

Her words are like ice water down your back, but you force yourself to be brave.

“Yes,” you say, feigning confidence. It’s hard to maintain eye contact, though you do it anyway, hellbent on showing respect to this woman who has survived no less than two massacres.

“Come here, child. Let me look at you.”

Standing on shaky legs, you walk closer and closer to the dais, stepping up when prompted by your observer. You refuse to come too close to her workstation, afraid of causing offense. Beskar is a precious thing, and you’d never want to taint her tools and materials with the oil if your unworthy, unindoctrinated hands.

“How long have you known my brother?”

The Armorer begins to pace long, measured circles around you, studying your body, letting her gaze linger on your face.

“Over a year.”

“Do you travel with him much?”

“We live together on the Crest,” you explain. “We’re always together, unless he goes out to look for a quarry.”

The Armorer nods, seemingly pleased.

“And what do you think of the Child? Do you care for him?”

You picture the baby’s face, his little green hands, his big black eyes, and your heart is filled with affection for him. “I don’t know what he is, but I don’t care, either. I love him like he came from my own body. Din’s done me a favor by letting me know the baby at all.”

And for the first since you came to stand before the Armorer do you turn to look at Din. He doesn’t say anything to you in that moment, but you see it, the way his posture softens just the slightest bit. The Armorer must notice it too because she turns her gaze on him as well.

“She is the Child’s mother?”

“Yes,” Din says at once. If the two of you were alone, if you still weren’t so afraid of being rejected, you think you might cry at that.

The Armorer nods once again, statuesque as she comes to a stand in front of you.

“If you were to bear my brother children, would you raise warriors? Or would you have them shy away from such a life?”

This is an important question, you know, one that will make or break the Armorers decision. You take your time to consider you answer, choosing the right words, stringing them together with care.

“My children will be free to do as they please,” you begin, looking the Armorer dead in her visor. “I know that you don’t just become a Mandalorian. It’s something you choose for yourself. You have to swear the Creed and take on the burden of never showing your face— that’s not something I could force on my babies, even if I wanted to. When the time comes, I’ll support whatever path they choose in life, so long as it makes them happy. I love their father as he is now, and I’ll love my children if they choose to follow in his footsteps.”

The room fall silent as you finish your little speech, Din and the Armorer not speaking a word through their modulators as they take in your words. The Armorer herself is especially still, staring you down, testing your will. You think she’s waiting for a “but,” an “if” or an “except” that will ruin everything you’ve just told her. But you don’t flinch, locked in her gaze and firm in your choices.

“You have chosen well, brother. This woman will be an excellent wife. We welcome her openly.”

And though Din told you that she would say yes, hearing the words come out of the Armorer’s own mouth has you awash in all-consuming relief. You think you should say something, perhaps “thank you” or “I welcome you as well,” but you don’t get the chance. The Armorer goes back to her work the minute her pronouncement is made, picking up her tools and going back to her craft like she never stopped in the first place.

“Go now,” she says, but it’s not a harsh command. “I have much to do.”

Her helmet peeks up, trained on Din.

“If she falls pregnant, I want you to return so that we may celebrate the child. It has been too long since we have known the joy of a new life.”

All Din does is nod, offering you his arm when you step off the dais in a daze. The two of you leave together in silence, weaving your way back through the tunnels that brought you here as everyone watches you closely. Somehow, though, their stares feel less judgmental this time, less suspicious. It might be a figment of your imagination, a byproduct of your relief, but it’s like they know. The whole thing is sort of eerie, and you’re glad when you and Din come back out into the daylight.

---

It’s just the two of you alone on the ship, the Child safe on Nevarro with Greef and Cara. You and Din decide to take advantage of this, cutting the lights and crawling in bed the minute the Crest kicks into hyperspace.

You let Din have you on your stomach this time, breathless as he fucks you into the mats and blankets. Even as he pushes into you without mercy, Din is so sweet with you, kissing your back, running his hands down your sides. He murmurs your name like a prayer, moaning brokenly when you tell him that you love him.

After all is said and done, the two of you end up snuggled together as you so often are, safe and warm in a nest of blankets on the floor of this ship you love so much. Panting for breath as you try to calm down, it hits you that this might be one of the last times, might be the last time Din fucks you like this, with everything dark and quiet. Something about that excites you, and yet you feel driven to savor the moment, a strange sense of loss settling in your stomach.

Finally, though, you speak: “When should we do it?”

Din snuggles his face against your chest, letting out a contented breath when you wind your fingers in his hair.

“Soon,” he tells you, “but not here.”

That makes you pause. “If we don’t get married here, then—?”

“I know of a better place, cyar’ika,” Din soothes, rubbing your back, and you can’t help but trust him. “A much better place.”

[colormeyondublue]

Chapter 12: Cards With The Boys (NSFW)

Chapter 11 Here

After confessing his love for you, you decide it was about time to move in with the Captain. It didn’t take long to get your things together because you don’t have much. After getting settled in the Captain’s quarters, you felt your heart soar at how for you two have come.

Later, you sit at your desk in your office tying up some loose ends, day dreaming of Yondu, and of going back to Earth. There isn’t much work to be done, but the peacefulness of your office brings you a sense of normalcy that you dearly missed. While you made sure your data drives were totally backed up and in working order, your door opens quietly. You glance behind you to see Yondu’s handsome face. You turn back to your computer and tell him you’ll be done in just a second.

“Do ya really gotta be working right now? Ya work all the damn time. There ain’t even much that needs done right now anyway! The crew’s gonna be on leave fer a few weeks while we’re gone.”

“I work because I like to!” You protest. “Besides, I’m almost done. Hold your horses.”

“Ya still never explained ta me what a horse even is ya know.” Yondu huffs as he sits down on the couch in your office.

You sigh and shake your head. You never imagined you’d have to explain to an adult what a horse was, but here you are. You eject the data drive and throw it in the drawer of your desk. “A horse, is a large mammalian quadruped with both binocular and monocular vision. They can weigh anywhere between 800 to 1,800 – sometimes 2,000 pounds! They’ve been used by my people as a source of food, labor, transportation and companionship for thousands of years. They’ve helped Terrans in every aspect of life, and nothing that we’ve accomplished to this point could have been done without their help. They’ve fought in our wars, and carried entire countries on their backs at times. In modern times they are primarily pets, used to work livestock, or ridden in competition.”

The captain rubs his chin for a moment. “What’s a pound?”

You stare at him blankly for a good few moments before it dawns on you. You are going to have to explain a lot to Yondu when you get to Earth. There is so much that he still doesn’t know about.

“A pound is just a unit of measurement. It’s used in some countries to quantify how much something weighs. It’s directly related to Earth’s gravitational pull. You know as well as I do that something on Krylor wouldn’t weigh the same as it would on Xandar, right?

“Yeah, I know that. But pounds is just what ya’ll call it?” He asks.

“Well…in some places. In others they might measure weight a little differently. But that’s a whole other conversation for another time. How about I just show you a horse when we get to Earth?” You chuckle.

“Sounds like a plan ta me. But anyway, what I came down here for was ta ask ya if ya wanted to play cards with me and the boys?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s already getting kind of late, and I don’t know how to play.”

Yondu stands up from where he’s sitting and approaches you. He steps behind you and gently gathers your hair to one side of your neck. He bends down to place light, seductive kisses up and down your neck before murmuring in your ear, “Come on baby, I ain’t seen ya all day. It’ll just be a few hands, and I wanna show you off to my men for a while. Show ‘em what’s mine.” He continues to kiss you along the length of your neck, and he begins to pull your sleeve down your shoulder to taste a little bit more of your skin. You can’t stop your breaths from coming in deeper and slower. Yondu never fails to make you melt in his hands.

“Alright, alright. You talked me into it. But that mouth of yours just isn’t fair. You cheated and you know it!”

Yondu laughs and gives you a smug grin as he points to himself, “Uhh, Ravager? Not to mention, I’m a Ravager Captain. I see somethin’ I want, and I take it. Including you.” He tugs you closer by your waist and kisses you hard and heavy.

You pull away after a few moments and ask, “Okay, so do you want to get some or go play cards? I’m not sure that we have time for both.”

He growls in annoyance at your point. “Damn. Ya might be right. Let’s go.”

~~~

You both sit down at the poker table in the ship’s bar with Yondu, Kraglin, Oblo, Tullk, and Geff. These guys have honestly become your closest friends, and you were happy to have a drink with them and learn to play card games. You were learning a Xandarian game that is similar to Black Jack, except there’s more suits and the cards are octogons. It’s a little confusing at first, but you catch on pretty quick. A few hands in, Tullk asks you if you’re excited to see Terra again.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see the trees and breathe in the air. I miss our sunsets and forests. I miss the songs the birds sing. I miss the smell of the rain. But I think I miss our blue skies even more.” You smile softly and glance over at Yondu. He smiles back and offers you a quick wink as he takes a swig of his beer. He pulls you closer to him with one firm tug on your seat, and throws his arm over the back of your chair.

“Sounds like a neat place to me!” Geff chimes in as he looks over his hand.

“Got any idea of what your plan might be? What are you gonna do first?” Oblo asks.

“Well…I guess I’ll try to find my mom first. I think she would still live in the same place. I can’t imagine she would move. It’s only been a few years. Then once I find her, I’ll get in touch with my sister. But when it comes to introducing them to Yondu – well, I think I’m gonna have to explain a few things first. Ease them into it. Ya know? I know a place where Yondu can lay low until everything is calmed down. Being kidnapped by an alien race and then shipped out all over the galaxy isn’t going to be easy to explain.” You rub your temple lightly. It didn’t occur to you just how much of a shock your return might be.

“So Tullk, have you ever thought about going back?” You ask, hoping it’s an innocent enough question.

“Nah, not me lass. There isn’t anythin’ left fer me on our planet. I’m happy here with the crew. Mah life back on Terra was a little rough. Got in with some men who were less than savory. Joined Yondu’s crew an’ never looked back.”

The rest of the game you listen to Kraglin and Oblo’s banter back and forth, and wonder to yourself what kind of people Tullk got involved with. You figure that some things are better left unsaid, and as long and he’s happy here, that’s enough for you. Once the game is over, Kraglin gets the cards together and everyone heads in for the night. As you’re walking toward the door, Yondu grabs your hand.

“Hey honey, me ‘n Krags are gonna go over a few things around the ship fer when you and I leave tomorrow. I’ll meet you back at ma quarters?”

“Sure thing, but don’t be too long.” You stand on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, and head toward the Captain’s quarters.

~~~

You’re playing your list of songs on your personal playlist while you pack for the trip. You find out that there are thousands of songs you hadn’t listened to yet. You had no idea at first, but these data devices Kraglin uses have seemingly endless storage. You were getting a little buzzed, having gotten into Yondu’s whiskey stash at his minibar. A little celebration was in order since you were going back to Earth with Yondu. You were dancing hazily to Fantasy by Mariah Carey. Yondu walks back toward his cabin door, hears some muffled song and smirks to himself. As quietly as possible, he opens the door to find you dancing drunkenly to the music. He enters the room and you don’t even notice his presence as you continue to dance and sing. He creeps into the room and sits down in his recliner, interested in just watching you.

As much of a goofy drunk as you are, he smiles to himself. You might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, girl.  

The song changes over to Love On The Brain by Rhianna. Although your playlist has a ton of different songs, music was something that always resonated with you, and you liked almost anything. With the lyrics of the song carrying you away, you feel large, warm hands on your hips as you sway to the music. Immediately knowing who is feeling you up, you lean into his body and he begins to sway with you. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly. His lips kiss and part from your neck over and over, and it makes your core ache as warmth spreads through your limbs. Letting go, you fall into him even more, surrendering yourself to him. His hands begin to wander over your body, feeling your hips and thighs. You let out a few breathy moans, and your knees grow weak. While still facing away from him, you bring up your arms and wrap them around his neck as he teases your ear with his tongue. He notices that his bottle of Krylorian Whiskey is almost half empty, and you are way past buzzed at this point.

Baby you got me like ah, woo, ah Don't you stop loving me (loving me) Don't quit loving me (loving me) Just start loving me (loving me)

Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire Just to get close to you Can we burn something, babe? And I run for miles just to get a taste Must be love on the brain That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way) It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain yeah And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name) No matter what I do, I'm no good without you And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain

The beat carries you both to his bed and he continues his loving assault on your torso and neck. At this point, the room is spinning a little, and the next thing you see is a gorgeous blue chest, and your captains’ pants slowly being undone. You are more than frisky, and the second his pants come undone, you dive into him. He doesn’t have a chance to argue, as his cock is already making its way into your mouth. He groans in response, and finds a fistful of your hair. The alcohol in your veins gives you some kind of super power and your skills with his manhood are already blowing his mind. He peers down at you with his head tilted to the side, groaning at the sensation you’re giving him. All of that whiskey has made your gag reflex vanish, and you can take him deep into your throat. He watches intently as his cock disappears into your mouth and he moans loudly. You continue to blow him out of his mind for a while longer, polishing the head every now and again. You hear him speak up, “Baby girl, I’m gonna cum if ya don’t stop.”

You look up him momentarily, roll your eyes with pleasure and moan on his cock. You’ve got him exactly where you want him. In a few more minutes, he spits out a string of curses at the intensity of his orgasm. “Oh, fuckin’ hell – yes! Shit….mmmhmm.” He pushes his raging hard cock as deep into your mouth as you can stand, and cums down your throat. You slowly slide his cock out of your mouth, and sensually lick the tip clean.

“It’s even better than I expected.” You smirk up at him. His cum tastes wildly different than a human’s. It isn’t bitter at all. It’s still slightly salty, but it’s also a little sweet and nutty. The taste was completely unexpected, and you almost couldn’t believe it. You tease his sensitive cock with your tongue to make it jump. “Oh, fuck. Ya might be more than I can handle when you drink like that.” He huffs out a laugh and collapses on the bed. “Alright, yer turn sugar.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to make you feel good. I want to show you how much you mean to me. I don’t need anything. This was more than enough for me.” You kiss him lovingly, and snuggle into his side.

“I love you y/n. Ya really are an amazin’ woman. A damn whiskey bandit, but amazin’.”

~~~

The next morning, Yondu is still in bed with you. He wakes you up slightly by wrapping his strong arms around you and he pulls you as close as he can. You never thought in a million years that Yondu would be a cuddler, but in the privacy of his cabin he usually turned into a huge teddy bear.

“Good morning, handsome.” You mumble.

“Mornin’, sugar. Guess what?” He asks.

“What?”

“Today’s the day.” He says as he gently rubs your legs.

You push up on your arms quickly and look around the room. Today’s the day?! Oh my gosh, today’s the day!” You jump out of bed and start to get undressed.

“Woah, wait a minute! Where you goin’? We’ve got all day, slow down girl. Come ‘ere.” He beckons you back to him before you can get your t-shirt and sweats all the way off. You smile and crawl back into bed with your captain. “I wanna spend a little more time with ma woman before we head out. It’s gonna be a long flight, and who knows how long we might hafta be apart while you get your family stuff sorted out.” He pulls you close, and you happily snuggle into his warm embrace. Yondu is the warmest, and most incredible big spoon ever. His warmth is amazing, his body is so firm and strong. His hands engulf your torso almost completely. Absentmindedly, you rub your hands along his arms as he holds you.

“I love you.” These are the only words you can come up with, and yet they barely capture your feelings for him.

“I love you too, honey.” He takes in a deep breath and sighs. Yondu is trying his best to keep his worries at bay. He’s going to take up as much time as he can with you, which is why he wants to be so cuddly. It’s almost as if he’s afraid that you could vanish from his embrace. Today was not going to be an easy one for him. The uncertainty is maddening.

[bau-baby]

the ultimate loss. 1/?

aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: Haley was your friend, and you’re dealing with her loss, just as Aaron was. When the grief subsides, what happens to you and Aaron?

Word count: 1,880

warnings: grief, loss

(A/N): Because it took so long for me to finish this, I decided to end my suffering of trying to figure out where to take the storyline within this fic and get to work on a part 2. Sorry for the wait!!

W.S. Gilbert wrote, “It’s love that makes the world go ‘round.” And if that’s true, then the world spun a little faster with Haley in it. 

You remember the first time you saw the Hotchner family unit in their own element. It was definitely a sight for sore eyes. The total admiration and love Haley and Aaron had both for each other as well as their son, Jack, was unmatched. You were out in their backyard, sitting and watching Jack run around while chatting amongst yourselves, hearing old stories from before your time at the BAU. Your friendship with Haley only grew from there.

Haley was my best friend since we were in high school. We certainly had our struggles, but if there’s one thing we agreed upon unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son, Jack.

You were there for them through all the hell that led up to the divorce. You watched as Haley tore herself up for thinking of leaving and saw how Aaron buried himself in his work to distract him from the problem. You knew that Haley loved Aaron and that Aaron loved Haley all the same. It was just a matter of the time the job took away from them, and ultimately what was best for Jack.

Haley’s love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn’t here today. 

After the divorce, you tried to visit Haley often, filling her in on how the team and Aaron specifically were doing. You’d help out with Jack, and he ended up adoring you and your visits. Haley grew to you quickly as well. Sure, you were friends before, but your caring nature made you two become much better friends outside of the connection you’d had with her being the boss’ ex-wife.

A mother’s love is an unrivaled force of nature, and we all can learn much from the way Haley lived her life. 

The fear in her eyes when you went in with SWAT to get Haley and Jack was something you’d never seen from her before. She was one of the strongest mothers you knew. She did everything to make sure her son was happy. When she got to the hospital, you saw how she talked with Aaron. You saw the twenty-year-old smile lines shine through to their faces, and you realized that you had missed their lifetime of being together. Sure, you had the hilarious retellings of high school and college-age Aaron, but you think they lived through a whole other world before you showed up. 

Haley’s death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives to measure who we are, and what we’ve become. I don’t have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together, and I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her.

You never realized how close not only you and Haley were, but how close you and Aaron were until after Haley and Jack were put into WITSEC. You and Aaron kept each other sane while they were gone, and you both worked just as hard on finding George Foyet. You’d spend late nights at Aaron’s apartment pouring over the details of the case, hoping something will jump out of the files and tell you where he’s hiding out and what he’s planning, but to no avail.

If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death, but to celebrate her life. She would tell us… she would tell us to love our families unconditionally and to hold them close ‘cause in the end, they are all that matter.

You were in an SUV by yourself, racing against the clock to get to Haley and Jack as you listened in on the call before you. You could hear the strain in Aaron’s voice, the way he had to keep everything at bay to keep a somewhat strong front. You heard Haley as she cried, making Aaron promise to tell Jack about how she and Aaron loved one another and loved him, and to tell Jack of times when Aaron wasn’t so serious. You made your own promise then, a promise to keep Haley’s memory alive in Jack, and to make sure both Aaron and Jack are taken care of. 

When the three shots rang out, you put your foot to the floorboard and sped to Fairfax. You knew Aaron was doing the same thing. You had to make sure that he and Jack made it out of this alive, and had to put Foyet away for all the pain and suffering he caused. 

I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school’s production of The Pirates of the Penzance. I found our copy of the play and I was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed… appropriate for this moment. “Oh dry the glistening tear that dews that martial cheek. Thy loving children here in them thy comfort seek. With sympathetic care, their arms around thee creep. For oh they cannot bear to see their father weep.”

You see the car Hotch used in front of his old family home, and you dash inside the house, brandishing your gun as you checked the house. That’s when you hear the sound coming from the formal dining room area, a harsh thumping and loud sobs belonging to Aaron. You see him over what used to be Foyet, and you run to him, pulling him away.

“He’s dead, Hotch! He’s gone! You’re okay!”

He breaks down crying from there, an inconsolable man crying at the feet of his ex-wife’s killer. 

-----

Something you never thought you’d have to do was not only bury a friend of yours but also comfort her inconsolable husband and kid. As Aaron spoke of Haley and all that she was, you stood off his left shoulder, a hand resting on Aaron’s shoulder as well as Jack’s.

You just stared down at the casket, tears staining the top of your coat. There wasn’t a dry eye as you all listened to a mourning husband who was sharing more of himself right now than he ever has or will again. 

You feel a small hand tug on your sleeve, and you look down to see Jack staring up at you. You crouch down, taking your hand off Aaron’s shoulder. 

“What’s up, buddy?” Your shaky voice asks, even though you tried to keep an even tone.

Jack doesn’t even speak, he just wraps his small arms around your neck and burrows his head into your shoulder. You hold a hand on the back of his head, hoping and failing to hide him from the harsh reality in front of him.

When the service ends and you’re all passing Aaron and Jack, you hang back for a second to look at all the roses on Haley’s casket before walking over to the sullen-eyed man.

“I just wanted to say that if either of you ever needs anything, I’m a phone call away,” You crouch down to be at Jack’s level, “Take care of your dad, okay buddy?” He nods, looking up to his dad. You stand back up and spare one more look at Aaron before walking over to one of the few cars left by the curb. 

-----

JJ gets the one call you dread as you sit around the table, all not-so-subtly glancing out the window to Aaron and Dave throughout your time conversing. The entire team then shifts their gaze to you, variations of sad, knowing looks gracing their faces. They all know that you and Aaron have been close since you joined, so they always looked to you when someone needed to talk to the big boss man.

To save you the embarrassment of being under their gaze, Morgan sends you out to grab Rossi while also realizing you’ll end up talking with Aaron.

The cool air that hits you as you step out onto the patio mirrors a lot of what this day and all the days you’ve lived without Haley have felt like. 

“Rossi, they’re calling us for a case. No other teams available, unfortunately,” You say, sending a sad look to Aaron as you say it.

“Aren’t you comin’ kiddo?” Rossi says, already making small steps towards the door.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll catch up with you guys in a few,” You say as you angle your body towards Aaron. 

“You should really be with the team, they need you,” Aaron says, his eyes taking particular interest in the railing in front of him.

“Aaron, I’ll be there when they need me to be, just like I’m here when you need me to be. Right now we’re both struggling with a loss, and the team understands that,” You say, reaching over to rest a hand over his, “Let me help you, grieve with you. Please.”

He sighs, and you can feel and hear the tears in his voice as he asks, “Can-” he sniffles, “ Can you help me keep my promise?” 

A look of confusion dashes across your face, trying to figure out what promise he was referring to. Then, you recall Haley’s words you heard in the SUV, her final words, making Aaron promise that he will show his son how he and Haley loved.

A small, earnest but sorrowful smile settles on your face, “Of course, Aaron. I’ll spend the rest of my life helping you keep that promise, and I’m sure the rest of the team will too.”

He finally moves from looking out at the world away from the patio to looking at you. He pulls you in for a hug, and you can feel the tears come down on your shoulder. He stays like that for a long time, even after the tears are gone. He finally pulls back and sniffles, reorienting himself. You knew that he was vulnerable, he just hated showing it.

“You really should go, the team needs you for the case,” Aaron says, not wanting to push you away, just taking his time to grieve. You relent, nodding your head.

“Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, and I mean it, Hotchner,” You say, a playful sternness in your tone, even if you were genuine. You see him give a small smile as you make your way back inside.

You both were grieving. He lost an ex-wife whom he still loved, a friend, and the mother to his young child. You lost a friend who was more like a sister, and someone you cared so deeply for.

Both of you could hear the faint bells going off in the back of your head, alerting you of something you couldn’t- wouldn’t- address.

Too much, too soon.

That’s all that anything was these days. Too much, too soon.

But, as with everything in life, sometimes you have to face things head-on. Needless to say, that virtue was not something that came easy to you or Aaron.

But what was to happen when those bells started ringing a whole lot louder?  

[weuschoiceheart]

⋘I-Land / Enhypen⋙ Love, I-Land (special chapter)

Tagging: @mari-kigold @akira-star @affectionaterainoflove @enhypenthusiast @periwinkle-ink 

Genre: just very nostalgic :))

Word Count: 2k+

Jay knew something was up when he walked into a dead silent Hybe building.

Looking around, he frowned at the emptiness. Am I too early? Too late? Checking his watch, he realized that he was exactly on time. So where is everyone? 

Sitting down on the couch, he decided to wait for everyone in the lounge. Perhaps the other members were playing some trick on him, to scare him when he lets his guard down. None of the other Hybe artists were here today, since Bang PD had let everyone take the day off, so the silence felt disorienting. 

A beep from Jay’s phone startled him out of his thoughts, and he clicked on the notification. 

Location change: go back to where we started. See you at the reunion! 

“Go back to where we started…” Jay muttered, a smile spread across his face as he thought back to the old box in the woods.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Remember when we first came here?” Youngbin sighed as he, Jimin, and Sungchul walked through the forest. “It seems so long ago.”

“Yeah…” Jimin stretched his arms above his head, pointing at the familiar building coming into view. “And we’re here.”

“It still hasn’t changed,” Sungchul said in awe, watching as the black door slowly flipped open and the three of them walked in. “I can’t wait to see everyone again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow...I can’t believe it’s been a year already,” K traced the sides of the egg gate. “Everything feels older.”

“No, it’s just you getting old,” Kyungmin teased, ducking behind Nicholas before K could smack him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Remember when we waited for you to come back from the dance unit test?” EJ asked. “You guys were so cool performing on stage.”

K smiled, thinking back to the old memories. The feeling of being on stage again, giving all he got to keep from getting eliminated. The cheers from the other boys, the smiles at the camera. He still recalled the nervous feeling of waiting for the results, and most of all, he vividly remembered the moment he, Jungwon, and Sunghoon got back to I-Land and hearing—

“Hello~”

As if on cue, the gate opened to present Enhypen crowding around the entrance, doing the exact same move K had created a year ago. Jaw dropping in shock, he heard the yells from the other boys as they tumbled out the egg and embraced the members they haven’t seen in months. Before he could fully comprehend everything, a wild blur of blonde hair suddenly launched himself onto him and Taki, wrapping his arms around them both.

“Taki! Hyung! You’re back!” K laughed as Niki jumped up and down, bursting with excitement to see his fellow Japanese brothers. Has he grown taller? K wondered, and he felt somehow proud and sad at the same time. Ruffling Niki’s hair, he watched as the younger hugged Taki, almost lifting him off his feet. “Let him breathe, Niki, we’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re finally here.” A familiar voice said, and K turned to see Seon making his way over. Grinning, he trapped K in another hug, and K feels like he’s finally back home.        

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Did you actually framed the shirt?”

“Yes I did, do you want to come over to see it?” Jay boasted, trying to one up Nicholas. 

“He actually didn’t, he lost it when we moved into the dorms and this morning he panicked because he couldn’t wear it to the reunion,” Jake said, causing Nicholas to raise his eyebrows at Jay, who gave Jake a look of betrayal.

“You weren’t supposed to tell him that!”

“Well, it’s not like—ahhhhh!”

Before Jake could finish his sentence, a larger body wrapped his arms around him. He could sense the younger boy’s enormous smile before he could hear him. “It’s me, Jakey!”

“Daniel!” Jake tried to struggle out of Daniel’s embrace, though he was too busy laughing. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“He’s going around hugging everyone,” Jay explained, “Don’t be surprised if he actually gives you one next time.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ghost watched the boys crowding around the egg gate, a sad smile on his face. It’s been so long since he had any visitors, and seeing them back brought some light in his undead life. Literally. All the lights had been shut off since the boys left, and the ghost had to make his way around in perpetual darkness. Not that he needs any light to see, but it's nice to view the sun, even if it’s just for a little while. 

Turning around to look at the practice room he just came out of, the ghost could almost see the past images of the boys practicing there. The Fire team, organizing their formations. The Fake Love team with their hoods and shirts over their heads, trying to practice without laughing. The Flicker team, playing around with the curtains. It’s also the place where Seon first found him, and the first time the ghost ever revealed itself to anyone. 

There was the lounge connecting to it, where Niki had played the piano and Heeseung had sung. Where the infamous arm wrestling match had taken place and the boys had played with the video filters on the IPads. Where they had cried and comforted each other, and where Jay had written his heartfelt letters.

Making his way up the staircase that the Grounder boys had also walked up to see I-Land, the ghost drifted along the common room. Here, all of them had sat while playing Truth or Dare, the hoodies spread out and “Made by Jay” was created, where they waited anxiously to perform. If he concentrates just enough, the ghost can almost imagine the I-Land boys filming their PR videos, and sheep Niki making Sunghoon laugh. 

There was the dining area, the place where the morning zombies had sat, Sunoo had said “I’m cuter,” where they munched on macaroons and ramen. The ghost can almost see the nine reading letters from their parents, talking and joking around the table. There was the kitchen area, where Sunghoon had screeched about the pork, Hanbin had found the broken banana, and Heeseung had ranted about the ramen. The fridge was empty of spoons, and no one did any side squats to get rid of bloating now.

Moving on to the bedrooms. He had always wondered how K managed to fit his long limbs on the bed, or if he could at all. The mist that Sunoo had sprayed all over his face, and that Jungwon had almost eaten, was gone from the drawer, leaving only the empty reflection of the room in the mirror. The annoying fly that Geonu had tried to catch was gone, the light that Jay had turned off dark (no, the dressing room light does not automatically turn off by itself), all the beds stripped of clothes and necessities. Why Nicholas was sleeping naked would remain a mystery, no more Jay yelling at everyone to wake up and Niki going back to sleep right after.

The washrooms were next. He had to admit, Jungwon’s and Jake’s pranks against Jay worked pretty well, coming from a ghost anyway. There were the sinks lining the wall where K and Taki washed up like father and son, where K and Jay hugged and promised that they’ll debut together, where Jay scolded everyone for leaving their laundry around. 

Out of the washroom now, the ghost lingered outside the room that used to contain the stage outfits and BTS phones. The traces of the boys can be felt, thinking back to the selfies and pictures they took together, to when they marveled at the clothes for their very first “Into the I-Land” stage. He peeked into the practice rooms where he can almost see the Pretty U team helping Sunghoon struggle through aegyo, and where the I Need U team played zombies with the eye massager.

Drifting down the stairs again, remembering how Youngbin carried Jungwon down the stairs to the practice when the younger boy was barefooted, the ghost moved on to the stage itself. He recalled every performance here clearly; the nerve-wracking audition stages, the dance and vocal units battle, the incredible “I&credible” stages, the moving “Calling” performance, and the iconic “Dive Into You” stage. Jigeum Buteo saying “Standby,” Jake’s “this hyung is crazy!” and the confused “Rival? Live?” echoed through the ghost’s ears. The memories of it all hit him like a truck (not that he would feel anything if he was hit by a truck, he’s a ghost after all, but you get the simile), causing him to choke up a little. He missed them so much. 

Strolling outside now, the ghost walked into Ground, and reminisced some more. Here was where Rain taught them “Fire” and hugged every one of the boys. He could picture Jay giving back massages to Kyungmin, telling him how they must work through the pain to get to I-Land. There was Hanbin comforting Jaebeom (it’s so weird calling him Echan now), and helping the other boys learn the dance. Sunoo and Sungchul practicing “Save Me,” Jaeho practicing with Nicholas and Niki, Taki making faces at the camera. A blurry image of all the boys comparing and measuring their heights, trying to see who’s taller. Really, I-Land seems like a magical paradise, but he would never forget the fun times the Grounders had, and the hard work they put in to achieve their dreams. 

Outside once again, he spied the matted grass on the ground and smiled wistfully. It’s strange, he thought, how it was still there after Jungwon filmed his PR video in his sheep costume. He remembered how adorable he was, how all of them were, showing off their personalities to get fans to vote for them. And now it’s getting dark, so the ghost moved on to the small light from a campfire in the distance.

Settling down on the ground, he watched as all the boys talked and joked with each other. They were sitting down in front of the large screen, where the final 11 had watched the fan videos, and pulled the benches around in a circle. Their smiles lit up their faces, their arms tangled in one another, Jimin’s head leaning against Geonu’s, Taeyong holding onto Echan’s hand. The scene filled the ghost with a feeling he can’t describe, and being a ghost with no heart, it was definitely a little strange, feeling something after a long time of emptiness.

“....and I just want to say thank you, to everyone for staying by my side on this journey,” Seon concluded, snapping the ghost out of his daze as the boy sat down. As if reading his thoughts, Seon’s eyes flickered over to where the ghost sat, and smiled.

Thank you for looking after us.

Being a ghost is lonely sometimes, floating in and out of places with no purpose. The smile, that one kind thought, ignited a flame in him. In a world filled with countless people, it’s hard to spot a lone spirit, invisible in a crowd. It’s even harder to make them feel at home, in a place where they’re recognized and wanted. Yet here he is, enveloped in a family who coaxed him out of his shell. No, I should be thanking you, Seon. 

Maybe this is what the fans felt, watching them run for their dreams. Every Friday charged with anticipation and excitement, of finding who would get eliminated and who would stay. Away from lives permeated with pain, loneliness, and uncertainty, they found solace within these 23 boys as they followed them on this journey to debut. Along the way, the fans found each other as well, and a community full of eggies and engenes was born.

Thank you for the memories, I-Land.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you to all the eggies for welcoming me into this wonderful family. Whether you were a predebut stan or just started stanning Enhypen, thank you for supporting our boys. I-Land is over now, but our journey with the boys will live on. 

[afewnovelideas]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story, DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Kyubey (PMMM), Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Alternate Universe - Madoka Magica Fusion, Soul Gems (Madoka Magica), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Magical Boys, Origin Story, No Beta We Die Like Mami, Don't Have to Know Madoka Magica Canon, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent Series: Part 1 of Eques Magi: Originem - Magicka Knights: Origin Summary:

"The Labyrinths of Gotham City are so tightly concentrated, no human born here can escape the influence of at least one or two Witches, if not more. Despite the aura of despair and the constant work of the Witches' various Familiars, there are still those souls who persist in clinging to hope and will do whatever they can to try and make this city a better place, even though all their efforts will ultimately fail in the end.

"It's the perfect environment to find a new Magicka Knight."

---

"Have you ever seen an albino cat?"

Catwoman, aka Selina Kyle, glanced over at Batman's newest Robin curiously. She hadn't been expecting to cross paths with him, but since it was obvious the Big Bad Bat was out of town and Nightwing hadn't shown up at all in the past week, she decided to keep an eye on the new kid for at least the evening. He certainly wasn't like the previous Robin. This thirteen-year-old boy was quiet and thoughtful, which had been quite a change from the previous brash impulsive kid Batman had been mentoring a little over a year ago before they were murdered by the Joker. 

She also noticed that this Robin was glancing over his shoulder at something on the rooftop on the other side of the street. "An albino, huh?" she said as she tried to follow his gaze. However, despite using her binoculars to zoom in on the far rooftop, she couldn't see any sign of any animal, feline, albino, or otherwise. "I've heard of them, but never seen one in person," Selina admitted casually as she put away her binoculars. "They are extremely rare." She smiled at Robin. "Have you seen one around town?"

Robin leaned against his bo staff thoughtfully. "I think so, but I'm not really sure." 

"Not sure?"

The boy looked up at Selina earnestly. "Y'know how a cat has two pointed ears about here?" Amusingly to the professional cat burglar, Robin made a vague pair of cat-ear shapes with his hand at the top of his head.  She smiled affectionately. 

"Yeah. It's kind of a defining cat trait, having pointy ears."

Robin pouted slightly at the teasing tone he caught in Catwoman's voice. Then he continued. "Well... This cat I've been seeing... It looks like they have a second set of ears too."

"A second set?" 

He nodded. He made a motion with his hands that seemed to make another vague shape that started at the base of where the cat's ears ought to be and downward along either side of its head. "Yeah. They kinda start out here and go all the way down there."

"Are you sure what you're looking at is an albino 'cat'? That kinda sounds more like a white rabbit to me."

"But it has pointy ears like a cat," Robin argued. "And its got a long fluffy tail, and its legs are like a cat's." The young teenager frowned slightly. "It's really weird looking."

"Well it does sound like a unique creature, whatever it is," Selina said thoughtfully.  "Maybe it's some sort of cryptid or mutant? This is Gotham after all." She smiled at Robin. "Tell ya what. If you can catch a photo of the critter, I promise I'll take a good hard look and let you know if it's a cat, a rabbit, or something completely different." Then she gave him an almost stern maternal look. "But be careful. Don't get too close. If it does turn out to be something 'not normal', it could be dangerous."

"Okay."

 ---

  It was two nights later and Tim Drake, fully decked out as Robin for another solo patrol, had just finished trussing up a pair of would-be carjackers. As soon as he placed the anon call to the Gotham PD for pickup, he glanced up to fire his grapple gun and froze.

There, on the rooftop above him, was a familiar white shape with two sets of ears and red eyes. The "cat" was peering down. He could see the animal's long fluffy tail swishing this way and that. Tim's breath caught in his throat. This was the closest he'd ever seen the animal come to him before. Rather than risk his grapple gun startling the animal and scaring it away, the young vigilante quickly indulged in some impromptu parkour up a garbage bin and a chain link fence to reach the metal fire escape attached to the side of the building. 

When he pulled himself on the rooftop, Tim was disappointed to find that it appeared to be empty. Not a trace of red eyes or white fur anywhere. He walked across the roof slowly, scanning the area for any sign of the small creature as he pulled out a small portable camera from his utility belt. "Hey there," he whispered softly. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty. I'm not going to hurt you. C'mon out please. I just wanna take a picture." 

When no one came out of hiding, Tim tried a different tactic. He reached into another pouch on his belt and pulled out a small package of beef jerky. He shook the bag temptingly before opening it and setting it on the ground before stepping away from it. "Got some food here if you want. All for you."

"Thank you, but no. I'm not hungry."

Tim froze. Then he glanced around himself as quickly as he could before zeroing in on the form of the albino "cat" sitting on top of a large A/C unit just a few yards away from him, its white body practically glowing against the cloudy night sky of Gotham City. This close, Tim could see this was not a normal "cat".  It did appear to have two sets of ears, but the two longer rabbit-like ones had golden rings attached to them and were tipped in pink with red spots. Its tail also appeared to be unnaturally long as it swished back and forth casually.

"Did you... just... talk?"

The cat-like creature flicked its smaller pointy ears. "Of course I did!" it said in a childlike voice without moving its mouth at all. Its long white tail finally stopped swishing and settled into a question mark shape behind it. "How else am I supposed to introduce myself?"

 ---

  Tim Drake gave up caffeine for the rest of the week. When the boy returned to the Cave from patrol and declared that he was quitting cold turkey, Alfred asked about it curiously. All the old butler got from the thirteen year old was a confusingly vague answer about talking albino cats with pink ears and clearly not enough sleep with too much stress before marching himself into the showers before he would make his eventual way back to his bedroom. 

 ---

  Unfortunately for Tim, giving up his favorite sodas, teas, and coffee did not stop the appearances of the strange cat-like hallucination that had introduced itself as "Kyubey" and seemed hell bent on following him and talking to him both day and night, in and out of uniform.

"You think I'm a figment of your imagination?"

Tim sighed as he reached over the creature sitting in his high school locker in order to grab his workbooks for math and english. "I'm not talking to you here," he whispered as he slammed the locker door in hopes of locking the hallucination behind it.

"It's probably better that you don't, at least not out loud," Kyubey agreed, after reappearing on the top of the locker to look down on Tim. "If people catch you talking to something they can't see, they might think you're losing your mind."

Somehow, Tim managed to choke down the near hysterical giggle that wanted to bubble up at that matter-of-fact remark. Kyubey had made it quite clear that night on the rooftop that no one else could see them except Tim.

"Besides, why waste your breath?" Kyubey said as they trotted along the top of the lockers, keeping pace with Tim as he walked to his next class. "We can speak telepathically just fine."

Tim paused at the end of the lockers and glanced at Kyubey. "Telepathically?" he asked experimentally without voicing the word.

"See! Easy!"

"Oh my god, I AM losing my mind," he thought with a grimace before sighing and stepping into the classroom and tried to ignore Kyubey as best he could for the rest of his school day.

 ---

  "So why are you here?" Tim finally asked Kyubey after tossing down his pencil and finally giving up on trying to concentrate on his homework. "What is my subconscious trying to tell me?"

"I'm not your subconscious, and I'm not a hallucination. I'm a messenger of magic." 

Tim raised his eyebrows at Kyubey as he echoed incredulously, "A messenger of magic?"

The cat-like creature made themself comfortable on Tim's bed. "That's right."

The teen noted with a slight measure of concern that he could see the disturbance Kyubey's form made on his pillow and blanket, proving that, at least right now, they had a solid physical state. Still, he was not about to reach out and try to touch the creature. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but why is a 'messenger of magic' in Gotham City, and why am I the only one who can see and speak with you?"

"I'm on a mission to find people with the potential to become Magicka Knights to fight Witches and save the Universe, and you have that potential."

"Seriously? Magical knights? Actual witches?" Tim shook his head as he scoffed lightly. "This sounds like the plot of some generic magical girl anime."

Kyubey titled their head to one side. "And you and your mentor go out at night in masks to fight criminals who can control plants, have freeze guns, are living clay, and are occasionally half reptiles. How is that more believable than Magicka Knights and Witches?"

Tim snickered awkwardly. "I guess I'm in no position to throw stones in glass houses."

"You really aren't."

 ---

  Finally! Bruce was back from his Justice League mission and he was going to go out on patrol with Tim. Batman and Robin flying through Gotham City for the first time in over two weeks.

At least that was the plan until a call came through from Oracle barely an hour into their patrol.

"A report of potential Joker gas exposure has been put out by the GCPD in Chinatown near the Dragon's Den."

Batman and Robin paused on the roof of St. Peter's Cathedral. Tim felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach as he took in the tightness of his mentor's jawline. He knew what was coming next.

"Go home, Robin."

"But B--"

"It's the Joker. I need to handle this alone."

"You don't have to. I can stay out of the way and watch your back. Make sure no one gets the drop on you."

Batman shook his head. "Head back to the Cave, Robin."

The leather of Robin's gloves creaked a little as he clenched his hand into a fist and turned away from his mentor. "Fine."

Without even looking, Tim could tell when he was left alone on the cathedral's roof with just the gargoyles for company.

Then, he wasn't alone.

"He doesn't trust you?"

Tim looked up to see Kyubey sitting on the head of a nearby gargoyle. He sighed. "It's not like that," he said telepathically. No need to risk Oracle or Agent A overhearing him talking to Kyubey. Not like the mic would pick up the magical creature's voice anyways. Still, better safe than sorry. "The Joker is really dangerous. He killed the Robin who came before me. B just doesn't want to risk me being anywhere near him."

Suddenly, Tim heard a pinging from his comm link, a sign that Oracle was attempting to signal him. "Yes O?"

"I know B ordered you home, but do you think you could swing by Amusement Mile along the way? I got a report on a Mad Hatter sighting there."

Tim brightened visibly at the prospect. "Sure!" He reached for his grapple gun and loaded a cartridge. "Any idea what he's up to?" 

"There have been earlier reports over the last few months of missing girls fitting the Hatter's preferred victim profile. Children with long blond hair under the age of twelve. But since the children are usually street kids or runaways, most attempts to investigate by the police have been half-hearted at best. Those that have tried haven't found anything but dead ends."

"Well, that's going to come to a stop tonight." Tim declared confidently. 

"Be careful Robin," Oracle warned. "Focus on recon tonight. Don't engage Hatter unless absolutely necessary."

"Understood!"

 ---

  "What's this?" 

At Amusement Mile, Tim was just in time to stop a kidnapping in progress. While the sudden appearance of Robin was enough to send the Mad Hatter scurrying away into the shadows, the young vigilante reluctantly let him go in favor of caring for the victim, a child of eight or nine who appeared to be in a catatonic state.

However, nothing Tim did seemed to be able to wake her up. He was about to notify O to call an ambulance when he noticed a small red mark, like a tattoo, on the girl's neck, right above her pulse point. It was about the size of a quarter and looked like the symbol used in chess to designate the Queen piece. 

"Hey O. I found a weird tattoo on the girl. Sending you a pic now." Tim quickly snapped a photo and sent it electronically to Oracle. A moment later, he got a response.

"Are you sure you sent me the right photo?"

"What do you mean?" 

"There's no tattoo in the pic. All I see is a bare neck."

Tim opened the monitor of his camera and his eyes went wide. Even on the camera, the girl's neck had no tattoo. He took several more pics to be sure, but despite being able to see the crown icon with his own eyes, they defied being photographed.

"Not sure what's going on, but I can't take a pic of it," he told Oracle. "Maybe it's some sort of weird ink that comes up invisible on cameras?"

"That's not it."

Tim glanced at Kyubey, who was sitting beside the girl. The white creature sniffed at the tattoo. "That's a Witch's Kiss."

He felt his chest tighten a bit at Kyubey's words. Tim carefully masked the sudden nervousness he felt in his voice. "Can you call an ambulance to pick up the girl? I'm going to investigate the area and try to find out where Hatter ran off to."

"Will do. Be careful."

Once the comm was silenced again and after the EMTs came to pick up the rescued child, Robin backed into a secluded alleyway and hid within the shadows before addressing Kyubey telepathically.

"What's a Witch's Kiss?"

"It's a mark used by Witches and familiars to control the minds of their prey."

Tim felt a shiver run down his spine. Still he continued. "Is... the Mad Hatter a Witch?"

Kyubey tilted their head thoughtfully before shaking in the negative. "No. I think he's just a familiar being used to bring humans to a Witch's Labyrinth."

"Why? Why would a Witch want a human child?"

Kyubey sighed. "A Witch is a creature that feeds on misery and sadness," they said very matter-of-factly. "What could be more delicious to a Witch than the grief and fear of a kidnapped child? At least this one seems to prefer the despair of children in particular."

A sudden sensation of dread settled over Tim. "That's.... That's horrible! We can't let this continue!"

"But you can't stop them."

"Why not?" Tim's righteous indignation flared up. "Batman's stopped the Mad Hatter dozens of times. Why can't I?"

"Most likely it's because your mentor has never captured him near his Witch, and never within an actual Labyrinth." Kyubey stared at Tim with their round red eyes, their stoic tone never wavering. "You're just a human being, and so is he under all that armor. Even with all your training, there's no way your frail human bodies can endure the strain of fighting a Witch and their familiars in their own Labyrinth. If you get trapped in a Labyrinth, there's no way out until either the Witch is dead or you are."

Tim watched the retreating lights of the ambulance carrying the nearly kidnapped child away. Then he took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Can you help me find the Witch's Labyrinth?"

"I can."

 ---

  He was going to die.

Tim leaned against the wall and watched helplessly as his blood flowed freely from beneath and between his fingers to pool on the floor under him despite the pressure he tried to keep on the wound in his stomach. The Witch's familiars, not just the Mad Hatter, but a March Hare and other fictional characters pulled straight from the story Alice in Wonderland, had been too numerous and too merciless for him to fight off alone. 

The Witch herself, in the guise of a twisted Queen of Hearts, shrieked for his head through the twists and turns of her Labyrinth. 

   ͙̹̫ͪ̆̏͝  "̶͚̜̪̣̬͇ͭ͑ͅOͩͫ̄͏̬͖̳ Ḟ̖̝̟̜͖̭͑͢ F̡̜̼̰͓͍̟͎͇̆̾̐ ̨͚̫̗ͮ̚ͅ W̐ͧ̑͏͍͎͍̖̤̥ͅI͓͙̤͔̺̦͌̓̌̍͠T̖͍͒͛͢H̡̳̪̭̹̺̒̓̿ ̹̥͉̟͙̝͓̅ͫ͝H̸̝̬̘͕̩͙̤͇̾ͥ͂Į̯͔̦͖̳̣ͥ̌͆̂S͆̑ͪ͏̦̥̭̺̞̳̪͔ ͙̪̯͗̑͞Hͧ͏̤̯̪̩ E̶̯̣̰͌̆ͨͯ A̬̦̻͍͒͝ͅD̖̹͂͒͟ !ͫͯ́͆҉̺̦̩̹̺

 ̠͓͈͎ͧͨ͡Ō̵̪̻̭̩̯F̣͙̲̖̈́̋͝ F̌̅̾̓͏̭̺̰͉̹̖̯ ̡̮͔͇͚̬͎̝͊̆ͪͅŴ͙̠̽ I̘̬͇̖͑͂̏̂͞ T̨̗̫̜͙̩̖̮͒ H̴̙̝̀ͥͣ̚ ̘̯̮̺̥ͣ̑̄H̻̭͇̮̮͕͗͗ͬ̊͠ͅ Iͮͪ͋͏̬̺̖̝̥̭̘ͅ S̵̝̖̙̿ ̛̬̳̠̪̰̑͗̽ H̸͙̟̱̝̳̰̄͑̃̊ Ě̳͓̝̗͎͟ A̴̤͖̬̖͓͇̖͗̆ͫ́Ḋ̜͚̬̐̋͟!̨͇͚̞̩͚̗̣̿                                        

                  Ơ͚̹̜̥ͮͥ͑̏F̴̯̤̮͉̰ͫF͈̱͍̌ͩͥ̍̕ͅ ̧͎͕̱͚͍̥͔̐W̩̦̯̹̏͊̏̌̕I͐҉͕̪͔̥̞̭͈̲T̖̝̖̪̑̿̓͢H̤̠͍̣̻̠͚ͧ̍̐̿͢ ̴̲̖̫̫̺ͭH̗̤̒̆͆͡Î̤͓̭̻̝Ș̵͉͔͙̗̝̌̍̍ͬͅ ͎̫͉̞̲͆͡Ḫ̨̪̅ͧ̏E̵̮̲̩̤͓̱̙ͦÁ̻̦̘̜̂ͩ͝D̸̯͖̦͔̲͕̠̜̓̓̆̚!̨͖̓̐̈́ͪ̏ͅ҉̬͉̰̫"̙̺̬̯̹̦͖͛͗͘  

  Her magic.. too powerful.

His… everything... too weak.

Trapped in this magical Labyrinth that resembled a scene from Wonderland, he couldn't even get a signal out to call for a rescue. He'd tried early on to call Oracle... Nightwing... Agent A... Batman... But the only thing he got for his troubles was static.

Tim felt tears flow down his cheeks as his vision became dark and hazy around the edges and his limbs began to grow numb. He could hear the sounds of his pursuers coming closer, searching for him, and he just didn't have the strength anymore to run. All he could do was hide and wait for the inevitable.

Batman was going to lose another Robin.

Dick was going to lose another little brother.

Jack Drake was going to lose his only son.

He was going to die.

"Oh dear. I was almost too late."

A set of dainty white paws walked into his sight line, contrasting starkly against the pool of crimson blood on the floor. Weakly, Tim lifted his gaze.

"Kyubey?"

The magical creature stepped closer to the fallen teenager and took a seat in front of him. They tilted their head slightly. "I tried to warn you. A normal human isn't able to fight a Witch. Only a Magicka Knight has the power to defend against a Witch's curses and attack them in kind."

"I know," Tim whispered. "I should've listened to you."

Kyubey titled their head to the other side. "It's not too late. You can still listen to me."

Despite the cold feeling in his limbs and the shadows in his vision, Tim did his level best to keep his gaze locked on Kyubey, on the one bright spot in his dying world. 

"If you enter a contract with me, you can become a Magicka Knight." Kyubey explained. "You'd be duty bound to fight Witches, but in return I can grant you one wish. Anything in the world your heart desires."

"If I become a Magicka Knight, I'll have to fight this Witch right away, right?"

"I'm afraid so. It's the only way to escape her Labyrinth."

"And there's no guarantee I'll win?"

"I won't lie to you. Turning you into a Magicka Knight is not a promise of victory. But at least you'll have a fighting chance."

Tim closed his eyes and smiled sadly. "Then I want to make a wish that can outlive me, in case I die." When he opened his eyes, tears slipped down his cheeks again. "I wish Bruce Wayne's son, Jason Todd, was alive."

Kyubey's round red eyes seemed to shimmer in the darkness, and the twin gold rings that encircled their longer set of ears started to glow brightly even as Tim's vision finally faded into blackness. As his consciousness slipped away, he heard Kyubey's voice, as if it was very far away.

"As you wish."

 ---

  "Dinner was great, Alfred. Thank you." Tim set down his fork and watched as the kind old butler retrieved his dirty dishes.

"Will you be heading out with Master Bruce this evening?"

Tim got to his feet and placed the cloth napkin that had been on his lap onto the table, though he fidgeted with it a little before finally letting it go. "'Fraid not. B wants me to stay in and 'do my homework'."

Alfred gave him a knowing compassionate look. "I see. Well, if you want to take your dessert upstairs to have while you work on your homework, I'll allow it for tonight. If you need anything else, I'll be in the Cave on comms tonight..

"Thanks Alfred," Tim said with a smile and a quick side-hug. "You're the best!"

Tim made his way upstairs with a small plate of cheesecake topped with strawberries. Once in his bedroom, he closed the door behind him with a sigh.

"Bruce isn't letting you patrol again tonight?" 

The teenager glanced over and watched as Kyubey unwound itself from the fluffy white ball it normally curled into while it napped on Tim's pillow. Tim couldn't help the fond smile as his little friend stretched leisurely and indulged in a wide mouthed yawn. 

"Nope. He's still got his cape in a twist over Jason's whole empty grave thing." Tim shook his head before making his way to the window seat and making himself comfortable. "I think he just wants to make sure I don't wander off either, but it's still annoying! It's been nearly a month and B still won't let me go on any solo patrols." 

"Well, look at the bright side. Now you can get a full night of sleep and wake up early to go Witch hunting before school."

"I suppose."

Tim and his sullen mood weren't alone for long at the window before Kyubey leapt gracefully from the bed to his shoulder. The startled expression on Tim's face lasted only a second before it melted into one of amusement as Kyubey headbutted him affectionately against the cheek. Once they'd managed to wring a chuckle out of the boy, Kyubey hopped down to the window seat where Tim had placed the cheesecake and began sniffing at the selection. Tim watched as his friend picked up the reddest strawberry it could find and popped that into its mouth first, eating it with obvious relish. Then he looked out the window and thought back about the night he became a Magicka Knight, about the moment he set foot back in the cave after defeating his first Witch and claiming his first Grief Seed.

 ---

  "Where have you been?!" 

Batman had stormed up to him the moment Robin pulled up on his motorcycle into the Cave. Tim froze the moment he saw his mentor barrelling toward him. "You're back already?"

"The Joker gas was a false alarm," Bruce said as he pushed back his cowl and grabbed Tim by his upper arms, Tim was startled by the frantic way Bruce's eyes were darting over him. "Where were you?! Barbara sent you to investigate a Hatter sighting, then you didn't check in for hours! It's nearly sunrise. Where have you been?!"

Tim swallowed hard. "I... I got lured into a maze trap by Hatter," he admitted quietly. "The place had some weird interference so my comms were scrambled. Hatter got away and it took me forever to find my way out. I'm sorry."

"Are you hurt?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm fine B. Just... tired. It... was a really long night."

After another long moment of Bruce looking over him, the older man finally seemed to relax. He released his hold on Tim's arms and raked his fingers through his cowl-mussed hair. "Please don't go running off like that ever again, Tim. If anything had happened to you--"

"I know," Tim murmured, his eyes focused on the floor even as he wrapped his arms about himself tightly. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Master Bruce?"

Both Bruce and TIm turned to see a shaken Alfred coming toward them with a phone in hand. 

"What's wrong?"

"Commissioner Gordon is on the line."

Bruce and Tim shared a confused look. "Why is he calling at this hour?"

Alfred swallowed hard. "He needs 'Bruce Wayne' to come to the precinct as soon as possible. There's been a robbery."

"I don't under--"

"Someone broke into Gotham Cemetery tonight. They stole Master Jason's body."

As Bruce immediately went after Alfred as the old man gave him the phone, Tim stood in the Cave in shock before daring to glance at Kyubey, who had materialized at his heels. 

"My wish... It really came true?"

Kyubey curled their tail around Tim's legs in a comforting gesture. "Of course it did. We made a contract."

 ---

  "I wonder where Jason is," Tim mused aloud as he continued to stare out the window. "I thought he would've come straight home. Bruce has looked everywhere. I've looked everywhere..." He looked at Kyubey who had taken a delicate bite of the cheesecake itself. "Do you have any idea where he went after I made my wish?"

Kyubey looked up at Tim, a curious tilt to their head as they stared back at him with their round red eyes. "I was with you in the Labyrinth when the wish was made," they said matter-of-factly.

Tim shrugged. "Yeah. I know... I guess I was just hoping... Well, I hope he's alright, wherever he is." 

Quietly, Tim studied the new silver ring encircling the ring finger of his right hand as well as the green alchemical symbol of Mercury that was now on his fingernail. The small emerald gem inlaid within the ring itself shimmered with magic. With a smooth motion, Tim turned his palm up and the ring morphed before his eyes into a brilliant green gem encased in an intricate cage of gold, just like a faberge egg. 

His Soul Gem. The source of his power as a Magicka Knight.

For several minutes there was nothing but a comfortable silence as Tim watched the swirling glow of his Soul Gem and Kyubey ate their fill. Once the plate was empty and their paws and muzzle were thoroughly cleaned, Kyubey trotted onto Tim's lap and laid down comfortably. Unconsciously, Tim began to stroke Kyubey's soft whilte fur with his free hand. 

"I just hope Jason comes home soon," Tim said as he finally put his Soul Gem away, turning it back into his ring. "That way, he and Bruce can reunite, they can be a family again, and I can step away from being Robin so I can devote myself to being a Magicka Knight instead."

"In the meantime, it's not so bad for you to be both Robin and a Magicka Knight," Kyubey mused. When Tim glanced down at them, they continued. "You have to admit that nearly every night you go out on patrol as Robin, you stumble upon one or two Labyrinths. Even if we can't get to them immediately to flush out the Witch, at least we know where they are for later!"

Tim grinned. "Yeah. I guess there is a silver lining there." Impulsively, he picked up Kyubey and gathered them into a gentle hug. "Thanks for staying with me."

Kyubey nuzzled the underside of Tim's jawline. "Of course I'm staying with you. You're my Magicka Knight. We're in this together." Kyubey flicked their short pointy ears cutely. "Besides, it's not like Bruce or anyone else can separate us. You're the only one here that can see and hear me."

"I'm glad," Tim said. "It's nice to not be alone all the time." He smiled gratefully at Kyubey. "And it makes being grounded by Bruce easier to swallow when I've got you for company."

Then he glanced back out the window at the dark outlines of Gotham City's skyline when the appearance of the Bat-signal lit up the night sky above it. "Still--" he mused. "I really hope Jason shows up soon. I can't wait to meet him."

[putas-in-suffering]

Business Transaction

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Escort!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, Miguel being a dick (we love to see it)

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Part 1. Supply and demand. You supply. Miguel demands.

A/N: Cartel Daddy is up next! He’s his best asshole, rich, daddy self in this one so proceed with caution. Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

**We added a Part 2! Read it here.

“Fuck…”

The front door banged open, slamming harshly against the wall as you crashed through. Neither one of you showed concern for the possible damage. You were too wrapped up in each other to take notice of anything else. That’s how it had been all evening. And now that tension was finally breaking free and spilling over.

Your curse fell on deaf ears as Miguel’s hands lifted you easily off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth attacked your neck with a ferocity, his lips and teeth clashing. You threaded your fingers through his thick hair and tugged at the roots, enjoying the immediate growl that reverberated against your flesh. You jerked when you felt the cool marble of the kitchen counter suddenly beneath you. You’d been so lost in the sensations that you hadn’t realized that he’d walked you both into the kitchen, his intent clear.

Your mouths united once again as you settled onto the counter, the smooth surface cooling your overheated skin. Your dress was hiked up, the scrap of lace at the juncture of your thighs visible. You used your legs to pull Miguel’s body closer to you, seeking out the friction your lower body so desperately needed.

“Miguel…” You moaned, arching into him when his hand engulfed your breast. He moved with purpose, bypassing any formalities. You both were more than ready to use the other, needing to satiate that primal hunger that had held you captive all night.

“Panties off.” He ordered gruffly, stepping away from you. His hands went to the belt of his black slacks, his fingers undoing the claps and buttons quickly. You followed his demand, shifting your dress up higher on your hips and lifting your ass off the counter to remove your underwear. You barely had time to get them fully down your legs, the fabric getting caught on your heel before Miguel was on you once again.

Your bodies crashed together, your movements frenzied and impatient. Frantic breaths filled the air as you both readied to accept the other. You widened your legs while he grasped his length and aligned himself with your opening. Your nails dug into the fabric of his suit jacket, but he could still feel the sting of pain. He bit at your neck in retaliation.

He didn’t check to ensure you were prepared for him. He didn’t ask for permission or if you were ready. He said nothing. He only thrust…hard and deep. You whimpered at the brutality of it. Your body had been begging for it, yet you could feel the instinctual need to back away from the primal intensity. It was almost too much. It was like this every time. A raging storm of pleasure and pain that held you captive.

He was fully sheathed inside of you in an instant, the lubrication of your walls easing the intrusion only somewhat. He was generously sized and your body should’ve been prepped, but neither of you cared to do so. There was no care or concern involved in this coupling. It was raw; both of you damn near feral with desire.

“Oh god…shit…” You moaned as he pulled his hips back and then led his cock into you once again. His pace was slow, but measured, his grip on your ass the only thing keeping you from falling off the counter. His mouth roamed the expanse of your cleavage, his facial hair leaving a burn of irritation in its wake. You threaded your hands through his hair, pulling at the roots with a force that should’ve hurt but you knew only added to the carnal fire that raged around you.

Miguel grunted with every thrust, his movements now aided by the copious amounts of moisture that collected between the two of you. You forced your eyes open when you felt his intense gaze on you. He was watching you intently, his face almost contorted into a snarl as he fucked up into you. You winced at the force behind his hips and you swore you saw a corner of his mouth lift in satisfaction. The coil in your stomach began to unwind, but it refused to fully release. You were stuck between prolonging the push and pull of two twisted souls or succumbing to the addicting sensation of falling headlong into euphoria.

The latter won out.

You moved your hand to where your bodies were joined, aiming for you clit, but a rough hand stopped you. Miguel shoved your hand away, almost insulted by your decision. Instead, he stopped thrusting and placed a hand on your lower stomach, easing you back. You watched in rapt fascination as he spit, his saliva landing exactly on the place you’d been seeking. Yours eyes rolled, your entire body ready to catapult itself into space just on that action alone.

“Fuuuuck…” You whimpered when his finger assaulted the appendage, his hips picking up their brutal rhythm. Your arms were failing to support you so you laid back, spine unwilling to straighten as you were fucked into oblivion.

Your hands sought out your breasts, pulling the neckline of your dress down so that you could pay them proper attention. Your tugged at your nipples and yelped when a slap to your swollen pussy landed on your oversensitive flesh, your entire body jerking in response.

“Shit…do that again.” Miguel grunted between clenched teeth.

You knew what he meant. You’d felt it too. Your walls had clamped down on him, forcing his cock to twitch while buried to the hilt inside you. Your toes curled as you obeyed his request and felt him jerk again, the end for you both near. His hips worked fast this time, his cock barely leaving you before it was returning. The sound of flesh slapping off each other echoed throughout the massive space, your moans getting louder as your orgasm built.

“Yes, yes…right there…” You urged as the familiar wisps of climax started to pull you under. You bucked in response to his punishing pace, your limbs starting to tense as that coil finally snapped. You could only gasp, no other sounds formulating in your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut until lights danced behind them, the feel of Miguel’s throbbing cock prolonging your pleasure.

“Fuck, yeah…like that.” He encouraged, his pelvis plastering to yours as he released inside of your quaking channel. His fingers dug into your hips, his cum filling you to capacity. You tremored with aftershocks as he continued to pump, his speed significantly slower.

He only took a moment to catch his breath before he was entangling himself from you. You could feel him slip from your clutches, albeit sluggishly. You were both drained of energy, your heaving chests trying to fill your lungs back up with air. Your skin stuck to the still cold counter beneath you, the feeling now making you shiver. The jingling of a belt buckle prompted you to sit up, careful of the mess between your thighs. You adjusted your dress, a contented smile on your made-up lips. Miguel glanced back at you as he resituated his slacks, his appearance no longer giving away to what he’d been up to seconds before.

“A hand?” You asked, holding yours out to him. He wordlessly stepped forward and helped you down, the mask of indifference back on his features.

Once you were steadied on your heels, he bent down to retrieve your panties, handing them over. You bit your lip and took them, silently following him as he led you to the front door. He grabbed the clutch that’d been carelessly tossed to the floor when you’d arrived and gave it back to you.

“Felt like slumming it tonight?” You teased. You always enjoyed teasing Miguel. He was a serious man, often formal with those he met. But you’d known him awhile, had the pleasure of doing business with him on a semi-regular basis. It’d become a game of yours, to see if you could get him to break his façade. And he usually did, especially when you were fucking each other.

But tonight was different. Something was weighing heavy on his mind. He’d been more quiet than usual, even rougher, if at all possible. You hadn’t minded because you weren’t a delicate daisy. You were there to be what he needed, even if that was just a place to take out his aggression.

“I’d hardly call a four-thousand dollar escort “slumming””. He retorted flatly, finally meeting your gaze.

“Well, luxury has a price. You know that.” You stepped closer to him, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He eyed you tensely, his lips pursed with tension of another kind. “You alright?” You asked sincerely, knowing he would dodge the question. Miguel wasn’t one for long talks or venting sessions, especially because the source of his stress was running a multi-million dollar drug cartel.

He immediately nodded, predictably not bothering to give your question any thought. “Fine. Jorge will take you home.” He said with a clipped tone, gesturing to the awaiting Escalade out front.

You nodded, allowing him to avoid the topic. He was the boss after all. “Okay. Night.”

You took a step towards the door, but stopped when his hand reached for you.

“I’ll need you Monday night. A gala.” He informed you stiffly, his fingers caressing the flesh of your arm tenderly, eclipsing the harshness he’d shown earlier.

“Sure.”

“Buy a new gown. Have Hector charge it to my account. And make it-,”

“Classy, I know.” You interrupted, rolling your eyes to emphasize your point. “I always am, baby. Its why I’m the best.” You winked, successfully pulling a smile from him.

He chuckled and nodded, not bothering to dispute your claim. He knew it was true. It was why you were his only girl and he was your only client. Miguel only ever indulged in the best and he dropped major cash to get it. He had an image to uphold and you were there as the cherry on top of his opulent life. The sex was just an added bonus…one you got compensated for.

“Goodnight.” He kissed your cheek, lips barely grazing the corner of your mouth.

You basked in the affection and sent him a flirty smile, adjusting your breasts against the fabric of your dress. He opened the door and watched as you climbed into the SUV, the flash of thigh and leg as you got in capturing both Miguel’s and the driver’s attention. You pulled your compact from your purse and touched up your smeared make-up, relishing in the residual buzz of your powerful orgasm. The man didn’t need to find pleasure in the arms of a paid escort. He was blindingly attractive and sickeningly wealthy. He could find a willing pussy within a two mile radius. But his life wasn’t cut out for just anyone. Women came and went but none could hold it down.

Enter you.

You were anything and everything he needed you to be. It was your job and you did it well. Your cum-filled pussy cemented that fact. And Miguel Galindo may be a murdering, cheating, conniving cartel boss, but he also knew how to fuck. The money may keep your bills paid, but the sex? That’s what kept you coming back.

[jumukus]

A3! Event: Trump the Phantom Thief Episode 8 Translation

Play time! A heads up on the characters' names:

Muku: King Yuki: Q Kazunari: Ace Juza: Jack Banri: Fox Sakyo: Club

Saionji: Muku-kun, how are you doing? Are you getting seasick?

Muku: I'm doing alright, thank you. Oh, and the room is so beautiful.

Saionji: I am glad it is to your liking. We purposely built the suite rooms in a place where you can't feel the ship's motion.

I am planning to take every possible measure for the theater venue as well, though do not hesitate to let me know if you are unsatisfied with anything.

Muku: I will. Thank you.

Kazunari: Dude, not only the suite rooms are superbs, but to think we also get a whole staff to ourselves…! We can even get the beverages here as many times we like!

Yuki: True. The service is just so good it surprised me.

Sakyo: Don't get too engrossed in these service or you'll be havin' a hard time once we return to Mankai Company.

Izumi: You have a point…

Banri: I don't wanna go back.

Juza: ...I'm thirsty.

Muku: Wanna get some beverages in our rooms?

Juza: No, it's fine. Our rooms are far from here.

Azami: There's a lot of vending machines there. I think they have your favorite strawberry milk.

Juza: I'll go get it.

Muku: …

Izumi: (Today is finally our opening show. I knew it. They all seem pretty nervous because we're going to perform in a different venue.)

Juza: …

Izumi: (Juza-kun looks stiff.)

Kazunari: OK, guys! We've gotta form a circle in times like this!

Banri: Be more specific. What d'you mean by "in times like this"?

Yuki: Bet you already thought of what kind of circle you wanna do.

Kazunari: Righty right! Since our play is about phantom thieves, we all should strike a phantom thief pose!

Sakyo: The heck is that?

Kazunari: No complaining! Just follow me!

Yuki: Fine. Fine.

Juza: ...Muku, do the chant.

Muku: First things first, I'm sorry for causing you guys troubles when I was at a loss of what to do.

I don't want to give up on all the things I want to do. I've decided to do everything I can in all of them.

I'll run through until the end. Follow me, guys!

Juza: Yeah!

Kazunari: Okie!

Banri: Yea.

Q: "It's as musty as always."

Ace: "Clean it up."

Q: "How about you do it?"

Ace: "No way. Geez. This place used to be clean, wonder what happened to it."

Q: "That's because we had a clean-freak before."

Ace: "Okay. Leader, you do the cleaning."

King: "I think it's pretty clean, though."

Q: "Seriously?"

Ace: "Should've known a messy room owner like Leader would say something like that."

Q: "Anyway. Since this is the first time we gathered here after a year, that means you've already set our next target, right? Let's cut to the chase already."

King: "Our next target will be "Mermaid's Tears", a 12-carat diamond."

"It's going to be sold during an auction held at the Royal Star cruise. It's one of the event's highlights and expected to sell for 6 billion."

Ace: "Woo-hoo."

Q: "Heh. Interesting."

King: "Royal Star is currently hiring staff. Q."

Q: "Got it. That means I have to sneak in as one of their staff members, right?"

King: "Ace, get close to the ship's captain and collect information."

Ace: "Roger."

Izumi: (I expect no less from Summer Troupe. They have great teamwork. I can totally feel it.)

(Not to mention Muku-kun's King is able to unite them as a leader.)

Q: "I'm in charge of the rooms in Block A… Laundry and… Ugh. What a hassle."

"This isn't my job in the first place, after all. If that person were here--."

Crew Member: "Are you new here? You seem lost."

Q: "Yes. I don't think I can get out of this place if I lose the map."

Crew Member: "You can ask anyone if there's anything you don't understand."

Q: "Thank you."

"?"

Crew Member: "What's wrong?"

Q: "I think I saw someone over there--."

Crew Member: "But there's only a garbage can over there. Is it a ghost or something?"

Q: "Hey. Stop. I don't like it."

"Hm? A letter?"

"Could this be--I have to report to King."

King: "I'll take the Mermaid's Tears--Jack."

Ace: "Can't believe he's aiming for the same thing."

Q: "Him and King sure are compatible in a strange way."

Ace: "Even though their personalities are the exact opposite of each other."

Q: "What are we going to do now?"

Ace: "Guess we're gonna have a change of pla--."

King: "We'll continue the operation."

Q: "Come again!?"

Ace: "So you mean we're gonna compete with Jack?"

King: "I will not send out this notice. Let's call it a direct confrontation between Trump and Jack."

Q: "Whaaaat!?"

Jack: "Weird. The cops aren't on the move."

"Hm? Where's my noti--."

"It's been a while. How about a reunion? At The Mermaid's Tears' chamber. Trump."

"King, huh… It's just so like him to do something like this. Fine. Let's have a showdown."

Fox: "Here. I got what you wanted, the Royal Star's blueprint."

King: "It is indeed the blueprint."

Fox: "I got you some addition as well. This one is a lil bit pricey."

King: "Figured as much."

Fox: "What are you going to do with this information, though?"

King: "It's prohibited to poke your nose into your client's private life."

Fox: "Oops. My bad. I was curious since you rarely asked for something like this. Oh, yeah. Your master said he wanted to see you."

King: "Club? I wonder why. I'll try contacting him."

Club: "I'm comin' in."

Fox: "Speak of the devil."

King: "Long time no see."

Club: "Perfect timing. Are you free now?"

***

Club: "I'm goin' to retire soon. Take whatever you need."

King: "Retire? Are you serious?"

Club: "My body is startin' to fall apart. It's an age thing. Tell this to Ja--Oh, right. I heard you two broke up."

King: "You made it sound like we're dating. Please don't do that. He just decided to quit my group on his own."

Club: "Y'all never change. Here I thought you'd keep workin' together. That's what you call youth, I guess."

King: "To be honest with you, I'd also never thought he would betray me."

Club: "Looking at that guy, I think he's in his rebellious phase rather than betrayal."

King: "Rebellious phase?"

Club: "He's got some strong sense of rivalry, y'know? Add that with the fact that he's never won against you."

"He must be jealous of you. You're a genius, while he can only do things in a crude way."

King: "Really? I like his way of doing things, though."

Club: "That's exactly why you're hated. Oh, well. You better make up before I die."

King: "Please tell that to him too. You're going to meet him after this anyway, right?"

Club: "You're right. Guess I'm also gonna tell him directly. Both of you are my most excellent apprentices, after all."

King: "Please take this as my present for your retirement. This one is 40 years old."

Club: "You sure are well prepared."

King: "I was actually planning to use it for the celebration party, though."

"--Oh, right. If you're going to retire, please give me that. You know, the 'Venus Ring'."

Club: "I refuse."

***

Fox: "Welcome. Man, I guess we've got a lot of 'speak of the devil' moment today."

Jack: "What are you saying?"

Fox: "Nope. Forget it. Anyway, this is your requested uniform and safe."

Jack: "Thanks."

Fox: "Oh, yea. Your master said he wanted to see you. Why don't you give him a call?"

***

Jack: "Long time no see."

Club: "Hey. Is it just me or did you lose some weight?"

Jack: "What do you want to talk about?"

Club: "I'm gonna retire soon. Take whatever you need."

Jack: "Whatever you need, huh. By the way, the 'Venus Ring'..."

Club: "Y'all really have the same taste. I ain't gonna give it out. I sent it to the right place."

Jack: "By y'all… Do you mean King?"

Club: "You should just go back and regroup with him."

Jack: "I'll never go back until I win against him."

Club: "What a pig-headed kid. So? You see any chance to accomplish that?"

Jack: "I have a feeling we're finally going to settle this soon."

Club: "Heh. You seem confident."

Jack: "Because I've made arrangements ahead of time."

Club: "That's so you. You still look as gloomy as ever, though. Why don't you go soaking up the sun in some warm places in the south once in a while?"

Jack: "No--But you have a point. Maybe I'll do that once this is over."

Club: "Do that. And make up with King."

Jack: "...It depends on him."

Guard A: "Wait there."

Guard B: "This place is restricted to authorized personnel."

***

Q: "'Mermaid's Tears' has been carried away."

King: "Got it. Looks like they put it at the expected place."

Q: "How about the security? Can you unlock it?"

King: "I've already made preparation for that. We just need to see how things will turn out."

Ace: "Hey, wait a sec. Please, King."

King: "Find out the schedule for the guards' lookout."

Q: "Ugh. What a pain. Why do I have to do this…"

***

Q: "The guard will change at 1 P.M. The key will only be handed over when a substitute comes."

King: "So we need that key and the password that the captain has to unlock the door."

Q: "Ace, gain some time for us."

Ace: "Roger. Leave it to me."

Q: "Don't screw up."

***

Ace: "Hey, good work."

Guard A: "You're here sooner than I thought."

Ace: "Boss said my shift would start 30 minutes earlier since I'm always late, you see. Today I got here on time, though."

"Oh. Don't tell me you're gonna get scolded if you end your shift early? Wanna have some chat for thirty minutes then? Man, being a guard sure is easy."

"I actually want to increase my shift more, you know. But I don't reall--."

Guard A: "No, it's fine. I'll end my shift now. Bye."

Ace: "Oh. Okay, then. Bye."

***

Ace: "Mission complete. It's your turn now, King."

King: "Let's see, now. This is unexpectedy such a hassle~."

Ace: "I'm glad you seem to be having fun but please hurry up."

***

Q: "It's almost been thirty minutes."

King: "Just a little bit more…"

Q: "The guard is coming."

King: "I'm counting on you, Ace."

***

Ace: "Hey.."

Guard B: "Hm?"

Ace: "Ouch ouch ouch…"

Guard B: "What's wrong?"

Ace: "Oh, are you the substitute? Thank God. I'm starting to panic since my stomach is killing me. Good bye!"

Guard B: "Hey, wait, the key--."

Ace: "Key? Oh, right. I've gotta hand it ove--ouch ouch ouch."

Guard B: "Hey, you okay?"

Ace: "Wait a minute. Just until I calm down. Ouch ouch ouch…"

Guard B: "F-For now, just go to the toilet first."

Ace: "Don't think that's possible. I feel like it's gonna come out once I move."

Guard B: "Whaaat!?"

Ace: "Do you have some medicine or anything?"

Guard B: "No, sorry…"

Ace: "Can you bring me one from the infirmary? I'm on the edge here."

Guard B: "O-Okay! Wait a little bit!"

Ace: "King, you better open it now."

***

King: "...Weird. We may not make it."

Ace: "Come again!?"

King: "Oh, I got it. This one."

"...Nice. It opens!"

"Q, carry it out. Let's retreat."

Q: "Got it."

***

Guard B: "Hey, I have the medicine!"

Ace: "Very thanks, man. Here, your key! I'll leave the rest to you."

Guard B: "Yeah. Hope you recover soon."

King: "...This is weird. Jack didn't come in the end."

Q: "Maybe he realized it's impossible to go against phantom thieves."

King: "No. That guy…"

Police: "Freeze! We're police!"

King: "--."

Q: "!?"

Ace: "Since when!?"

King: "We're being set up. Q, throw the 'Mermaid's Tears' to the sea."

Q: "Huh!? Do you hear yourself now!?"

King: "Do it now. We'll escape the moment the police look away."

Ace: "You're lying, right!?"

King: "Quick."

Q: "You're the one who told me to do it, alright!"

Police: "H-Hey! The jewel! Pick it up, quick!"

King: "Let's go!"

Police: "Wait!"

Q: "What do we do now!? All of our hardship went to waste!"

Ace: "Our 6 billion…"

King: "That was a fake jewel Jack had prepared."

Q: "What?"

King: "Jack had stolen 'Mermaid's Tears' in advance and replaced it with a fake one."

"He was the one who snitched on us."

***

Narration: "The day before…"

Guard A: "Hey, what's wrong?"

Jack: "No, it's just… the engine…"

Guard A: "Hold on, hold on. If there's any trouble, you better do something about it or else it'll get worse later on. If we're liable for the damages…"

Jack: "There's smoke coming out!"

Guard A: "Say what!?"

Jack: "Stay away from the car!"

Guard B: "Whoa!"

Guard A: "C-Call the fire station! Wait, we gotta get the safe first!"

Guard B: "Hey, is it okay?"

Jack: "Yeah. The smoke disappeared. I found no issues with the machine too."

Guard A: "That means the safe is alright, yeah? God. Give me a break. We almost carry it away ahead of time."

***

Q: "So that's why Jack didn't show up…"

Ace: "He really got us! I already thought it was weird for the police to appear at times like that!"

Q: "Ugh. Even if the police didn't appear, Jack still won since he already got the 'Mermaid's Tears' before us."

King: "I wonder about that."

***

King: "He hasn't made any changes in his base. Well, isn't he a little careless…"

"Even his security system is so weak."

"Hm? A card?"

"'Out of respect of Master's retirement, I will hand over the victory.'"

"Don't be satisfied with second place. You could have taken measures if you know there's a chance it'll get stolen. Oh, well. I'll accept your kind offer…"

***

Jack: "..."

"He really came…"

King: "Hey."

Jack: "--ugh. Why are you still here, King?"

King: "It's been a long time, I want to renew our friendship. I even brought alcohol with me."

Jack: "This is why you're hated."

King: "But you don't hate me, do you?"

Jack: "How did you find out?"

King: "I got some information about you from Fox. It helped me understand your strategy to some extent."

Jack: "In that case, why did you fall into the trap?"

King: "Because, otherwise, you won't move forward as planned. I'll be troubled if you're on your guard."

"I could narrow down your base thanks to the location device I planned on the alcohol I gave to Club. The rest is my intuition."

Jack: "I can never bring myself to like you in the end."

King: "Now, now. Let's have a toast for the 'Mermaid's Tears'. Q and Ace are waiting."

Izumi: (This is the only scene where Jack and King talk face to face. Even so, you can tell how close they are just by watching this scene alone.)

(Maybe because they are cousins, they can create a unique relationship between rivals who understand each other the most.)

***

Muku: Thank you so much!

Juza: Thank you.

Sakyo: Thank you.

Yuki: Thank you.

Kazunari: Thankies thankies~!

Banri: Thank you.

***

Sakyo: The audience's reaction on our first show is great.

Juza: King was so cool.

Muku: Jack was even cooler! The fact that he's active behind the scenes is just so Juchan!

Juza: I can also feel the gap between King, a sharp person with a gentle look, and you, Muku.

Muku: I-Is that so? Ehehe. But your Jack…

Azami: They're going to be like that forever at this rate.

Yuki: When are you going to stop?

Banri: But well, it was good overall. Right?

Kazunari: Totally! Their chemistry was just perfect on the stage, even the audience was pleased!

Izumi: Let's keep this energy until the closing show!

Muku: Yes!

< Episode 7 | Masterlist | Episode 9 >

[forasecondtherewedwon]

In Over His Headboard

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 7560

This is a submission for the first day of Thotumn, organized by @spideysmjs!!! Today’s prompt: Dirty Talk.

Summary: MJ learns that Ned's best friend went through a lot of backpacks as a teenager. And a lot of headboards as an adult.

MJ is very observant.

But that’s old news.

The other O-word she lives her life by is ‘organized’. In kindergarten, she rearranged everyone’s cubby during naptime (without permission) to suit her precepts. As an adult, she keeps her books sorted by topic and, within that, by size. The handles of her measuring cups are perfectly aligned. The apartment that houses both the books and the measuring cups is tidy, full of furniture with secret built-in storage spaces, and fewer than five miles from the house in which she grew up. MJ has organized and reorganized her own space so many times that, even though her few good friends think it’s crazy, it explains why one of her passions is helping people move.

Packing boxes is a delight. Laying down rugs so that their straight edges are perfectly parallel to the walls thrills her. Helping someone determine exactly the correct lineup of toiletries in the cabinet under their bathroom sink is a religious experience. She doesn’t express her joy in smiles or shrieks of excitement, but in her diligence. She’ll be tucked quietly in the closet, ordering jeans by shade of blue, while the rest of the volunteer movers crack open a beer in the kitchen, calling it time for a well-earned break.

Lately, everyone in MJ’s life has gotten disappointingly settled: her brother and his wife upsizing in suburbia for the baby on the way, her parents (who are finally coming down hard on not letting her shift their knickknacks around anymore), and Betty. Betty’s engaged—so engaged—and simply made space for her fiancé to move in with her, so MJ didn’t get to assemble a single cardboard box. She still feels slightly betrayed.

When Betty calls and starts in about schedules and plans and photographer, MJ assumes they’re about to go over more wedding details. But no, her friend informs her, the schedule involves the timed renting of a moving truck and the access date for a storage unit, the plans are who’s lending a hand and with what, and the photographer is Ned’s friend and future best man, some guy named Peter. MJ forgets the name (and asks Betty for it again later—day-of, as they’re driving to the guy’s apartment building). It’s a dull speck on the metaphorical diamond Betty has just held up to the light for her to inspect—whatshisname needs people to help him move.

Before the pleasure of putting someone’s possessions in just the right spot can commence, there’s the grunt work. MJ understands and accepts this as a necessary evil. On the day of Ned’s friend’s move-in, she dresses in overalls—multiple pockets for micro-organization on the fly—with a cropped t-shirt underneath because there will, inevitably, be stairs and it’s July. She’s trying not to begin sweating too far in advance, limiting her anticipation to a foot jumping on the immaculate rubber foot mat of the passenger seat of Betty’s car and a series of probing questions.

“Doesn’t this guy have any friends?”

“He has friends,” Betty assures her, being a responsible driver and keeping her eyes on the road, “just not a lot of super close friends.”

“And the close friends he does have weren’t available?”

“Umm…” She concentrates on watching the pedestrian countdown light as they cross an intersection. “I think a bunch of them went with him to the storage unit to load up the truck. I guess they don’t have the whole day off.”

“Oh, unlike me, who has nothing better to do.”

“Don’t get snippy. And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have begged to help if you’d heard me mention what I was doing today.”

MJ plays with the seatbelt strapped across her chest, feeling defensive. It’s her go-to reaction whenever Betty reveals how clearly she sees her.

“I was just trying to figure out why I was asked.”

“Ned’s his friend, I’m Ned’s fiancée, and you’re my friend.”

“The six degrees of Michelle Jones,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. He lives in Queens?”

“Yeah, Peter’s local. He and Ned went to school together. Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy that you can travel the world and end up with a fiancé and a circle of friends from your hometown,” MJ agrees. Today, Betty’s in jean shorts and a beachy shirt that ties in a knot at the end of its row of iridescent buttons, but MJ mostly sees her on the news, looking as prim and expensive as a collectible doll. She’s a foreign correspondent for CNN, though she’s reining in the foreign part now that she’s living with Ned and about to get married.

“Crazy,” Betty repeats distractedly, making a perfect, tight turn into the belowground carpark next to the building bearing the address MJ wrote down two weeks ago. This is where the magic will happen.

The pile out and her friend beeps her fob to lock the car. She wants to take the elevator that’ll bring them up to the lobby, but MJ insists on trekking back up the ramp they drove down. It stretches her legs, a good warm up. As they emerge from the darkness of the lot and sun slices across their faces, she feels like she’s walking into Disney World. They stand on the sidewalk and right as she’s about to ask Betty when they guys are supposed to make an appearance, a U-Haul pulls up to the curb.

She sees the driver’s side door open and slam shut without seeing the driver, but Ned comes bounding down from the passenger’s side to hold his fiancée’s hands and give her a quick kiss on the forehead (they’re so engaged), then three more guys fold themselves out of the tight back of the cab and hustle around to the rear of the truck. The couple’s display of affection distracted MJ; she can only assume it’s the driver out of sight in the back, passing belongings down to his helpers, who swiftly stack them on the sidewalk near the front doors of the apartment building. There’s an array of boxes, then staggering steps as the guys navigate couches and mattresses out of the truck, racing against the inflexibility of the No Parking and No Idling signs on this street. If a bylaw stooge comes along, they’re screwed. New York’s street signs exist for the city to make money, not for the ease of citizens needing to unload their furniture.

The guy’s—Peter’s—friends are surprisingly quick, so MJ lets the speech she was mentally writing to argue in favour of his right to park the truck in front of the building he’s moving into dissolve in her head. Peter hops down from the back of the truck. From where she and Betty are standing, she can only see his legs and hear the clang of the rear door closing. The trio of extra helpers clamber back into the U-Haul with the intent and discipline of clowns into a clown car and wheel off to return the truck. MJ finally sees the man she’s come to help as he brushes his hands together and steps quickly onto the curb to avoid another car angling into the carpark. He shakes hair off his forehead and squints towards them, sun in his eyes, already smiling.

“Um, hello,” MJ hisses at Betty, quickly turning to her. “Were you going to mention that your fiancé is best friends with Spider-Man? That’s Peter fucking Parker.”

“And I’m Betty fucking Brant,” she counters breezily. She’s looking past MJ, waving at Peter. “I’m on the news more than he is and you don’t freak out when you see me.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Hey!”

MJ spins to look into the eyes of a municipal—no, a national—no, an international hero. She doesn’t say anything fast enough, so he moves past her to hug Betty before coming back to her with eyebrows raised in what looks like a mixture of inquiry, politeness, and gratitude.

“Michelle?”

“But my friends call me—”

“MJ,” he finishes for her, and normally that would be irritating, but Peter Parker is endearingly boyish close-up. He’s shorter than she is. He’s freckled. He does look like somebody she could’ve gone to school with and had a low-key crush on for years and years. The fame can’t touch that, which is why, she figures, his hero-next-door schtick works so well for him. He’s local, like Betty said. Every bit of him sells that and it’s obvious that he’s not trying.

“And yours call you Spider-Man?”

Might as well get that out in the open—that she recognizes him. He laughs easily and glances down.

“Nah, pretty much just ‘Peter’. ‘Petey’ if they either really want to make me suffer or they really like me.”

He gives her a look and it’s brief, but there’s a lot to it. The propositioning tilt of the head, the wolfish curl of the smile, the assessing cut of his eyes to catch her from the corner of his vision. MJ gets a strong sense that ‘really like me’ is a euphemism for ‘enjoy me sexually.’

“We’ll see how I feel once we’ve moved all your shit upstairs, I guess,” she responds flatly.

“That sounds fair.” His voice is bright now, no lurking depravity. “I hope I don’t have enough boxes to make you hate me.”

“Please. Boxes are nothing. I’d be more worried about that dresser turning me against you. What is that thing made of?”

“Solid oak,” he brags, then grimaces. “It sucked just lifting it onto the truck.”

“Can’t you just…” MJ mimes the motion Spider-Man does when he shoots that gunk at people and buildings.

“Lift the furniture up to my building with web fluid?” Peter crosses his arms and looks like he’s really calculating it in his head. “Wouldn’t be graceful. I’d probably smash some windows if I tried to do it from outside, and doing it from inside wouldn’t be that much easier than just carrying it up the stairs. Also, that’d attract a lot of attention and everything I do doesn’t need to make the news, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” she agrees dryly. “I hate it when I’m just grocery shopping and there’s a whole camera crew right in my face.”

He laughs at her sarcasm. Appealing.

“Right?”

And then they have to scurry to catch up because Ned and Betty have already started moving everything into the lobby.

After it’s all inside and not available to be swiped by anyone walking or driving down the street, they decide to take turns carrying stuff up to the fourth floor. (Fourth? MJ could swear she was told second.) One person stays with the remainder of Peter’s stuff while the other three lug boxes and chairs and, eventually, the dreaded oak dresser. She’s too focused on maintaining a brisk pace to really check out his apartment—beyond noting the large windows and protruding edge of the kitchen countertop (that catches her in the stomach while she’s squeezing around a box Ned left too close to the front door). It wouldn’t matter. Layout and organization haven’t been much on her mind since Peter Parker stepped out from behind that truck.

This process isn’t supposed to be a spectacle, but people notice Peter, and Peter, ever the neighbourhood Spider-Man, notices people.

A man exiting through the lobby nods towards Peter’s desk and starts a conversation about materials and quality. MJ almost trips up the stairs with a box in her arms as she hears him say, “Yeah, I’ve got more wood than I know what to do with.” Betty, on her way down, catches her eye and gives her a funny look.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot,” she fires back.

Ned’s above, guiding one end of the couch, and Peter and MJ are heaving the other (mostly Peter) when a different dude narrowly gets past them on a landing, only to turn around and remark on the wonder of them being able to maneuver it. “It’s long,” Peter agrees, “but I’ve fit this thing into some pretty tight places.” Right after, he asks MJ if she needs a break. She’s fine. She only almost dropped her corner of the couch because her hand cramped.

As she’s taking a final box through the door of his apartment, she overhears, “I’ll let him choose the position. What do I know? I’m happy to put it anywhere. The only thing I can be trusted to be in charge of is making sure it’s well-hung.” Stumbling forward, she sees that Peter (who just spoke) and Betty are admiring a large, framed print of him and Ned in cap and gown, clutching diplomas. MJ grabs a bottle of water from the case they carried up here at the beginning—it’s lukewarm, but practically glacial compared to the temperature of her face right now—and asks her friend if she wants to step outside to get a little air before they continue.

Leaning against the wall of the building, MJ chugs some of her water, then hands it off to Betty. While her friend’s drinking, she says, “So, he’s gay, right?”

Betty catches the water that slops down onto her chin.

“What?”

“Peter. He’s gay.”

“I’ve seen him with guys when we’ve all gone to the bar together—”

MJ breathes deeply in relief. She needs him to be gay; the knowledge will quell how she feels when he utters these outrageous, completely explainable sentences, or when he walks ahead of her up the stairs and she’s forced to stare at his ass for four floors, or when she remembers that look he gave her before they started moving everything.

“—but Ned mentioned a serious girlfriend Peter had in high school, so I think he’s bi. Oh my god,” Betty adds in a tone of realization that scares the hell out of MJ. “You want him.”

It takes rapid backtracking and a convincing presentation of the facts (those being every suggestive thing Peter’s said today and leaving out the part about his ass) to wipe the excited look off her friend’s face.

“So, you’ve just been misunderstanding him. And eavesdropping.”

“Can we call it eavesdropping if he has nothing to hide?”

“Fine,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not eavesdropping because he has nothing to hide. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Ned and, yeah, he might have an entire second identity, but the guy’s an open book. Peter couldn’t be sly if his life depended on it. He’s a goof, MJ. He’d never say that kind of stuff for real.”

Except that they hike back up to the apartment together and Peter’s voice drifts into the kitchen from one of the rooms down the hall, making the women halt and lock eyes.

“Remember how many backpacks May bought you in high school?” Ned chuckles. “This reminds me of that.”

“I do go through a lot of headboards. I’m not trying to break them, but I always put my legs into it too much and I just go so deep.”

“The room,” Betty babbles next to her, gripping her wrist. “I’m sure he’s talking about the depth of the room, coming in through the window too quickly from patrol.”

“It’s easy for you to tell yourself that,” MJ points out. “You’re engaged. You have no reason to think about Peter like that.”

Ned emerges and heads straight for Betty. These two are so gross together that neither of them protests against being hugged, though they’re sweaty from labour. With his arm around her friend’s waist, Ned turns to address MJ.

“Are you hanging around for a while?”

“Yeah, definitely. I can help unpack,” she pledges.

“Great. I know Peter’d like to get curtains put up for privacy today too, because, you know, being Spider-Man and having all these windows don’t really go well together, and you’re the tallest. He’ll probably want your help.”

She’d rather be assigned the task of choosing which kitchen cupboard will hold his plates, his glasses, the cans of premade soup she imagines Spider-Man relies on when he’s always darting around at night, too busy to devote a lot of time to making dinner. But she’s here to help. It’s not her apartment; she’ll go where she can be useful (any maybe do some sneaky rearranging later if he makes dumb organizational choices).

“Babe,” Ned says to Betty, “I’m going on a beer run—and maybe tacos, do you feel like tacos?—do you wanna come with me?”

“Of course, babe, but I don’t want…”

She looks at MJ, who’s trying to be inconspicuous, sorting the boxes labelled ‘KITCHEN’ from those labelled ‘LIVING ROOM’.

“One sec,” Betty tells her fiancé, walking over to MJ. “Will you be alright here if we go out for food?”

“Mhmm.”

Without glancing over, she plucks the X-Acto knife from her overall pocket and slices through packing tape to reveal nested pans, cloaked in mismatched dishtowels to prevent scraping during transport. The combination of careful and slapdash makes her smile to herself.

“It’s rush hour now, so I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Betty warns.

“That’s fine.”

“I think we all need a little fuel before we settle in to unpack.”

“Yeah.”

“MJ,” her friend says sharply.

“What?”

“Are you ok being alone with Peter for a while?”

“Yes,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “He’s Ned’s best friend and he’s Spider-Man, not some random creep. I’m not afraid he’s going to jump me. Anyway, I have this.” She waggles the knife.

“I’m more worried about you jumping him.”

She narrows her eyes at Betty.

“Have a little respect for my self-control.”

Her friend just shrugs.

“I’d understand. There’s the allure of him being a superhero and, more importantly, the fact that Ned and I can both vouch for him being a genuinely great guy.”

MJ narrows her eyes even more, this time in suspicion.

“Is this a moving day or a blind date?”

“Oh please.”

“That’s not an answer. Betty,” she presses, but her friend turns and grabs Ned’s hand. The wave as they leave the apartment is mockingly innocent.

Alone, MJ darts a glance down the hall, where she knows Peter is still doing whatever in the bedroom. She’s not going to race in there like some glassy-eyed fangirl. Even if Betty does endorse him so warmly, and he does seem so down-to-earth, and his ass does look like that in his jeans. She lifts his cookware out, one piece at a time, then moves on to the tangled jumble of utensils in the next box, trying to separate a pair of tongs from a warped spatula. She doesn’t hear Peter walk into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says suddenly from behind her.

MJ jumps and holds up the tongs threateningly, but her hand falls as she stares at him. He’s wiping sweat from his neck with the hem of his navy t-shirt. There are his abs and the taut skin below his navel.

“If you have a minute, could you give me a hand with this rod? I can’t get it up on my own.”

Her gaze springs up to his face and she stares at him.

“Huh?”

“The… curtain rod?” Peter says. “I can stand on a chair to do the one end, but I can’t do both ends at once. Do you think you could—”

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile is pleasant and relieved and MJ follows him into the bedroom like he hit her with some sort of magic spell, not just artless, unintentional dirty talk. She sets the tongs down on the floor by the wall; whoops.

“Warm in here,” she notes as she sidesteps a clear plastic tote of Peter’s clothes.

“Yeah, I was gonna open the window, but I didn’t know if the humidity would only make it worse.”

MJ watches as he gestures with one hand and props the other on his hip, hiking up his t-shirt to hook his thumb in the waist of his jeans. She encourages him to go ahead and risk it. The space is unbearable without at least the illusion of fresh air. She redoes her drooping ponytail, feeling new sweat slide down the nape of her neck as Peter crouches and jerks the window up from its sticky sill. Her gaze, and possibly her mind, gets lost somewhere in the breadth of his shoulders. His triceps look as hard and as perfectly rounded as the rolling pin that was still in the box when she left the kitchen. Emptying her chest pocket of odds and ends—knife, scissors, permanent marker, Allen key—MJ unbuckles her overalls, letting the straps and the bib hang down. The buttons on the hips keep the pants part up, but she can’t stand to have the whole thing closing her in any longer. She can’t breathe.

They each take an end of the curtain rod and Peter uses his knees to climb onto his nightstand, already positioned against the wall. It’s overkill because he’s not that much shorter and MJ can hook her end into the bracket without even having to get up on her toes. She’s done first and turns to look at Peter, kneeling on the nightstand with his thighs apart. She pictures joining him on that narrow surface, straddling his lap. God. How long have Betty and Ned been gone?

Then again, why fight it?

“Having some trouble getting it in?” she asks.

The rod clunks against the wall as Peter whips his head around to look slightly down at her.

“Your rod,” MJ clarifies. “You want me to take over? I can handle it.” At his continued dumbstruck silence, she goes on. “Or I can just direct you from here. You could try working it back and forth a little until you get the perfect angle. Then I’m sure it’ll ease right in.”

He hardly seems aware when the curtain rod falls into place. After a few extra moments of immobility, he dismounts and swishes the semi-sheer curtain across the window. She can feel his eyes on her, tracing the strip of stomach between the bottom of her crop-top and the folded-over denim of her overalls.

“What’s next?” she asks. “Maybe go into the bathroom and investigate the plumbing? Or, you know what, I didn’t finish unpacking your utensils. Would you rather go back to the kitchen and get your hands on my box?”

“What are you doing?”

It sounds like his chest is tight, like he’s forcing the words out. MJ smiles gently at the real-life superhero into whose apartment she has miraculously been deposited for today and perhaps only today.

“Helping.”

“Did you have to call it handling my rod?”

“Did you have to tell me you couldn’t get it up without me?” she challenges.

Peter’s mouth falls open and he makes a choked sound of protest, but she raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to argue.

“You asked me for a hand with your rod,” MJ presses. “That was you. You started it. And it wasn’t even then, it was hours ago. What is there in this apartment that you haven’t made some sort of phallic reference to?!”

“I… did I? I’ve been doing that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Spidey. Own it or don’t, but don’t pretend you haven’t heard some of the shit you’ve said today.”

“Are you offended?” he asks, avoiding her eyes, but not her body; he takes his time staring at that.

“I might be if you don’t do anything about it,” she huffs. “I’d hate to think that Spider-Man’s all words and no action.”

“I’m off-duty.” A sly smile.

“We can just talk,” MJ says casually, thinking that she’ll possibly die of heat exhaustion and unresolved sexual tension if they stand around chatting. “Why don’t you tell me how Spider-Man’s managed to crack so many headboards?”

He shoots her the same kind of look he gave her on the sidewalk.

“It wasn’t always Spider-Man.”

She smirks and gives him a look of her own.

“Then why don’t you show me?”

It’s the honesty in his expression that she appreciates as Peter surges towards her, grabbing her face between both hands and kissing her urgently. She grips his waist and scrunches his t-shirt in her hands. At the first little pause they take to snatch a breath, she peels the shirt up and he yanks it off the rest of the way.

“Nice,” she breathes, stroking his torso with her gaze before adding her hands.

He gives her a jerky nod of acknowledgement and goes for her shirt. Tugging it off screws up her ponytail again, but she doesn’t have time to care; Peter’s kissing her, wet and demanding, while he reaches around and fumbles to unhook her bra. When he nudges his hips against her, she feels him. He’s been making sideways insinuations about his dick all day (whether he admits it to her or not), and here’s the real deal at last. MJ presses her tongue slickly into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering at the urge to open her eyes and see what kind of face he’s making to accompany the groan he lets out as she deepens the kiss. As he draws the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms, she regretfully takes her hands off his chest, swiftly unbuttoning her overalls. Left side buttons, then right. Peter hampers her by grabbing her ass and rolling his hips forward as she’s trying to get her pants down. She doesn’t discourage him. It’s thrilling that he’s handsy.

The room’s a mess—not dirty, thankfully, and she assumes he must’ve come on another day to vacuum and clean, but with a short, uneven stack of boxes in one corner, the container of clothing, the box spring and mattress leaning together against the wall, and the headboard, poking out of the closet because he hasn’t put his bedframe together yet. MJ hates disorganization, especially when it fucks with the logistics of what has all the promising tempo and quick chemistry of a fantastic hookup.

“We could just…” He huffs, lifting his mouth off her neck where he’s started licking and sucking. “…tip the mattress onto the floor?”

She’s taken aback by the idea of fucking Spider-Man on a mattress in the middle of his mess of a bedroom. With the curtain as the only thing to show they made any progress in this room before giving in to their libidos. But she’s in her underwear, overalls ringing her ankles, and the man beneath the famous mask looks hot as hell when he’s been kissed hard and riled into an expectant erection. How else are they going to pass the time before their friends return? Fanning out magazines on his coffee table?

“Let’s do that,” she agrees.

They work as a team to control its fall. The room’s carpeted, so the mattress doesn’t make much of a sound beyond a soft thump when it hits the floor. MJ frowns at it thoughtfully. “You don’t have sheets.”

“Fuck sheets,” Peter says, half declaration, half laugh, and walks across the mattress to get to her.

She smiles against his mouth because it’s funny that he’s momentarily taller, standing on the mattress while her feet are still on the floor. Good thing he’s already taken his shoes off. MJ pulls away and drops to unlace her own sneakers, very, very aware of the rasp of Peter unzipping his jeans right above her head. She steps out of her shoes and overalls, then frees her hair of the elastic, flinging it spontaneously across the room, tousling her hair in her hands to fight the tingling of her scalp as she straightens up.

Oh. He’s already stripped his boxers off.

If her mouth actually does fall open as dramatically as it feels like it just has, it’s fine. MJ forgives herself. You’re supposed to be embarrassed after meeting a celebrity, wincing over every rambling sentence you blurted at them and every awkward twitch in your high-strung body language. Only you will ever recall your spastic behaviour. The celebrity forgot you the moment you exited their line of sight. Wait, will Peter mark her down as a horny fan and forget her? She hasn’t known him long enough to separate the man from the heroic icon, but she hopes neither side of his identity involves treating a partner like that. But no. Doesn’t matter. She can overanalyze later. Peter takes her hands and guides her onto the mattress where they make out standing up for a few minutes—him hot and rigid against her stomach, her not quite naked—before things get so heated that they collapse with roaming hands (Peter) and trembling knees (MJ).

For such a wholesome figure, Spider-Man curses wildly as he slides her underwear off, nose skimming down her skin from between her breasts to below her bellybutton while he works.

“You… you look…” he pants, propping himself up on his hands just to admire her. She has to confess, to herself alone, that it’s flattering, that it’s already making her want more of this: reckless afternoon sex in her friend’s fiancé’s best man’s new apartment. “God, I’m so glad you—”

“Called your bluff?” she suggests wryly.

“And everything before that. I’m so glad you were standing on the sidewalk when I got out of that truck.”

Well. That’s a little earnest. Then again, the man is hovering over her in the nude, so they’re in the heat-of-the-moment realm, during which time, comments of disconcerting earnestness do not count, or can be retracted later with no fault to either party.

To counteract it, MJ teases, “Are you saying you’re glad I came?”

“I’m glad you didn’t immediately leave when I said that thing about my wood,” he confides, kissing swiftly back up to her chest and using nothing but his tongue to toy with her breasts. She gasps at the sudden pull of his teeth, then laughs.

“So you were saying that shit on purpose.”

“Don’t be mad that I was too intimidated by your hotness to flirt with you to your face.”

His tone is playfully giddy and she likes this guy, she really does. She gets a good grip on his soft brown curls and tows him up for more kissing. Her knees bump his bare hips as she forms a cradle for him to drop into. Hint, hint.

Luckily, Spider-Man knows his cue.

He rocks between her legs and her chest rises and falls like breathing is a massive exertion. His angle is almost just right, so MJ shuffles and shifts and he’s endlessly patient as she rubs against him from below, testing. Well, not endlessly patient. The instant she moans in satisfaction, he’s got a hand wrapped desperately around her hip as he grinds down with tenacity. Right. This isn’t just any hookup, any guy. This is the guy who makes a career out of not backing down. Heat flows through her at the sudden thought of being handled with the intensity of one of Spider-Man’s mission.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says as she feels the head of him slip lower, skipping across her entrance. “Condom.”

Intense, and kind of a lustful dumbass.

“Right,” he agrees, flushed when he raises his face from where he’s been breathing in the scent of her hair. “I have one, uh, in my wallet.”

And then he doesn’t break away from her for a good ten seconds, like he’s hoping she’ll let him slide in bare. Horny motherfucker. MJ wants to screw Spider-Man, not birth his crime-fighting offspring. She tucks her chin and gives him a look that promises, as much as it would pain her, this thing is shutting down here and now if he doesn’t wrap it up. With a resigned exhalation (and a little smile implying he knows what he was trying to get away with), Peter pushes off of her and goes to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. She rolls onto her stomach to study the ropy musculature of his thighs. When he extracts the condom with a triumphant burst of sound, she flips onto her back again and watches him trip over the jeans he just dropped. There’s a charming contrast between this unexpected klutziness and her assumption that he could pull anybody with a pulse using those trusting brown eyes and his Avengers status.

He crouches beside MJ and doesn’t take his eyes off her, flapping the condom between his fingers.

“Should I put this on or do you wanna put it on me?”

She presents her palm.

“Give me that. You can’t even be trusted to install a curtain rod.”

“Oh, I’m extremely ready to install a rod,” he says eagerly, watching her tear the condom open and reach for his waiting cock.

“You know, you’re a real dork for a guy with those commitments and that ass.”

“Thank you?”

Before his uncertainty can swell to self-congratulations, MJ rolls the condom roughly down his dick, making him heave and shake, hips bucking into her perfunctory hold. Smirking, she closes her fist and pumps him quickly, eyes on the blank bliss on his face, his slack jaw. After a brisk minute of this, he begs her to slow down, then, still kneeling at her side, cups between her legs and starts fondling her at an even more vigorous pace than she was using on him. Her breaths come in hiccups and she can’t point out how unfair this is. Just as she’s arching for more, thinking she’s about to come faster than she ever has in her life, Peter stops cold.

“Are you ready to—”

MJ glares and knocks him back onto his ass, then scrambles onto his lap, continuing to push him down until his shoulders touch the mattress. His expression is cheerily confused.

“I was this close,” she says, pinching her fingers together until they nearly touch. When her complaint brings an impish smile to Peter’s face, she pinches those fingers around his nipple, so he hisses and curls into himself. Shaking her head at him, she takes hold of his erection and eases down onto his lap. His ecstatic chant of, “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” is moderately distracting, but MJ persists. It’s just who she is: stoic.

“God,” he groans beneath her as she begins swaying forward and back, “this is almost as good as catching the midnight opening of a new Star Wars.”

She covers his mouth with her hand and he laughs behind it.

“I was just trying to lean into your perception of me. I’m kidding.”

“Are you though?”

But she frees him for the noises he makes. Some of these grunts and whimpers scale her spine like a ladder, raising goosebumps as they go, until the whole sensation comes shivering back down and she finds herself riding him harder.

“Firm mattress,” she huffs.

“’S new. The last one was awful on my back and—ughhhhhhhohfuuuck—with the hazards of my line of work, I figured I gotta start taking care of myself.”

“If you won’t, I will,” MJ mumbles, curving forward to lick his chest, charting it all under her tongue, as she continues to shove back against him.

“Fuck,” he says, short and sharp. He seizes her hips and rolls her beneath him. “You should know, you taking control is a big turn on for me.”

“Clearly.”

She’s not sure how much sarcasm comes across in her gasp because his manhandling has knocked the wind out of her. Actually, she’s happy to let him steer things; being on top was starting to remind her legs of every step she’s walked up and down in this apartment building today, carrying Peter’s shit. He kneads some of the tightness away when he grasps her thigh and digs in with a roll of his fingers. Her moan is as much in relief as arousal. Then he starts thrusting so fast and deep that he has to pull her back towards him every so often so she isn’t forced off the mattress. The hum leaving her mouth is somewhere between breathing and moaning, one note that drags on and on, jumping and breaking when he catches her mouth in sloppy, ravenous kisses.

He’s still doing his damnedest to make out with her when her lips part with a genuine shriek. The tickle of Peter’s tongue against the roof of her mouth somehow adds to the sensation, like a high vibration over the low thrum of him drilling in and out of her. MJ comes seconds into the beginning of her scream; Peter comes with a crack. The sheer force of her orgasm—Spider-Man is clearly not without finesse, he simply does not choose to employ it in favour of fucking like he’s a sportscar running a red on a highspeed chase—has her too stunned to figure out why the sound accompanying his was wrong.

“What was that?” she asks hazily as Peter slumps over her body, breathing hard and still gently thrusting. He’s sweaty, but so is she. With something like pride, she realizes he’ll have to go to sleep tonight with his mattress soaked in her scent.

“Leg slipped,” he says.

MJ does vaguely recall that. In the midst of her climax, he’d moved. It wasn’t enough to distract her, so she’d focused on the feeling, as well as the resolution to not let him get her that close to the edge a second time without going over it.

“And hit what?”

“Uhhh…”

He doesn’t appear to know either, with his bleary, punch-drunk expression that’s unfortunately pretty adorable. No, no, no. A hand with moving, a hasty fuck, and she’s out. The whole day’s been extremely worth her while. She tells herself she doesn’t need more.

But Peter rolls off and she misses his weight and warmth, his shape and soft eyes. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress with his knees folded high when he goes, “Shit,” under his breath.

Because he also happens to be handling condom-removing at the time, MJ sits up fast, in a panic.

“Did it break?”

His posture inflates with a deep breath, then sags.

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s any way to salvage it.”

Salvage it? That’s a weird fucking thing to say in the situation, like it could possibly matter whether or not they were able to repair the condom after he’s already come inside her. Still, MJ’s skeptic nature makes her grab Peter’s shoulder and wrench it back, only to see the tied-off condom dangling between his fingers. It looks intact. She grips his chin and turns him to look at her.

“What do you mean it’s broken? It’s not in tatters. It’s not leaking.”

“What?” He squints at her, then follows her gaze to the condom. “Oh, not the condom. My headboard.”

Sure enough, she looks up and there’s his headboard, still protruding from the closet, but now in two pieces. The closest is on a slow, sad slide to the floor. He must’ve kicked it. MJ laughs breathlessly.

“Oh, thank god.” Abruptly, she’s pissed. “I thought you were talking about the condom! You don’t scare a woman like that!”

“You thought the condom broke?”

“You had it in your hands and said ‘shit’ in this horrible way and I thought…” She sighs.

“We could’ve made it work,” Peter argues, making her nostrils flare as she puts her underwear back on. “Our baby would be super cute.”

“Our baby?! We met hours ago.”

“I’ve developed stronger bonds in less time,” he says with a shrug, leisurely getting up and sliding his boxers up his legs. Nice ass. No. “You’d be surprised how soon after meeting me some of the villains in this city get themselves so worked up that they wanna kill me.”

She yanks her t-shirt over her head with silent ire. Then has to take it off again because she forgot to put her bra on first.

“Quit looking like that. Nothing happened to you.” Peter’s mouth turns down as he glances over to the wreckage of his headboard. “I have to replace that. Again.”

MJ’s seriously about to snap at this idiot for his insane priorities when he straights up stiffly as he’s stepping into the legs of his jeans.

“They’re back.”

“Who? Betty.”

“And Ned,” he says, now moving faster, doing the fly, throwing his own t-shirt on.

“Inside out,” she says. Not to be helpful, just so that Peter doesn’t give away exactly what they’ve been doing with their time since their friends left.

She goes to swat him when he comes towards her, but then his fingers are buttoning one side of her overalls while she does the other. MJ’s just clicked the straps back into place when the front door opens and closes. Sourness fading, she gives Peter a grateful nod for his help.

“Wait,” she hisses. “Where’s the condom?”

On the instruction of some bizarre reflex, he grabs it from the floor and whips it clear across the room, sending it sailing out the window. Her jaw drops in horror.

“I can’t believe you just—"

“Guys?” Betty calls. “The Mexican place up the street was closed, so we just hit the liquor store for now. How’s the bedroom coming?”

MJ and Peter race to the door; she pulls it closed so fast that it smacks him in the ass, but then he gives her this stupid look like he liked it. And here’s Betty.

“You’re sweaty,” she notes. “Been working hard? You guys get the curtain up?”

“Yep,” MJ says honestly. “No problem.”

Her friend beams in satisfaction, but her expression shifts to conspiratorial as she links her arm through MJ’s and starts to guide her towards the kitchen, likely wanting to know if Peter said anything else colourful during her absence. Except that moron decides to pipe up from right behind them.

“And when we finished with the curtain, we moved on to the bed.”

“You did what?” Ned demands from the kitchen, then comes hurtling around the corner.

“No,” Peter gasps. He flings himself back to the bedroom door and blocks it, holding both hands out to keep his best friend back.

“MJ?” Betty questions with a growing grin.

She glances between the three of them for a moment and realizes there’s no way Peter’s keeping this secret. Time to go on the defensive.

“You brought me here,” MJ argues. “I can’t be blamed for my weakness for organizing—”

“Oh,” Betty shoots back. “For organizing and not for—”

“—apartments. All I—”

“—Peter, who you were so clearly attracted to from the instant you saw him?”

“—wanted to do was—”

“Me?” Peter says, taking a hopeful stab in answer to MJ’s explanation.

She glares at him.

“You flirted shamelessly with me all day—”

“You didn’t even realize I was flirting.”

“—so how am I supposed to help it if— Oh,” MJ says, catching the end of that comment, “and is that supposed to negate the effect it had?”

“I loved the effect it had. I have nothing to say against it.”

“How did you two go from shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other to an old married couple within the last half-hour?” Ned asks, jubilant.

“You’d have to ask my new neighbours,” Peter says calmly. “I think the scream they overheard is probably enough of an explanation.”

“That scream was on you,” MJ protests.

“And the noise complaint I’ll probably get is on you!”

“Sounds like you two should exchange numbers,” Betty suggests brightly. “In case you need to follow up for that noise complaint.” They both look at her. Then, MJ withdraws her phone from the back pocket of her overalls and pushes it into Peter’s hand.

“Fine,” she says.

He agrees with a shrug, eyes on the screen as he taps out his information.

“Come on, you crazy kids,” Ned coos, “let’s grab a beer while they’re still hot from the walk back.”

Betty giggles at this and twines her fingers through her fiancé’s.

In the kitchen, she pulls MJ aside right as MJ’s contemplating squeezing past Peter a second time on the pretext of getting ice. (The first time, she pressed her ass to his groin and felt him rub against her in response.) She didn’t even need the ice; she dumped it straight into the sink.

“So, how was that?” Betty asks, searching MJ’s face keenly for approval and recognition of a job well done.

“Perfect,” MJ has to grant her. “He did something incredibly irritating right before you guys got back, so I’m sure he found my annoyance entirely organic.”

“Method number sixty-three for getting a guy’s number still works like a charm. Though you know you could’ve just asked me for it.”

“Yeah, but messing with him was more fun.”

Her friend smiles against the lip of her bottle.

“Do you feel bad?”

“Nah. He’s been messing with me all day.”

“Hey, MJ,” Peter calls to her from where he and Ned have started emptying another box marked ‘KITCHEN’. “You wanna help me screw something to the wall later?” Smiling broadly, he waves a magnetic wall-mounted knife holder.

“Like that,” MJ stresses to Betty, then tosses her bottle cap so it bounces off Peter Parker’s stupid, smug, handsome face.

[thatesqcrush]

Neighbors, Pt. 3

Rafael Barba x Reader. CW: angst, pining, language. Episode references: Nationwide Manhunt (SVU) & The Song of Gregory William Yates (CPD). WC: 1892

AN: A non-smut chapter? Who am I? Forgive me for typos. 

--

The next morning you woke up startled. You rubbed your eyes and tried to make sense of your surroundings: you had fallen asleep on your couch, the TV screen black (with the flashing reminder to turn off your TV if not watching). Your alarm was screeching from the bedroom and there was pounding on your door. You reached for the remote and turned off the TV before going to answer the door. You stood and paused, groaning as your head began to throb.

You undid the deadbolt but left the security chain on and cracked the door open. “Oh, Raf – it’s you.” You replied with a sigh of relief. “Hold on.” You closed the door and undid the chain and then re-opened the door. You both stood there in the doorway, staring at each other, nothing being said. Finally, Rafael opened his mouth, taking the first step.

Can I come in?” Rafael looked fashionably sensitive, in his dark tapered jeans and oxford shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. You cocked your head and wondered if the Harvard lawyer truly knew how handsome he was.

“Sure.” You replied, opening the door wider to let him in. “I have to turn off my alarm, give me a second.” You walked down the hall to your room. “Look about last night…” You called out as you turned it off.

Rafael gave you a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, detective.”

You gave him a look that was half-bemused and half annoyance. “I have a name. What did I tell you about that?”

Rafael crossed his arms and grumbled an expletive in Spanish, which made the corner of your lips twitch slightly, knowing that you could get under his skin a little. “Y/N.” He replied, his voice clipped.

You let out a small laugh. “I am just teasing.” Your smile faded quickly. “Seriously, though, I’m really sorry.”

Rafael eyed your unkempt appearance and gave you a small smile before shaking his head. “You were hurting and drunk.” He pulled you into a tight hug, squeeze and you took a deep inhalation of his cologne which comforted you. Reluctantly, you broke the hug.

“I think we should keep things professional from now on.” Rafael announced quietly. He shifted his footing and shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across your face.

You straightened and took a deep breath. “Duly noted.” After a beat, you continued. “And I think that’s best.”

Rafael nodded slowly, taken a bit by your quick agreeance. “So…” Tension quickly filled the room and the pounding in your head intensified.

“Want to get some breakfast before work?” Rafael suggested. “Just as colleagues.” He added for good measure.

“If you don’t mind waiting…” You waved your arm over your haphazard appearance.

“Not at all.”

You started walking backwards towards your bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Under the hot steam of your shower, you wondered when everything got so fucked up and longed for the days when things were so simple. When you emerged back into the living room, you paused as you slipped on your watch. Rafael was sitting on the couch, watching CNN. There was something so domestic about it. Your heart skipped a beat.  

‘No. Focus.’ You thought to yourself. You plastered a smile on your face and put the kibosh on any feelings that were forming. “Ready?”

Rafael turned off your TV and stood, turning to face you. “Absolutely.”

As you walked by, Rafael grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey – are we okay?” He pointed his finger at you, then at himself. You winked.

“Of course. Now, lets get some food. I’m starved.” The waft of your lavender shampoo made its way to Rafael’s olfactory sensors and he felt his stomach twist painfully as he followed you out the door.

--

You both settled at a diner near One Hogan Place. You ordered an egg scramble and whole wheat toast and Rafael ordered an everything bagel with lox. Copious amounts of coffee were had. You were grateful for easy, though at times stilted, conversation. As Rafael settled the bill – which he insisted on doing – a breaking news alert on the overhead TV caught your eye.

You flagged down a waitress. “Excuse me, can you raise that?” The waitress nodded and raised the volume. The reporter’s words shook you to your core. Rafael watched as the color drained from your face.

Breaking news: two inmates from Green Haven Correctional have escaped. Both Yates and Rudnick were serving life sentences for multiple counts of rape and murder. They should be considered extremely dangerous. Officials are cautioning that anyone who sees them or has information on either of the two men should not attempt to interact with them. We will keep you updated as this story continues.

--

You stormed into the bullpen with Rafael following at your heels. “Liv! What the hell are we going to do?”

Olivia cocked her brow at your outburst. “Y/N, I take it that you heard the news.” She took off her glasses and sat on the corner of Amanda’s desk.

“We’re going to run this by the book. We’re headed up to Green Haven. Hank and I spoke, the 21st is going to meet us there. Y/N, you’re staying here.”

“Like hell I am!” You snarled.

“Y/N, it’s best if you stay here. We are keeping you safe.” Liv replied softly. “Yate’s baiting you.”

“After using me to talk to him, you decide now to bench me? If he wanted me, he would have had me already.” You replied angrily. You slammed your hand on your desk. Rafael put a hand on your shoulder and you shoved his hand off.

“If I'm bait, let me be bait. I can draw him in. Let me do my job.”

“You are too personally invested. You need to stand down.” Olivia replied sternly.

“No. I need to come up. Just… I can help from behind the scenes. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Famous last words.” You whipped around and stared at Amanda who gave you a knowing look. “Look Y/N, I know how Yates works too. I can put myself out there – use me.” Amanda replied.

“All due respect, but no.” You retorted. At that moment, your phone buzzed. You pulled out your phone and looked at the text. “It’s Erin; I have to take this.” Rafael didn’t miss how your face crumbled as you walked out to take the call.

--

State troopers, FBI, ATF, SVU and CPD all converged at a local church in Stormville, just 90 minutes outside of Manhattan to begin the search for Yates and Rudnick.

“NYPD's Special Victims Unit and Chicago Intelligence are here to give specifics about the fugitives.” Warden Lucille Fenton announced.

“These guys are intelligent. They're motivated. They're charming, and they are without conscience.” Olivia began. She listed their heinous acts on her fingers. “Their crimes include rape, kidnapping, torture, and murder.”

“Now, Yates is definitely capable of hot-wiring cars. He's adept at identity theft, and he is highly manipulative. Especially when preying on young women.” You continued.

“Rudnick can blend in easily. We know that he assumes disguises, usually of an older female.” Sonny finished.

“We've already begun house-to-house searches and roadblocks. Air support with heat sensors and infrared will be in the air within the half hour.” Major Bowman with the State Troopers announced.

“Search every inch of this county. My staff has pulled security cameras, visitors' logs, and personnel files.” Lucille turned to Olivia.

“Okay, my team can help with the interviews.” Olivia agreed, before going over to you.

Rafael watched as you and Olivia spoke from the other side of the room. “Hey, how bad are these guys?” Lucille asked Rafael quietly.

Rafael swallowed hard. “Think Robert Durst and Ted Bundy on the run together.”

After an exhaustive search that came up empty, Olivia advised that a local hotel was putting up everyone for the time being. “Those who can keep going, we appreciate it. Those who need to rest… rest and come back.”

“Y/N, why don’t you get some sleep.” Rafael suggested, taking in your worn appearance. “It’s been a long and hard day.”

“I’ll rest when we have Yates and Rudnick.” You replied, pouring another coffee. As you reached for the sugar, you knocked over your coffee, spilling it all over on a table that had been set up at the church. You swore and scrambled for napkins to clean up. As Rafael helped you, your ex-fiancé, Adam approached.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Adam questioned. “Need help?”

“I got it!” You snapped. You took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just on edge.”

Adam walked around and reached for your arm, stopping you. You looked at Adam and Rafael watched as Adam pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around you. Rafael could see the appeal of Adam with his rugged looks. You melded into Adam’s embrace. You opened your eyes and met Rafael’s. You tried to read his face, but he appeared stoic and impassive.

“I think I am going to head to the hotel a bit and get some rest.” You replied breaking the hug. You grabbed the soiled napkins and shoving them into the now empty coffee cup. Your hands were sticky and smelled like coffee, to which you crinkled your nose in disgust.

“I am too.” Rafael replied, shaking himself back to present. “Want to ride together?”

“I’ll drive.” Adam offered. “Come on.” Rafael followed behind slowly as Adam and you walked ahead, Adam’s arm wrapped around you.

Rafael felt something in his guts churn that felt an awful like jealousy. Rafael let out a huff and you turned your attention to Rafael. Rafael didn’t say anything and you felt more puzzled than before.

--

The next morning, Rafael knocked on your hotel door, hoping to check in on you. You opened the door, clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs. Rafael swallowed hard.

“Hey – “ Rafael began. His voice trailed as he looked past your shoulder, watching Adam walk in the background.

“What’s up? I told Liv I’d be down in 20. Has there been an update?”

“Um, yeah – overnight Carisi and Rollins apprehended Rudnick. He was discovered hiding in a docked boat by Caroga Lake. Rudnick suffered multiple injuries.” Rafael replied. Adam joined from behind, tugging on his shirt. Rafael ignored him, focusing on you.

“I'm not shedding any tears.” You replied, as you crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame.

“Yates hobbled him - broke both his knees, his ankles, pierced his eardrum. Just left him to die.” Rafael continued.

“Should have let him. Is he talking yet?”

“Only to Carisi, and he's in and out of consciousness. He did indicate the plan was to cross the border at the Saint Lawrence River.”

You turned, pushing past Adam and grabbed your jeans, which were laying on a heap on the floor. “Come on – lets go.”

“What are you going to do?” Rafael asked.

You holstered your gun into your waistband. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

“Olivia…”

“Olivia nothing. Now, Rafael – just get out of my way.”

Rafael looked at Adam. “You’re going to let her just go after a serial killer?” Adam scoffed. “No. I’ll go with her. We’ll see you at the church.”

TBC.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @ @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @tropes-and-tales @prurientpuddlejumper @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​ @rachelxwayne​

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 3

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo, Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech

Summary: Crosshair doesn't exactly like medical personnel. In fact, he hates them. They're always poking and prodding, calling him skinny, telling him he's not good enough. But then he meets the new medical examiner, the smart and kind and oh-so-pretty Joan Vo. And suddenly, he's not only looking forward to his medical check-ups, but he's also starting to question whether he wants to go to war after all....

Rating & Warnings: T/PG-13. Eventual fluff. Light angst. Who knows what else will pop up, but I’ll leave warnings when needed.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic.

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 3: Bitter Pill

As expected, the conversation among his brothers the rest of the day was exclusively about the new girl.

"Dr. Vo was already a combat medic when the war started," said Tech over their lunch in the mess hall. "The battalion on her home planet took her in, so she knows how to take care of us clones."

"Did you see the scar on her hand?" asked Wrecker during their afternoon fight simulation training. "She got it from punching a droid... a droid! And then she stitched it up herself. That's my kinda woman."

"Joan's got a lot of ideas for whipping us into shape," said Hunter while they showered off in the refresher that evening. "Exercise regimens, diet plans, even some good team building tasks. She knows more than the Kaminoans."

Crosshair had nothing to contribute.

The four of them sat in the common room of their small apartment as the night started to settle in. They had been moved into these private quarters, in a different section of the facility, just last week. Though it was cramped and cold, they were already getting used to the separation from the regs.

"What about you, Cross?" Hunter asked from the seat beside him and the others turned to him expectantly.

The truth was that Crosshair had spent the day incredibly angry with himself. He had not gained any level of insight into Dr. Joan Vo like his brothers had. He hadn't noticed her scars or asked about her life or heard any of her plans for their medical regimen. He had stayed sullen and silent in that damn room. And now, the one time he wanted to engage in conversation over a girl, he had absolutely nothing.

He shrugged, tying to come up with something. But what could he possibly say? The only thing she'd offered up was that she knew someone from the Umbara mission. But that wasn't significant; everyone talked about Umbara. And he wasn't telling anyone about his homework assignment. He'd ran all the way over here to stash the pad of paper under his mattress, making him late for training, just so he wouldn't have to explain it to anyone.

Hunter immediately sensed his discomfort and let out a chuckle, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "She probably spent the whole time reading your long-ass medical chart, huh?"

Tech and Wrecker nodded along, believing that must have been the case. Crosshair didn't correct them.

"I do hope she addresses your insomnia," said Tech, picking up a datapad he had been doing some casual research with earlier. "And your resulting caf addiction. Not. Healthy."

He gave Crosshair a pointed glare before returning to the screen.

"Ah, don't worry about ol' Cross," said Hunter, still in an easygoing mood. "Joan's a professional. She'll get him sorted out."

Crosshair pouted but no one paid him attention. He did not want to be "sorted." Or treated, or fixed, or anything of the sort. This professional could take her war stories and good ideas and shove them, for all he cared. In fact the longer he was spending away from the doctor, the less he could remember why he'd liked her in the first place.

"She's so pretty...." Wrecker sighed for the tenth time that day.

Oh yeah, that's why, thought Crosshair as he secretly sighed along with his brothers.

"Did you notice she doesn't use any of the medical droids?" Tech asked, getting distracted from his research yet again.

"Oh yeah," Wrecker said, "she hates 'em."

"I don't know about hate, but she told me they're better for the menial tasks like blood analysis. Only a human can truly understand another human, she said."

"I'm glad she sees us as humans," Hunter said, a little quieter. "Treats us like humans. Not experiments."

"Does she think we have a chance to deploy?" Tech sat forward. It was a commonly known fact the Kaminoans still had their doubts about the viability of Clone Force 99, and even the clone commanders helping with their training were hesitant to have an opinion one way or the other.

"She does." Hunter straightened, his duty as their leader kicking in. "But we still have a lot of work ahead of us, a lot to prove. She has advice, but we're the ones that have to do something with it. It'll be a hard couple of months. But we're coming out of this as the best damn clone unit in the galaxy."

Tech grinned and Wrecker gave an enthusiastic hoorah! Crosshair couldn't help but smirk, too, though he believed they already were the best damn clones in the galaxy.

* * *

They'd all gone to bed hours ago, but Crosshair was the only one still awake. The lights were out but he could clearly see every pen stroke on the paper. He was sitting up in his bunk, or as much as he could in the cramped space between the mattress and the ceiling, and was reading through the notes Joan had made during his visit, while his brothers snored around him.

Sharpshooter

Quiet

Confident

Wide peripheral vision

Long-distance vision: incredible

Dexterity: limber, flexible

Detached from emotions

Crosshair blinked at the last note. He'd been feeling pretty good about himself up until then. Detached from emotions? Was it because he'd said he was better than the regs who'd shot at each other on Umbara? He knew it, she had judged him for that comment, just as everyone else did. But it was the truth and he stood by it. How dare she try to twist it into some kind of character defect. And besides, what did emotions have to do with his health anyway?

He found himself growing angry again, his cheeks flushing and heart beating heavily. Without thinking, he scribbled over her note and wrote his own next to it:

I have emotions.

He cursed at himself. That was a stupid thing to write. He tried scribbling over that, too, but it was still obvious what he'd written. He scribbled harder, until the paper ripped and he threw the pen across the room in frustration.

He took a few moments to compose himself and quietly got down from the bunk. This was so stupid. She thought she had him all figured out, didn't she? She hadn't even read his chart, she had no clue just how different he was and how hard his life had been. How badly he wanted, no, needed to get off this planet and fight already.

He picked up the pen from where it'd landed in the corner, just as Wrecker let out a large snore. He was sprawled across a double bed against the opposite wall, while Tech was on the bunk beneath his. Hunter had his own room across the hall, specially-designed with sensory deprivation measures. It was the only way he could sleep most nights, especially with Wrecker snoring like a Bantha.

They were an odd group to be sure, and they'd already been through so much together. Crosshair wouldn't trade any of them for the world.

He hurried back into his bed, taking up the paper and quickly jotting a few things underneath the angry scribbles. That would show her. Satisfied, he re-hid the paper beneath his mattress and finally let himself drift off to sleep.

Determined.

Passionate.

Committed.

Loyal.