#But he initially starts with 'Lets get five or ten extra. In case some break or get lost'

[sophieswundergarten]

Y'know what? It's been a long day. I'm in charge of what I say here. Here's this:

Joe Shooter OCD Headcanons

Ties the tighteest knots ever. Not necessarily because they're good (Although he is very skilled), but because he yanks them so very hard they're nearly impossible to undo. Doesn't matter what: Ropes, shoelaces, ribbons (He hates wrapping gifts because he knows he's gonna mutilate the bow but he can't help it)

PRISTINE uniform at all times. An officer looking less than perfect instills doubt in passengers, which leads to panic, which leads to people getting hurt

Holds his breath whenever he has to walk past the rooms any bullfrogs or particularly difficult passengers, as if it'll keep them from suddenly opening the door and yelling at him

Has a book of specifically sea/water related mythology and folklore. He doesn't believe in any of it per se, but he rereads it a lot so he's sure that if anything were ever to happen, he'd know what to do

Knows that scurvy is a lot less likely and a fairly well understood and easily preventable illness nowadays, but still keeps a container of dehydrated oranges (Which he kind of hates the taste of) on a shelf and eats one or two (Or a handful) whenever he starts to feel "off"

Actually finds comfort in the swaying sensation that follows a person onto land after being at sea for a while, and it causes him a lot of anxiety the longer it's been since that feeling has worn off (Sometimes he tries to counter this by swaying gently or rocking)

Will volunteer to help with inventory so he can ensure there are "enough" lifejackets and lifeboats. But it keeps upping and upping and pretty soon Cpt. Noland sits him down and is like "Buddy. Can you explain to me why, on a ship with a maximum of two hundred passengers and fifty crew, we need to have six hundred and forty lifejackets?"

Will drop literally everything as soon as Noland so much as breathes in his direction. He knows logically that the captain being well definitely does not equal the crew and actual ship being okay, but he really needs Noland to be okay or he can't focus to do his own job properly

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [four] // wanda maximoff

summary: Things finally explode between you and Nate, and Pietro decides to get to the bottom of whatever is going on between you and Wanda, though in usual Pietro fashion AKA not subtly at all

warning/s: none.

author's note: this is very beefy, i must admit, but i think you'll all enjoy the outcome 😂💘

part one | part two | part three | part five | masterlist | wattpad

Dinner with the Maximoffs wasn't as strange as I envisioned. Her parents were sweet and the twins did their best to make me feel comfortable. Wanda still seemed mildly frustrated whenever Pietro and I would talk though, and I figured she may have thought I was lying when I told her I didn't like him like that. I hoped that wasn't the case.

After dinner, Wanda took me upstairs to show me her bedroom. I'm not sure how to describe it other than it seemed so Wanda.

"I'm guessing red is your favourite colour," I said when I saw the hints of scarlet in her bedroom. On her walls, in her bedding, on her pillows. Just like her car and her jacket, they were all bright and very her.

"Great observation, Sherlock," she teased with a sly smile.

I returned the smile, sticking my tongue out at her playfully, before having a walk around and coming across her massive CD collection and CD player. Her music taste was actually quite similar to mine, which I definitely didn't expect. It just made her ten times more attractive to me which wasn't good, but oh well. I was here for a good time, not a long time. And my crush on Wanda Maximoff would surely be the death of me.

"D'you have any CDs at all?" she asked, joining my side when she noticed me staring at the shelf.

I crossed my arms, glancing at her. "Don't get me wrong. I'd love to collect them, but it's just so much easier to have Spotify, y'know?"

My intention wasn't to make her laugh, but God I was glad I did when her eyes crinkled and the sound rang around the room, making my heart pinch with adoration.

After giving me some of her pyjamas, the two of us got ready and brushed our teeth before I realised she wanted me to share bed with her.

"You wanna watch some TV before bed?" she asked, clearly not registering my hesitance to slide into her Queen-sized bed.

I swallowed hard. "S-sure."

She turned on the TV at the end of her bed as I slipped in beside her, still a bit rigid as I kept a fair distance from her.

"What you feeling? Comedy? Drama? Horror?"

"Anything is fine with me," I said, still tense.

She hummed in acknowledgement before leaning down on her pile of pillows behind her, edging closer to me. My heart was hammering in my chest as her hair tickled my arm from where she was laying.

"You comfortable?" she checked in, leaning backwards so her head was upside down to see me. "I have more pillows if you need them."

I offered her a small smile, hoping it disguised my nerves. "I'm good."

She nodded before flicking through the channels and eventually settling on reruns of The Office. It took time, but I eventually overcame my initial shock of sharing bed with the girl I had a major crush on and instead relaxed, getting comfortable under the covers.

After watching some TV, we called it a night and fell asleep quite quickly, the day taking its toll on us. For once, I wasn't panicking about doing something stupid. I simply fell asleep, trying to ignore the heat she emanated from beside me.

It was a peaceful night – her bed was super comfortable – and I woke up to the sound of Wanda moving about in her bedroom.

"Shoot, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she asked when she saw me moving about under the blankets. I tried to blink away the sleep as she continued, "I was gonna wake you soon. School starts in an hour."

I rubbed my eyes, yawning, before sitting up and seeing she was practically already dressed. That meant she would have been up for a while, meaning she would have seen me fast asleep. God, I hated when people saw me sleeping. It always felt so weird.

"It's okay," I got out tiredly, before running a hand through my hair.

"You sleep well?" she asked, spinning around in her chair, her makeup half done. "I tried my very best not to use you as a teddy bear."

She was joking, but I felt my neck grow warm at the thought and damn, it was just way too early to be flustered.

"Yeah, I slept great," I settled, feeling her gaze on me. "Thanks again for having me over."

"Anytime," she said, and something told me it wasn't just a friendly response but that she actually meant it. Maybe it was the kind smile on her lips as she said so. "Just like last night, if you wanna use anything in the bathroom, go for it."

I gave her a thumbs up, taking a moment to wake myself up a little more, before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I returned to Wanda's room, I saw she'd already made the bed and had laid my clothes on top of it.

"I've got a shirt you can borrow," she said when I grabbed my jeans.

"Oh, I can just wear the same thing again, it's no biggie," I told her, already grabbing my shirt.

She pouted before grabbing a shirt from her closet. "Just hold on. You'll love it."

In no time, she came out from her closet and held out a Paramore tee shirt on a hanger towards me.

"I got it from the last concert I went to," she explained. "I thought you'd like it."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought. "Wow, Wanda. Really? You don't mind?"

She nodded, shaking the shirt as emphasis for me to take it. I did, having a look over it and smiling to myself.

"I'll wash it and give it back to you tomorrow," I promised, taking it off the hanger and holding it with my jeans. "Thanks."

"You can keep it," she said, scratching the back of her head apprehensively. "I've got loads."

"Oh, no, I can't do that," I began to deny, but she shook her head.

"It's fine, I'm giving it to you," she said, before smiling sweetly. "I'm sure you'll look better in it anyway."

Again with the warmth spreading up my neck...

"I doubt that," I quipped with a small smile.

"Go! Go get changed," she said, already pushing me towards the door. "I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast."

I snickered, letting her shove me into the hallway, before heading into the bathroom to get ready. The shirt was oversized, so there was no need to be worried it wouldn't fit. It was actually really nice, plus I liked it that extra bit more knowing Wanda gave it to me. Though I knew I wouldn't keep it. It was hers and she was just being nice.

When I finished making myself look presentable, I headed downstairs and found the twins at the kitchen counter, chatting between themselves. Their chatter ceased when I walked in, with Wanda biting her lip and looking me up and down with satisfaction.

"I was right," was all she said, making me nervous. "You do look better in it than me."

—

The day after that, I did as I said I would and returned Wanda's shirt to her, washed, folded and ironed. Knowing she wouldn't accept it without a fight, I left it in her bag when she wasn't looking during class.

I should have expected her to approach me at my locker afterwards.

"It was supposed to be a gift," she said, and I saw her pretty face reflected in the mirror hung inside my locker.

I turned around, already knowing what she was talking about.

"I told you I couldn't accept," I said politely, giving her a small smile. "I appreciate it though." She seemed disappointed which obviously didn't help with my feelings for her, so I took a leap and added, "Maybe I can get my own at their next concert. In the summer, right?"

She picked up on what I meant and smiled, stifling a laugh. Running a hand through her hair, she met my gaze and I found myself frozen in place as always, unable to look away. I wondered if she knew what she was doing when she did that, knew that she was giving me heart palpitations every time her lips turned into a playful smirk and dark eyes studied me curiously.

My eyes drifted to her lips subconsciously and she must have put on some lip balm or something, prior to finding me just now, as they looked shiny and pink and just so damn kissable. Nate was one lucky guy.

—

Having faced issues with Nate three times now (AKA the three times he happened to launch a football at my head), I'd figured I wouldn't be seeing the last of him. He was a dick, meaning he had a natural inclination to piss people off, particularly me. But I never thought he'd go for Y/BF/N.

We were chilling by our lockers, chatting about his film project, when his books suddenly got knocked out of his hands and he was shoved against the lockers. I straightened up when I saw it was Nate, looking pissed off as he had Y/BF/N's shirt bundled in his fist.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I shouted, trying to shove him off, but he merely pushed me back.

"This isn't your business," he said to me before glaring at Y/BF/N, who was quiet with panic. "You. You've been hanging around my girlfriend and I don't like it."

The colour drained from Y/BF/N's face as Nate slammed his hand to the lockers beside his head, startling him.

"I want you to stay the fuck away from Wanda!" he ordered, and students were starting to pick up on the fight that was clearly about to break out. "You fucking hear me, you nerd? Stay the fuck away!"

Poor Y/BF/N nodded his head, eyes avoiding Nate's. Meanwhile, I was angrier than Nate probably was. Y/BF/N had done nothing wrong. Maybe Nate had just seen Wanda hanging with me and because Y/BF/N was always with me, assumed the worst. Either way, this was no way to handle the situation and I was not gonna let this dick threaten my friend.

"Get the fuck away from him, Nate," I said through gritted teeth, glaring a hole into the side of his head.

Nate barely glanced my way. "I told you this isn't your business, honey."

"Five seconds," I said, standing behind him as a crowd began to form. "You've got five seconds or I'm gonna kick you."

He seemed to ignore me as he tightened his grip on Y/BF/N's shirt, only pissing me off more.

"Five," I began to count down, the grip on my books tightening with nerves and anger. "Four."

He still didn't look my way, just kept slapping Y/BF/N's face to scare him.

"Three, two, one," I said quickly, tired of giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Without waiting anymore, I kicked him between the legs with full force, watching as he instantly let go of Y/BF/N and doubled over. Everybody began to laugh, some making 'ooh' noises, but the consensus was clear – it definitely sucked to be Nate right now.

I tried not to laugh as I watched his face scrunch with pain, turning red. I was starting to appreciate my choice of wearing my doc marten boots today.

"No more balls for the guy who keeps throwing them at my fucking head," I got out, jaw clenching.

He looked up, his face crossing with realisation as he recognised me. In response, he glared in my direction, but it didn't faze me.

"Come on, Y/BF/N," I said, looking to my startled friend. "Let's go."

"What on Earth is going on over here?!" a teacher's voice rang out in the distance, and I groaned internally.

When I turned to leave, I heard Nate from behind me, grunting with dissatisfaction.

"Fuckin' dyke," he mumbled under his breath, and I paused, clenching my fists.

"Y/N, don't–" Y/BF/N tried to stop me, but I was too pissed to care.

I spun around and punched Nate square in the face, feeling good as his smirking face scrunched in pain and his back hit the lockers from the impact.

"Woah!" a teacher came out of nowhere, shoving herself between us and pushing me away from him. "What the hell is going on here?!"

I shook my hand to ease the pain on my knuckles, though the pain couldn't stop the grin on my lips as Nate raised his hands to his face, holding his busted nose. Students were going crazy, egged on by the potential fight, and for once, I didn't mind the attention. Nate had that coming for a while now.

"Everybody back to class! Now!" the teacher yelled, glaring all around her, before her eyes settled on Nate and I. "You two. Nurse's office now."

Nate glared at me behind his bloody nose and, once again, I tried not to laugh. Y/BF/N patted my back, amazement written on his face, before letting me leave with the teacher and an unusually silent Nate.

—

Kicking Nate in the groin and punching him in the face wasn't something I did to get attention, yet that's exactly what happened. Word of the incident spread around the school quite quickly, so much in fact that even students from other grades became aware of the situation and were approaching me to tell me how awesome I was. The whole thing was definitely strange, but I could tolerate it.

What I couldn't tolerate was having Chemistry after lunch and wondering if Wanda knew.

Would she hate me for punching her boyfriend? I wasn't sure. I just knew that when she walked into class and sat next to me, I felt everyone's eyes subtly watching us as if waiting for her to explode at me.

I'd been given an ice pack for my bruised hand after my visit to the nurse's office earlier whilst Nate had been treated for his broken nose (the fact that I'd broken it was hilarious to me, since I knew I wasn't even that strong). The principal had a very angry yell at us both in his office, neither of us willing to reveal the premise of our fight, before giving us detention every day after school for two weeks straight as punishment. Of course, Nate got his two weeks at a different time to mine for fear I'd punch him again (he definitely didn't like that, but he couldn't exactly say that to to principal).

I didn't bother using the ice pack in Chemistry for fear Wanda may ask what was up. I successfully managed to hide my hand and as a second surprise of the day, Wanda mentioned nothing about the incident. Not one thing about her boyfriend, about Y/BF/N, about any of it. I thought she might hint at it, trying to get me to bring it up. But she didn't which made me think she actually had no idea it even happened. Had anyone told her? Had he told her? Nah, probably not. His fragile masculinity probably caused him to change the story to something else so he didn't look like a wimp in front of his girlfriend.

Whatever it was, I was safe for now.

Thinking I'd got away with a confrontation from Wanda, I went about the rest of my day as usual. Well, that was until I was replacing some books in my locker at the end of the day and saw Wanda at her locker behind me, arguing with– yep, you guessed it. Nate.

Y/BF/N was collecting some books from his own locker beside me and we both exchanged looks as we saw the two lovebirds in a heated argument. Just when we were about to leave, someone cleared their throat from behind us, making us turn around.

Wanda was stood there, backpack hanging from her shoulder, beside Nate, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here.

"Hi," he started quietly, making Wanda clear her throat. He glanced at her before looking to Y/BF/N. "Look, man, I'm really sorry about earlier. I was wrong about what I said. We cool?"

I tried not to laugh at the way Nate was being forced to apologise by his girlfriend. Y/BF/N glanced to me with questioning eyes, so I simply shrugged.

"I guess...," he finally answered Nate, still a little awkward.

Nate nodded before looking to me. He still had his reservations, judging from the twitch in his expression, but for Wanda's sake, he kept his cool.

"I'm sorry for treating you badly," he said reluctantly. "With the football and just generally."

God, it was so hard not to laugh in his face right now. His nose had gauze taped to it and it made him look like an idiot. I fake coughed to disguise my smile, before meeting his gaze.

"It's, er, cool," I said, not in the mood to be an arsehole to him, even though he deserved it. I'd punched him – I think we were equal for now.

He nodded, before staying quiet. Glancing to Wanda, he waited for her to say something. She rolled her eyes and nodded for him to leave. When he was gone, she sighed tiredly.

"I only heard about what happened after Chem class," she said, mainly to me, a guilty expression on her lips. "I'm so sorry he acted like a jerk."

I chewed my lip, unsure what to say.

"It's okay, Y/N here took care of it," Y/BF/N said, smiling with amusement at me. Okay, well now she definitely knew.

"Yeah, sorry you felt you had to do that," she said with a grimace. "I guess he deserved it though."

"Kind of," I agreed, before noticing the regretful frown on her lips. "He apologised though. It's already happened. I kinda broke his nose... No point in dwelling on it."

She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah..." Her eyes fell to my bruised hand before lifting it gently. I winced at the ache, but let her hold it, studying the purple bruise painted across my knuckles. "That looks bad."

It felt good punching him though, but I wasn't about to say that since it was her boyfriend I was talking about.

"It's alright," I said dismissively, shrugging. "Nate kind of got it worse. I'll live."

The pad of her thumb stroked the bruise gently and I held my breath, the feeling of her hands holding mine sending shivers up my arm. Her eyes flickered to mine, softened with guilt, before she let go of my hand.

"I should head home," she said after a pause. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Y/BF/N said for both of us, sensing my loss of words.

Wanda held my gaze once more, eyes half lidded as they glanced down. Before I could even question what she was looking at, she waved goodbye and left.

"She's either starting to realise what a dick her boyfriend is or she's just really into you," Y/BF/N said, patting me on the back. "Maybe both, who knows?"

—

"You definitely cheated," I told Y/BF/N once we finished yet another round of air hockey. "Nobody wins six times in a row like that!"

He laughed at my expression. "Tell me, dear Y/N. How would I cheat? The concept of the game is simple, really. It's not my fault you're terrible."

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Seventh time's the charm. C'mon."

He chuckled, about to put more money in the machine, before his eyes got distracted by something behind me. "Well, would you look at that. The Maximoff twins are here."

"Very funny," I said with a knowing look. "You can't throw me off like that. We've established I'm already terrible. Now c'mon. Let's go!"

"I wish I was joking," he said, shaking his head.

I scoffed, not believing him, and turned around to prove him wrong, but I was surprised when I saw Wanda and Pietro walking into the arcade we were in. They seemed to spot us instantly, waving in our direction before approaching us.

"Fancy seeing you here," Pietro teased with a smile as they stopped before us.

I cracked a smile as Y/BF/N joined my side. "We're hanging out. And you?"

Wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulder, he tugged Wanda close to him. "Sibling bonding time."

Wanda rolled her eyes at his childishness, but I could tell she found it endearing all the same.

"Well, if you want, you can hang with us," Y/BF/N offered, and we all looked to him, myself raising a brow his way. He seemed to sense my reluctance, it egging him on as he grinned at them. "Y/N doesn't mind. Do you, Y/N?"

I swallowed hard as I looked between the twins. "'Course not."

And that's how I found myself playing arcade games with the Maximoff twins that Saturday afternoon. It was actually pretty fun, with Pietro being as competitive as I was and Wanda being the sweetest loser with everything she played. It was so adorable, but I ended up letting her win some games of skee-ball just so I could see that cute nose scrunch of hers as she realised she'd won.

"You gonna let me win like that, too?" Pietro caught on as he took his sister's place in playing against me. He had a mischievous grin on his lips and I felt my mouth go dry at what he was implying.

"You wish," I said, playing it cool, though I wondered if he cared that I clearly let Wanda win. He wouldn't read into it, right?

Pietro took his go as he spoke. "So, I heard what happened with you and Nate at school last week."

I closed my eyes, cringing at the reminder. Pietro merely laughed.

"You kicked him super hard, right?" he asked excitedly. "I heard his face went so red with anger that you could fry an egg on it! And don't forget that punch, goddamn what I would pay to have seen that!"

"Pietro!" Wanda scolded from behind us as her and Y/BF/N played air hockey. "Don't be a tool!"

I felt my face heat up with embarrassment as Pietro continued to laugh. Y/BF/N joined in whilst Wanda tried to hide the smile dancing on her lips.

"You're not even together anymore," Pietro called to Wanda between laughter. Wait, did I hear that right?

"You and Nate broke up?" Y/BF/N asked with disbelief. "Our grade's 'it' couple broke up?"

Wanda ran a hand through her hair to distract from her flittering eyes. "He treated you horribly last week. Both of you." She glanced my way before looking at her shoes. "He was a jerk. It was long overdue... Also, I would have broken up with him there and then had I known what he'd said to you. I'm sorry he said what he did."

She stared at me with apologetic eyes and I wasn't sure what to say or do other than nod awkwardly and look away. The fact that she'd broken up with him put a smile on my face though.

"I just think it's awesome," Pietro admitted, before saluting playfully to me. "Thank you for your service. I knew you were awesome, but this is a whole new level."

I sighed, attempting to hide my smile, before straightening up to play. Pietro and I played some skee-ball before I decided to have a go at the claw machine. Wanda was at the one beside me, attempting to win herself a fluffy black cat plush toy. She'd had three goes before giving up, admitting to defeat.

"Typical Wanda," Pietro teased. "Giving up when the going gets tough."

She punched him in the arm, making him jump and rub it. That elicited a smile from her, making me laugh at their immaturity.

"How about Wanda and I go and get a table in the diner next door whilst you finish up winning whatever it is you're trying to win?" Y/BF/N asked, looking to me, as if assigning blame.

"I already told you, I'm not leaving this machine until I win at least one thing," I stated stubbornly.

"The amount of money you've put into the machine won't make up for whatever you win," Y/BF/N teased with amusement.

"Just go," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I'll be there soon."

"I'll wait with her," Pietro said, resting a hand on my shoulder, making me shrug him off jokingly. "See you soon," he added with a laugh, to his sister and Y/BF/N.

When they left, I looked to Pietro with an amused smile. "I don't need you to look after me, y'know."

He shrugged and looked through the glass of the claw machine. "I know. But I stayed to give you some advice, princess."

"Oh, really? And what advice is that?" I asked, before putting some coins in the machine to have another go.

"People usually tend to win these things for people they like, right?" he asked, nodding to the plush toys in the machine.

"Or for themselves," I corrected with a curious smile. "Take Wanda for example. How badly did she want that cat?"

He crossed his arms, smiling with amusement. "You could win it for her, y'know."

"What?" I asked, half paying attention as I attempted to grab a teddy bear.

"Win the cat for my sister and give it to her?"

I ended up dropping the teddy from the claw as I looked to Pietro with shock. He laughed at my expression, leaning against the machine.

"You do like her, right? Otherwise this is awkward," he added as an afterthought, looking down and smiling to himself.

My jaw hung open. "I– er– I never really– I don't–"

"She must definitely like you," Pietro noted, glancing at me.

I licked my lips as I found my words. "Did she," I cleared my throat, "did she say something?"

"Well, no," he said, "but she looks like she wants to murder me every time I hang out with you."

"That's just a coincidence," I said, shaking my head and looking back to the machine. "She's not–" I thought about, before shaking my head again. "No."

I appreciated Pietro's help, but Wanda definitely didn't like me like that. She was just protective of her brother and friendly to me. It didn't mean anything.

"Look, you don't have to listen to me," he said, straightening up and looking at the machine as I slotted another coin in. "But you could give it a shot. See what happens."

I glanced at him, his blue eyes watching me knowingly, a matching smirk on his lips.

"Fine," I gave in, hoping it wouldn't backfire. "Let's see what happens..."

[prentissinred]

Life in Pink

Rated T (mild suggestive content) Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss Word Count: 2.5k AO3

Hi friends! Guess what? This past weekend marked one year since I posted my first story! How crazy is that?!

I’m so utterly grateful to this community for being such a bright spot in a difficult year. To everyone who’s taken the time to read something I’ve written, thank you for being so kind and supportive. It means more to me than I can express in words. To the brilliant, lovely, talented people I now get to call my friends, I love you all so very much.

To commemorate the occasion, I wrote a little something. This is set in the world of The Wonder of You, which was the first story I’ve ever written – but you don't need to have read that to understand this :)

I hope you like it <3

--

“I mean it, JJ. Whatever happens, do not call us.”

“Yes, Emily. For the hundredth time, I promise not to call you.”

Aaron slipped his free hand into his wife’s and squeezed. “Sweetheart, it’ll be fine. Strauss knows we’re away, and our backlog is miraculously clear. We’ll be okay.”

He returned to packing up his things on his desk while Emily huffed and quietly muttered something unflattering about their superior under her breath. JJ chuckled and embraced her friend. “Go. Have a fabulous time and make us all incredibly jealous. We’ll see you in a week.”

After another round of goodbyes and poorly-veiled suggestive comments from Morgan and Dave, Aaron and Emily were in their car and on their way to Dulles, suitcases already packed and in the trunk.

It had been her idea. A holiday in Greece to commemorate their first wedding anniversary. There hadn’t been time to plan a honeymoon, their wedding in Dave’s backyard coming together with relative expediency. They had spent the weekend after the ceremony in a hotel, indulging in champagne and room service for 48 hours before returning to work the following Monday.

Neither of them thought much of it after that, swept up in both work and newlywed life. They moved into a new home, a classic Colonial in Arlington with extra bedrooms and a white wrap-around porch, and adopted a dog at Jack’s insistence.

And before either of them had realized it, it had been a year. Aaron had remembered the upcoming date over Saturday breakfast as he cut bacon into little pieces for Jack, which were then promptly fed to Boo who waited patiently under the table next to Jack’s chair. Emily and Aaron shared a look of bemused surprise as they came to the realization that neither of them had planned anything to celebrate the occasion.

“We could take a trip,” Emily suggested casually. “We haven’t been away before, just the two of us.”

He’d been doubtful at first, unsure if they could really manage to get the time away with such short notice. But it was clear how enthused Emily was by the prospect, though she hid it well under masked nonchalance. Though she always insisted she was more than happy to spend her time at home, appreciative of the roots they had cultivated after all the travel and displacement of her past, Aaron knew there was still a part of her that missed that heady thrill of exploring an unfamiliar place for the first time. And truthfully, he could think of little else that he would enjoy more than having his wife all to himself for a few days.

So they settled on Greece, a place new to them both, and, with some luck, managed to clear a full week on both of their calendars.

They had nearly reached the parking lot at Dulles — having already checked in with Jessica, Jack and Boo over the phone — when Emily’s phone pinged with a text message from JJ, “I’m so sorry.”

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

Before Aaron could question her, his phone rang, Chief Strauss’s number on the front screen. Panic flashed across both their faces before he reluctantly answered. Emily could hear brief snippets of the conversation as the pit in her stomach steadily widened.

“...apologize...New York...fourth suicide bomber in three weeks...escalating...need everyone…”

Once he hung up the phone, Aaron took the next exit off the highway, pulling up to the curb once it was safe to do so. They both sat in silence for an extended minute, disappointment heavy in the air. Finally, Emily attempted to break the tension, “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get the refundable tickets?”

Aaron let out a weak, sad chuckle and leaned over the center console to kiss her, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” before starting the car up again to head to the airstrip.

When they walked onto the plane, the team was uncharacteristically silent, looking on at their boss and colleague with poorly concealed apology, as though they were personally at fault for this unfortunate turn of events.

It took five days for the case to come to an end, the team finding the next bomber with minutes to spare, leading them to the ringleader of the group orchestrating the attacks. The date of their anniversary came and went, with nothing to mark the day except a quickie in the shower before they left their shared room. Objectively, both Aaron and Emily knew they had made the right decision, compulsory or not. Lives were saved, and the team functioned at their best when they were a complete set.

Still, while Aaron wrapped things up at the precinct after sending Emily back to the hotel, he couldn’t help but feel sorry that the first year of his marriage had passed in such a benign manner. As he drove back to the hotel, watching people shuffle and hustle about their weekend, an inkling of a plan formed and he picked up the phone to call JJ.

He found Emily in their room, her back turned to him as she hunched over the bed in the final stages of packing. He leaned against the wall, taking a moment to admire her before asking, "What are you doing, sweetheart?"

She jumped a little, the close of the door too quiet for her to hear him walk in, then raised a brow at him. "Packing? Don't we have to be at the airport in an hour?"

"Change of plans." Aaron sauntered up to his wife, pulling her in by the waist so he could kiss her. "We're leaving tomorrow."

“Since when?”

"Since I decided that you and I deserve a night to ourselves." He chuckled softly at her confused expression, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry we couldn't get our time away. I thought we could spend the night out here instead. Celebrate the best year of my life with my beautiful wife."

She softened in his arms, molding herself to him as she pushed up on her toes and threaded her hands in his hair, kissing him breathless. “What about everyone else?” she asked, mouthing along his jaw, nosing the length of his neck.

The blood promptly rushed south from his head, a familiar occurrence anytime Emily’s hands ran over him as they were doing now. He swallowed, breathing in deeply to ensure he retained some semblance of control. "I told them to leave tonight; we could fly on our own tomorrow. But they offered to stay the night.”

She laughed against his throat, hot and ticklish on his skin, feeling almost giddy by this unforeseen development, “Okay then.” The hands on her hips tightened as she began kissing down to his chest, and she grinned up at him, lightly palming the front of his black slacks. “Are you sure you want to go out? We could just lock ourselves in here for the night.”

He narrowed his eyes, playfully pinching her cheek, “Cheeky, Mrs. Hotchner. But I have a plan and, tempting as you are, you will not sway me from it.” Knowing her go-bag always contained a nicer dress in case their work called for it, he added, “Now, get dressed,” swatting her ass lightly for good measure.

“Aaron, it’s Saturday night in New York City. You realize we’re not getting in anywhere halfway decent,” Emily pointed out while she unbuttoned her blouse.

“Ye of little faith, my dear wife. I told you, I have a plan.” Aaron also rid himself of his jacket and tie, replacing his shirt with a fresh white button-down and rolling up the sleeves. He went to clean himself up in the bathroom, and when he returned, he found his magnificent wife attempting to zip up a one-shoulder red dress. The same dress he’d slid off her shoulders in his bedroom after dinner on their first date. “Is that…”

"Would you believe I didn't plan this?" she grinned, turning her back to him. "Help me?"

Instead of doing as she asked, Aaron nudged the zipper, skating a knuckle up the length of her bare back and planting a kiss at the top of her spine.

“Aaron..." she breathed, tilting her head back against his, "if you don't cut that out, we're not leaving this room." He groaned into her neck, reluctantly admitting she was right, finally zipping her up and smoothing her hair back over her shoulder.

When they emerged outside their hotel ten minutes later onto the bustling streets of Midtown Manhattan, they walked the few blocks to Grand Central Station, just barely catching the subway headed downtown. Despite her initial doubts, Emily’s smile hadn’t left her, cheeks flushed with excitement.

Aaron led her by hand out of the subway when they reached their destination, climbing the stairs onto the southwest corner of Washington Square Park. The air was hot and muggy, New York in August, even as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. Music filtered through from the park, mixing with the din of the crowds enjoying the first stage of their evening.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing now?”

“Not yet. Come on, this way.”

They crossed the street, turned the corner, and Aaron finally stopped outside a red awning.

“Pizza?” Emily looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise as she took in the pizzeria.

“Or hot dogs, or Indian, or Greek, Italian, Vietnamese...We can go anywhere you want in the world in the next 10 blocks.”

She beamed up at him, catching onto his plan, and her grin was infectious. “Can we do them all?”

He laughed, “Lead the way.”

They started with pizza at Joe’s — a pepperoni slice for him and a Sicilian slice for her. Then a stuffed pita filled to the brim with fresh falafel, tomatoes, and hummus. A chicken tikka kati roll. And finally a shared plate of chicken and rice drizzled in white sauce from the halal food cart next to the park.

Their hands never strayed far from the other, the blissful anonymity of the city prompting more affectionate displays from both of them. Aaron stood behind her, hands on her hips or around her waist, as they waited in line. Emily ran her fingers through his hair as they sat on barstools, so smushed together from the crowd that she was practically sitting in his lap. They stood on the sidewalk waiting for their food to be prepared, their arms wrapped around each other and their lips moving together in languid kisses as if they had all the time in the world. To any stranger who could be bothered to look their way, they looked like any other couple smitten and blissfully in love, hiding every scar, hurdle, and hardship they had overcome to reach this point. Two figures floating amongst a sea of millions.

“I’m so full,” Emily moaned, clutching her stomach dramatically as they wandered hand-in-hand down Houston St. “I think you’ve killed me.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. We haven’t gotten to dessert.”

Two spoons and one cup of salted chocolate ice cream later, they made it back to the park, still lively as if the night had only just started. The marble archway was lit up, the Empire State Building in the distance peeking through the gap. People sat around the edge of the fountain, dipping their feet into the cool water.

Aaron and Emily walked through the students and artists and skateboarders and tourists, dipping intermittently into their shared dessert absorbing the infectious energy. They reached the other end of the park, stopping for a moment to watch a street performer, and turned down a new street, neither of them wanting the evening to come to an end.

The unmistakable sound of a piano floated out of a bar as two patrons exited, catching Emily by surprise as they walked past. She jerked to a stop, captivated, then tugged Aaron's hand to the door. He followed her lead, descending down a narrow flight of stairs that led into a darkened lounge. Tufted couches and armchairs in jewel-toned velvets lined the walls, dimly lit by rounded art deco sconces. Two bartenders seamlessly crafted elegant cocktails behind a lavish bar that took up the back wall. And in the center, a jazz quartet illuminated by a spotlight as couples swayed around them on a dance floor. Even in the dark, Aaron could see the way Emily's eyes lit up, entranced by this unexpected discovery, and he discreetly asked a waitress if they could be seated.

They nestled into the corner of an empty couch, Aaron's hand resting on Emily's knee as they both sipped their respective cocktails. Truthfully, he spent very little time watching the band, his eyes trained on his wife. He took in every secret smile, every small part of her lips when the melody soared to a peak. She was breathtaking, and she was his, and not for the first time in his life did he wonder how he had ever gotten quite so lucky.

The song shifted into something he recognized, a string of notes from the saxophone eliciting an audible gasp from Emily. He grasped her hand and tugged her up from the chair, smiling at the delight on her face. He pulled her in close, one hand low on her back, his cheek resting against hers, as they began to gently shift amongst the other couples.

After a minute, Emily’s voice came in whispers in his ear, her tongue curling beautifully over the French he couldn’t understand.

Quand il me prend dans ses bras Qu'il me parle tout bas Je vois la vie en rose

Il me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça m'fait quelque chose

Il est entré dans mon cœur Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie Il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie

She pulled back in his arms, her gaze locking on his. A droplet tipped over her lash and onto her cheek. Her love for the man who held her — her husband, hers — bubbled and popped and diffused in her chest, filling her until she felt like she was floating. Aaron brought his hand up from her waist to her cheek, his thumb wiping away the errant drop on her skin with enough tenderness and adoration to warrant a fresh bout of tears.

Emily shakily rose to press her lips to his, tightening her hold of him, just as the song trailed to its conclusion. Applause erupted, but at that moment, the world around them didn’t exist.

“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”

“And I love you.”

--

Song: La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf

Translation (thank you Google):

When he holds me in his arms He speaks to me softly I see life through rose-colored glasses

He speaks words of love to me Everyday words And that does something to me

He has entered into my heart A piece of happiness The cause of which I know It’s only him for me, and me for him, for life He said that to me, swore it forever

[mxrcayong]

part of @nct-writers​’s cafe resonance collab!

genre: fluff, a more UK-based pov of university

summary: jisung, a college student now looking for a job, has decided to apply for a job at the local café. he thought being friends with the manager and its employees has it perks; from unlimited free coffee to whatever pastries haven’t been eaten by the end of the day. needless to say; the perks must end somewhere. 

word count: 2317 words

note: i didn’t make the divider!!

College students practically live by coffee shops. If university was a religion, the on-campus coffee shop would be the bible. Daily, college students’ breath in the coffee beans like oxygen, feel the permanent imprint of coffee mug or a ‘to go’ cup on their lips. They’re surrounded by the smells of different fruity pastries and savory snacks, and the sounds of students either chatting or typing away on their computers. 

It’s no wonder that the university coffee shop was practically a hub of activity. When you sit down to work at Café Resonance, it’s feels like you’re a part of a bigger and collective community, stressing for assessments or just taking a break from their hectic university schedules. It’s especially hectic when you’re a full-time student and work part time.   

“Do I really need to get a job?” Jisung sighed, scratching his head as he leant against the barista’s counter. His six closest friends were working behind the counter: using the coffee machines and decorating the pastries. “Can’t I just use your employee discount on everything?” 

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. “You know I want to, my little mouse.” He teased as he placed another order on his tray, “But I can only put the café employee discount on so many things.” He practically sung as he left, heading to a table to bring another set of students their own cups of their own ambrosia.     

From the cash register, Haechan had just finished taking the orders of the last bunch of the line and immediately replaced Jaemin’s place next to Jisung. “You can always just become a sugar baby.” He suggested, coming over to the display case to grab one of the pastries to heat up per the customer’s order. “Or a pole dancer… aren’t you a good dancer?” 

Jisung immediately protested. “Firstly, no. Secondly, is it even legal? I literally only became an adult this year.” 

“Actually…” Haechan started to counter, only to be interrupted by Mark approaching with a raised hand and a dirty mop. 

“Stop telling everyone to become a sugar baby.” Mark chided as he ducked to get back behind the counter, drudging the cleaning supplies with him. “You do realize that if someone does become a sugar baby, they aren’t entitled to paying for your shit either.” In response, Haechan grumbled under his breath as he gave the bewildered customer overhearing the odd conversation their fruity treat. 

Jisung has visited his closest friends enough to know that working at the café is like a beautifully choreographed dance. It moves like clockwork; with the six doing their roles diligently and without question. So, it’s not unusual for his friends to come and go during the conversation – all taking part whilst separating themselves at the same time. 

“Why don’t you just ask Chenle if you could work here?” Renjun suggested, coming out from the back room where he started baking some more pastries – obvious through his powdered apron. “We all work here already, and we can go through the ropes with you.” 

Jeno immediately stepped in and basically rejected the offer. “Do you remember the last time we hosted an event and Jisung wanted to help?” He prompted, before chuckling. “He tried to wash the food with dish soap…and he broke the broom when cleaning!” 

Almost as if the thought of teasing Jisung summons him, Chenle came out of seemingly nowhere. “Didn’t he leave the broken broom on the floor and just started playing video games?” Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun nodded – remembering the mess the 00-line apartment was that night.  

“Not the best party we hosted.” Jaemin commented, going around the counter to make his own drink now that the list of waiting customers is gone. “But, still, Jisung learns fast. I think he could work here.” 

Chenle let out an introspective hum, before leaning over to whisper to Haechan. With a questionable look on their faces, Chenle decided to call Jisung into the back room and in his makeshift ‘managers office’ (a perk of being family with the owner of the university café). “I’ll consider your application, but I can’t do any nepotism.” He started, “so, you must go through the whole application process.” He paused. “You must come up with your own recipe.” 

With a rule to not discuss recipes with his ‘potential future co-workers’ – which Chenle weirdly specified as everyone but Haechan, Jisung had to get straight to work. In all honesty, he had no baking experience nor ever made a drink without a guiding recipe.

While his six closest friends were out of the equation, he had another friend he could reach out to; Y/N. 

You were in his freshmen orientation group earlier this year. Not going to lie, you initially thought of each other as familiar faces who you’d occasionally wave at or nod in acknowledgement when you walk past each other. However, you later found yourself eating in the same hall cafeteria…and then the same hall pantry…and then, it clicked. You two lived only four doors away from each other in your university hall. 

Needless to say, you two ran midnight McDonald trips basically on a weekly basis. You became integral to Jisung’s daily routine; from waking each other up for breakfast to storming into each other rooms, armed with complaints and rants about the shitty professor who made you read 300 pages for one night. Even on your busiest days, you two would always pick each other up for the hall provided breakfasts and dinners. 

So here you were - Jisung was slouching down on your desk chair while you were resting on the bed, your back against the wall and a pillow in your lap as you tried to help Jisung solve his current problem. “Well…did Chenle give you a prompt or anything?” 

Jisung shook his head, groaning back. “It’s not like we have a kitchen to try and bake either! We only have fridges and a microwave and a….” He tried to recall what was on the floor pantry. 

“Just a fridge and a microwave.” You added. “That means pastries are off the table…how about a drink?” 

Jisung groaned again. “I have a hard time making pre-made coffee!” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle; you remembered that day. It was a scary time for you; your credit card company sent you a text about a fraudulent use of your student account. Not only did you end up stressing to the point of crying, but you also learned it was a false alarm. Luckily, while still reeling from the anxiety inducing news, you ran into Jisung as he was leaving his room. He then took you to the pantry to try and cheer you up with coffee…however, a fire alarm went off and practically deafened the whole university housing cohort for hours. 

And poor Jisung…Jisung was just an awkward little mouse, trying to look innocent as he saw his exhausted neighbors clamber out into the park due to his attempt of making pre-made coffee. 

“Well…you have me. This isn’t hopeless.” Climbing off the bed, you pretended to dust yourself off. “So, let’s go to the pantry? Another one of our…”

Jisung quickly furrowed his brows, interjecting while you still spoke “I don’t think this can be considered snacking…”

“Pantry-time dates.” You stuttered, obviously unsure of the title. Usually, you call them ‘cup noodle dates’ or ‘popcorn dates’; a joke that ran through your small group of friends as well as the resident advisors at the university hall. 

No one likes being in the pantry. Especially the second floor. For one, things always get stolen; from cutlery to a six pack of coke. Secondly, the few times people use the microwave to heat up their meals, they tend to leave the leftovers to rot on the windowsill. But you and Jisung sit there together; maybe because something about it feels open and comfortable, despite the terrible smell. Plus…the two of you placed bets on who could be the thief when people awkwardly clamber on by, and if on one of these ‘dates’ you catch the thief obviously taking something that isn’t theirs? Even better. 

But today… you two will have to be the forsaken thieves. 

“So someone put chocolate powder in the fridge…” You commented incredulously, especially as this fridge is known for freezing things into ice in minutes. “There’s some…expired milk.” Jisung watched as you searched through the fridge for any hidden treasures; feeling more and more unsure of himself as you listed more and more ingredients. “Oh, okay, some non-expired milk. That will be useful.” 

“We can make a latte?” Jisung offered, now on his phone searching up popular café drinks. 

“Yes!” You enthused, finally feeling like this trip to the pantry isn’t useless after all. “But…we should probably write an apology note to the people we’re stealing from.” 

It’s been almost five hours in the pantry. Countless of people came in (however, this time you tried not to place bets as you knew who the real thieves were tonight) and would just stare at the two of you, arguing over a kettle of milk. Even your neighbor Victor came in; having sat and watched you two for a good while (which made Jisung extra cautious; he’s had a theory about him being the forsaken pantry thief for a while). Victor, however, said you two should have a cooking show, to which you scoffed while Jisung basked in the compliment. This very same compliment crossed Victor off of Jisung’s “potential criminals” list. 

Eventually, you had a drink in front of you. A chocolate latte that Jisung insisted on putting salt in, as “Modern Family said it was a good idea”. Admittedly, the first ten versions of this drink were absolute failures; making you go to the bathroom numerous times to vomit out the thick and almost flour-like texture.  

So, for your final check, the two of you grabbed the non-eaten pastries Jisung brought home from the café. Hopefully, this will act as a palette cleanser; especially since tasting all of the failed drinks probably have messed with your taste buds and lowered all sorts of expectations. 

After taking bites into the Suh-ndwitch and Henpretzel, you two finally took sips of the drink you attempted to make since 10pm – with Jisung making far too many references to the Powerpuff Girls opening theme. 

Alas – the taste that flooded their senses wasn’t at all bad, no. Nor was it ‘a little bit of sugar and everything ice’, but it was something you’d expect from Starbucks. You two immediately squealed out of excitement, ignoring the fact that you probably woke the neighboring rooms up at three in the morning. Jisung immediately went over to hug your waist, spinning you around as fast as he could; before something unexpected happens. 

You felt his lips on yours; tasting like chocolate and leftover ingredients that were remnants from his palette cleanser of a sandwich. The feeling was foreign; you never expected to kiss Jisung. He was your best friend, your neighbour; but his lips were soft…and something about this felt right. 

But then the door slammed opened. A zombie-like RA came in and you two immediately jumped to different sides of the room. “I know you two always do your pantry dates, but…” The RA started, obviously sluggish from being woken up at 3am. “We got noise complaints.” 

Jisung awkwardly coughed, apologized, and ran away; leaving you confused in the corner of the pantry. 

Café Resonance were never busy Friday evenings. People were most likely out pubbing or preparing for their weekends of antics. So when Jisung stormed in with a recipe in hand, he wasn’t afraid to celebrate as loudly as if he had just won the Olympic World Cup. “I got the recipe! Can I please have the job?” He practically pleaded, dropping the piece of paper with messy handwriting and the sample drink you two whipped up again the night prior. On top of the page with chocolate colored stains were the words; “Hamji Choco Latte” with (served hot or cold)  at the bottom.

“A recipe?” Everyone but Haechan and Chenle looked confused; with the latter two smirking in the corner of the room. But as soon as Haechan cracked and let out a loud laugh, Mark turned around and immediately recognized the culprits of this misunderstanding. 

“Bruh,” Chenle let out throughout his charming ‘dolphin laugh’, “You had the job – I was just messing with you.” 

Haechan pouted, approaching Jisung to ruffle his hair. “My sweet, small, dumb idiot…how much I love you.” He placed a sloppy kiss at the corner of his head, making Jisung immediately try to scrub it off. 

Jisung scowled, upset he let himself get fooled by his best friends. “At least I got a girlfriend from it…” He mumbled, more to himself, but forgetful of how Jeno’s ears can pick up on anything. It was from my ASMR stint, Jeno would say. 

“WHAT!?” He exclaimed, as if Jisung getting a girlfriend would happen the day pigs would fly. 

“I sent you to make a café recipe, not a love potion!” Chenle cackled even more; while his fellow friends made him explain what happened. 

By the time the store closed, Jaemin gave Jisung the ‘talk’ and warned that although they spent nights in each other’s rooms before, Jisung and you must be ‘safe’ and ‘protected’. 

People always say the first people you become friends with at university don’t always stay friends for life. People tend to clash, find their hobbies, and go different ways. But Jisung was lucky. He met you; his best friend and now his other half. And despite the annoying prank Chenle made that wasted hours of your time, Chenle was right; the Hamji Choco Latte was basically a love potion as it brought the hidden infatuation you had for each other to light.  

Now, every time he picks you up from your lecture hall, he brings one extra-large chocolatey drink to share. 

“Email sent out to residents of NCU Hall: 

Dear residents of the second floor, 

The person who has been stealing cultlery and food has been identified. Victor Cho will be coming by to return any items that may have belonged to you.”

Jisung screamed at the top of his lungs when he got this email. “I TOLD YOU SO!” 

[hxneyandespressx]

if i were a man (i’d be the man)

summary: jj holds a press conference while on a high-profile case. she has to deal with the stupid male reporters. after the conference is done, jj goes to the nearest bathroom, away from the crowd, and screams and swears to her heart’s content

word count: 6.2k 

content warnings: mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, guns, violence, blood, suicide

a/n: inspiration for this fic is from criminal minds season 4 episode 16 “pleasure is my business”

☆。*。☆。

It was a rough start to a Wednesday morning for a particular FBI agent. She almost twisted her ankle on her early morning jog, got stuck in traffic, and had to wait in a long line for her co-workers’ coffee orders. Soon enough, she started to wish that she took the metro instead. Media communications liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau woke up today and chose violence. She huffed in frustration at how her morning went.

Walking toward the bullpen with the coffee orders in her hands, JJ was greeted with “hellos” and “good mornings”. Not wanting to have her co-workers profile her, JJ bottled up her frustration and grumpiness and put a smile on her face. It was a rule amongst the group to never profile each other. With learning an assortment of profiling tactics, JJ knew how to form a realistic smile without genuine happiness. Creases around the eyes, smile lines contoured the mouth, sparkles in her baby blue eyes. The short blonde perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, even expert profilers.

“Good morning, guys.” JJ said with a bright smile on her face. She held two cardboard trays filled with various coffee orders. She placed one of the trays on Emily’s desk, so she can pass out the orders to her co-workers. She called out the order name as she passed the cup to the person.

“One French vanilla latte for Ms. Garcia. Two black coffees for Emily and Derek. And finally, a coffee with extra cream and sugar for Spence.” Everyone said their thank you’s to the blonde. Then, there was one coffee cup left. A cappuccino.

“Happy Wednesday, my nerds.” Rossi said as he approached the group of tired agents. JJ smiled and handed the cappuccino to the elderly man.

“Grazie.” He thanked the media liaison for her efforts to bring his favorite morning beverage. The group spent some time chatting nonsense before the case briefing. Thirty minutes went by and all of them disbursed into their desks to finish up the paperwork. JJ headed down to her office to work on choosing the next case after the one that was currently ongoing.

After settling in her office chair, JJ took a look around her office. Messy stacks of pending files scattered her desk. Empty coffee cups and water bottles lined the file cabinet. JJ checked the time on her watch. 8:12 AM. About two hours to kill. The blonde put her hair up into a ponytail and took in a deep breath. She dove into the nearest pile of manila files, looking through all the documents and photographs to determine which case for the BAU team to take on after the current case.

As the clock ticked closer to 10 AM, JJ picked up today’s case files and head out of her office. Strutting through the bullpen, JJ entered the briefing room slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” JJ said while passing the manila folders out to her co-workers. After handing out the necessary materials, she grabbed the remote from the center of the wooden table.

“Sam Winchester was found in Fulton Park, in the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. Eighteen stab wounds to his chest and neck,” JJ explained as she clicked on the remote to switch between the crime scene photos. “He is one of the victims dumped at various locations of Brooklyn that was found last night.”

“Hold up. One of the victims?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. So far this killer built up a rep sheet of five kills.” JJ stated. Hotch raised one of his eyebrows at the new information.

“Seven? Why haven’t the NYPD notified us immediately after the first three kills?” Hotch asked the media liaison.

“Probably the department thought they could handle the crimes,” JJ explained. “That was the case until they realized that they needed help.”

The young blonde switched to the next slide, showing one of the other victims dumped in North Williamsburg.

“What’s interesting about the locations is that the first victim was drowned in the Hudson River. And as more victims appear, the disposal methods get more dramatic. Maybe it plays some role in the unsub’s pathology.” Spencer said as he looked at the screen, observing for any patterns.

“Like with one of the recent victims, the disposal site is in Cobble Hill. It’s typically occupied by those who are relatively wealthy.” Rossi said to continue Spencer’s thoughts. “This unsub is getting bolder with his disposal sites. I’m concerned with there being an end game to this.” Emily stated. Everyone at the round table shifted through the various crime scene photos and documents. Rossi took hold of one of the crime scene photographs: a reversed ten of cups tarot card. “It is also apparent that the unsub is leaving tarot cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Tarot cards? What’s the significance?” Derek asked.

“Maybe to tell of the inevitable fortune the victims faced?” Emily said. 

“Well, each card has a different meaning when it is upright and reversed. And usually, when doing a reading, three to five cards are pulled to tell a fortune.” Penelope explained as she typed away on her work laptop. It had not surprised anyone that the technical analyst had an interest in tarot readings and astrology.  

“You know, the first documented tarot packs were recorded between 1440 and 1450 AD in Milan, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards are known simply as trionfi, which became "trumps" in English. The oldest surviving tarot cards are the 15 Visconti-Sforza tarot decks painted in the mid-15th century for the rulers of the Duchy of Milan. The Duke of Milan described a 60-card deck with 16 cards having images of the Roman gods and suits depicting four kinds of birds.” Spencer talked about the history of tarot cards, with hand gestures to accompany his little ramble. When he finished, everyone at the table stared at him. The young FBI agents sheepishly smiled as Emily poked his left cheek.

“Since when did you learn about tarot cards?” Emily asked. 

“I learned about it when I took a college course on the Italian Renaissance.” Spencer sheepishly smiled.

“Well, whatever it is, it seems like there is a story to be told––or rather to be heard.” JJ said as she stared at the crime scene photos, her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.  

“That’s what we need to find out. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch called out. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The BAU members sat comfortably on the jet, each in their little world. That was until the unit chief called on everyone for a case discussion. 

“Let’s go over victimology.” Hotch said to call on the group. Everyone moved closer to the unit chief to better discuss the case. Derek sat in an armchair, with Emily next to him. Across from them were Spencer and JJ. Hotch leaned against one of the seats, practically sitting on the adjustable arm of the plane seat. Rossi sat on the tan velvet couch, adjacent to JJ. 

“Reid.” Hotch called on the genius of the group. 

“White. Male. Between the ages of 45-55. Jobs ranging from a stockbroker to assets protection manager. All of them have cheated on their wives multiple times and some even had sexual harassment accusations.” The young curly-haired man said to start the discussion. 

“Even if these men cheated on their wives and got those accusations, they still didn’t deserve the multiple stab wounds to meet their end.” Emily said. 

JJ looked through the case file to see the reports on all five victims.

“The victims’ names are Igor Andreevich, Lucas Duncan, Hunter Mcevoy, Sam Winchester, Jared Kalinski.” JJ called the names out like it was a roll call. 

“These are the five victims that this unsub killed so far?” Hotch asked. The blonde nodded her head and said “yes, sir” in response.

“As the victim count increased, the more stab wounds appeared on the body.” Rossi said to point out an observation.

“But the M.E. said that most of these stab wounds were created post mortem. Meaning that the initial stab was to get the job done efficiently and he went back in to fuel his rage and/or sexual needs.” Spencer

“Are we assuming his sexual orientation? Because there aren’t many homosexual serial killers, kid” Rossi said. 

“It could be a possibility. We have to consider our options.” Hotch said. 

Just then, the laptop turned on and showed the beautiful Penelope Garcia. 

“How’s it going, my crime-fighting musketeers?” Penelope asked. Everyone, even Hotch, smiled at her cheery greeting.

“Garcia, start compiling files on each of our victims,” Hotch told the technical analyst. “Everything financial and personal. Bank statements, credit card bills, investments, wills, trust funds. Anything that will tell us more about the victim’s lives.”

“Faster than a Hotch rocket.” After that was said into the air, Penelope felt embarrassed while Hotch looked at her with his usual stone-cold face. Derek sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his second-hand embarrassment for his babygirl.  

To break the silence, Rossi grunted and coughed into his fist. 

“Based on the jobs these men had, we could safely assume that they were killed in the financial district of New York. Then, the unsub transported the bodies to a dumpsite.” Emily said as she read off from the case file in her hands.

“But why from Manhattan to Brooklyn? That is a lot of weight to carry.” Derek asked. 

“Maybe Brooklyn holds a lot of significance to him. Something from his childhood and he can’t let go.” JJ said. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as they all closed their files. 

“Once we land, do you want me to get in contact with the media to inform the public?” The media liaison asked the unit chief.

“No. We need to hold back on it. Giving him the media’s attention is exactly what he wants. He wants his story to be heard and we will not give him that.” Hotch explained. JJ nodded in response and wrote down media concerns in her small blue notepad. 

“Dave, You and Prentiss go to the crime scene,” Hotch instructed the group. “The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the unit chief.

After discussing the victimology and the nature of the case, everyone separated and occupied their own space on the jet. Derek on the couch, listening to music. Spencer by the window, reading the Hound of the Baskervilles. Rossi and Hotch in the back, conversing whatever two elderly men talk about. 

The blonde media liaison stared out of the window until she felt a presence next to her. She looked away to find Emily standing in the aisle with a cup of coffee and a bag of Cheetos in her hands.

“Want some company?” Emily asked as she took the empty seat.

“I don’t mind at all.” JJ smiled at the brunette. The shorter woman felt special that Emily did this for her. She took the Cheetos and the coffee mug from her co-worker. As she grabbed them, their fingers brushed against each other. A little pink blush formed on JJ’s cheeks. Not wanting Emily to know about the silly crush the blonde had on her, JJ covered half her face with her beloved blue blanket. Emily chuckled at JJ’s actions and placed her hand on the blonde’s right shoulder, closing her eyes for a quick nap. 

JJ carefully took some of her dark blue blanket and wrapped it around Emily’s right shoulder. She looked at the brunette who was sleeping on her shoulder and softly smiled.

The blonde took sips of the coffee as she stared out of the window. The sunlight bounced off the water particles in the clouds, creating a mini rainbow over the tops of the white clouds. The media liaison took in the silence as a treat, before landing into the chaos of New York.

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A government-mandated black SUV arrived at the 25th precinct. Everyone––sans Emily and Rossi––got out of the car and was greeted by a lively short woman. 

“Detective Miller? We spoke on the phone.” JJ shook hands with the short woman. 

“Please, call me Kennedy. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Doctor Reid.” JJ introduced them while gesturing at the person, in respective order.

“Hey, why don't you go on inside and make yourself comfortable.” Kennedy said. The remaining BAU members nodded their heads and made their way inside the busy precinct. Police officers swarmed everywhere as the federal agents weaved their way to an empty conference room. 

Everyone worked at a swift pace to get everything set up. JJ and Derek went with a police officer to get boxes filled with case files and other materials. Hotch talked with Detective Miller to get information on how her officers dealt with the unsub so far. While all this is happening, Spencer worked on the geographical profile, so the agents know where to look for the unsub. 

“What do these tarot cards mean?” Hotch asked the group. Everyone shook their head “no”, signifying that they had no clue what each card meant. 

“I’ll call Penelope and ask her about the meanings of the cards.” Derek said as he took out his flip phone to dial Penelope’s number.

“Live from Quantico, Virginia, it is the Divine Miss Penelope.” Penelope greeted the group. 

“Hey, sugar mama. I need something from you.” Derek said.

“Talk to me.”

“I need you to interpret the meanings of the tarot cards that were left at the different crime scenes.”

“Ah- I’ll be your little witch today. Hit me with have you have.”

“Alright, I’m putting you on speaker.” Derek puts down the phone on the wooden table, so everyone could hear what the technical analyst has to say. 

“Ten of Cups, Garcia.” Hotch said. 

“When upright, the Ten of Cups embody happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional satisfaction in your family, relationship, or companion. It represents an idyllic state of comfort, harmony, peace, and love which makes you feel like you are in paradise. When reversed, it could mean shattered dreams, disharmony, or a broken family.” Penelope explained. 

“Reversed Wheel of Fortune card.” Spencer called out. 

“When the wheel is reversed, it means that luck has not been on your side and misfortunes have been following you. When it's associated with this card, you must understand that these are due to external influences that you cannot control.” Penelope said. 

“Reversed Justice card.” Derek said next.

“A reversed Justice tarot card could indicate various things. One Justice reversal meaning is to show you are living in denial. You are not willing to accept the consequences of your actions or others. You are running from your guilt. You must, however, be aware that these are actions that are in the past. Other Justice reversal meanings could be injustice, retribution, dishonesty, corruption, dishonesty, unfairness, and avoiding accountability.” The technical analyst interpreted. 

“Lastly, the reversed Emperor.” JJ said the final card they had. 

“The Emperor reversed is a sign of abused authoritative power. In your social life, it can manifest in the overreach of power from a father figure or a possessive partner.” Penelope described the final tarot card.

With all the information in their heads, the BAU members felt puzzled about how to move forward. 

“How are these cards related to the crime scenes?” Derek asked. 

“It’s like a performance,” Penelope chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to listen to the cheery woman on the phone. “Like there is a story behind these killings. The cards are telling how the unsub is feeling. She wants us to know her story.” Everyone stood in shock when Penelope made a breakthrough in the case.

“Wait, Garcia. You said ‘she’. Why do you think it is a woman?” Hotch asked.

“Well, sir. The first victim was drowned, with no signs of sexual assault on his body. Doesn’t that usually indicate that the unsub is a woman?”

“Not necessarily but it is a quiet and efficient way of murdering someone.” Hotch explained. 

“Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don’t have much information on them. But what we do know involves throwing the riles completely out of the window,” Spencer started going on one of his rambles. “For example, female serial killers typically don’t leave a signature.”

“But this one leaves tarot cards at the scene.” Derek pointed out.

“Maybe it was what Garcia said: she’s telling us her story.” JJ said. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. What could be inferenced from her childhood?” Hotch asked. 

“She could have had a domineering father who worked on Wall Street. And with that dynamic, he could have sexually and emotionally abused her, making her feeling like damaged goods.” Spencer explained the backstory of the unsub. “Also because the victims cheated on their wives, we could also conclude that the father also cheated on the mother, who always forgave her husband and tried to rationalize to stay for her daughter. And that made the unsub feel rage and being inferior. That she didn’t do anything to help her mother and herself.”

“But there is no indication of sexual gratification.” Hotch interjected. 

“However, there’s a reason why there are so many lacerations on the later victims. It could be the rage from her abusive father that this unsub is using against the victims, who acted like surrogates.” Derek said. 

“The stressor?” Hotch asked. 

“To follow her father’s footsteps, she may have also worked in the financial field. As a stockbroker, a financial analyst, or even as a secretary for a company,” Spencer said. “And as she continued at her job, she had a bunch of little comments and slights against her”

“As for the trigger, maybe she got passed up for a promotion by a male co-worker who was less qualified than she was.” JJ explained. 

“Any sane person would get miffed about it, but she’s built differently,” Derek said. 

“So much so, she killed five men so far.” Hotch said. 

“And she did it in an efficient manner where no one had any idea until now,” Derek said right after the unit chief. “But how did one woman kill five men in one borough and disposed of them in another?”

“She must know the area like the back of her hand. Brooklyn is what? Around 72 square miles?” JJ said in response to Derek. 

“Uh, 69.5.” Spencer corrected JJ. The blonde sighed, not surprised that the boy genius would know the exact measurement. 

“And the fact that no one has seen her either abduct or dispose of says she knows the city and its patterns well.” Derek said to continue what JJ had said before she was cut off by the boy genius. Just then, both Rossi and Emily had returned from the latest crime scene. In Emily’s hands were coffee cups on cardboard trays while Rossi had Chinese takeout. Everyone shared the food as they continued to work on the case. Being the little tease he was, Derek flung a wonton piece at Spencer, who was struggling to eat with the wooden chopsticks. The wonton piece gently hit Spencer’s forehead and the boy genius pouted, hiding his frustration at both the chopsticks and Derek.

“The M.E. said that the cuts were clean, no serrated edges. It would have to be a very sharp knife to be able to cut through human skin like nothing.” Emily said, to drive the discussion about the M.O.

“A knife like that could get the job done efficiently. Could be the work of a throwing knife. Take out the victim with a single throw to have them die quickly, then she stabs them to feel something.” Derek said. 

“Throwing knives? What is she? A secret agent of the Dai Li?” Rossi joked sarcastically. 

“From Avatar the Last Airbender?” Hotch retorted, remembering that his son Jack watches that show on Saturday mornings. 

“What’s Avatar the Last Airbender?” Spencer asked. Nobody bothered to answer the young man’s question. 

 “But this one is different. It’s like the more she kills, the more anger builds up inside and it gets released on the victim when she goes back in.” JJ stated. 

It became silent in the conference room, quite the opposite to the noise of the New York precinct in the evening rush hour. Tired from both traveling and working, Hotch could see that the rest of his team was also exhausted from the day. The unit chief called everyone to head to the hotel and rest, as they can always come back to the precinct tomorrow morning. 

Slowly one by one, each of the agents packed their things and get out of the New York precinct, and hopped into the cars, praying the soft hotel beds would lull them into a deep slumber.

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Day Three at the New York precinct. All the BAU members were getting irritated that they hadn’t proceeded much on the case. Derek tossed a small basketball up and down to pass the time. Spencer twirled a pen as he stared at the geographical profile, the gears turning in his mind. Both Hotch and Rossi were discussing the case quietly while JJ and Emily doodled on each others’ arms. The blonde was innocently drawing hearts and flowers until Emily came up with an idea. Feeling a tad mischievous, Emily took her sharpie marker and started to outline something on the media liaison’s left forearm. JJ raised an eyebrow, questioning what her co-worker was doing. As the image came together, JJ gasped softly, however, not surprised that Emily drew a vagina. 

Emily quietly laughed as JJ, annoyed by the brunette’s actions, took her sharpie marker and tried her best to transform the vagina drawing into a flower. Taking her time, and with only a sharpie, JJ showed off her artistic talent by creating a masterpiece: a carnation blooming out of a vagina.

Emily rolled her eyes when JJ stuck out her tongue at the brunette. Taking Emily’s right arm, the media liaison started to outline a grid for a game of tic tac toe. The brunette started the game by marking an “x” in a spot and JJ took her turn. The two women continued their game of tic tac toe and 

Everyone was silent in their own world until Hotch’s phone rang. The unit chief picked it up and it was a number he couldn’t recognize. Hotch silently motioned Derek to call Penelope to start triangulating the call’s location. 

“Hotchner.”

“Hello, Aaron.” A sultry voice talked. On the other side of the call was the unsub, Taylor Evans. 

“Seems you know my name.” Hotch asked.

“I researched you in preparation for this phone call,” Evans said. Through the phone receiver, Hotch could hear the soft whooshes of pages turning. 

“You reading a book? What’s the title?”

“Le monde comme il va by Voltaire,” Taylor closed her book. “Have you read his work?”

“No, I haven’t. You seem highly educated.” Hotch stated. 

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Taylor retorted.

“But I don’t know you that well since the start of this phone call.” Hotch responded. 

“What would you like to know?” Taylor asked. 

“May I know your name, for starters?” Hotch asked. A cold laugh could be heard through the landline speaker. 

“Evans. Taylor Evans.” the unsub replied. 

“Nice name,” Hotch complimented her to bring her guard down. 

“Now that we are acquainted, you can ask me questions.” the unsub’s content sigh could be heard on the landline. 

“Has life been hard on you?” Taylor asked, wanting to jump the gun. 

“I try my best.”

“Try my best,” Taylor said mockingly. “Is that the best you can do for your family?” A sarcastic tone filled Taylor’s voice, not liking what the unit chief said in response to her question. 

“With what I’ve got.” Hotch said. 

“You got any children?” Taylor said to divert the conversation. 

“I have a son.”

“How often do you see him?” 

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” Taylor tried to put Hotch under pressure, to get him to crack. 

“No, I don't get there as often as I want.” A pitiful sigh was heard on the phone.

“I believe you, but don’t compare yourself to the men I see and work with. You are nothing like them. You’re just another whore.” Taylor said with such disgust in her tone. 

“How am I a whore?” Hotch asked. 

“You come when called on short notice. Begging to be put to work. Saving your reputation. However, even though you’re a workaholic, you make the time to see your son. You care for your son. You want the best for him.” Taylor explained. 

“You’re right. I do want the best for him” Hotch said. The unsub sighed, wishing that she had a good man, like Hotch, for a father.  

“Enough about you. What do you have to say about me?” Taylor asked the unit chief. 

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying.” Hotch explained. 

“Good deductive reasoning,” Taylor said. “But how do you know if what I find provides me less satisfaction each time?”

“It’s a part of your nature. Until you hit a psychotic break and start devolving.” Hotch said. 

“Hm. Want to find out, Agent Hotchner?” She hung up on him after that last sentence. Everyone in the conference room stayed silent in awe. The unsub injecting herself into the investigation surprised all the agents in the room. 

“She contacted us,” Spencer said in astonishment, breaking the silence. 

“She’s getting impatient. Have Garcia look up everything on Taylor Evans. We need to find if she lines up with the preliminary profile.” Hotch instructed Derek. The olive brown-skinned man did exactly what the unit chief said: call Penelope and extract as much information as possible on the potential unsub.

“Her use of the word whore is interesting,” Spencer quipped. “It suggests she's trying to disassociate herself from her actions.”

“But she's become more personal with the murders,” Emily said. “This doesn’t make sense. She is contradicting herself.”

After gathering the information, and debilitating on the facts, everyone came to the same conclusion: Taylor Evans was their unsub. 

“Reid, tell Detective Miller that it’s time to deliver the profile.” Rossi said. 

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Every law enforcement officer occupied the main space of the precinct. All of the BAU members stood at one side, making it like a stage. JJ stood beside Emily, thinking to herself that she could have been this girl in a way. Both her and the unsub look eerily similar, maybe even mistaken for each other. 

“We wanted to give out the profile as soon as possible. We’re looking for a white female, between the ages of 20 and 25,” Hotch said to start the profile. “Her name is Taylor Evans. Dirty blonde hair with grey eyes. She’s organized, methodical, and knows how to blend in with the crowd.”

“When this unsub kills, she does so mercilessly and without an ounce of pity. She also wants her victims to know they are going to die by her hand.” Rossi said. 

“That’s why her preferred weapon of choice is throwing knives. They provide a clean cut. No mess required.” Emily said, slowly rocking on her heels. 

“With her choice of weapon, she can be quick and efficient with her kills, as murder is her only goal,” Spencer paused to catch a breath. “But all the bottled-up rage gets released when she goes in for a second time, post mortem, and stabs the body multiple times.”

“It is a way for her to get sexual gratification. And revenge, from her years of being emotionally and sexually abused by her father,” Rossi said. “The victims fit the description of her father and they are surrogates for him.”

“She is also a textbook psychopath, exhibiting all of the classic traits: incapability of feeling any empathy towards others, neither guilt nor remorse, and claiming no responsibility for her actions. Like others of her type, she is highly intelligent, manipulative, and narcissistic.” Spencer explained the unsub’s pathology. 

“Evans had received higher education. She graduated with a business degree, most likely a subconscious influence from her father. With the business acumen and the social skillset, this unsub can easily blend in with all the other business people and manipulate them.” Hotch explained, walked slowly around the large room. 

“Based on her background, she came from a wealthy family. However, the family wasn’t perfect. Her father constantly cheated on his wife. The mother always forgave him. As a young girl, Evans most likely has experienced emotional and sexual abuse from her father. It was a way for him to control his daughter, and she had resented that for years.” Emily said about the unsub’s childhood. 

“She mostly has experienced misogyny in her professional life. Had little comments and slights against her. Perhaps a less qualified male co-worker took a promotion that she deemed herself to be of a better fit,” Derek explained about the stressor. “Something in her work life triggered her to start killing the men who represented her father.”

“With this profile, we should search for Taylor Evans’ location and any potential victims. We suggest going public with the information as soon as possible… Thank you very much.” Hotch ended the profile with his parting words. Everyone at the precinct was disbursed from the room to get back to their work. The agents huddled together to prep themselves in case something big were to happen. 

“JJ, I would like for you to conduct a press conference,” Hotch said.

“Why is that, sir?” The media liaison asked. 

“I would like to draw her out. Have it known that we are after her.” The media liaison nodded her head in agreement and left the main room to work on getting a press conference together.

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Before entering the press room, JJ took a deep breath and exhaled to calm herself down. Thoughts were rushing in her mind. Don’t let them get to you, JJ. She neatly fixed her hair to seem presentable. Taking her golden heart necklace, the media liaison kissed it for good luck. 

The media liaison walked into the conference room with great confidence and stood behind the mahogany podium. Standing tall, JJ was not willing to lose a fight with the media, especially with a high-profile case. 

“Ok, can I have everyone's attention,” JJ said to gather the media’s attention to her. “Please, if you could just take your seats…”

“There have been a series of murders that appeared in random locations around Brooklyn. There is sufficient evidence that the victims were murdered on Wall Street then transported to their disposal sites.”

“We believe she may have experienced a psychotic break recently, causing the unsub to escalate to murder to regain a sense of control. You should increase your patrols in and around Wall Street… “

“Why would you focus your profile on the finance guys when the unsub has also contacted members of the FBI?” A male reporter interrupted the media liaison.  

JJ stood at the podium in shock. How could he know about that? We kept that under wraps. 

“I- How did you obtain that information?” JJ asked. 

“I overheard one of the cops saying it.” The journalist said casually. The blonde’s right eyebrow lightly twitched in anger. What couldn’t those cops just shut their mouths, JJ thought.

“What you heard from these officers isn’t true,” JJ lied to keep confidential information private. “Now, do you have any questions about the case?” A new wave of hands came up. JJ took a few more questions to answer. After a while, it was time to end the press conference.

“If anyone works in or around Wall Street, and sees anything unusual, please do not hesitate to call the number on your screen. Thank you.” JJ said her final statement, ending the press conference. As she walked down the steps down the small stage, a reporter called out her name.   

“Agent Jareau! I have something that may be of interest for you!” A different male reporter called out. JJ turned to face him, excepting the same male reporter from earlier. Trying to keep her anger inside, she greeted the news reporter with dignity. 

The male reporter handed the media liaison a letter. JJ took a look at it and was surprised at what she saw: the signature of their unsub. 

“How did you get this?” JJ asked the man. 

“It was sent to me yesterday, directly to the New York Herald.” The man said. JJ called for one of the officers by the wall to collect the letter for evidence. 

“We are going to take this in for evidence processing. One of the officers here will take you in for some questioning.” The man nodded as another officer whisked him away for interrogation. 

JJ sighed and went to search for the officer that unknowingly leaked information. She saw him with another cop, talking, against the wall outside of the press conference room. 

“That information was not for the public!” JJ said, angrily at an NYPD officer. 

“Listen, lady. I don’t know how and where he got the information from,” The beat cop explained himself. “He could have been creeping around the crime scenes or the precinct. 

“Keep your mouth shut, pal, as this case is private and under federal jurisdiction.” JJ huffed as Derek grabbed her shoulders and slowly tried to drag her away. The blonde complied with her co-worker, not throwing a fight as this was not her battle to fight in. 

Once Derek loosened his grips, the media liaison dashed out of the conference room to find her own space to calm down. 

JJ speed-walked once she was out of the hallway’s vicinity. She rushed into the nearest bathroom. Breathing heavily, the media liaison slowly walked into one of the stalls and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, JJ prepared herself for the biggest scream she would take in her life. 

“Fuck. These little shits. Those bastards. Assholes. Son of a bitch. Fucking shit. Why can’t they keep their mouths fucking shut! Those cocksucking motherfucking god damned jackasses!” JJ yelled at the top of her lungs. Her chest fell hard as the blonde was taking deep breaths. She felt better after taking out her anger by screaming. Feeling a little tired, JJ sat on the closed toilet and placed her head between her knees to calm herself down. A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bathroom door. 

“JJ… Are you okay?” Emily’s voice could be heard on the other side. JJ sighed while getting up. She opened the stall door and tried to make herself more presentable. Unlocking the silver lock, she opened the door slowly to reveal a relieved Emily Prentiss. 

“Ah–,” Emily gently grabbed JJ and brought her in a warm embrace. They stood together in that position for a few minutes before heading back to the conference room, where the others were, preparing themselves to capture the unsub tonight.

Later that evening, the BAU team, along with SWAT, raided a luxury apartment building in Downtown Brooklyn. Upon entering the only penthouse, Derek broke the door with his strength. The group of agents entered the area and in the middle of the living room, was Taylor Evans. Black mascara ran down her cheeks as she held a gun in her left hand and the final tarot card in the other. 

“Just in time for the show, agents.” Evans croaked. Her sad grey eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed from her mental breakdown. 

“Taylor… Listen. You’re young. You don’t have to do this. If you come with us, you can get a lighter sentence and live your life.” Emily said to calm down the broken girl. 

More time passed by as Emily and Spencer tried their best to negotiate with the unsub, but the end was already written. Taylor Evans planned to do an end game, one where she put herself out of misery. 

“I’m sorry….” the blonde girl whispered. In a swift motion, Taylor pulled the trigger onto herself and shot herself underneath the jaw. Her body dropped quickly but Derek ran up to the body to catch it. 

“Damn it,” Derek said. “She was young. Broken. Felt like she had to prove herself that she was something.”

“There was nothing we could have done to help, Morgan. She already had planned her end. She was long gone before anyone else could have noticed.” Hotch responded to Derek’s little monologue. 

Right next to her body was the Emperor card. A beautiful deep purple with gold lining depicting an emperor. The gold detailing reflected against the tall mirrors in the room. The card was reversed, like if she purposefully did that to tell the end to her story. 

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @lgbtbau / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @pen3mily / @morcias / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @notsosmexy / @rxcklessly-bratty / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp

[hotchley]

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team. 

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again. 

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old. 

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave. 

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day. 

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago. 

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly. 

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran. 

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says. 

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with. 

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue. 

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic. 

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom. 

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face? 

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston? 

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow. 

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now. 

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him. 

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member. 

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real. 

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

[makomori]

ONE | NEW TERRITORY (Brand New Story)

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI x OC

Nishimura Yua has to take her nephew to his first rep practice with the Tohoku Tigers at Shiratorizawa Academy. Ushijima Wakatoshi is filling in for the assistant coach on said team.

She’s recovering from a nasty breakup and he’s reeling from a stunning finals loss against the Jackals.

Yua’s drawn to his composure and honesty.

Wakatoshi finds her warmth and tenacity intriguing.

It’s the start of a Brand New Story; can they heal from past hurts and endure new challenges in order to help each other trust and love again?

Length: 2.4k words

It's been nearly a month since the Schweiden Adlers lost to the MSBY Black Jackals in the V.League finals. Wakatoshi is reflecting on his performance when he receives an interesting proposal from his old coach.

Much love to @chuckhansen​ for encouraging my chicken little ass to post this. After 24601 years, I finally finished a chapter! And it’s about your favourite opposite lefty, Ushijima Wakatoshi! I absolutely ADORE him, and I’ve been running with this idea since March. The title is from Exile Generation’s song, “Brand New Story”. I highly recommend checking it out b/c it’s an amazing BOP. 

This is eventually going to be a multi-chapter, Ushiwaka x OC fic b/c our Super Ace deserves all the love in the world! This is definitely a rough draft, and I welcome constructive feedback or any reactions! I’m catching up with the manga, so I’ll be making changes along the way. I hope you enjoy reading b/c I had so much fun writing it. 🥰🥺

Wakatoshi’s morning jog was hard. Physically, he could have easily run for another ten kilometers, but his mind kept pulling him back to the safety and warmth of his unmade bed. Annoyed that a steady and peaceful rhythm was out of his reach, he grudgingly circled back to his complex. But by the time he made it up the steps to his apartment, he was breathing hard.

Looks like he needed more rest after all.

Before going in, Wakatoshi took note of the nearly empty bowls of kibble and water beside his front door. He needed to refill them soon. There were several stray cats in the neighbourhood, and he always tried to feed as many as he could while he was home. They gravitated to him when he first moved in, which he thought odd because he didn’t have any experience with cats, or any animals, as a child. He enjoyed their company, though, as they were independent and showed affection once a bond was formed. He wasn’t the easiest person to interact with, so he appreciated the simplicity of his relationship with them.

Sighing, he unzipped his sweater and tossed it absently on the dark green counter top. The apartment was bigger than initially wanted, but his mother insisted that he’d regret it if he chose something smaller. She said that it was always good to have extra room in case people came over. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t have much time to entertain considering he would be on the road for games. However, when he realized the extra space would mean that she would always be comfortable during visits, he quickly put an offer in for the apartment.

The troublesome feeling of guilt tugged at him as he thought of his mother. He hadn’t spoken to her in a few weeks. Not since the Adlers loss to the Jackals in the V.League finals. Actually, he needed to touch base with several people in addition to her. Leaning against the counter, he thumbed through his phone until his messages popped up.

20 unread texts stared at him earnestly. The latest one was from Kageyama.

We should practice soon. Let me know when you’re free.

No apologies or words of comfort. He appreciated that. It seemed that Kageyama had already cut his losses and was getting ready for next season. He only knew of a few people that bounced back that quickly; Kageyama’s stubbornness and adaptability was an invaluable asset on the court.

The next message was from Romero.

Hey, Lefty. Drinks on me next time.

Wakatoshi wasn’t a huge drinker, but he enjoyed spending time with Romero. He was supportive and sociable, traits that he hoped would come easier to him one day.

Tendou was next.

Don’t get too down, Toshi-kun! I’ll buy you all the Hayashi rice you want the next time I’m in Sendai.

That made him chuckle. Tendou must be really worried about him if he was willing to take a break from his chocolatier apprenticeship just go out for dinner in their hometown.

The rest of the messages were of a similar nature. Sympathies and offers to hang out when he was available. People were genuinely concerned for him, and he was grateful. He hoped he didn’t worry his them too much with his lack of response.

Normally, he responded to any messages immediately, but he wanted a bit of peace after a long season. A month, however, was pushing it. After downing a glass of orange juice, he decided to respond to them methodically after a short nap and a hot shower. He flopped ungracefully on the couch and stretched his long legs out, calves protesting slightly at the movement.

Wakatoshi closed his eyes and hoped sleep would come, but his thoughts were pulled back to the final set against the Jackals. Everyone knew the match would be a close one. The players on both teams were talented, competitive, and exceedingly stubborn. The Adlers had been the champions for the last three years, but the Jackals were eager to claim that title for themselves. Once the team found out who their opponents were, they prepared to play hard through all five sets.

Because the Jackals would do the same.

Wakatoshi was more than excited for the match, as he always relished the chance to play the best of his contemporaries. He was especially looking forward to paying Hinata back for snatching his last chance to go to the Spring Tournament seven years ago. Wakatoshi couldn’t wait to test the redhead’s newfound skills against his own. They had both evolved into formidable players since their last encounter.

But the Jackals still surprised him, despite having played them twice during the regular season. He had spent hours analyzing their strengths, weaknesses, and overall playing style. The Adlers were deadly in their precision and technical prowess, but the Jackals matched that with their unpredictability and tenacity. Miya’s charisma leant itself well to his unconventional spikers. Bokuto, Sakusa, and Hinata were the personification of baseless confidence and relentless determination. Wakatoshi’s most disliked traits.

The Adlers won the first two sets: 25-22 and 25-23.

The coaching staff was fairly confident that they team would take the final set and the match itself, with his, Houshiumi’s, and Romero’s spikes at textbook perfection. But Wakatoshi knew better. From across the court, he felt the energy shift in the Jackals’ team huddle. He could tell Hinata was rallying his team with some choice words; Bokuto was getting worked up, along with Sakusa. They weren’t going out quietly, and frankly, Wakatoshi would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t put up a fight.

The Jackals took the next two sets: 28-26 and 25-23.

Like most players Wakatoshi didn’t like being pushed to the fifth set, as switching courts halfway could effectively kill any hard-earned momentum. He scored the first few points of the set, connecting with Kageyama’s tosses like he always did. But a feeling a dread crept to the front of his mind once he felt that shift of energy again.

It started with Hinata and quickly spread to the rest of his team. The time he spent with Oikawa in Brazil had changed him. He was faster, smarter, and even more fearless than the first time they played. Wakatoshi had to stop himself from admiring his skill and presence. Miya had a grin on his face every time he set to the redhead. Few setters had the chance to work with a wing spiker like Hinata.

The Jackals disrupted the flow of the game with two hard volleys to the back corners of the court on the second hit. The placement confused the back-line players because the ball’s trajectory was on that razor-thin line of in and out. Indecision cost them two crucial points. Then, Sakusa forced him to dig for a few a tips that were just outside of his reach.

And shockingly, he was forced to tip when he realized that he couldn’t power his way through an impenetrable three-man block. It was sloppy and picked up with ease by the libero. This was new territory for him, and he normally wouldn’t have minded, but the unforgiving pace of the fifth set didn’t allow him enough time to adjust to their tactics.

The Jackals won the final set. 25-23. Hinata’s final kill blasted through a hole through his, Sokolov’s, and Romero’s outstretched arms.

Wakatoshi had never been one to dwell on the past, but he couldn’t help but remember his final loss against Karasuno seven years ago. He looked over at Hinata, who was currently dog-piled under his teammates and coaching staff. Their celebration was drowned out by the roaring and unruly crowd, shocked at the defeat of the defending champions.

The little redhead managed to best him again.

No. He was the Little Giant now.

Wakatoshi was still recovering from the outcome when Romero gently nudged his shoulder and said it was time to line up. The man’s darkly stubbled face was sweaty and flushed, probably not unlike his own. But he gave him a solid thump on his back and complimented his spikes before walking past, and it was all Wakatoshi could do to hold his head up high and line up with the rest of the team.

That was a month ago, he thought angrily, resting his forearm over his eyes. The pressure was somewhat comforting. Move on. He hated that he was still dwelling on this loss. That wasn’t like him. He felt out of place for the last month, unsure of how to process his feelings. He hated that even more. Why? He was already a champion, so why was this loss different? Was it because he failed in his duty as the Adlers’ Ace?

Or was it because Hinata beat him again?

His last coherent thought before he finally drifted off to sleep was a fierce promise that he would continue to push forward and improve.

No matter what stood in his way.

~

Riiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiing. Riiiiiii—

Wakatoshi turned over, causing the phone on his chest to fall face down onto the floor. The loud thud brought him back to reality. He rubbed his eyes gently with the heel of his hand. How long had he slept? And who was calling him? He briefly considered ignoring the call, but then remembered his decision to reach out to people again. Might as well start now. But by the time he reached his phone, the ringing had stopped. His brow furrowed when he saw the name pop up for the missed call.

SAITOU-SENSEI.

Curious, Wakatoshi sat up and pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Saitou-sensei, it’s Wakatoshi-kun. I’m sorry I missed your call.” He smiled when the warm, familiar voice echoed in his ear.

“Oh, not to worry! I’m sure you wanted some peace and quiet after a busy season.”

“Yes,” he stated, leaning back on the plush cushions. “It’s good to be home.”

The excitement in his coach’s voice was instant. “Ah, I was hoping you’d say that! I know it’s last minute, but would you be interested in helping me coach a middle school rep team on Saturday?”

“Coach?” He echoed. Saturday was two days away.

“Just for this Saturday,” his sensei clarified. “My assistant is sick and having an extra pair of hands at practice is never a bad thing.”

Wakatoshi nodded in agreement. Having two coaches was always a benefit to the players. He learned as much from Saitou-sensei as he did Washijiou-sensei during his time at Shiratorizawa. “Where are you holding practice?”

He could hear the smile in sensei’s voice. “Home court. Shiratorizawa Academy. It’s from 1 to 4 in the afternoon.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes widened. He was going to already going to say yes because it was Saitou-sensei asking, but that solidified his decision. “If it’s acceptable, I’d like to be there at 11 to warm up. I haven’t played in a month.” He paused and tried to think of another way to help. “I can set the net up as well.”

“That would be great because I don’t have a manager yet.” Sensei sounded relieved. “I was planning on coming early and doing it myself, but I’m in Tokyo until Saturday morning.”

Wakatoshi shook his head. It wouldn’t take long for sensei’s young team to realize how lucky they were to have him as a coach. He was always willing to do everything to ensure everyone would have a good experience. “Please leave it to me.”

“You’re still reliable as ever, Wakatoshi-kun. I’ll take you out for dinner as a thank you.”

Wakatoshi’s ears grew hot. He never expected anything in return for helping. “T-that’s not necessary, sensei,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is the least I can do for the years you spent coaching me.”

“Ah, now you’re embarrassing me!” Sensei’s laugh was infectious. “It was a joy to help you grow into the player you are now. You played a hell of a game last month.”

Wakatoshi’s fingers tightened over his phone. Did he really play his absolute best? If he did, it still wasn’t enough to win against Hinata and—

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Sensei’s steady voice effectively cut through Wakatoshi’s negative thoughts and insecurities. “I know you hate losing.” The smile returned to his tone. “But when you do, there’s no shame in losing to the best of them. It just happened to be the Jackals that day.”

Wakatoshi swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t realize how much he needed to be reassured that losing didn’t mean he was inadequate or lacking. He was just used to shouldering the burdens and pressure that came with being a top player. Not to mention the high expectations he set for himself. But that left no room for failure, and it was exhausting.

“Besides, you love playing more than you hate losing, right?” His sensei sounded hopeful, imploring. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you get back on the court.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes widened. His love for volleyball was lost in the wake of self-pity. Suddenly, Saturday couldn’t come fast enough. He missed practicing until his arms and hands were red. He missed the satisfaction of hearing the ball land in the opponent’s court after a spike or a tip. And he missed growing and learning with his teammates.

“I-I’m looking forward to it,” Wakatoshi said softly. “Thank you, Saitou-sensei.” He still wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings, but he knew that sensei understood him enough to understand that he was grateful for the words of encouragement.

“Hey, now! You’re a coach now too, Ushijima-sensei. Get used to it. You’ll be hearing it a lot from the players on Saturday.”

Wakatoshi frowned. He was only filling in and didn’t deserve that distinction. “But it’s only for the day—”

His sensei laughed again. “Well, that still counts! I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Goodbye, sensei.”

Wakatoshi placed his phone on the coffee table. The heaviness he felt in his chest throughout the last month was gone. Instead, he felt restless. Just like all the other times he took on a new challenge. It had been a long time since he trained anyone. Perhaps he could show these young players that falling short of a goal wasn’t the end of the world. And having a solid support system was essential to growing as an individual and as a player. After embracing his newfound insights, a smile threatened split his face in two.

He was definitely getting into it.

[wingsofkpop]

Finding SKZ - 1: CB97

pairing(s): Hybrid!Bang Chan x Reader, Hybrid!SKZ x Reader

genre: Hybrid!AU, Dystopian!AU, heavy Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse

word count: 5,6k

synopsis: After rescuing an abandoned hybrid from his fate of death, he has on other favor to ask of you. Not only do you have to find his eight other hybrid brothers, but you have to keep them safe from the deadly dangers of your city: Miroh 

chapter directory 

The world isn’t as it was before.

Your great-grandfather used to tell you these words everytime the sun would sink beneath the horizon. You often wonder if he chose to do this on purpose, and somehow, felt safer with the absence of light. It was almost as if his comments were shielded beneath the dark of night, like a grieving wife shields her face with a black, opaque veil. Maybe he was afraid of getting in trouble. To this day, certain people still vanish into thin air without so much as a blink of the eye. Swallowed into the night without a trace.

Your great-grandfather lived in the Old World, before the devastation of WWIII and the rebirth of civilization under the New World. He used to tell stories of his time as a little boy growing up on a planet separated into continents, countries, regions, cities. During this time, different languages ranging from use of words to sounds to hands were spoken and thus, further diversified the population. This was the time before the Mass Genocide, before 95% of the population was taken out by extreme warfare and nuclear technology. Most of the languages and texts died with them, along with most other means to diversity.

Your great-grandfather’s favorite stories to repeat over and over again were those of his travels. His mother had been a successful business woman and continuously received one business trip after the other. They journeyed across the Earth together, visiting countries called Zimbabwe and Jordan and exploring cities like Budapest, Moscow and New York. He said his favorite place was Sydney as the oceans of Australia always seemed to sparkle and the sky always brightened. You’d seen pictures in history books from school, but they never brought his descriptions to justice. He was always good at putting an image inside your head.

You also often wonder what the world would have been like if the war never happened. It’s difficult to believe that your home could have been totally different if one event never occurred. If billions of people never died, would Miroh still have been created? Would the people of the earth still have united into one less than harmonious civilization? Or would there still be fighting? Even if one war could have been prevented, who’s to say the human race would have only been delaying the inevitable. Maybe fate has it set in stone for people to kill each other. The world is run by corruption, power and greed anyway.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the New World.

A vibration sounds within the vicinity. You quickly connect the signal to your cell phone and retract the device from your pocket. Time away from your phone had allowed a collection of notifications to begin, the majority being text messages from your aunt.

Ever since you moved out, she had been keeping a close eye on you. Invitations to dinner, packages in the mail and calls about your day happened almost four, five times a week. And as much as you loved her and her compassionate heart, she failed to realize that you were an adult who could take care of herself. You didn’t need her help. Not anymore anyway.

After your mother’s death at sixteen, your aunt had taken you under her wing. The first few years were tough. You barely finished high school and were less than motivated to attend college. But you knew a decent education is what your mom would have wanted for you, so here you are: A student at one of Miroh’s most prestigious universities.

Your aunt wanted you to stay in the offered dorm rooms, but you couldn’t handle living with a bunch of strangers as roommates. With a portion of the inheritance your mom left, you were able to afford a nice apartment in the city only walking distance from your campus and the coffee shop where you work. And although you would never tell her to her face, you were glad to be a good couple hours away from your aunt’s home. It just made your life much more stress free that way.

You scroll past your aunt’s invitation to Sunday brunch and instead discover the original source of the vibration: Your father.

Your dad and mom divorced when you were about ten, deciding that their marriage was broken and could never be salvaged. Your dad remarried only three months after their official split, and began having children of his own only after a year. Truth be told, your father and you were never close, which is why you initially went to live with your aunt after your mom passed. Even so, you both still make the effort to meet up at least once a month just to catch up. You’ve considered completely cutting him out of your life, but then you remember your mom and what she would have wanted.

You quickly accept your dad’s request on meeting up two weeks from Tuesday, telling him to let you know which restaurant he chooses for lunch. Satisfied, you lock and put away your phone, then return your attention to the vacant cafe. You really shouldn’t be looking at your phone during your shift, and normally you don’t, but your last customer had finished his latte a little over ten minutes ago and left you to your lonesome. And you were the only employee willing to stay to close up shop today, so your coworkers left a long time ago. You didn’t mind though, it’s extra pay.

You glance at the clock across the room, discovering the time to be about five minutes after closing. With a sigh, you untie the apron from around your waist and head into the backroom to grab your stuff. The only issue about staying after late is the walk back to your apartment. It’s not that the paths are unsafe, but more so you hate walking in the dark. The streets tend to become strangely silent at night and it’s not the most easing feeling.

After tugging on your winter coat and securing your bag, you head back into the main shop. You make sure that everything is in place before turning your attention to the doors, which were already locked, courtesy of the alarm system your boss installed a couple weeks ago after the thieving incident. You weren’t there when it happened, but apparently some couple tried to break into the shop while one of your coworkers stayed after to clean. Again, you weren’t there, so you don’t know all the details. But you do know that your coworker ended up in the hospital with a couple broken ribs and a concussion.

You exit the coffee shop and prepare to go on your way, pausing to tug on the door handle just in case. Content in its rigidness, you begin to make your way down the dim and snowy sidewalk. Even though your path is illuminated by various street lamps, your muscles can’t help but tense at every shadow you catch in your peripherals. Maybe you should have considered taking the bus.

You manage to make it the two blocks to your street without fault. The nervous feeling coursing throughout your body lessens substantially now that your apartment building is in your sights. On instinct, your pace quickens and your mind wanders to the things waiting for you at home: A late dinner of ramen to ease the ache of your stomach, a nice, hot shower to take away the chill of winter and your warm bed waiting to be utilized all weekend long.

A sudden clatter has your attention returning to reality. You flinch at the noise and like a deer in headlights, pause. Peering down the alleyway, you’re able to make out a couple silhouettes through the snowflakes and the darkness. All the more reason to run the rest of the way to your apartment. And you move to do so as well, that was until another strange sound reaches your ears. You recognize it to be a cry, human-like and agonizing, as if they were in pain.

Against your better judgement, you pull out a bottle of pepper spray you keep handy in your bag and start to creep into the alleyway. In your other hand, to aim your phone flashlight toward the moving figures, who become rather alerted at your presence. Just when your about to catch a glimpse of their faces, they’re gone, having escaped out the other end of the alley.

A sigh of relief passes through your lungs as your grip on your weapon releases slightly. You turn to exit back onto the street and really return to your home, but that same pained whimper stops you. You snap around again and raise your flashlight, catching the sight of another figure just a few feet in front of you.

After getting closer, you’re able to distinguish the figure was not a human at all, but some sort of male hybrid. Your eyes widen at the wolf-like ears emerging from his blonde scalp and the fluffy tail laid limp at his side. The hybrid was naked from the waist down, exposing a concerning amount of bleeding wounds and dark bruises littering his chest. He looked like he was attacked by something, or someone. The most sickening feature was the fact he was chained to an impenetrable metal pole and had a large muzzle covering his face from the nose down. A large metal cuff encased his right wrist, and by the looks of it, it was tight enough to draw blood which had already long dried against his skin.

“Oh my god,” You murmur, lowering to kneel in front of the hybrid. His deep brown eyes stalk your every move, filled with a blend of fright and sadness which has your heart breaking even more. More cuts and bruises were painted across what you could see of his face, which was also snow white. The realization that he was out here in the cold for god knows how long with barely any clothing hits you fast and hard. Without hesitation, you rip the coat from your body and carefully move toward the hybrid. In a soft voice, you say, “Don’t be afraid, okay? I’m just going to put this around you…”

The hybrid makes no remarks, and for a moment you couldn’t tell if he understood you, much less heard you. After a couple seconds, you decide to test your luck and approach the wounded creature. He doesn’t react and easily allows you to throw the jacket around his quivering body. Because of his broad shoulders and muscular stature, the coat only covers so much of his skin, but it’s better than nothing.

You move onto the next issue: Somehow freeing him from his restraints. The task is a lot easier said than done, considering he was chained so escape was impossible. So, you decide to start with the contraption around his mouth. You warn him of your plan once more, before reaching out to pull the muzzle from around his head. When your hands brush against the tips of his ears, it was like touching ice. You need to warm him up. Fast.

With the muzzle off, more of his face was visible. You can’t help but notice his rather sharp jawline and smooth skin. Knowing yourself, you would have spent more time analyzing his features, but you have a greater concern that requires your attention first,

Gently, you take the hybrid’s wrist into your hands to better inspect the cuff. There was a hole meant for a key, which you obviously didn’t have. You couldn’t exactly break it either, so you decide on the next best option. You quickly grab your bag and pilfer through the contents to find what you’re looking for. With a sigh of victory, you take out the found paper clip and using the pointy end, try to pick the lock. After your fourth attempt, a click sounds in your ears and the metal falls from his wrist with a thud. You don’t spare the time to celebrate though, and instead help the hybrid to his feet.

The two minute walk to your apartment took over twenty, considering the hybrid could barely move and you kept crumbling beneath his immense weight. Luckily, when you do manage to get him through the door, no one is in the lobby to start asking questions (your neighbors aren’t the most private people). You drag him into the elevator, prop him up against the wall and admit an exhausted huff. The ride to your floor is oddly silent and tense, and more than once, you caught your new companion staring at you. You decide not to question it, knowing he’s probably a little scared.

You managed to transport him into your apartment fairly quick and noise free, so not to disturb your sleeping neighbors. The hybrid, for the most part, could stand on his own, which allows you the time to secure your door and toss your unnecessary belongings in a nearby corner. Your next destination is to the sofa, where you quite literally pile blankets on top of him. Later, when he’s much warmer, you’ll run him a bath. You can’t warm him up too fast.

You compile some hot towels and water bottles as well, making sure to only directly apply the towels to his neck and chest. The bottles are hidden beneath the blankets, safe away from any skin to skin contact. Making sure you’ve done everything you can for him at that moment, you rush into the kitchen to cook that ramen you mentioned earlier. Only this time, dinner for you would have to be a bit later than usual.

Five minutes and lots of nail biting later, you’re spooning the soup into a large bowl and sprint back into your living room. You nearly drop the dish in fright, noting how the hybrid’s eyes were shut. After making your presence known though, his eyelids part and expose the sad irises from before. You try not to let his sullen gaze affect you, but you were always an empathetic person and it takes a lot of will not to do so. You’re surprised you didn’t burst into tears how you found him that alley.

“Can you eat?” You ask, kneeling beside the couch to offer him the cup. “It’ll help to warm you up…”

The hybrid doesn’t answer, but moves to sit himself up. You help him, tugging aside a couple of the blankets and replacing the towel that had slid from his neck. He reaches to take the soup from your hands, but you refuse, shaking your head, “I’ll feed you. I don’t want you accidentally spilling it and burning yourself.”

Reluctantly, he nods and allows you to spoon a mouthful of soup onto his tongue. He inhales it greedily, barely taking three seconds to swallow and parting his lips for more. It takes even less time for him to empty the cup than it took for you to make the soup. Once he’s finished, the hybrid leans back and closes his eyes.

You take the time to scan his face, which thankfully had begun to flush with a little color. Like you saw before beneath all the cuts and bruises, his skin was smooth and nearly free of any flaws, mind the occasional acne scar. His nose was long and on the wider spectrum, but fit his features purposely. His lips were badly chapped, a result of time outside in the cold. You made a note to go out and buy some chapstick soon. You could always use some too.

Your eyes can’t help but trail up to his furry ears, hued a light silver. You wonder if he is derived from some sort of dog, or possibly wolf. You weren’t entirely familiar with hybrid species, seeing as this is the first time you have ever met one face to face.

From your biology class, you know hybrids were invented about half a century back. It was actually an accident. Scientists were originally looking for a cure for cancer and attempted to mix human DNA with different kinds of animal DNA. You can’t remember a lot of the details, but they somehow ended up with an embryo for the very first rabbit hybrid, which was then conceived by a human volunteer. From there, they went on to make so many different species, dogs, cats, mice, reptiles. Anything they could get to match with the human DNA. Eventually, they compiled a great enough number to where they could breed amongst themselves. Everybody at that time wanted one.

The public, for the most part, accepted the new creatures. Many people adopted and took care of them as they would regular pets, which was nice since majority of the animals died out during the Mass Genocide.

However, as time went on, life for hybrids became a lot worse. Without any rights, humans began to treat them like, well, like animals. You’ve seen so many news stories showcasing hybrid mistreatment, abuse and cruelty. Just a month ago, one of your friends told you that her dad nearly killed their family’s hybrid for accidentally breaking a plate. It makes you wonder what ever happened to him...

When you lower your gaze back to his eyes, you find the hybrid staring right at you. A couple moments of awkward silence roll by until a gentle smile emerges across his lips. His expression carries over his gratitude, which has the corners of your own lips upturning. When he speaks, or tries to, his sound is hoarse and quiet so it takes you a second to think over his words. Beneath his croak, you can trace the hit of what seems to be an Australian accent. For a moment, you can’t help but think of your great-grandfather’s story.

“I’m Chan.”

Still smiling, you reply, “It’s nice to meet you, Chan. I’m glad you’re alive.”

~~*~~**~~*~~

You didn’t know what was going through your head when you offered Chan a place to stay the morning after the night you basically saved his life. To be honest, you didn’t know what was going through your head the moment you decided to help him at all. Then again, you weren’t just going to leave him out there to die. You couldn’t live with yourself if you allowed that.

It’s been a week since the incident, and Chan is almost fully healed. Most of his bruises faded to gray and all his wounds closed, leaving his skin even more flawless than before. Your guess was right, by the way. Chan concluded that he was a wolf hybrid. You knew by the ears and tail, but really didn’t want to assume.

You tried not to let that concrete knowledge change anything, but you were still a little wary. Most hybrids were known to be derived from domesticated animals, and those that weren’t had a track record of acting out of instinct. One of your aunt’s friends adopted a lion hybrid and ended up in the hospital after it out of the blue attacked her, nearly ripping out her throat.

You didn’t think Chan was capable of such violence though, since the hybrid is sweeter than sweet could be. Yesterday, you woke up to the smell of pancakes and found that he had actually made you breakfast, knowing you had work in just a little under an hour. You felt nice after that. No one has ever done something like that for you. And Chan is a really good chef.

The two of you bonded a lot over the week. Although, you didn’t learn as much about him as he did you. Genuinely, he seemed curious about your life, and given his previous situation, you really didn’t have it in you to voice your annoyance over the issue. What you did manage to find out is vague, but tells you enough about the kind of life Chan has had thus far.

He was created in a laboratory, which is pretty rare for hybrids nowadays, and grew up there. He was thrown in the real world almost three years ago when he was purchased by some guy with a bunch of money. His owner was an asshole (a kind word for you to use honestly) and when he wasn’t beating him, he was neglecting him for days on end and leaving him to fend for himself. That’s how he ended up in that alleyway. The bastard got tired of supporting him and left him to die. You’ve never wished death on anyone before, but this guy really deserves a knife shoved down his throat.

Chan became really quiet after that and sort of shut down for the night. You didn’t mind though. Something like that cannot be easy to remember, much less handle. One thing that almost made you laugh was when Chan expressed his sympathy for the loss of your mother. Although after a while, it made you feel even worse, considering he never even had parents other than the scientists.

Anyway, you made it clear to the hybrid that whatever he decided to do from then on was up to him. You would give him the support he needs either way. However, if he chose to stay with you, you wanted him to at least stay inside the apartment when you weren’t there with him. Hybrids caught traveling without a human escort have two fates: One, they’re taken by the MHA (Miroh Hybrid Association) and put into hybrid adoption centers and pounds, or two, they’re picked up by hybrid traffickers. And even when you took Chan to the store to get some things, a lot of people weren’t happy with the fact he was off a leash. You would never do anything like that to him. And you made that very clear when Chan asked.

You hated the idea of being Chan’s “owner,” which is why adopting a hybrid never interested you in the first place. Unlike most people, you saw hybrids as other types of humans. Sure, their DNA is a lot different, but they still bleed the same color blood. Who are you to collar a hybrid, declare yourself their master and take their freedom away?

You sigh for what seems to be the millionth time in the past hour. Right now, you had no motivation to listen to your psychology professor’s lecture on Freud’s psychoanalytic theory. You already read the chapter over the weekend and completed this week's homework so you were pretty much ahead of the game. You were already studying for your final in a couple weeks. This course was probably the easiest out of your others since it’s based on the textbook. You’re really grateful for that considering you’re not doing the best in your sociology class.

This was the longest time you were away from Chan in the past few days and you didn’t like it one bit. Ever since you walked out the door this morning, your mind couldn’t help but wander to him. You were paranoid about the fact that the hybrid might get himself into some trouble and have no way to contact you. You never gave him your cell phone number, which was stupid on your part. You just hope he’s okay.

Your eyes shift to the clock mounted above the smart board and you have to physically stop yourself from crying out in glee. There was only one minute left until your professor was forced to let you and your classmates run free. You quickly pack your things while also attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. The last time your professor caught a student packing up early, he had to stay another hour after to help him clean. You can’t afford that today since you promised Chan you would be home in time for dinner.

Once the alarm your professor sets each day before class rings, you’re up out of your seat and making a mad dash for the door. Thankfully, you make it there before the rush occurs and are already outside when everyone else exits the classroom.

You try to keep a fluid pace all the way back to your apartment, but you end up sprinting the final block. When you enter your building, you bid the security guard a quick greeting and slide into the elevator with an elderly couple just when the doors were about to close. The ride takes too long for your liking and once the ding indicating your floor finally sounds, you’re out the machine at lightning speed and fitting the key you already prepared into your door.

When you swing it open, you’re met with an uneasy silence that has your nerves standing on end. Your panic only builds after you call the hybrid’s name and receive no answer. After tossing your bag into its homely corner, you make your way through your apartment, finding both the living room and kitchen empty. Your only other option is Chan’s makeshift bedroom, which used to be your office. You find the door cracked, a single strand of light bleeding into the dim hallway. Hesitantly, you call the hybrid’s name once more and push the door ajar.

Chan was sat at the desk, typing away on your laptop. Beside the computer was a bunch of papers the hybrid had obviously printed out. He was scribbling in a notebook, rather fervidly it seemed. You notice the earbuds you bought him the other day in the wolf ears atop his head and how you could pick up the music blasting through them from where you’re standing. He couldn’t hear you if he tried.

You step into the room and prepare to make your presence known before Chan whirls around in his chair. His eyes immediately find yours and a smile lifts to his lips. He quickly switches off his music and rips the pods from his ears. Still smiling, he hums, “You’re home. Did you just get in?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a grin of your own. It still caught you a little off guard whenever he did things like that. Somehow, he always knew you were there even if he couldn’t hear you calling his name. You move across the room to stand in front of him and continue, “I was thinking about ordering pizza tonight. What do you think?”

Chan nods, “That sounds good. I actually wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows furrow at the odd request. The thought of him possibly leaving makes you sick. He’s only been living in your apartment for a week, but you’ve gotten used to having him around. It’s been hard being by yourself ever since you and your old partner decided to split. Again, you try to ignore the nauseous wave that attacks your stomach and instead say, “Okay. What is it?”

Chan sighs and angles his head to look back at the laptop screen. You’re alarmed by his sudden mood drop and peer over the chair to see what’s stolen his attention. You find an article about an upcoming new exhibit at the Miroh city zoo featuring a never before seen creature. You’re too far away to read anything other than the headline, but you can tell whatever it’s about is extremely important to Chan.

“You remember when I told you I grew up in a lab?”

You nod.

“Well, I wasn’t alone,” Chan reaches across the desk to pick up one of his papers. He checks it before handing it to you, which you accept warily. You lift the piece eye level, glancing across the various sections describing the creation of nine different hybrids. You find what you assume to be Chan:

CB97

Species: Grey Wolf

Creation Date: 10.3.2297

Diet: Meat

Behavior(s) Observed: Calm, patient, only aggressive when provoked

Interaction: Relates well with humans and other hybrids

See page 3 for full report

“I grew up with all eight of them,” Chan explains while you quickly skim through the other reports. “We were like a family.

“Woojin was the oldest after me so he helped me take care of the other boys. He liked to sing too. He had one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard.

“Then there was Minho, the most mischievous and sly guy you’d ever meet. He always found a way to make us laugh, even in the worst of times.

“And Changbin, one of my best friends. He listened to me when no one else would. I remember we used to stay up for hours talking about living freely outside the laboratory… Too bad it didn’t go how we planned.

“Anyway, next were the ‘00 liners: Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix and Seungmin. The best group of people you could ever be stuck in a room with.

“And then our youngest, Jeongin. I worry about him the most. He was so young when I left… All of them were…”

“What happened to them?” You ask.

Chan shakes his head, “I don’t know. We were all separated after they deemed us acceptable to go out into the public. Woojin was the first one to sell, then Seungmin, then me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Riddled with confusion, you toss the paper back onto the desk and look toward the hybrid expectantly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, allowing you enough time to catch the desperation and hope embedded within his dark brown irises.

He suddenly turns again, this time reaching for the notebook he was previously writing in. Staring over it, he offers it to you and says, “Here.”

You glance across his messily scrawled notes with a puzzled expression. He had written countless names of different locations, addresses, phone numbers, basically anything you could think of.

You stare at the page, allowing yourself a moment of hesitation before muttering, “You’re going to find them, aren’t you?”

“They’re my family, (Y/N). They’re all I have.”

“You know how dangerous this is, don’t you?” You feverishly shake your head, “Chan, Miroh is the most dangerous place for hybrids. Why do you think I barely let you outside this apartment?”

“I know that, (Y/N),” Chan rises from his seat and grabs your elbows. His sudden touch takes your breath away. “And I will be forever grateful for everything you have done for me. I know you’re a kind person, which is why I’m asking you to help me.”

Your eyes flutter shut when you release a defeated sigh, “What can I do?”

“I just need some supplies and some money. Not a lot, just enough to get me around the city.”

Your eyes shoot open at his request while your head moves to shake back and forth again, “Absolutely not. I am not letting you travel around this city by yourself.”

“(Y/N)-”

“-Don’t argue with me on this, Chan.” You notice Chan’s ears flick in annoyance, but continue to make your case anyway. Like hell are you going to allow him to lead himself into a death trap. “I’ll help you find your brothers. But there’s no guarantee I’m going to be able to keep all of you safe here.”

The hybrid shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that. Once I find everyone, we’re going to find Yellow Wood.”

“Yellow Wood-” Your eyes widen at the mention of the foreign place. From your knowledge, Yellow Wood is a place outside of Miroh where hybrids are said to be free once they cross the border. The only issue is that it’s considered a myth, since whoever travels the journey to Yellow Wood is never seen again. The path to get there is a death trap, so most assume they die and the government buries their bodies. What a way to go.

“I know it seems crazy,” Chan obviously notices your doubtful expression, “But, I know it’s real.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because,” Chan reaches behind his body to grab his tail. Shocked, you watch as he parts his fur to reveal a bronze key sewn into his flesh. He continues, “Back in the laboratory when I was on observation, this one person came to see me.

“They told me that I didn’t belong in this world and that I needed to get out as soon as possible before it’s too late. They gave me this key and told me to find the door that leads down to Hell.”

You scoff, “Great. That easy, huh?”

“(Y/N), please. At least try to believe me.”

Chan’s pleading expression has your stubbornness wavering, especially combined with the sad eyes he bestows upon you. You so badly wanted to believe him, but it’s not that easy. How can you believe in a place that has no evidence of existence?

“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea,” The hybrid’s face falls at your retort. Although, you continue, “We’ll talk about it more when we get there. Right now, we have to work to get there first.”

His mood immediately lifts at the mention of the current situation. He nods in agreement, gesturing toward the paper still between your fingers, “I know for sure where Seungmin is. Before he was taken away, I was able to get the name of the person who bought him.”

“Okay, great. We just need to figure out how to get to him.” Easier said than done.

“I have somewhat of a plan. But, I need your word, (Y/N).” Chan places his hands on your shoulders this time, staring straight into your eyes. You feel your pulse race at his sudden gaze, hoping the hybrid wouldn’t notice the sudden change in your body.

“I trust you, a lot more than I really should. But I need to know that you’re with me. No matter what.”

You don’t hesitate, “You have my word, Chan. Let’s go find your brothers.”

“Stray Kids,” He corrects with a chuckle. “We used to call ourselves Stray Kids.”

You nod, “Okay.

“Let’s go find Stray Kids.”

[shawnsvalentine]

business + pleasure : one

description: shawn’s always been into older women but sloan is the exception that drives him wild

warnings: language, failed attempts at humor [2.6k]

It was a rarity for Shawn not to get what he wanted when he wanted it, and she made the mistake of adding to his perfect record as soon as she saw the white cylindrical box engraved with CHRISTIAN DIOR PARIS. There was an elegant note card attached at the top that had been sealed with a golden Giorgi Armani sticker. She made sure to open it while Cassandra was out with a client, knowing that the box wasn’t a care package from her mother.

For your collection. If you have one.

— Shawn xx

She couldn’t stop herself from gasping at the gift inside, the beautiful silk feeling foreign against her finger tips. The Strength mitzvah scarf, that she knew costed more than the thrifted one she was wearing when Shawn first approached her, every bit as gorgeous as it looked in the pictures. She knew that it was no coincidence that he’d chosen the S scarf, but she had no idea how he’d came across her name; she certainly hadn’t told him.

“Good afternoon, Sloan.” Her head snapped up to see him, just as alluring as usual in a plum button up and tight slacks. His eyes darted to the Dior package and he smiled, his whole face brightening at the sight of it opened. “I wanted to get you the whole ABC collection, but I figured you’d think it was excessive.”

“The only thing I thought was how odd it was for one of the board members of Giorgio Armani to gift me a Christian Dior scarf. Something you’re not telling us about your brand?”

He shook his head, his teeth glistening as a smile broke out across his lips. “Our scarves are just fine, you just struck me as a Dior woman.” Shawn wanted the next few moments to be scripted, for Sloan to wrap the scarf around his neck and pull him in so close that he could smell her signature fragrance personally. For her to mold her lips around his and grab onto his arms, moving on to moan sweet nothings into his ear. But of course, all she did was smile at him, thanking him for the gift. “Why don’t you wear it to dinner tonight?”

“Dinner?” What about Cassandra? was the subtext that both of them knew was written in invisible ink.

“A friend of mine just opened a restaurant about a month or so back, it’s in Brooklyn. Neither of our circles run in Brooklyn.”

She smacked his chest playful, taking note of the hard muscle underneath. “Excuse you, I live in Brooklyn.”

“Even better, we’ll be in your borough.” He knew he was playing a risky game by reaching out for her hand across the glass top mahogany desk, eyes fluttering up to catch her reaction. “Just one date. And if you genuinely think we’re nuts for sneaking around, then I’ll leave you alone. But at least let me buy you dinner before you turn me down.”

She laughed lightheartedly, using her free hand to point back at the color splashed creme scarf. “You already bought me a two-hundred dollar accessory,” He pouted, completely unprepared for her to shoot him down. “But yes. Dinner sounds nice. Pick me up at nine.” Sloan scribbled her ten digits on a loose sticky note, stuffing it in his pants pocket before sashaying her way to the break room for a cup of coffee.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t positively giddy at the thought of spending a few hours with Shawn in public, completely uninterrupted by her boss or one of her colleagues. It meant actual conversation and not hushed whispers in between meetings and body language of strictly platonic professionals in case anyone barged in while Shawn was paying a visit. It meant getting to kiss him for the first time.

Sloan blinked back to reality as the Keurig began brewing her coffee, the black liquid filling up her boob-outline mug that she got on sale from Urban Outfitters. “Isn’t this like your third cup today?”

“What can I say, Kimmy, I love coffee.” Whenever Kimmy added her two cents where she didn’t bank, Sloan wanted to roll her eyes so far back they could get stuck. She couldn’t even drink coffee safely.

Kimmy disregarded the snark and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, glancing through the door as she sipped from the ice cold bottle. “Aren’t they just the cutest thing? Cassandra’s so stinking lucky, I’d give my right arm to date Shawn Mendes.”

“You’re left handed.” Sloan grabbed her mug and tried to return back to her desk in peace, but the sight of Shawn cozying up with Cassandra in the middle of the department’s floor had her sick to her stomach. They looked far too sweet giggling over nothing with one another, him practically nibbling on her ear, and all Sloan could do was wish that it was her. She hated feeling like a side piece, and even though she knew Shawn’s angle, she still felt like one. The girl he had to keep hidden.

Maybe: Shawn: It’s Shawn. I saw you watching us. I’m sorry. Will try to keep the office encounters to a minimum. SM.

Sloan: No, it’s not your fault. It’s on me

           Besides, if you stopped showing up I’d never see you

Shawn: Fair point. I’m still sorry though. Going to try to wrap up this deal as soon as possible. SM.

Sloan: What the fuck is sm

Shawn: My initials. I initial all text messages, force of habit. SM.

Sloan: You didn’t have to— nvm. SS.

Shawn: SS?

Sloan: Sloan Spelman

“You have a shoot tomorrow morning and you’re texting? It better be with your Gucci connect to secure that cowboy hat.” Cassandra. Most everyone has complained about a fatal flaw of their boss, but Cassandra Rosen? She was all flaws. Sloan often wondered how the hell she made it to where she was, the Editorial Director of the Vogue Magazine, talent be damned. How could anyone put up with one hundred and sixty pounds of pure mean just because she got things done? It was an answerless question Sloan had been asking herself since the day of her interview.

“Y-yes, I was just confirming it for the New Age Western shoot.” Sloan made a mental note to double confirm the hat for the shoot, otherwise she’d be out on her ass for telling such a boldfaced lie. She was still a bit baffled they were doing a shoot around a custom made Gucci cowboy hat for Lil Nas X all because he snuck it into one of his songs. It was kind of crazy how a guy younger than her had managed to wrap brands right around his finger, and he couldn’t even drink yet.

Shawn was practically staring her down from the doorway, fighting the urge to defend her against Cassandra’s sharp tongue. He knew his way around Cassandra by now, and saying anything to help Sloan would only increase her raging paranoia. It was just better to sit this one out. “I’m about to head out, I’ll see you tomorrow, Cass.” He wanted to say goodbye to Sloan but he settled on a polite nod as he turned to leave.

The rest of her work day was utter hell with Cassandra’s constant bitching about how Sloan’s first editorial shoot had to be perfect, as if Sloan wasn’t already stressing herself out. The only thing that kept her above float, aside from her coffee and Toblerone bar, was the reminder that her date with Shawn was mere hours away. She kept pushing aside the overwhelming anxiety surrounding getting caught and focused on daydreaming little scenarios about the two of them in some obscure underground speakeasy with total strangers. 

Sloan spent extra time in the shower, shaving everywhere just in case, and making sure she was fully lathered in her coconut meadowfoam body wash.  After a solid ten minutes of back and forth, she decided on keeping her curls out and wild, scrunching her bangs so she’d actually be able to see Shawn. She was still deciding between a tight black dress and a silk tank top with floral patterned bottoms when he texted her. It was longer than his normal and she was fairly sure he was nervous.

Shawn: I’m on my way. Took a while to decide on car or subway, but ultimately picked the subway because I wasn’t sure about the restaurant’s parking. He may have mentioned something about a nearby parking garage but those scare me. See you in about thirty minutes. SM.

She started to panic watching the minutes tick by and she grabbed the top and pants, letting her towel drop as she dipped into her body butter. Her underwear was barely on when her doorbell dinged, her hand reaching out to throw on her fuzzy purple robe before shouting out that she was coming. She figured it was her friend Alicia coming to hype her up before her date, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. It was Shawn. “Is that what you’re wearing? Bold choice.” He handed her the bouquet of peonies he was holding before kissing her temple. It gave her chills.

He looked absolutely... delicious. The maroon button up he was donning was showing off a bit of chest hair and his lucky pendant, and he’d rolled the sleeves up to the swell of his forearm. His hair was slicked back perfectly, his brown wavy locks framing his face in a way she thought should be illegal. She gulped at the sight of him towering over her, the urge to mount him oh so very real.“You said a half an hour? I swear it’s been only five minutes or so.”

Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets, his feet tapping against the welcome mat. “I had terrible reception at the terminal, it probably sent the second I resurfaced.”

“Well, come in. You can wait on the couch while I finish up.”

He shut the door behind him, showing himself around the coat rack to her living room. She followed a concise color aesthetic from room to room, the living room obeying the laws of pink and gold. There were plants surrounding her plush pink couch, and white throw pillows to match the rug beneath the golden coffee table. He felt like he was sitting in a Vogue interior design spread. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since junior year of college.” She kept her makeup to a minimum, light foundation with eyeliner and mascara, using extra caution so her outfit didn’t get stained. “It definitely beat paying that expensive ass room and board.”

She completely forgot about shoes as she left the bathroom, Shawn’s attention immediately on her and his jaw on the floor. Sloan tried not to pay any attention to it as she slipped into a pair of black pumps. “What? Is this not venue appropriate?”

“I-It definitely is, it’s just that I wasn’t exactly, I didn’t expect...” He rose from the couch, eyes still fixated on the way the silk clung to her body and how her curly afro graced her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever been legitimately speechless in my entire life. Until now.”

They walked to the restaurant, taking advantage of the warm air and quiet street, using it as time to warm up to one another. The overwhelming lust wasn’t enough to make them fall for one another, but the conversation was. She led, and he followed, a dynamic neither of them were quite used to but most certainly suited them. He was chivalrous, almost too much so, but she basked in the unfamiliar feeling of being treated like royalty. She wanted to get lost in him.

The restaurant was fairly busy but not at all chaotic. Patrons stuck to their tables, keeping conversation at appropriate noise levels for the ambiance, and the staff floated about as if they defied gravity. The architecture was fawn worthy with its sleek modernity meets upper class design. “Your friend owns this place?”

“Maybe friend is too generous a term, but we went to college together. We keep in touch, get together every now and then for a drink. He called me when it opened.” He gave the hostess his name for the reservation and she led them to a staircase that led out to the rooftop. There were only two other parties up their with them.

“Shawn, this is absolutely insane. Semi-private seating?”

He waved it off, opening his menu as he pretended to browse. “It was nothing, I promise. Jalen insisted it was the perfect first date table.”

She watched him closely as he went off on a miniature tangent about how he and Jalen met. They went from hostile roommates to close friends who jammed out together on the weekends, and that sparked their years long friendship. He was quite the storyteller, animated and engaged, careful about each and every word he strung with the next. Her senses were in overdrive the whole night, watching him be absolutely gorgeous without trying whilst actually listening to every precious word that slipped past his lips: and he made it far too obvious that he was doing the exact same thing.

“I know I’m getting ahead of myself but… what about a nightcap?”

Sloan tried not to laugh at his obvious attempt at a different date night activity. “You? In my apartment? Drinking? Nuh-uh.”

“What? Why not?”

She searched for the words to sugarcoat we’re not in the same tax bracket, that their shred of a relationship didn’t need an introduction to class divides this early. “I live in a rundown brownstone that I most certainly wouldn’t be able to afford if my nana hadn’t left it to me. And I’m willing to bet you live in a two-story penthouse on the upper east side that you can afford because Armani treats you a little too well.”

He took a longer sip of his drink this time, placing it back down with a bit more conviction. “Alright, touché. But just because I live like a douchebag doesn’t mean I am one. I’ve already seen your place, what’s the big deal?”

She took a moment to think about it, twirling her fork in the last few noodles on her plate. Maybe she was judging him too harshly. Maybe she was the one who was uncomfortable with the class divide and he wasn’t even thinking about it. She shook it from her thoughts, going back to the good time they were having all on their own on the rooftop. How good her looked staring back at her awaiting her response, the faintest hint of a grin on his rosy pink lips as he shifted his weighted onto his forearms. “Admit it, you’re just trying to get in my pants.”

Shawn gasped, his hand flying up to press against his clavicle to feign shook. “Me? Try to get into your pants? We haven’t even gotten dessert.”

She rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers against the table as her leg crept up the side of his. “You’re such a dork.”

He was suddenly that much more aware of their proximity, her arm flush against his and her body heat radiating onto him. Shawn flagged down the waiter for the bill in a split second, reading between the lines of her body language as well as her hand that and snaked its way to his thigh. He’d never signed his signature as fast as he did right then and there, shooting up from his chair to help Sloan up. He leaned down to whisper in her ear about what the night held for them when the most obnoxious, ear-splitting shriek stopped him. 

“Sloan! This is so crazy, I was hoping us Fort Greeners would cross paths one day!” Her eyes were focused on Shawn the entire time, flickering back to Sloan only to shoot her an all-knowing smirk.

“K-Kimmy, hi.”

taglist: @shawnase , let me know if you’d like to be added!

[ibroughtanarsenal]

guilt trips.

WHO: Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd & Roy Harper @ibroughtanarsenal WHERE: Roy’s apartment WHEN: Backdated to mid-June, 2020 WHAT: Withdrawal isn’t easy

Roy: This was the worst part. It wasn't the final stretch, not even close, but this was right where the worst of it showed up and then stuck around much too long. As prepared as Roy tried to be for it, it was difficult to battle with the frustration and agitation. It didn't help that he'd had no sleep and hadn't been able to eat anything in days. It all took a toll on his mood.

Even though he accepted Dick being there just for the sake of giving Jason a break, he stayed holed up in the bedroom. The sheets were soaked in sweat and he was doing his best not to break down and beg Jason not to make him do this anymore. The only thing that helped was consistently reminding himself that he'd done this before and not died, so he wasn't going to die this time either, but it was difficult to remember when everything hurt. When he did manage to sleep it wasn't longer than ten or twenty minutes, only to wake up feeling as if he'd been hit by a train.

He couldn't be in the bed anymore. His entire body felt like one open nerve and he couldn't be in the bed for long before he was up, this time to run the bath. "Cold," was the only thing he offered as an explanation. Jason: Jason had a little time before the initial conversation with Roy to start mentally prepping himself, and then the day and night before the actual withdrawal symptoms set in. It was...like he remembered, though perhaps worse in a way. He was an adult, he knew the full gravity of what Roy was enduring and what he’d asked him to do. On the other hand, Jason was not fully in it with him alone. Roy had other resources if he needed them, if Jason was somehow wrong about his own ability to deal with the situation. There was a safety net present that hadn’t existed for his mother or for him as a child, even if he’d rejected it. It was still there.

He operated mostly with a quiet resolve, giving Roy distractions, bringing him food that he didn’t want. He remembered that part keenly. Toward the end, his mother had eaten practically nothing. It had been a wonder she’d not died of starvation before the overdose, and it had reached a point where he was feeding her himself. He didn’t want to reach that point with Roy. It wouldn’t. They wouldn’t have to do that.

He’d agreed to let Dick step in for a few hours so that he could get some semblance of sleep himself, even though it was barely fit to be called that. It was restful only in the sense that it would keep him from passing out later. It let him be alert. There was nothing comforting in it. Otherwise, he took care of Roy himself like he said he would.

He’d just stepped into the room with a peanut butter sandwich on a plate, which he sat down by the bed before walking into the bathroom. “Come here,” he motioned with one hand, and once he was able to he had one hand under the hem of Roy’s damp shirt to help pull it over his head. Roy: "I got it." It was hard not to snap at Jason even when he was trying to help. Everything felt much worse than it was supposed to. The guilt and shame weighed more heavily on his shoulders and it made it difficult not to express it, however misplaced it was. It wasn't right and it made him feel even worse. Just a stupid fucking cycle he couldn't break, at least not for the next few days, and he hated how he'd treated Dinah the first time around too.

This time he was more aware of it. He managed to hold much of it back. This wasn't going to be a great experience, they both knew that going in, but he'd do his best to not make it shittier. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be snapping at a nurse in detox instead.

Even the fabric moving against his skin hurt. Roy grimaced, already fumbling to get the rest of his clothes off even though the bathtub wasn't filled yet. He just wanted to feel the hot water so he could stop shaking. His teeth were practically chattering and he could feel it in his bones.

Already he was stepping into the tub so he could feel the heat against his skin. The water wasn't rising enough and he exhaled in frustration, laying his head against the side of the tub as he tried to stop shivering. "Sorry. I'm just..." Jason: Jason held up his hands and took a step back as Roy snapped. He considered telling him to just let him do it, but chose to just save that in case there was a moment worth insisting about later. He couldn’t detox for Roy. If he could have, he would have gladly just absorbed it and done it in his stead, which was not the first time he’d had a thought like that. Nothing worked that way.

As Roy sank down into the water, Jason moved to sit on the edge of the tub. It was a little too narrow and definitely not comfortable, but he didn’t want to keep leaving him by himself. He snatched a washcloth from the side of the sink and dunked it into the water. A second later he squeezed it to wet Roy��s chest and hopefully get more of him warmer. He’d been trying to think of the things he’d done for his mother. Some of them didn’t translate. Not everything about the situation was completely identical, after all. He had come up with one thing, and after repeating the gesture with the cloth a few more times he decided to offer. “I could read to you.” It was better than silence, and there was only so much TV that could be watched. Roy: The hot water was helping for now. Roy felt the icy feeling in his bones fade away and he finally reached over to turn off the water once it realized how high it was getting. There was no way to get lower in the water even though he had the need to submerge himself completely. The air was too cold.

Jason's use of the cloth somehow helped. He focused on the movement of it, not as bothered now by the pins and needles sensation under his skin. It was temporary relief, at least. There wasn't a lot that could distract him from the pain at this point. He'd just have to get through it. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, accepting the suggestion since he knew it would be better than TV and it would also give Jason a task, something he could do that might make him feel more in control of the situation. "Yeah. I have some books." Most of them were on his phone, but he had a couple. Jason: He kept the motion up with the cloth until Roy turned off the water and seemed to be a tiny bit satisfied with it, inasmuch as he could be satisfied with anything right then. “Yeah...I’ll be back in a minute.” There was nothing in the bathroom. Jason and Dick had both swept the place in their own way, getting rid of anything that Roy might be able to use to break the detox. Jason had been less than thrilled to discover the nondescript bottle of alcohol Roy had clearly been hiding for who knew how long. He didn’t want to ask about it, but he suspected that it preceded the heroin. The bathroom was clean, regardless. There wasn’t even mouthwash.

Jason stepped out to find a book, but to do a few other things while Roy was occupied. One of the things he knew they’d need was sheets and blankets. Roy wasn’t exactly the type to keep a bunch of extra sets, so Jason had brought some of his own. The memory of sitting on the floor by a bare, stained mattress with no running water to clean the sheets was not one he cared to repeat. So while Roy was in the bath, Jason changed everything on the bed. He’d do it again the next time Roy got back up for awhile.

When he stepped back into the bathroom a little while later, he had a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in his hand. “Bed’s clean, if you want, or I can sit in here.” Roy: Roy didn't bother getting up and raiding the bathroom while Jason was gone. He knew him and he knew Dick. Neither of them were stupid. They weren't about to let him have access to anything at a time like this, when it would be tempting to put an end to it. So tempting that he wanted to look just in case, but he didn't move.

By the time Jason came back he didn't want to be in the tub anymore. Even five minutes could sometimes be too long to be in one place. The discomfort made him restless and agitated, eager to move so he could do something. Maybe listening to Jason read would make it easier. "No, I'm done." He exhaled softly and drained the water, already shivering again as he got up and reached for the towel. It felt like too much effort to get dressed, but he knew he had to at least put on some pants. He noticed Jason had changed the sheets and he was grateful to lay down, pressing his face into the pillow and not caring that his hair was making it wet. "What'd you pick?" He asked, his voice muffled. Jason: “Tom Sawyer. Not doing character voices though, so don’t expect authenticity.” Jason let Roy get settled and, since the sheets were clean for the time being, he slid in next to him.

“Still cold?” He wasn’t normally one to offer a lot of physical comfort, not in a doting or soft kind of way, but with everything going on it wasn’t as if he could carry on normally. He wanted Roy close to him, closer to him. Maybe that was selfish. He wasn’t going to press it, and he’d stay on the other side and read the book if that’s what he wanted. Jason wasn’t accustomed to the unexpectedly needy feeling that kept bubbling up. Roy: "Not the same without the voices." It was hard, but Roy managed to maintain some of his sense of humor during this. It came back to him at random moments, a rare instance of levity, but it helped keep him sane. He had to remember that there was something beyond this part. The next few days would take forever and be hell. If he knew there were an end in sight and kept reminding himself of it, then he could stay focused.

He nodded, turning his head so his other was cheek against the pillow. "Yeah. Come closer." It was only a matter of time before he'd need to get up and move around. He wanted to at least enjoy it for as long as he could. Jason: With the book in one hand, Jason moved down beneath the covers and pushed the other pillow over by Roy’s so he could lay next to him. He held out one arm, offering for him to swap the pillow for Jason’s chest. They were not, strictly speaking, the cuddling type. Jason slept close to him, sometimes with an arm around him, but he didn’t often keep his hands all over him just for the sake of it. The circumstances were unique, though, and it might have been more for him than for Roy. It was difficult to tell. He was warm, though.

He cracked open the book a moment later. “You don’t want to hear my southern accent,” he assured him. Even less than Jason wanted to try doing one. Aunt Polly was just going to have to be a 26 year old man from Gotham and like it. Jason made his way down the first page and the second, letting himself focus on the story rather than the room or why they were in it. He’d only had a couple of books to read to his mom, ones he’d checked out from the library and never been able to return, but he’d gone through them many, many times while she was sick. Roy: Shifting the pillow to his other side, Roy moved closer so he could lean against Jason's chest. The close contact might have normally brought him some pain or sensitivity, but the bath had given him some temporary respite. He didn't notice it, not yet at least, and he exhaled softly and closed his eyes. It was comfortable and he hoped it stayed that way for as long as possible. Comfort wasn't a word he could use loosely or easily these days. Even if it were temporary, he wanted to enjoy it. Jason was the only person who'd have been capable of bringing it at a time like this.

"Kinda do," he admitted, smirking at the thought of Jason reading with an actual Southern accent, but the topic was merely a distraction. He didn't want to focus on other things, less pleasant things, and his arm slid more firmly around Jason's waist as he turned his head more against him. "The heavier, the better," he mumbled, his eyes still closed. "I need the dramatic effect so I can actually picture the scene." Jason: Jason rolled his eyes and kept reading, though a couple more pages in he did throw in a little twang. Or some approximation of one. It probably sounded closer to Brad Pitt in Inglorious Basterds than Tom Sawyer, though. “If you tell anyone I did this, I’ll have to smother you with a pillow. Sounds peaceful, but it won’t be.” He couldn’t completely let up and just be soft nursemaid for him.

He made it through the first chapter before he laid the book aside and nodded toward the nightstand where he’d left the sandwich earlier. “You should eat. I know you don’t want to,” he headed that off before Roy could say it, “but it’s worse on an empty stomach.” If he started getting sick, and Jason had no doubt that it was coming, stomach acid was just going to make it harder. Roy: Every time Roy heard Jason add some little twang in his voice, he couldn't help a soft laugh. It definitely didn't sound Southern, but he wasn't exactly an expert, and he was already thinking of ways to make fun of him later. "I'm gonna tell everyone," he teased, ignoring the shivering that was starting to return now that he was out of the tub and back in bed. It didn't matter how many blankets he piled on. He was just as cold as before. It annoyed him.

Food didn't interest him at all and he winced at the suggestion, shaking his head. "Rather not." He felt nauseous more than anything, but it was enough to kill his appetite. If he had to basically starve for the next five days he was fine with that. It wasn't like he hadn't already lost weight during the relapse. All of his clothes were too loose. Jason: For the most part, Jason had let Roy make his own calls. He hadn’t really pushed him on anything, not wanting to chance making him get frustrated enough to give the whole thing up, but he knew there were some things he had to fight on. Food was one of them. “You have to eat something. I got those protein shake things, if that’s easier.” He just wasn’t taking a flat no for an answer. “It’ll help.”

Jason sat up a little more fully, adjusting Roy with him if he stayed there. “It’s gonna get worse soon. The next couple of days.” Roy definitely knew that, but Jason knew it too. “Eat something and try to sleep. I can stay in here if you want me to.” By and large, he’d been sleeping on the couch. He’d one back to the safehouse a couple of times when Dick took over, but mostly he didn’t leave. Roy: Protein shake things sounded just as bad, but Roy reasoned that if he didn't have to actually chew anything then maybe he could fool himself into thinking it wasn't food. "Ugh. You're like a warden." He knew how stubborn Jason could be, though. He had to give into something, even if he didn't want to. "Fine. Something plain."

The words made him scoff softly. "What are you talking about? I feel great." Sometimes he was too sarcastic, but he didn't want to think about how bad it was going to be when right now it felt unbearable. "I've been trying to sleep for hours." He'd keep trying, but he was getting frustrated. It felt impossible. He didn't think Jason would object to giving him some over the counter sleep aid, but he knew it wouldn't do shit. Jason: “Yeah, that’s me. A real hard ass not letting you starve.” He pushed back the blanket and moved to get up before Roy could change his mind. Jason was not above counting sips, either. At the lowest points with his mom, he’d kept track of how many bites she took. Nobody else was going to do it.

“You want to come watch a movie with me then? If you can’t sleep, get away from the bed for awhile.” They were pretty bound to the apartment for obvious reasons, so it was the biggest change of scenery on offer. He walked around to the side of the bed and held his hand out to him. “Or I’ll go back to Tom Sawyer.” He didn’t often find himself grasping at straws, but he knew keeping Roy distracted while he was awake was the best option. Roy: Roy rolled his eyes, but this time he didn't offer a response. It would have been more sarcasm and he had to space it out over the next few days if he wanted Jason to get through this without wanting to kill him.

It was about that time when he had that restless urge to pace around the room. Jason was no longer reading and he had nothing to distract him. A movie could be mind numbing, but they'd had a sufficient break from the TV. And he did feel a little tired. Maybe it would lull him to sleep. "Yeah, okay, so long as it was made in the last decade." He took Jason's hand and pushed himself out of bed. Before letting him go he tightened his grip instead, frowning. "Don't know if you want to stay in here with me, Jaybird. You won't get much sleep." Jason: “I’m not getting much anyway,” he said with a shrug. It didn’t matter whether he was on the couch or back at his place for a few hours. He couldn’t shut his mind down long enough to get more than the bare minimum to function. That was all he needed, but there was no way he was going to be relaxed and well rested through any part of what was going on. He’d had too many dreams about crap he’d not had to think about in fifteen years, if nothing else. “I’m staying.”

He squeezed Roy’s hand before heading into the kitchen. Something plain, he’d said. It only took a couple of minutes to come back with one of the vanilla protein shakes blended up with a banana. He held it out toward Roy and sat down heavily on the corner of the couch, eventually turning on one of the newer Jurassic Park movies when he failed to find anything else remotely interesting.

“I’m gonna make a run out later. Do you want anything?” he asked without looking at him. Dick would take over for him, rather than leave Roy alone so early into everything. Roy: Roy sighed. He didn't like that Jason was losing sleep over him, even though he knew he couldn't do anything about it. The only thing to do was get past this and not let it happen again. That was something he could do. Hopefully he wouldn't act like too much of an asshole in the process. No matter what happened in the past, Jason didn't deserve that.

Nodding silently, he followed him out of the bedroom and went straight for the futon. It seemed much too small all of a sudden. He couldn't get comfortable at first, but when Jason returned with the smoothie he was quick to sit up. His appetite was nonexistent, but he did his best to drink as much of it as possible even though the effort was slow and steady. He watched the movie, but he was barely able to focus on it. Shivering, he closed his eyes after a little while and listened to the dialogue instead, even though he could barely process what they were saying.

A run. That meant Dick was coming over. Roy clenched his jaw and shook his head. "A sledgehammer? That might knock me out a couple hours." Jason: It was a small victory that Roy actually drank that much of a shake. Jason would not have said the first few days had been easy, but Roy at least seemed to be gritting his teeth enough to let him help. That part could have been worse, and he was prepared for it to get that way. Theoretically, at least. Yelling and snapping wasn’t going to be anything new, but if they could avoid it he wasn’t going to complain. Still, he expected the frustration to boil over for Roy at some point or another.

“Got a crowbar? That’ll do it,” Jason said with a little smirk. He had no gauge for how dark was too dark when it came to humor. For him, it was pitch black and fine.

He’d tried to make it so that Dick spent as little time there as possible. He could do it without him, and Roy always seemed more put out by it, but they’d only just got started. He figured he should take the opportunity to breathe when he could. Still, he did hesitate. “I can stay.” Roy: Rolling his eyes, Roy couldn't keep himself from smirking at the terrible joke. "Stop." He flicked Jason's knee and set the smoothie aside. There were a few inches left to go, but he thought he might let him slide. He'd finished most of it. Dark humor didn't bother him, even if the topic was personal, and Jason's death was typically no exception. It bothered him not to joke about things. That was when it got real. Until then, he was happy introducing a little levity. Maybe he'd be able to do the same thing with this in a couple weeks.

Maybe not. He might have to test that out before running with the idea.

"No." Jason needed sleep. Roy didn't want him to stretch himself thin and overdo it, especially because it wasn't going to get any easier from here. "I'm fine. But you better tell Dick I ate. I don't need him trying to guilt me into eating a turkey sandwich again." Jason: “What? I’m only offering to give you what you wanted. I’m being kind.” He glanced briefly toward the glass, but decided there wasn’t enough of it left to make a big deal out of. Roy had drank most of it and semi-willingly, which was really all he was going to push for. They just had to get through two weeks. He wasn’t counting on normalcy, just survival. Jason tended to be more comfortable than Dick with keeping low expectations.

“Does guilting you work?” Dick was an expert at it. That wasn’t really Jason’s tactic, but he was keeping things in his back pocket just in case. Desperate times and all that.

Still, even though he knew he needed to give himself breaks, once he’d hesitated the idea that he shouldn’t leave took root pretty fast. “The futon isn’t that bad.” Roy: “No, it doesn’t.” Yes, it did, but Roy wasn’t going to admit it. He didn’t want Jason to have that kind of ammunition. It was bad enough that Dick could and did use it to his full advantage. The tactic would be ten times more efficient if Jason tried it. He felt guilty just fine on his own. When it was put upon him by other people it tended to magnify the feeling by a thousand.

He wasn’t going to let Jason hang out on the futon and not sleep. That was reserved for him. “Go. Dick hasn’t seen the most recent Jurassic Park anyway. He wouldn’t stop talking about it yesterday.” That was the next movie in this marathon they were on. At least it meant Dick would be somewhat distracted and wouldn’t spend the majority of his visit watching him with concern. Jason: He sincerely doubted that, since Dick had got him to do plenty and Jason knew first hand that guilt was his favored tactic of convincing people something was right. Still, it wasn’t his. He didn’t want more of that particular feeling hanging between them. He harbored enough of it himself for a whole lot of reasons, and he wasn’t going to lay it on Roy. He’d pretty much said so when he and Dick discussed what was going on. He wasn’t forcing or guilting him into anything. “I’ll stick to my undeniable charm then.”

Jason reached for his phone to ask Dick to head that way. He probably already was, but he didn’t want to wait much longer. He preferred sleeping during the day so he could be there at night when things were usually worse. It had always been that way with his mom, and he’d never figured out why. It was like it waited until there was the least chance of finding help.

Aside from occasionally getting into bed next to him or having Roy lay against him, he’d given him space in a physical sense. He hadn’t done much in the way of touching. Roy was sitting close enough right then, however, that Jason did not have to lean far to press his lips against the side of the other’s temple. It was tender in a way that he was often not. “Yeah. I won’t be long.”

[hannahmcne]

Lost on the Case - Chapter 7

At five o'clock Alya couldn't sleep, so she slipped out of the room as silently as possible without waking Nino. She went to the living room and spread out an arsenal of lined paper, black and blue pens, and sticky notes. She was going to crack this case once and for all.

Armed with at least four hours of sleep and a renewed vision of what had occurred almost ten years ago, she opened up her video of Chat Noir's email. Using frequent pausing, she was able to read the entire contents.

The Marinette emails were seven in quantity. They were short, out-of-context, and showed a side of her friend that Alya had never seen. They'd been sent over a period of two days and changed a lot of what Alya thought about the case.

CN: This is Chat Noir, reporting for duty. Do I read my princess?

MDC: Hey kitty. Glad it worked.

CN: Me too. Could have been catastrophic if someone else had gotten this

MDC: Created a new email address. La_coccinelle.

CN: Sweet. Just sent an email. Did it work?

MDC: Yup.

CN: Sweet. Make sure to delete these emails on your end on the off-chance someone reads your emails after we're gone.

Alya felt like she was fourteen again, famous for running after akumas and uploading stories about the symbolic history of ladybugs. One large half of her was overjoyed at what she'd discovered. Namely 'my best friend is on a nickname basis with one of Paris's superheroes' and 'Chat Noir puns in his emails'. But a very small portion of her spirit was shivering. Marinette had created the Ladybug address. She scribbled on a paper to keep her mind going, even though she was afraid of what she'd find.

Problem: Marinette created the Ladybug email.

Solutions/Options: It's the real account, or it's not.

And, of course, on that note, Chat Noir had definitely planned to leave to somewhere with Marinette.

With shaking hands, she started the portion of the video with the Ladybug emails. There were more of these, twenty-three in all. They spanned the time up until the night Marinette was kidnapped, even going past Adrien's death.

1. CN: Do I read my Princess?

2. LB: This account is actually under Ladybug, but you can call me whatever. Either way, it's me.

3. CN: Kay. I found a house. 420€ yearly rental. It's large, out of way. Two-story.

4. LB: Bed/Bath?

5. CN: Four baths and seven-bed.

6. LB: Wow, large. Sounds good. Rented car yet?

7. CN: No but I found a place. I'll actually step in and rent it after I've died.

8. LB: Kay. I'll suit up and hit up Alya and Chloe today. When does Nino get back?

9. CN: Late tomorrow. I can drop off to him.

10. LB: Great.

11. CN: I'm just about to push my fake body out the window, then I'll head over.

12. LB: Make it to the house okay?

13. CN: Yup. Put your things in a spare room. I'm going to order in for a few essential furniture items. Pls help?

14. LB: Use francecanape.

15. CN: Kay. Have things blown up yet?

16. LB: Sorry to have taken so long. Yes, things were dreary at school today. A gardener discovered your body before lunch, so when we came back from break Ms. Bustier was crying. I think I did well pretending I didn't know what was coming. Chloe left school. Nino was taken out of class and sent home. The lesson was canceled. Great day. Everyone misses you.

17. CN: I miss everyone. Do you think you played the sad crush part well enough?

18. LB: Knowing you were actually alive made it hard, so there weren't any tears. I just went unresponsive until Ms. Bustier sent me to the nurse. Then I went home with a nurse ticket and watched sad videos on YouTube until my face was red. Alya didn't pry, so I think I did good. I just got off of a facetime with her.

19. CN: Clever bug. Did my dad say anything?

20. LB: Not yet. I'll keep you updated. LMK when you come back to get me.

21. CN: On my way. Ready to be kidnapped?

22. LB: I'm wearing a black jacket with white buttons and red leggings. I'll leave in thirty-two minutes.

23. CN: I'd know you anywhere, my lady. Lying in wait and in position. See you soon. (I love you)

Alya began to cry. She'd forgotten so many details. She'd missed how Marinette hadn't cried. She remembered that stupid FaceTime.

The door to the bedroom down the hall opened and Nino emerged, rubbing his eyes. "Alya?" He mumbled. "Why are you up?" He came over and squinted at the screen. Alya wasn't sure he could read anything through the layers of eye boogers around his lids, but he still leaned down to hug her.

"Figure it out?" He asked.

Alya nodded into his shirt.

"Tell me." He murmured. He adjusted her in his arms and rubbed her back soothingly. Alya wiped her eyes.

"Adrien was the kidnapper. He pushed a fake body out of his window – I'm not sure how it passed as real, but I almost don't want to know. He and Marinette planned the entire kidnapping and were emailing each other thirty minutes before they staged it. The car was a rental. I- I need to find it." Alya reached toward her computer. Her fingertips felt numb. Since all the rental companies were still closed, she took a chance and went back to her public-domain file finder again. Nino watched over her shoulder as within minutes, she found a record that matched perfectly.

"White, four-door, tinted Chevrolet hatchback taken out on the same day Marinette was kidnapped. The name was Bryce Papenbrook. In Paris for a quick vacation. According to this court record, he came in the next day and explained that the car had been totaled in an off-road accident. He agreed to pay for the car in full and produced the entire cost – €16,919 - in cash, upfront. The company didn't press charges and only filed a record to explain why one car had been blacked out from the records. They also asked him to please refrain from renting in the future." Alya summarized as she read.

Nino grunted. "So, if Adrien took out €40,000 and the car was €16,919-"

"Plus initial renting charge of about thirty-five euros." Alya interrupted.

"Right." Nino agreed. "That's like, twenty-four thousand left."

"And they're renting a house." Alya flipped back to the emails. "See? And it's a large house too. They've got a great rate on it too. A house like that…" Alya thought. "Well, it depends on where they are. In a smaller town, maybe four-hundred euros is a reasonable amount, but in Paris... She trailed off. "I wonder if Adrien kept using that name?"

She cleared her public records finder and took thirty extra seconds to also clear her cookies so that the website wouldn't give her biased reports. Then she entered the name Bryce Papenbrook. A slew of records came up. Bryce shared the same birthday as Adrien but was three years older. He was married to a woman named Christina whose maiden name was Vee. Coincidentally, Christina shared the same birthday as Marinette, but was also three years older. They had a house together at 830 Whitebreak Road in Winebrook(Pronounced Vine-brook.).

Alya looked at the housing record a little closer. It was a large house with two stories plus a basement, open-concept kitchen, four baths and seven-bed. It matched what Chat had described to Ladybug with extra details. And to top it all off, they'd had it for ten years as of six days ago.

Nino opened his phone while Alya stared numbly at her screen. He opened Facebook and searched for Bryce Papenbrook. Third down on the list of related people was a picture of Marinette and Adrien sitting on the ground together, dressed in shades of black and dark red. Adrien had a smile that was more Chat than Adrien, and Marinette smiled sweetly like she had a secret no one could guess as she leaned into Adrien's touch. They were older, meaning it was more recent than their kidnappings. Nino nudged Alya to show her.

The cover photo was another one of Marinette and Adrien, and the rest of the account was private. But it was under the name Bryce Papenbrook, which confirmed everything they needed to know.

Alya went back to the settings of Chat Noir's email. She hadn't noticed it before, but the primary recovery email was set to . A teacher's email. Alya examined the phone number attached to the account and grabbed her phone.

"You're not really going to call him, are you?" Nino asked.

Alya cleared her throat two or three times in answer. She pursed her lips and then stretched them as wide as she could. Nino had to resist the urge to laugh. Then, Alya glanced at the clock. It was almost six. With any luck, Brye would be asleep. She dialed the number and put it on speaker at least three feet from her. No one picked up, so she dialed again. This happened twice more before the receiving end clicked.

"Mhello?" Someone groaned on the other end through a yawn.

"Hello this is Frances DoGood and I'd like to schedule a flight for thirteen-o'clock?" Alya said in a high-pitched voice. She kept her lips poised like she was whistling, not speaking. She sounded like an old lady.

"Mmph. What?" The voice on the other end was distorted through fabric noises and the general sounds of someone very sleepy.

"I need a flight from Versailles to Brussels at thirteen-o'clock." Alya repeated in her funny voice.

"Lady, this isn't the airport."

"This isn't Orlay?" Alya acted innocent.

"I think you mean Orly. No, I'm… Bryce Papenbrook. Not the airport. I can… find you the right number if you want?" It was clear that he really, really wanted to go back to sleep. Nino felt bad for the poor guy.

"Oh, no thank you. I think my phone can tell me. Sorry to bug you." Alya smiled wickedly. Nino almost laughed.

"No problem." If the action of rolling your eyes could be expressed in a sound, that was what came through the speaker. Nino bit his lip. A colossal yawn followed. "Goodbye."

"Bye!" Alya hung up. Nino burst into laughter, which filled their whole apartment and almost made up for the sadness of Alya's breakdown. Alya tapped her fingers on her laptop to let out some loose energy.

"That was Adrien." She said after Nino calmed down. "Could you hear him?"

Nino nodded. "It sure sounded like him."

"That means now I have his phone number, his email, and his address." Alya schemed as she closed all the tabs open on her screen and opened a blank google.

"And to think he was dead four days ago," Nino mumbled. "I just heard my best bud's voice for the first time in ten years."

"I know. Crazy, right?" Alya mumbled.

Nino looked at the screen she was on as she typed. He sat up straight. "What are you doing?" He demanded.

The screen showed the Paris Metro out of the city. Alya was booking a ride to Winebrook. She shrugged at Nino's expression.

"Adrien and Marinette ditched us without a word, so they'll have to deal with me dropping in unannounced to ask a few questions," Alya said.

"Us." Nino corrected.

Alya smiled and upped the passenger count to two. "Us." She confirmed. Once booked, she shut the laptop.

"Should we mention this to anyone?" Nino asked as she stood up and walked to the bedroom. "Marinette's parents, Chloe, Mr. Agreste?" He trailed off.

Alya pulled off her pajama top and began rifling through her wardrobe for a shirt. "I'll send Queen Bee a message through André Bourgeois's hotel management that she'll have to manage Paris for two or so days, and I'll tip off Marinette's parents and extend an invitation for them to tag along. As for Gabriel Agreste…" Alya made a disgusted face. "If you want to be the one to call him and say his son is alive, be my guest."

Nino held up his hands in surrender. "No thanks, hun. I'm not opening that can of worms. Guess Gabriel Agreste ain't getting told."

Alya smirked. "I guess not."

______________________________________________________________

After a three-hour subway ride, Alya, Nino, Tom, and Sabine stepped off with luggage in tow onto the smallest station Alya had ever seen. Winebrook had a population of barely five-hundred. There was one elementary, and one dual high school/junior high building. One hometown market store, one police station, no visitor center and two playground/park areas. There were no asphalt roads. On the bright side, it was one of the cleanest, prettiest towns Alya had ever seen. She had brought along her personal DSLR to take photos, and got shots many of the pretty, dated homes along the streets. Children ran in the road and many people stopped to ask who they were. Alya got the sense they were a close-knit community where everyone knew everyone.

They wandered up and down the roads for about ten minutes, but the town didn't seem to have an in-order numbering system. Finally, Nino stopped at a house where children's shoes were strewn across the porch to ask for directions to the Papenbrook's home. A preteen with unwashed hair and cowgirl boots led the way at her mother's request. Two kids, aged seven and four, followed her as she took them to the very last road in town. It was about a ten-minute walk from the subway station. The girl asked them all their names, where they were from, and what they did as small talk. When Alya mentioned she was a reporter, the girl scrunched her eyes up.

"Are you reporting on Christina's dresses?" She asked.

Alya shook her head, a little confused. The girl shrugged. "Christina designs dresses. Apparently, she's in with Gabriel Agreste and he does the advertising for some of her designs. She does prom dresses for some of the girls in town."

Nino choked a little. The girl studied him. He straightened up under her gaze. Finally, she looked back at Tom and Sabine. "You say you're bakers?" She asked. "Christina can bake really well. She always donates cakes and cupcakes to the school bake sell. Mom commissioned her to make my birthday cake last year."

Alya kept her mouth shut. Designing and baking… sounded like Marinette had included herself into the community.

Their new friend took them to the very last house on the very last road in town. The houses here were newer or remodeled.

The house she left them at had tan stucco with dark brown shingles and white trim. The windows were rectangular, and the door was made of stained wood. There was a sidewalk path leading up to the porch and a gravel driveway. The house had a large, grassy yard with rose bushes under the windows and a large tree growing about ten feet from the house. A rope swing and a treehouse were supported by the tree's large branches. A group of kids was playing in the yard with Nerf Guns, Barbies, and Lincoln Logs. The oldest kids were around ten, and the youngest around two. At least fifteen kids were hanging out at the Papenbrook house.

The kids looked up when Nino opened the white gate but overall ignored them. They continued with their game, giving a few curious looks but asking no questions. The four adults wheeled their suitcases up to the door. Alya pressed the buzzer and then fidgeted as they waited for the door to open.

There were footsteps behind the door, and a woman nearing middle-age with a head full of black, wavy hair opened the door. Marinette was looking over her shoulder as a complaining toddler followed her toward the door. Alya inhaled sharply.

Marinette looked at her guests and her welcoming smile dropped off her face. "Alya?" She asked. The years melted away, and suddenly Alya felt like the nineteen-year-old girl who'd gotten off a FaceTime call with her best friend after the boy in their class committed suicide. She hiccupped and reached out for a hug without a single word.

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

The Perfect Moment (Chapter 2)

Summary: When Cyrus is assigned to create a modern re-telling of “Romeo and Juliet” for English class, he decides to produce a movie. His stars, however, may pose some trouble. Will he finish his movie on time?

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Thank you!

Chapter 1

The last bell rung, signaling the end of the day. Students filed out of their classrooms and to their lockers, grabbing their things, and heading out for the day. Soon, only a few remained for their after-school activities and clubs.

The building was practically empty when Cyrus made his way to the school gym, arms full with two camera bags.

“Thank you again for helping me out,” he said to the boy walking beside him.

T.J. flashed him a smile, not even breaking a sweat as he carried the two heavy tripod bags on each of his shoulders.

“No problem, Underdog. I’m happy to help.”

“So, Buffy said she’s already gathered her team at the gym,” Cyrus continued.

“My boys are there, too. They’re helping set up the way your instructions said.”

Cyrus beamed. “You’re a lifesaver!”

T.J. shrugged. “I try.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment.

Cyrus had brought his own cameras from home and the Film Club had kindly allowed him to borrow some spare tripods. But they were too heavy so he had initially enlisted help from Buffy. To his surprise, it was T.J. who showed up outside the Film Club’s room. Apparently, Buffy was busy directing everyone to set up in the gym, where they were filming the first scene, so he figured he would go and help Cyrus with the equipment.

“So… how did you come up with this thing?” T.J. suddenly asked. “Two basketball rivals turned lovers? Doesn’t sound like something you would write.”

Cyrus chuckled and shrugged. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I had a lot of ideas but most were sadly not realistic in terms of getting it done on time. So, I just thought about other modern interpretations. Like ‘West Side Story’ and the 1996 movie with Leonardo DiCaprio. Gosh, he’s so handsome,” he couldn’t help but add.  

Beside him, T.J. chuckled. “I guess if you’re into the blonde pretty boy types. Hey, that sounds like me!”

He wiggled his eyebrows at him, making Cyrus nudge him playfully with an elbow.

“You’re so weird!” he exclaimed, trying to control his ensuing blush.

“Just stating facts, Underdog.”

They had known each other for almost a year now and Cyrus had gotten used to T.J.’s teasing that was sometimes borderline flirting. Cyrus only had one other male friend and that was Jonah. Sure, he and Jonah often affectionately teased each other, but T.J. took his to a whole different level. Cyrus wasn't sure if that was how actual male friends acted around each other, but he didn't mind. He liked T.J. (In more ways than just platonic, but he chose to not dwell too much on his feelings this time, lest he got hurt again. That was just the reality for him.)

Cyrus shook his head. “Anyway, moving on. I came up with the idea when I saw the boys’ basketball team banner next to the girls’. You and Buffy seriously need to tone down on the competition. It shows, you know.”

T.J. grinned. “My poster was that cool, huh? I had to up my game because Driscoll made hers so huge last time that you couldn’t even see ours!”

“And this is why you and Buffy are perfect for the roles!”

At that, T.J. cutely wrinkled his nose. “Except for the love part.” He shuddered, exaggeratedly.

Cyrus shook his head again, amused.

They continued on their way to the gym, filling the silence with small talk about their day. When they arrived, they were greeted with the hustle and bustle of preparations for the shoot.

Andi was on the bleachers, helping a few of Buffy’s teammates with their makeup. Buffy was with Jonah, practicing her lines. Some of T.J.’s teammates were idling around, either reading the script or practicing their acting. All of them were already dressed in their team uniforms, like Cyrus requested.

He was impressed with the professionalism. Either they really loved the idea of being in a movie or getting ten bucks was quite enticing. No matter the reason, he had a lot of work to do!

First, with T.J.’s help, he set up the cameras. One was for a wide shot and the second for close-ups. Ideally, they would use multiple cameras from various angles but he had to work with what he could with the limited time and equipment. Jonah had worked the camera for him before, so he wasn’t too worried, but just in case, he would put him in charge of wide shots and Cyrus himself would take care of close-ups.

Then, he sent T.J. off to change into his uniform before approaching Buffy to quickly go over the script with her again. Then, he grabbed Jonah, explaining what he needed him to do (mostly just stand there by the camera and make sure it was recording). Then, he spoke to the two students who volunteered to play the teams’ Captains and go over their scenes (it was their chance to “boss” their actual Captains around for a few scenes, so they were quite appealing roles).

When T.J. came back, all dressed and ready, Cyrus called to gather everyone.

“First, I just want to say thank you to all of you who came out to help me today,” he began, offering them all smiles. “I’m sure the ten bucks I offered had something to do with your participation, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

He successfully made them laugh for a beat or two.

Satisfied, he continued, “Second, I’ve given everyone a copy of the script but things may still change in the next couple of days so I’ll keep everyone updated on the Facebook group but I’m hoping I wouldn’t have to change anything major. I’ve scheduled most of everyone’s scenes, except for a couple of T.J. and Buffy’s, to be after school, but if you can’t make it, please let me know in advance, my number is on the script. And last, if I get an A on this project, I’ll treat everyone to baby taters and milkshakes at The Spoon!”

At that, everyone let out a cheer. It was a last-minute addition, but Cyrus figured it was best to get them all motivated to help him make this his best project ever!

After the talk, he gave them five minutes to go over the script again and prepare for the scene.

They all scattered. T.J. led his team to one side of the gym, probably for a pep talk, and Buffy did the same for hers.

Meanwhile, Cyrus stood by the cameras, giving himself a moment to take several deep breaths. He was excited and nervous at the same time and his anxiety was slowly creeping in.

“I can do this,” he whispered to himself, trying to calm his anxious heart. “I got this.”

“Hey.”

He turned to see Andi walking up to him, smile on her face.

“I finished with the girls’ makeup and I made sure all the basketballs have air,” she said to him.

“Thank you,” he replied, gratefully.

She scrunched her brows. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. First day filming jitters and all.” He swallowed. “I haven’t made anything in a long time and… I guess I’m a little nervous.”

His pixie-haired friend stepped forward and offered him a hug. “Everything will be okay,” she calmly reassured him. “Besides, it’s Buffy and T.J. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Don’t say that! You’ll jinx it!”

Nothing good ever comes out of “What’s the worst that can happen?”!

“Oh. Sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic but patted his shoulder, nonetheless. “Don’t worry too much, okay? Just do what you gotta do. You got this.”

The talk helped as Cyrus felt his heart calm down a bit. After one last comforting hug, Andi left him to check on Buffy.

Five minutes passed in a blur and soon, he was calling for quiet on the set.

In this first scene, the boys’ and girls’ basketball teams booked the gym for practice at the same time. The Captains have a brief altercation, fighting for use of the place until Quinn (played by the lovely Buffy) suggests sharing the gym. This pique the interest of Logan (played by the handsome T.J.), who agrees. The two teams decide to split the gym in half, boys on one side and girls on the other.

Shooting this scene went remarkably well. The two students playing the Captains only messed up their lines twice, but Cyrus allowed the slight deviation from the script. And he needed shots of them just playing so not much acting was involved there. (And if Cyrus took a couple of extra close-up shots of T.J. shooting basket after basket, well, that was just for B-roll purposes.)

After that, it was time to film the scene where Logan and Quinn officially talk for the first time and fall in love at first sight but are cruelly torn apart by their respective Captains.

Cyrus carefully watched his camera, zooming in on the basketball that bounced by Buffy’s feet. He took a quick glance at Jonah’s camera, making sure his friend was zooming in on the shot of Buffy picking up the basketball and walking towards the center of the gym where T.J. waited by the line that split the court.

“Here,” she said, handing T.J. the ball.

T.J. took it. “Thanks.”

“Cut!” Cyrus called out.

The two athletes turned to him.

“T.J., you were supposed to put your hand over hers when she gives you the ball!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry."

Cyrus offered him a smile. “It’s okay! Let’s do it one more time from the walk!”

They re-did the scene.

Buffy walked up to T.J. with the ball and handed it over. T.J. placed his hands over hers…and Buffy flinched and dropped the ball.

“Cut! Buffy, what was that?”

“His hands are cold!” she complained.

“Well, excuse me for being a human being!” T.J. retorted.

Oh, god, Cyrus was starting to get a headache. “Guys, please! One more time!”

They shot the scene a third time.

T.J. ended up laughing out loud when Buffy made a face at their hands touching.

Sighing, Cyrus yelled “Cut! Everyone, take five!”

He paused his camera before walking up to his two lead actors.

“Guys, you’re supposed to fall in love at first sight in this scene,” he explained, as calmly as he could.

“Sorry, but I can’t act like I’m in love with his face when I don’t like his face,” Buffy said.

“Ditto,” T.J. agreed.

Cyrus sighed. “Here. Let me show you.” He gestured for Buffy to move so he could stand in her place and took the ball from T.J. “So, Buffy, you hand him the ball.” He demonstrated. “Now, T.J., put your hands over mine.”

T.J. obediently followed.

Wow, his hands really were cold. And he was shaking.

“Dude, just relax,” he said to the athlete, chuckling a little. He felt T.J. calm down. “Now, do it like your hands are interlocking with mine.”

T.J. adjusted his fingers.

“Good. Now, after you thank her, look into her eyes because you just fell in love.”

Getting into the role of Quinn (to demonstate to Buffy, of course!), Cyrus looked up to meet T.J.’s gaze.

The taller boy’s eyes softened as he smiled down at him.

All of a sudden, time stopped. The background noises seemed to fade away. And Cyrus’ heart did a little flip as the blood rushed to his face.

That was exactly the look he needed, the emotion he wanted to convey to his audience. It was a look that made hearts flutter and legs feel like jelly. A look that you couldn't tear your eyes away from.

Shaking his head to free himself from the spell, Cyrus nodded in approval. “Y-Yeah, like that.” He cleared his throat. “Do exactly that, okay?”

“Okay,” T.J. replied, softly.

Smiling, Cyrus gently removed his hands from T.J. and handed the ball back to Buffy.

“U-Um… Uh… T-Three minutes!” he called out as he turned on his heels to walk back to his camera.

“Keep it together, Cyrus,” he scolded himself.

His face felt hot. He needed water.

..........................

T.J. was aware of the goofy grin on his face. He made Cyrus all flustered. He was so cute.

“Earth to Kippen! You still alive in there?”

His eye twitched in annoyance as he turned his attention back to the girl he was meant to be sending heart eyes to.

“What?”

She flashed him a strange look before sighing and shaking his head.

“Nothing. Can we please do this scene right and get it over with? I really don't want to hold your hand for any more than five seconds.”

T.J. snorted. “And you think I want to? Have you even read the rest of the script? We’re supposed to hold hands a bunch of times!”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Y-You mean… I-I-I have to…”

He lamented that fact too. “Afraid so, Driscoll.”

Looking like she wanted to throw up, Buffy turned on her heels and jogged towards where Cyrus was standing by the cameras, talking to Jonah as he pointed at things on the script.

T.J. watched, head cocked to the side at Buffy starting to argue something with Cyrus. She was probably protesting the number of hand-holding.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either but he knew what he signed up for when Cyrus explained his script. Besides, he was doing it for him. He just wanted to help his friend…who may or may not be more than a friend to him.

But, no one knew that. No, T.J. preferred to keep this knowledge to himself, for now. But, he did hope that doing this project would help him and Cyrus get closer. They already had a moment when he held Cyrus’ hand over the basketball, their eyes meeting, and Cyrus blushing all cutely. So worth the few scenes he was going to be doing with Buffy.

And by the time this project ended, maybe… just maybe… T.J. would finally have the guts to ask Cyrus out.

“Okay, everyone! Back to your places! T.J. and Buffy, again, please!”

But, first, he had to get through this nauseating scene with Driscoll.

..........................

“That’s a wrap for today! Thank you, everyone! I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

Cyrus maintained his smile and wave as the students filed out of the gym, one-by-one. Soon, only him, Andi, Jonah, Buffy, and T.J. were left.

Sighing, he allowed his fatigue to catch up with him as he laid on the floor.

“Can I do this for 7 more days?” he asked himself out loud.

Andi and Buffy crouched down on either side of his head.

“Awww, Cy, you did great today,” Andi complimented.

“Yep, and we are very proud,” Buffy added.

Cyrus smiled and sat up. “I appreciate that.”

The girls patted him on the arm before getting up to go and pack their things.

“Hey, CyGuy.” Jonah came up to him. “I packed the cameras for you. Mind if I head out?”

He nodded. “Sure. Thanks again, JB.”

Jonah offered him a fist bump, which Cyrus returned, and the dimpled boy headed off, giving the girls and T.J. a quick wave.

Speaking of T.J., he crouched down on the floor facing Cyrus.

“That was kinda fun, Underdog,” he said, grinning. “Well, except for the part where Driscoll tried to murder me with a basketball.”

“I told you, Kippen, it was an accident!”

“That’s what all murderers say!”

“What kind of murderers have you been interacting with?!”

The back and forth was adorably hilarious. Cyrus burst out laughing.

“Why can’t either of you show this kind of chemistry when the cameras are rolling?” he asked in between giggles.

T.J. wrinkled his nose. “Eew.”

“Gross!” Buffy looked at Cyrus in horror. “Don’t even, Cy. Just… don’t.” She grabbed her bag. “I’m gonna go change. You coming to The Spoon with us after?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. You guys go ahead! Thanks, again!”

The two girls headed out, the gym doors closing behind them.

Cyrus turned to T.J. “I think she's still bummed that I didn't manage to get Marty."

"I'll bet. She looked like she wanted to tear my head off just for holding her hand." T.J. chuckled. "Anyway, you need help with anything else here? I don’t mind.”

Cyrus looked past towards the equipment. Those tripods did not look fun to carry all by himself.

“I do need to return those tripods to the Film Club’s room but you know how heavy they are."

T.J. grinned. “Give me 5 minutes to change and I’ll be right out.”

With that, he got up and jogged towards the gym doors to the locker rooms.

Meanwhile, Cyrus grabbed his copy of the script and began to flip through it.

Buffy had come up to him earlier, begging him to change some of the hand-holding scenes to… not hand holding. She really did NOT want to hold hands with T.J. He was glad he thought not to add a kiss scene or she would have an aneurysm. But, there was a hand-kiss scene. He should probably change that. He was leaving the hug, though, that was important.

Grabbing a pen from his pocket, he began making changes. Line-through some dialogue. Scratching out whole scenes and making notes to write new ones. Adding new dialogue.

His creative juices were flowing. Cyrus was on a roll.

“Someone’s busy.”

He looked up to see T.J., all dressed in regular clothes. The taller boy plopped down on the floor and crossed his legs.

“Buffy asked me to make a few changes.” Cyrus showed him the current page, filled from top to bottom with ink marks.

T.J. chuckled. “The hand-holding scenes?"

Cyrus sighed. “Yeah.”

T.J. suddenly looked guilty. “Sorry. I know we’re supposed to act like we like each other but… Well… It’s not like I hate Buffy, I don’t. But… you know… It’s kinda hard to act like you like someone in a romantic way… when you don’t.”

“That’s why it’s called acting, T.J.,” Cyrus teased but with no malice. “But, it’s okay. I know that romantic chemistry is kind of too much to ask when you and Buffy are often at odds with each other.” He hesitated before asking, “Do you… want to back out?”

“No!” T.J. replied, quickly.

“I mean, it’s only day one, I can try to find someone else-.”

“It’s fine, really!” T.J. kept insisting. “I’ll do better on the rest, I promise! I won’t mess this up for you! And I’ll make sure it will be the best project this school has ever seen!”

He looked so passionate and determined that Cyrus had to smile. He really was such a sweet guy.

“Thank you.” Cyrus looked back down at his script. “I don’t mind changing some of the scenes to make you and Buffy more comfortable. But…I would definitely appreciate it if you could work on looking at Buffy like you’re in love with her."

“I can do that. I’ll act really hard!” Even as he said it, he still flinched.

Cyrus chuckled. “Can I offer you an acting tip?”

T.J. shrugged. “Sure.”

Cyrus placed the script aside and looked at him, seriously. “Have you ever had a crush?”

His question made T.J. look like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and cheeks red. “U-Um… what does that have to do with acting?”

“Just answer the question, T.J.”

The other boy appeared to hesitate before replying, “Yeah. I do.”

His voice was soft and affectionate. What a lucky girl.

Cyrus felt his chest twitch, but he chose to ignore it.

“Well, when you do your scenes with Buffy,” he continued. “Pretend that she’s your crush and you’re saying all these things to her and looking at her like she’s the most wonderful person in the world.”

Cyrus paused. T.J. was looking at him the same way he was earlier when he was demonstrating the scene with the basketball.

A soft gaze accompanied with sparkling eyes.

“J-Just like that,” Cyrus managed.

T.J. blinked. “Like what?”

Chuckling, Cyrus pointed at his face. “Like what you’re doing now. Are you imagining your crush?”

To his amusement, T.J. turned red in embarrassment and looked away. “Um… Uh… I’ll definitely do that next time,” he said.

Cyrus grinned. “It would definitely help.”

Deciding not to tease the jock anymore, he picked up his script and stood up.

“We should drop off the tripods and head home.”

T.J. followed suit. “You sure? We can stay if you want to keep writing. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Cyrus walked up to the equipment and picked up the camera bags. “Thanks but I think I’ll just finish up at home. Besides, you already missed tutoring for me.”

T.J. grabbed the tripod bags and placed them on his shoulders. “It’s fine. My tutor says I’ve been doing pretty okay so far. I can afford to miss this week’s for you.”

Together, they headed out of the gym.

Looking up at him, Cyrus flashed a smile and fluttered his lashes. “My hero.”

That last bit must have caught him off-guard because the athlete with boundless confidence T.J. tripped on his own shoes.

Cyrus tried to hold back his laugh but couldn’t stop his grin. “You okay there, basketball guy?”

T.J. cleared his throat, trying to look calm and collected like he didn’t just almost face plant on the floor.

“I’m fine. All good.”

Shaking his head, Cyrus nudged his arm with an elbow. T.J. nudged back. Cyrus did it again. And T.J. retaliated.

Their trip to the Film Club’s room ended with a race, one that Cyrus actually won because, according to T.J., the tripods were heavy and weighed him down.

But, Cyrus still counted it as a win in his book.

Tag list:

@lemon-boy-tj @homosexualearthworm @disastrxlogy @new-to-the-phandom @tyrusgoingfast

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

season of giving

Please forgive the shitty title and the fact I’m posting Christmas fics in the middle of November. Also on ao3!

Yet another seemingly endless week of grueling Quirk training and intense practice rescue missions meant that when the long weekend before Christmas rolled around Kirishima felt totally justified in lounging on the common room couch all day with no intention of doing anything else.

Armed with a ten foot long charger cable courtesy of his bro Kaminari, his phone (with its new custom ordered Crimson Riot case), and a family size bag of barbecue potato chips, Kirishima was set for the day. He didn't plan on moving from his spot unless absolutely necessary.

Which translated into him only getting up to either use the bathroom or grab some more food from the kitchen, usually pizza rolls, cheese puffs, and cheddar popcorn. He totally had his priorities in order.

With Christmas only a few days away, Kirishima figured he was allowed to let himself relax for a day or two before launching headfirst back into training once winter break was over. Besides, with how their first year at UA had gone so far, they all deserved a tropical vacation.

For a month. At least. Complete with complimentary room service and free Wi-Fi.

But for now, lying on the couch while checking his social media and occasionally texting back and forth with Tetsutetsu would have to do. Even if Iida had scolded him for having his feet on the couch, vehemently claiming that it wasn't proper etiquette.

But it wasn't like it was bothering anyone. Kirishima was the only one in the common room, after all.

Most of the class had gone out for the day, taking the rare opportunity the long weekend provided to leave campus (with one of the teachers chaperoning, of course) for a day out.

It had mostly been Ashido's idea, encouraged by Uraraka and Hagakure. She had loudly bemoaned the lack of anything to do at breakfast, complaining about her boredom into her bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

Hagakure had enthusiastically agreed. Sighing into her morning cup of hibiscus tea, she had claimed they should all do something together as a class.

It was Uraraka who had taken the initiative to actually do something about it. Wheeling around to point at a startled Iida, still in his slippers and pajamas, Uraraka had cheerfully announced that if the class representative approved it, the teachers would have to let them.

A vigorous debate had erupted at that; people discussing where they should go and what they should do, how they would craft a convincing argument for the principal, how they could actually convince Iida to go along with it. It had taken most of the morning but eventually, everything had been sorted out.

Now, Kirishima was alone in the common room, almost the entire class opting to go on the little day trip to lunch and karaoke with Ectoplasm. According to rumor, their math teacher was amazing at singing both the main and backing vocals simultaneously.

Aside from Kirishima, only a small handful of students had turned down the invitation to go on the trip, remaining on campus.

Koda, shy as ever despite his many, valiant attempts to become more assertive and outspoken, had decided to hang back to avoid participating in any potentially embarrassing karaoke performances. Instead, he was studying in his room while spending some quality time with his pet bunny.

Kirishima could sympathize. He might be manly as hell but the thought of getting up on stage in front of a crowd, even one made up of his friends, and singing sent an all too familiar pulse of anxiety through him.

Shoji had opted to remain on campus to do his usual routine of jogging around campus for a few hours before meeting up with some guys from Class B and the General Studies class to work out in one of the private gyms. His work ethic was insane.

Kirishima couldn't help but respect it. It was totally manly.

Tokoyami, too, had decided to stay on campus rather than go out with the rest of class. Shrugging when invited, he had admitted that he was still rather tired and was going to spend the day catching up on his sleep.

Predictably, Bakugo had turned down the offer to go with the others. When they had asked him if he wanted to go with them, he had just sneered and told them all to piss off and leave him the hell alone.

Typical Bakugo. Leave it to him to still be his usual grumpy self even with Christmas looming on the horizon.

Kirishima was the only other one who had decided not to go with the others, shocking the entire class with his decision. But he had his reasons.

Because as fun as karaoke with his friends sounded, he just wanted to unwind and relax a little bit. As outgoing as he could be, sometimes he just needed some good old peace and quiet, some time to himself to recharge.

And that meant sprawling out on the couch on a nest of comfy throw pillows and cozy blankets that he had carefully arranged by hand while looking at memes and catching up on his Netflix 'to watch' list, his attention bouncing back and forth between the TV and his cell phone.

He was a master of multitasking. Even if that meant he missed a key plot point or two in favor of sending Kaminari any and all memes involving Pikachu.

He was on his second movie of the afternoon after rewatching an old All Might flick. It was some highly-acclaimed, five star rated teen comedy about the trials and tribulations of attending a typical high school and all the shenanigans involved in dating.

He was about halfway into the movie (the two leads had finally started dating) when he heard Bakugo come downstairs.

He didn't even have to look up to know who it was. He could tell just by the loud, heavy stomping down the staircase that it was the blond. Even his footsteps were angry.

It was beyond ridiculous (who the hell had angry footsteps?) but Kirishima couldn't help but smile. It was just so Bakugo.

"Hey, man!" Kirishima greeted automatically without bothering to sit up, too busy typing a message to Tetsutetsu on his phone, answering his friend's question about what he was doing.

Apparently, Class B had come up with the same idea as Class A and decided to go out for the day, too. According to Tetsutetsu, Vlad King was taking them out to an arcade and a movie.

Of course, that jerk Monoma had taken credit for coming up with the idea. Though Tetsutetsu was very adamant that Kendo was, in fact, the one who'd had the stroke of genius.

"The fuck are you still doing here?" Bakugo grunted in response as he made his way to the kitchen, socked feet loud against the tile floor. "Figured you'd be out with the rest of the extras."

"Hey!" Kirishima barked, sitting up sharply to look at Bakugo who had his head buried in the fridge. Kirishima pouted at the back of Bakugo's head, pointing out, "I'm not an extra! You know my name, even if you barely use it!"

When Bakugo just grumbled something unintelligible and vaguely insulting under his breath, Kirishima shrugged and laid back down in his little nest of pillows and blankets. Whatever.

It wasn't like he expected Bakugo to actually admit anything. That wasn't Bakugo's way.

Which put a bit of a downer on their burgeoning relationship since, as of a month ago, they were officially dating. Officially as in they occasionally had dinner alone together in Bakugo's dorm room and had kissed exactly four times.

That totally qualified as dating, right?

Admittedly, Kirishima wasn't totally sure but private dinners and kissing sure sounded like dating to him. Even if Bakugo refused to give a straight answer whenever he asked if they were in fact dating.

He would roll his eyes and snort, quickly changing the (usually to something else he knew Kirishima was passionate about) and talk in circles until Kirishima completely forgot what he had asked in the first place. Sometimes it really sucked to have such a smart maybe-boyfriend.

Kirishima was too lost in his thoughts about the potential existence of his romantic relationship with Bakugo that he didn't even notice said blond hurry back upstairs before returning a few minutes later, mouth set in a harsh line. Expression still stormy, he unceremoniously tossed something into Kirishima's lap.

Caught off guard, Kirishima immediately went on high alert, bracing himself for an attack. Sitting up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, his eyes quickly scanned the room, fruitlessly searching for any immediate threats to either himself or Bakugo.

Eventually, after making sure there was no villain about to attack, his eyes finally drifted to what Bakugo had thrown at him. To his immense shock, it was a present.

It was a relatively small box, only around five by six inches, wrapped in pristine white wrapping paper so pale it looked like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. A length of shiny red ribbon was curled around the middle of the box, ends tied together in an intricate bow.

It looked like something out of a sappy Christmas movie, bright and shiny and perfect. It was so flawless, attention paid to every detail of the wrapping, that it couldn't have possibly come from anyone other than Bakugo.

The same Bakugo who was standing by the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. Still wary, Kirishima glanced between Bakugo and the present in his lap.

Embarrassingly slow, Kirishima carefully put it together in his head. Looking up at Bakugo, he smiled widely and hazarded, "You got me something?"

Bakugo just rolled his eyes and snapped, "Just open the damn present."

Kirishima didn't need to be told twice. Sitting up straighter, he eagerly untied the pretty bow Bakugo had made, feeling somewhat guilty about messing up what had clearly taken quite a bit of effort.

But his excitement outweighed his bit of guilt and he quickly discarded the red ribbon, setting it aside on his lap. The white wrapping paper was much easier to get through; all it took was a hardened fingertip dragged down one side of the wrapped box and the wrapping paper fell open like a book to a reader's favorite page.

Bakugo impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for Kirishima to continue opening the small cardboard box he had uncovered. Kirishima, never one to disappoint, immediately popped the lid off the box, reaching inside to sort through a sheet of tissue paper to find his gift.

Had anyone else been watching, the reveal would have been rather anticlimactic but not to Kirishima.

Eyes wide as saucers, Kirishima gaped down at the small, unassuming object in the box. It was a movie ticket.

Bright red with gold embossed lettering announcing the name of the movie theater, it was a movie ticket to the new Crimson Riot movie that had only just released its first trailer less than two weeks ago. The Crimson Riot movie that Kirishima had been waiting for his whole life.

"Dude!" Kirishima gasped, looking up at Bakugo with a mix of awe and disbelief. "You got tickets to the Crimson Riot movie?! How the hell did you manage that?! They don't even have a release date yet!"

Bakugo just shrugged. "My parents worked with the costume department for the movie."

"What?!" Kirishima yelped, eyes somehow widening even further. "That's so awesome! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't allowed to," Bakugo explained with a negligible shrug. "My parents had to sign some bullshit non-disclosure agreement thing. But the trailer's out now so it's whatever."

Kirishima just smiled, reaching back into the box again. He felt around the bottom for a moment, frowning to himself before looking back up at Bakugo. "Hey, where's your ticket?"

"What're you talking about?" Bakugo asked, looking and sounding genuinely confused.

Swinging his legs over the side of the couch to turn and face Bakugo fully, Kirishima smiled softly. "Yeah, dude, if I'm going, I wanna go with you!"

A faint pink blush blossomed over Bakugo's cheeks, dyeing the tips of his ears a light red. Ducking his head, he scratched the back of his neck and grumbled, "Alright. I'll see if they can get one for me."

Smiling, Kirishima placed the ticket back into the box and set it on the side table, shoving the ripped wrapping paper off his lap to stand up. Curling his arms around Bakugo's waist, he softly thanked him, "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

Bakugo just gave a short nod, face blushing a darker shade of pink. Kirishima's heart swelled in his chest, a fitting facsimile of the Grinch.

Maybe Bakugo really was his boyfriend, Kirishima thought as he leaned in to press his lips to Bakugo's. After all, they had kissed exactly four times.

Five times. Six times. Seven. Eight. Nine...

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 12: Cusco - In Which I Do Not Kill Us Both

We had been messaged, late last night, by the purveyors of the ATV tour we were due to embark upon today, informing us that our meeting time had been amended from 6:45, to 7:00am. This extra fifteen minutes of sleep, you'd imagine, should have come as something of a boon to us, though given that until the point at which we received that message, we had believed, with full conviction that we were supposed to meet at 9, it actually came as something of a withering blow. Regardless, we pulled ourselves out of bed at six in the bastard morning, like the heroes we are and some time later, after a very sad breakfast, left our apartment to endure the twenty minute walk to the office, in the freezing morning mountain air.

We didn't have to wait long before our minibus arrived, to whisk us away to the other, higher mountains to begin our day. Or we wouldn't have done, at least if we had boarded the correct bus. Somehow, despite confirming with the driver that we were indeed going on an ATV tour with the correct company at the correct time for us to be picked up, we (they) had managed to beef the situation pretty hard, leaving us bound for the incorrect place, on the incorrect bus. Fortunately, the mistake was rectified after only a couple of blocks and we were unceremoniously dumped back on the street, left to trudge unhappily back to the offices. A good start, I think we can all agree.

Not long after that, we were picked up by the actually correct driver (at least we thought so; he called me by name, so he was either the right guy, or it was the most sophisticated scam I've ever been targeted by) and, after whizzing around the city to pick up some fellow quadders, none of whom were particularly interesting enough to mention, we were finally embarking on our adventure, on the right bus, to the right place and everything.

The bus ride was longer than expected, clocking in at just over an hour, winding through bumpy, uneven country paths, up into the even-more-mountainous bit of Cusco. Sam, who suffers quite badly from travel sickness, strangely did not enjoy the journey as much as me, and was left feeling rather peaky, to put it as crudely as I have been permitted to, by the end of it. Now all pale and shaky and one sad breakfast lighter, Sam no longer felt comfortable riding her own ATV and so, instead opted to jump into the passenger seat of mine and cling onto me like a sloth, for the duration, as demonstrated in this not at all terrible selfie.

#clout

Now having been given the added stress of having an additional person to try not to kill, we were instructed to try out a few practice laps along an empty stretch of road, which I did expertly, only Austin-Powersing the ATV at a particularly narrow turning point once, in the process.

Now a bonafide quad-bike expert and none of you can say otherwise, we set off for our first destination of the day; the Maras Salt Flats.

I found myself paying very, very little attention to the, frankly quite impressive scenery on the way

This is nothing to me

Instead opting to focus mostly on not running our bike into a ditch or crashing into a bush. Though, generally, despite my initial nervousness, I settled into the driving fairly quickly, only filling my pants once or twice, when passed by huge, speeding buses, travelling the opposite way along the narrow, dusty road, which we shared Somehow not dead, though, we arrived at the salt flats and disembarked our bikes for a quick look around, down ten soles which we had to pay for the entrance fee, even though you'd definitely expect that to be covered by the agency under almost any other circumstance.

The flats were, however, pretty cool and probably well worth the entrance fee, despite the relatively little time we were given to gawk at them

Kind of.

though after around fifteen minutes of staring out at this bizarre and genuinely quite impressive alien landscape,

Spooky. And salty.

we were quickly ushered away to the a series of market stalls, essentially operating as the gift shop, where we were left to mill around for substantially more time than we were given to look at the actual flats themselves - in a move which I felt was perhaps a little crass and inorganic. I still bought myself some salty chocolate, though, so I guess I'm a capitalist pig, too.

Back at the bikes, our group was given a choice, we could either go with Moses, our guide, to see Moray; an impressive, sprawling set of Inca ruins, set deep in the heart of the sacred valley, or...we could side with the other guide, whose name I never got, and go to a big splashy lake, yaaaay. Entrance to Moray costing seventy extra soles which we frankly, could not spare and also my disproportionate love of having a bit of a paddle coming into play, we opted to go to the lagoon.

We quadded there without issue and soon arrived at a genuinely pretty lovely little lake

Moist.

where we were given another (woefully inadequate) fifteen minutes to explore, nearly all of which I spend knee deep in weirdly freezing lake-water

After what must have been actually closer to ten minutes, we were called back to the ATVs and so, with a heavy heart, I dredged myself out of the water and, now with the added bonus of having cold, wet feet, popped myself back on the bike.

We drove back to base-camp, again without incident, meaning that I had completed the entire day without crashing the bike and/or horribly injuring either myself or my girlfriend – which I'd call an unexpected win – and, with the package now complete, we were loaded back onto the minibus to Cusco, with almost negative fanfare, if such a thing is even possible, and fucked back to the city, like a bag of shitty nappies.

We were dropped off...almost at the main square – pretty much as close to it as the driver could be bothered going, I think – and headed to the first place we could find, for some much needed lunch. The first place we could find, as it turned out, was actually quite a fancy hotel, right in the middle of the tourist-zone. This meant not only that we were basically paying UK prices for, admittedly very nice, sandwiches, but also, given that we were dressed for ATVing (a difference from the norm which much more noticeably effected Sam, than I) and covered from head to toe in dust, from our earlier efforts, meant we stood out like sore, dirty, tired, scummy thumbs. Regardless, we endured the stares and tuts from the other eatery patrons- an act at which, by now, I am an expert – munched through our food and paid in full, like we were in Pretty Woman, or something. I don't know, I haven't seen it, but that sounds about right.

After our lunch, we were left with little in the way of plans. It was only around mid-day and we didn't fancy going back to the apartment, quite yet, as good as going back to sleep definitely sounded to both of us. We had read of some Inca Ruins just a little bit outside the city centre called Saqsaywaman (very amusingly pronounced “sexy woman”). At just a fifteen minute walk from the Plaza Del Armas, we thought we'd be foolish not to go and have a look. Sure entrance, much like Moray, cost seventy soles, but apparently you could get a genuinely good-enough view of them from outside, peering over the fence, like some nonce from the 80s, and that sentence, as frequent readers of my blog will know, is like catnip to me. Looking at things from the outside, without paying, that is. Not the nonce part...

As it turned out, Google Map's estimation of the walk taking fifteen minutes was optimistic at best and a flat out lie at worst. It may have taken that long if it were at sea level, and the entirety of the trek wasn't straight up and I could breathe properly and didn't have to take a five minute break after every flight of stairs, but all of those things were the case and, as it stood, it actually took closer to forty. That forty minute walk, incidentally, was to Saqsaywaman's first entrance; the one from which you could peer over no fences and see no ruins, and so we had to keep walking, for close to an hour, also uphill, to get to the auxiliary peeping entrance. A walk which, by the way, shouldn't have taken that long, even at high altitude, though we had to stop every few seconds, so Sam could  have a right good complain, and, honestly? that really tacked on some travel time, if I'm being real.

After a very wearying amount of both walking and snipping, we finally arrived at entrance two, which we milled about, genuinely suspiciously, attempting to figure out the best way to steal a glimpse of the ruins. As it turned out, that would be by walking another two or so minutes along the road to a gap in the hedge. Sam, being the Lawful Good sort she is, was very concerned that we would be stopped, fined and/or get in trouble from the Saqsay tour guides, though I, being somehow the more relaxed of us two, was less concerned about this, given that ten feet away from where we had parked up, a double decker tour bus had stopped to lets its passengers take as many pictures of the ruins as they liked, over the hedge.

Having had our fill of sexy women, we made the significantly easier walk back downhill, taking a clever shortcut, sort of, to get back to our flat, without having to endure too many stairs. If I'm totally honest, the end result of all the walking to the ruins, probably wasn't really worth the energy expended in getting there, but don't tell Sam, though. She'll think it means she wins.

After an early start and close to twenty thousand steps, most of which were at a frankly silly incline, by the time we were home, I was absolutely ruined, as I seem to be every evening on this trip, except far, far worse. I made us dinner, because I am a hero and clambered back into bed- the only warm(ish) part of the entire flat – to eat it while watching a terrible film, expecting my shortness of breath, tightness in my chest and heart palpitations to abate after a short while. They did not, which was quite worrying, to be honest. I briefly considered that I might be having a stroke or something, but didn't voice my concerns for fear that it might have made Sam thought that she had won, and so, bravely soldiered on in silence, until I managed to fall asleep, instead. I wasn't having a stroke, by the way. Or if I was, I dealt with it incredibly well and can't see what the big deal is about, really...

[13ceremonialskrp]

                              STEP LIGHTLY, CHILDREN OF THE MOON

THE COVEN WELCOMES THE 5:30PM CEREMONIAL, DO JIWON, A 22 YEAR OLD RAVEN FAMILIAR

idiosyncrasy

devoted, gregarious, resourceful.

impulsive, melodramatic, skeptical.

proficiency

jiwon’s worked on exactly one of her abilities since they first emerged: traveling undetected. it’s how she left home to begin with, and how she started over again in another city whenever she pleased. the raven’s nimbleness plays a large role in this, often saving her through quick maneuvers when inexperience in the air earns her unwanted attention. an expanded visual field also helps a great deal; vastly improved sight makes for exceptional ease in identifying anything she’d prefer to avoid.

this, of course, goes hand in hand with the particular intuition jiwon’s become accustomed to sensing. it should come as no surprise that the feeling of foreboding has hit her more times than she can count, considering how far she’s gone to test her limits. with early misinterpretations ultimately leading to tragedy, she’s given that sense her utmost focus ever since. even now, despite learning how to understand it, she takes time to be sure of what’s going on around her before reacting. just in case.

ineptitude

with all the things she can do, jiwon often forgets she isn’t invincible. she’s abused her body’s resilience for as long as she’s been aware of it; initially due to devil-may-care attitude, a fateful accident prompts her to let go of any notion of self-preservation she has left. five minutes of ignoring minor injuries stretches out to ten, fifteen, thirty… at some point, she stops trying to estimate how long it’s been since she last gave her body a chance to heal, instead waiting until the accumulating pain is too sharp to ignore. it’s only when it takes several minutes for a single scrape to disappear that she starts to stress over the consequences of her choice. 

now, change the subject to manipulating the atmosphere, and you reset jiwon to her recklessly giddy self. the explanation that familiars like her can bend wind to their will has her look back on past escapes with fresh eyes, understanding dawning that some of the luck she’s counted on was actually her own handiwork. it inspires her to do more, yearning to reach that eventual capability of tapping into the power of storms themselves. until then, however, she’ll make mistake after bruising mistake in her haste to become a master.

sanctions

whatever consequences jiwon faces for taking advantage of her powers has less to do with the powers themselves, and more with the body it gives her. the most notable part of this is her vision, and how her eyes are set as a raven; while the superior sight is much appreciated in the moment, she’s almost always hit with vertigo when transforming into her human form. the narrowing scope of what she can see at once throws her off, making it harder to maintain balance; she’s given up on trying to remain standing, knees typically buckling after changing back.

unfortunately, this side effect is sometimes compounded with another, if jiwon’s eaten while transformed. she’s tried just about anything she finds that ravens consume—since the birds are known scavengers, that means she’s sampled quite a number of things that would normally make her stomach turn. as she discovered the hard way, if she’s eaten something unpleasant before reverting to human form, nausea will accompany the vertigo. depending on what it is, the extra sensation could range from thankfully brief to miserably sharp, sending her to the nearest trash can.

memoirs

august 2016. do jiwon’s just landed in busan.

she doesn’t know why she’s come back. yeah, she misses her baby brother, and the home she grew up in to some extent, but she’s been able to fight the sentiment for over two years. it’s not like there’s anything special about late summer, either; only heat, and humidity, and heavy rain that’ll make it harder to make another escape. but, if she’s waiting for clear skies, she might as well take a look around. busan’s a big city. as long as she steers clear of her old neighborhood, she should be able to satisfy her curiosity without any uncomfortable reunions.

jiwon pulls her hair back in a low ponytail, cap tugged low to cover her eyes. there’s only so much she can wear to hide her identity in this weather. she hates it. she didn’t think that returning to her hometown would make her feel so exposed, but now that the feeling’s taken root, she can’t shake it. she stops at an intersection, bows her head forward, and pinches the bridge of her nose. she can’t wait to get out of here.

when she finds herself on a path leading to her old high school, she goes against her gut yet again, and keeps walking. she assumes everyone’s gone home, but the sound of clattering gym equipment has her break into a run, racing right past the front entrance. she only stops when she realizes where she’s gone, heart racing even after she catches her breath.

of course, of all the places she’d never want to visit again, the first one she ends up in is the one that drove her to skip town in the first place.

jiwon staggers to the edge of the street, drops down to sit cross-legged, and leans forward to cover her face in her hands. her mind flashes back to two winters ago: backpacks left open on the sidewalk, a couple of classmates chasing after her when they find a strange bird poking through them, the overwhelming sense of something horrible about to happen as she takes a sharp turn onto the street—

a boy’s voice jerks her back to reality. she looks up, wide-eyed, to find her brother at her side. she lets him pull her up just to take him in her arms, bursting into tears as he returns the hug; it takes all her willpower to keep from transforming right there.

she’s home for all of five minutes before she’s convinced she should’ve stayed away. given no explanation for her disappearance, her parents waste no time in nagging her, to the point she marches to her room out of habit. the breath is knocked out of her as she realizes it’s mostly as she left it; besides a few boxes stacked in the corner, everything matches what she can remember. jiwon hurries to lock the door before finally shifting into her avian form, burying her beak in her pillows to suppress a cry.

she can’t stay. it was hard enough to hide her abilities when she’d first discovered them; now that she relies on them to scrape by, the last thing she wants is for her family to be connected to her thievery. that very night, when she’s certain even her brother’s in bed, she cracks open her window and flies out, circling around the home twice before soaring up and away.

jiwon is so fixated on going, going, going that when she’s hit with that sense of peril, she very nearly crashes into a car window. it’s only then, bitter over the irony of it all, that she’s able to pick up on something else: an odd aura, easing her dread with what can only be described as comfort.

she doesn’t know then, the things she’ll soon learn about what she is, or the people she’ll get to know in the process of improving. but she does get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she ought to stop running away. something tells her she might benefit from sticking around, this time.