#every name i come up with has been used by DC already so it’d be hard to search LOL

[fanghaunt]

character turnarounds for orbit n zeph i made a few months ago, with a little bit more fleshed out info about them

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[notmrskennedy]

Bites and Bullet Holes

(Spencer Reid x Female leaning but sorta GN! Reader)

Summary: Spencer, during college, was bitten by a dog. Working a case involving dogs brings back old memories and friends...

W/C: 3,384

Warnings: Dog bites, bullet holes, bad writing? 

A/N: Guess what I found y’all? I haven’t edited it one single bit but I hope it goes over well anyway. When I was working at the kennel I kept having anxiety over one of my kids getting into a fight so I made this. Be a little extra gentle with this one. 

---

As he leaned over the victim, he made the mistake of thinking about you. Spencer thought he’d gotten over it. The whole randomly thinking about you thing—the thing that’s happened too many times before. He’d chalked it up to you being best friends 15 years ago. Told himself that it’s normal to miss your friends from college. 

But over a dead body? This was new. 

Though he supposes the dead girl could’ve looked like you in another timeline. There’s facial structure similarities—at least to you 15 years ago at 19. She’s been strangled with her dog’s leash and there’s some unspoken quality about her that just…jerks him into nostalgia over you. 

(You are probably the one that got away, but if he’s being honest, you live in DC. He could go see you right now if he wanted to.)

Morgan leans over Spencer and points at the dog leash. “It had to be someone she knew if the dog went off with our un-sub.”

Spencer nods, fidgeting with the 15 year old scars on the inside of his wrist. Whether or not Morgan noticed, he thankfully doesn’t press. Spencer is having enough trouble stamping down that knee-jerk reaction to think about you, let alone if Derek thinks to point out the magical, ‘hey weren’t you bitten by a dog?’

Spencer doesn’t remember the incidence well enough to comment. He wonders if you do. 

“We’ll have to check shelters for the dog,” Spencer remarks. “3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year in the US.” 

Morgan nods, pulls off a glove, pulls out his phone. Spencer looks around the park. Behind the police tape are plenty of people walking their dogs. The sorts of breeds that you’ve gushed about 15 years ago. His brain knew too much about dobermans, shepherds, mallinois—he could even hear that pretty little gasp you had when you’d point out a particularly well trained monster of a pet. 

Spencer wonders if you ever did anything with your finance degree, if you even ended up finishing college at all. You’d come close to dropping out over calculus—he hadn’t been around long enough to help you through the even harder stuff. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted Garcia to look you up, but it was the first time he’d considered it. 

“Music to my ears, mama,” Morgan laughs into the phone and Spencer tunes back in. 

“I’ll get that puppy BOLO out,” Garcia chirps back. Spencer can imagine her wringing a fluffy pencils through her fingers. “We’re going to find this doggie and make sure that psycho didn’t get him too.”

Spencer smiles despite himself. Penelope would’ve liked you. 

#

JJ sets coffee down in front of his stack of files. She smiles, gracefully sits down next to him. Spencer tries his best to ignore her insistence. Tries to ignore the ever prominent eye contact screaming ‘We’re going to talk about something uncomfortable!’ 

“So, Spence,” she says, pausing for his attention with a sip of her own coffee. He looks up for half a glance before going back to the files. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure there’s something in this stack of work the first victim had brought home with her. They all knew the un-sub, he had to be somewhere. 

“Spencer,” she says more insistently. He makes the mistake of looking up, of letting her place a hand on his. She gently turns the wrist over and pointedly glances towards the teeth marks. “Are you doing okay?”

He opens his mouth, but decides some things are better kept to himself. He thinks about saying that no, he wasn’t alright, that being plagued by thoughts of the first-love-of-his-life is haunting him more than the dog fight. 

That he can see your face in each of these victims. In their dogs. In the places they died. 

Dogs didn’t like him. They never did. The dog bite wasn’t the big deal out of the altercation. 

JJ won’t understand, so he offers her a truthful smile and says, “I’m okay. Seriously. More than 4.5 million people are bitten by dogs each year. I’m not special.”

JJ nods. Spencer goes back to his files. He forgets to hide his lovesick agony. JJ forgets not to notice. 

#

It’s 4AM and he knows he’s remembering it wrong. That the dog hadn’t been that big. That the teeth hadn’t really gotten him that bad. The bright red devil eyes and thousand yards of slobber were more than grossly incorrect. 

He sits up in bed and forces himself to remember the parts that were real. How real you had been. Before and after. 

Your car had broken down as you were leaving for work—already late—and you’d begged him for a ride. Promised calculus homework on your boss’s couch and only having to let the dogs out. No shit. No bleaching crates. No nothing. Just you, him, and some calculus homework. 

He’d caved. Now, running his hands over his eyes, he laughs at how obvious he had to have been. A skinny little 19 year old pimple of a boy majorly crushing on the first person to pick him out of a crowd and decide they’d be friends. The first friend who’d forced him to a tailgate at a football game. The only person he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And it was just like you promised. Your cute little nose wrinkle. Your horribly frustrated glares. Your over dramatic ‘I’m dropping out!’s every fifteen minutes. And it’d been great until you both heard a thunderous snap of a wooden fence and the wildest, most murderous howling he’d ever heard. 

You’d both bolted for the door, scrambling to get through the gates into the back. There’d been a moment of calm. Another beat. Another. And…you both had stumbled around the corner to find the next door neighbour’s dog, broken chain, trying to kill one of the kennel’s dogs. 

There had been no moment’s hesitation on Spencer’s part. He’d stupidly rushed forward, lodged his hand between the neighbour’s mutt and the sweetest dog he’d ever met. He’d yanked her free from the mutt’s jaws, only to find his own wrist dragging along the teeth. 

(He realised later that he’d always had a propensity to run head first into danger. No calculations needed.)

There’d been two beats for the dog to process it’s chew toy was in Spencer’s arms. To process that Spencer made a better victim. That Spencer’s throat and limbs were softer and easier to tear. Thankfully, he’d scrambled back enough that when the dog launched, it didn’t catch flesh. It chomped on air. Less than three inches from him. 

Fangs. Tightened lips. Black gums. Slobber. 

The mutt could be equated to Stephen King’s The Sun Dog. Always hesitant to process his trauma, it’s the one book—gifted by you during a Halloween birthday for him—that sits untouched on his bookshelves. There’s too much of you in the inscription in the cover. Too much of that horrible mutt in the pages. 

The next part of the night blurred in his memories. In his near perfect memory, it blurred. Trauma, right? 

You’d screamed. You were in front of him. You had the dog’s chain in your hands. He was running. The dog was heavy in his arms. His arm stung. You were screaming. He should’ve gone back. 

Five god-awful minutes later, you’d come into the house. Limping. Clutching onto your arm. You’d taken one look at Spencer running his wrist under the tap and forgotten about your own injuries. Despite the blood dripping off your arm. Or the quiet yelp every time you stretched. You’d barely taken ‘I’m fine, you’re the one bleeding’ as a reason to not bandage him up first. 

The only thing that calmed down the dream every time he had it was the memory of holding your hand while you got stitches. How your face pinched with the pain. How you’d said, ‘next time, it’s your turn to take the bullet.’ How he’d smiled and promised. 

Spencer watches the clock tick by and decides it’s too late to go back to sleep. Hotch’ll be up in an hour. No need to delay his start. Women were dying. Women you would’ve been friends with.

#

“Okay, crime-fighters, I found our connection,” Garcia chirps over the speaker phone. “All of our victims attended very specialised dog training courses at a facility just outside of DC. The owner said they’d send in one of their trainers to talk to you. Should be there anytime now.”

“What kind of specialised training?” Emily asks. Spencer feels like he should be contributing, should be processing any of this, but his head is pounding. He doesn’t have a hangover, but god does it feel like it. 

Garcia hums as she types. “It’s a military facility. Awww, they’ve got puppy pictures on their website!”

“Garcia—“

“Right, right. It’s a top notch facility and oh! A bunch of the FBI dogs graduate from there. I wonder if they get little caps and gowns and—“

“Hey, baby girl, the trainer’s here. We gotta run,” Morgan interrupts, though he’s all smiles to stare at whomever is plaguing his interest. 

There’s another squeal of please get puppy pictures before the call cuts and Spencer finally has the self preservation to look. And god does he look. 

15 years has made no difference on your skin and he can’t believe he’s not staring at you from across a lecture hall. The only indication you’ve changed is the nervous smile you’ve plastered on and the dog at your side. Every fun fact about german shepherds instantly crosses his mind and he can’t help but drop his jaw a little further. 

It sinks to the floor when you spot him and wave. You wave. At him. In front of coworkers. 

He’s out of his seat before he can stop himself. That easy smile reserved for movie nights falls back into place on your lips. Twinkles in your eyes. 15 years haven’t passed. Maybe he needs to check for pimples again. 

“Y/n,” he croaks and the same time his name leaves your lips. The dog at your side stands and you correct the gesture with a harsh word in what he’s sure is German. 

“FBI, huh?” Your eyes trail over every inch of him, crossing your arms in a relaxed, familiar kind of way. “I expected more math, Mr. I Like Derivatives.”

“The shepherd there doesn’t look like finance either, y/n,” he teases back like no time has passed. Like he doesn’t immediately feel incredibly guilty for ditching you for the academy. 

“Oh come on,” you huff, “you really think that I was cut out for an office job? I lasted six months.”

And before he can warn you, even think about warning you about the team that’s slowly creeping up behind him, they are all suddenly there. Very keen on knowing the ins and outs of how you know Dr. Spencer Reid. 

“Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Morgan smirks, clapping a painful hand on Spencer’s shoulder. You busy yourself with petting the dog at your hip, looking everywhere but Morgan’s insistent gaze. 

“Guys, this is my friend y/n from college.” 

JJ raises an eyebrow at the lack of explanation, but plows ahead with introductions. Takes charge of guiding you to an interview room. Gets through the entire interview without once asking about your relationship with him. 

Morgan watches Spencer rubbing the scars and makes the leap. “You okay, kid?” 

Spencer breaks from staring at your face as you talk about getting your start in Germany—Germany—and swallows. This was fine. It’s okay to tell his friend—his brother—about the story he’s never really talked about. 

“I stupidly put myself in the middle of a dog fight,” Spencer grits out, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Every scar burns and he can’t help but stare at your smile again. “Y/n saved my life. She choked out the dog, Morgan, before he got a hold of me. Left the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Oh,” was his all too helpful response. They both turned back to the interview. How everything jovial about your entire countenance shifted once JJ started mentioning the victims. 

“Look, Agent Jareau,” you say, leaning dangerously far away from the conversation, “They are—they were really smart women with some dangerous dogs. I don’t know—I just—there’s a lot of sickos out there.”

Every profiler within a 20 mile radius can hear the change in tone, can hear the fear. Spencer knows a lot can change in 15 years, but he thought for sure you’d never become a serial killer. He doesn’t know if it’s all his years in the bureau or if he’s still too attached to you, but you don’t seem like the killer. Not like JJ seems to think so. Sure, you’re terrified, but the dog you have is nosing your arm. Giving you big ole puppy eyes. Spencer doesn’t think a serial killer can pour that much into a relationship with an animal. 

“What do you mean?” JJ clocks the movement and switches to a maternal type of body language, tone. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the dog’s head, and it noses your hand into action. “I, uh, just got a weird letter two weeks ago. It wasn’t—it was just weird. Off-putting.”

“Right before the first victim,” Spencer mutters. Weird letters indicated stalking. Victims with you as a central point meant stalking. Stalking meant you were probably next. Oh, god, you were next. 

JJ stretched a hand across the table and took yours. “You’ll get through this. You’ll get through this, y/n.”

#

Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was so much worse than normal. Should he stand? But what should he do with his hands because crossing them seemed too defensive? Or should he just sit down? But where? And was that rude?

Instead, he just took the cup of tea you offered and followed you like a lost puppy. Granted, it was your house and he was definitely lost. He also felt vaguely at home—there were a decent amount of bookshelves by his standards and even more mismatched furniture than he had. The house was well cared for and when you sat him down on your couch, you swept away a stack of training manuals, all sporting worn covers. 

Was it wrong to feel like he was settling onto your old apartment couch for movie nights?

You puff out a breath of air and lean your head dramatically into the back of the couch. “So, since you’re my FBI escort, is it wrong to ask if you still like cheesy 90s movies?”

He shakes his head. Grins. “You still have Legally Blonde?”

You just giggle as you head for a stack of movies. You strike up some conversation as you rummage and he knows he’s hooked all over again. It’s going to take weeks to get over you again. It’d taken months the last time, and he feels slightly less attached this time. But did he really think it would take more than a simple question about the latest thing he’s read? He wishes he knew you better, just as well as you seem to still know him. 

Though by the end of the movie, you’ve both returned to your college days. Practically curled into each other’s side. You still have horrible commentary about the movie, peppered in with Spencer’s annoying movie trivia. If it was anyone else, he figures, he would’ve been kicked out long ago. 

You still distinctly smell of vanilla, flailing the scent around as you move closer and further and closer again. You wear enthusiasm with your whole body and if you aren’t turning rapidly between facing Spencer and the movie, how could you possibly begin to explain correctly? 

Your shoulder keeps a constant pressure against his, your knees half over his thigh. There’s too many instances of hollering and laughing that you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. If this hadn’t been a protective detail, he might’ve lost his mind. 

Thank god for focus. Work. Work. Work. Not your hands on his knee. Definitely not your smile as you declare your affection for scented resume stationary. Totally not how hot it’s getting under your too affectionate gaze. 

“Spence, I really missed this,” you whisper, nudging your shoulder with his. “I know it’s weird to be thrown together after 15 years, but I—I missed you.”

“I—“ missed you too; fell in love with you in college; think I love you now. 

But there’s no time for heartfelt declarations when someone’s incessantly banging on the door. Spencer’s got half a mind to get the door for you, holster his gun, focus on keeping you safe. The banging doesn’t soften as he calls out that he’s on his way. If anything it gets worse. 

And it should’ve been the first red flag of the night. 

Spencer opens the door and thinks very loudly, “why the fuck do I always run headfirst into danger?” 

Their un-sub, a buzzcut that looks more Army that not, shakes a pistol at Spencer and demands to be let inside. There’s only so many ways to defuse the situation, so he back ups, tucks you behind him. Their un-sub winds a little tighter, shaking like one of those monkeys with cymbals. 

“McLaggen?” you whimper behind Spencer and the Army man fires a shot into the floor. You grip tighter onto Spencer’s shirt, digging in your fingers dangerously close to his skin. 

The buzzcut is red, boiling over with rage, words bubbling out of his throat. “Y/n, I just can’t stand to see you with them. You never notice me. You’re always working, so I thought I’d get your attention. Cut the competition. I just—you mean so much to me, y/n. You mean too much.”

Spencer is sure he won’t remember this day accurately as he pushes you just a little further behind him. He’s about to do something so incredibly stupid. Dear lord, why the fuck is he like this? And he lunges. 

The gun’s trapped in both of their hands. There’s one more bullet fired—at the ground he’s sure. There’s a squeak of fear. Just enough of a distraction. One more ounce of weight thrown around. One more lasting punch. McLaggen lands on the floor. The gun skitters away. McLaggen groans as he’s handcuffed.

You gasp and he realises immediately that he’s bleeding. That he’s on the floor. That there is a bullet lodged in his thigh. Again. 

One string of swears later, you’re on the phone with 911. Yes, he’s shot. Yes, there’s another in handcuffs. No, I’m not a whore, send the damn ambulance.  

You take his hand as he lays there, much like he did in the hospital 15 years ago. Unlike then, you’ve got tears pricking at your eyes. You’re sniffling like a school girl, and he’s not sure if you’ve said that aloud. 

“Spencer!” You wipe a stray tear. Squeeze his hand too tightly. “Why the hell, you freakin’ moron, did you take a bullet for me?”

He laughs, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. You are too pretty to be this upset at his laughter. You are too lovely to be worried about him. To still be worried, like nothing has changed one bit. 

Every inch of him is trembling. Blood loss and bullets are bitches.

“Y/n,” he wheezes through dry lungs and more leg pain than he remembers there being, “I promised.”

You blink your eyes. What the hell are you talking about, Spencer Reid, you absolute idiot?

“I promised I’d take the next bullet. In the hospital.” He grins, groans as he moves to drag you into a hug. “I’m a man of my word, y/n, and I promise that if I keep the leg, we’re going out. Properly.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumble into his ear and squeeze his neck tighter. If the paramedics don’t bother to pull you off, who’s to say you won’t stay like that forever? Attached to the loveable, danger prone idiot, who traded dog bites for bullet holes?

[blackstarising]

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

[lady-literature]

hi hi hi i'm new here but i just got through your entire (at least i think so) accidental crime boss mari au and i love it so much!!! also my imagination went wild and here's what it came up with (this is so long, i'm so sorry 😂)

so, Jason teaching the kids street stuff, like pickpocketing and such, nobody can Ever pickpocket Mari (not that they'd try, i think, hahaha), somehow it's just not possible. you think you have her and then find out otherwise. furthermore! she'd probably actually know how to do A Lot of what Jason is teaching (look, saving Paris that many times and seeing the shit she's seen must have taught her something about street smarts, okay?), but whether she's aware of all of it or not remains... unanswered. she absolutely surprises everyone, jaws-on-the-floor style, the first time she does it, especially when she does it consciously. every time she does something unknowingly (and still in the Nicest Way Possible, how even--) Jason probably quietly gathers the kids around so that they can watch and learn in real time from an example. and also, even though she's The Responsible One between the two of them when it comes to this stuff, sometimes Mari helps the kids do something, like maybe pickpocket someone in the family, as a prank

now about the Rules!! more specifically the sword fighting and duelling etiquette rule: auntie Kagami teaches everyone who wants to learn fencing every time she visits. there are tournaments. there's probably a pocket dimension designed specifically for that. it doesn't help lessen the amount of Shenanigans happening all the time but boy does it get competitive

also also also i love the name Mother of Heroes!!!! it's so cool!!! The Brood too!!!

if you've got any, i would love to see some more headcanons with the Sirens or the other dark/darker characters of the city (i'm not that well-versed in the DC universe, so idk what to call them if they have a name, sorry)

also, we already know she's called the Pixie and that she's kinda considered a mob boss and etc., but like, what about the point of view of an outsider? the way it all came to be really must sound like something from legends or fairytales out there on the streets. something so sudden and kind, and if you look a bit closer magical and just so unexplainably other???? kids just disappearing off the streets in that area and then resurfacing again looking well fed and taken care of???? to those disillusioned enough with life it must literally sound like an urban legend or something. but she's real. if you need help you just gotta find her.

HI HI HI!!! oh my gosh all of it??? thank you so much!!

1) i think that Mari knows theoretically a lot of things about being on the streets, but not a lot practically. living on the streets has less to do with being able to fight and a lot more to do with instincts and experience and all these little tics you pick up when all you have to count on is yourself.

there are, of course, certain ‘street talents’ as i call them, like being able to pick locks and con people and having a sense for danger etc, etc.

mari knows that tangible things, because she’s bound to pick them up, obviously. the kids just don’t forget what they’ve learned, so often she sees it in action. Jason also teaches her street talents as well, sometimes on purpose, most times on accident.

there is a difference though, in how Mari uses said talents. when the kids use them, there is an edge to every movement. they use their talents like weapons, like they are shields, all bared teeth and fingers like claws. their talents come from pain and necessity and there will always be something a bit vicious about it.

Mari doesn’t have that, and never will. her talents are tools and tools only, one more to add to her vast repertoire. it’s as impersonal as it gets for her, which means its soft and sweet and used with care. her talents, even in combat or duels, are velvet over steel.

2) Oba Kagami, unfortunately, can’t visit often but when she does, oh boy is it intense. Mari and Chloe are always delighted when she and Adrien visit, but mari spends most of the trip running around and quelling fights and making sure no one loses a finger

3) thank you! i’d like to say id been planning the Mother of Heroes for a while but i came up with it mostly on the spot lol. it fits really well though and makes a lot of sense imo

i quite like it

4) hmmm. im not sure about much of that. despite being thought of as a crime boss, she stays away from the other rogues mostly. I think, if given the chance, Mari would likely adopt killer croc without question, and I think she’s on okay terms with Riddler in that they like to exchange brain teasers and the like, but other than the Sirens, mari stays away from crime.

for the sirens though, i very much like the idea that Harley basically thinks of Mari as a younger sister and is liable to just take her out on the town and leave Selina and Ivy to watch the kids while they go cause trouble for whatever group has caught Harley/Mari’s ire this time.

Ivy and Mari have a comradery in their shared love of plants and similarity in their powers. mari is more expansive and flexible than Ivy’s, but they share the same roots and the two spend lots of time gardening and keeping crops for the kids. (though, harvesting is often a chore for the older ones)

5) Mari being an urban legend is the truest thing I have heard. god, i’ve never really considered the outsiders perspective but yeah. could you imagine the stories people would whisper about the faerie living near crime alley? in the beginning, just after things start picking up and Mari has somewhere upwards of a dozen kids, I think it’d look something like this:

“People say there’s faeries living near crime alley. Magic folk settling back into the city that tried to drive them out. No one knows what they want, but they keep taking kids. The strange ones, the ones that are like them, that aren’t quite human.

“They say that they’ll help you, if only you ask. But be careful. There hasn’t been a kid to go in there and not come out different. They’re stronger, normally. And well-fed. But they also talk of strange creatures and stories no one’s ever heard of and you stop seeing them on the streets so much. (They say they live with the faeries now.)

“No one knows what the faeries want, but we know this: they help when you ask and they keep taking kids. I suppose, in the grand scheme, it depends on how much your willing to risk for some help.”

[eunjidrabbles]

Hello! I've just started getting into Dreamcatcher recently and have fallen for the charismatic rabbit Jiu! I was wondering if I could request a scenario with her? DC is in like a show and 8th member reader is a big fan of the other guests/MCs. She has a nervous habit of picking the skin on her lips so Jiu stops her anr holds her hand to keep her from doing it more. Thanks for your time :))

Soothe

(No problem! I only got into Dreamcatcher like, a month or two back too so we got that in common! ^^ Can our Jiu biased folks raise their hands 👀 

Edit: Look forward to a little something I have coming up that will be posted tomorrow. Hope ya’ll will enjoy this thing that I planned out.)

Word count: About 2.6k

-

Being an idol, you were taught to keep your reactions in check from your time as a trainee. You remember sitting through hours of classes on etiquettes and how you should reply to questions that might put your reputation at risk. Your managers also knowing how you were easily excited and hyped along with the energy would always constantly remind you to keep your calm before sending you on stages and shows with a gentle pat on your back and cross their fingers. It was an amusing scene to watch sometimes when Bora starts revving up the engine and you would follow right along, which causes a chain reaction back to the hyper dancer. Usually, it’d end up with chaotic screaming and laughter exploding throughout the studios. You were as much of a ball of energy as Bora was, according to everyone who has interacted with you. Sitting comfortably just a month younger than Yoohyeon, you were happily babied by your unnies and were always seen playing around with Yubin and Gahyeon. You were not one to shy from challenges thrown your way, which balanced out the team dynamics when it came to being invited to variety shows. You were unsure of your place when you were added into the group a couple months after Dreamcatcher’s debut, but every time you look around you now, you knew that there was no where else that you’d fit better than with your second family.

Since young, you’d watch the idols perform on stage and you’d be mesmerized by the way they took to the stage. The way they called for attention to themselves without outshining their other members amazed you. You clearly remember watching a stage that blew your mind and stole your breath away, and the idol’s name that would be your bring-up name whenever you were asked in interviews who your idol was. It was during the promotions of Dreamcatcher’s latest album did you receive the news from your managers. Your jaw dropped along with your small pint of ice cream in shock, and you could barely recognize the laughter coming from your members knowing that it was your dream come true. You were going to be promoting the album along with the idol that inspired you to step into the life of an idol. You took a slow but deep breath and let out a screech in excitement before looking at your other members, some covering their ears and some unluckily slow to recognize your change of behavior before you destroyed their hearing. Ending your screech in an awkward chuckle as you realized that the teasing was about to start once they get over the damage, you nudged your head back towards your room, signaling that you were heading back and bolted away before anyone could respond.

Everyone in the same car as you were could literally feel you vibrating from excitement in your seat as you were being driven to the location of the studio. Trapped in a moving vehicle, there was no way to escape the teasing of the older members so you just submitted to your fate, occasionally throwing glances over to Yubin to beg her to help you out. She’d then look up from her phone and a look around the people teasing you before raising her hands up, giving the clear sign that you were on your own. Seeing how you were abandoned by the rapper, you gasped loudly with a “You brat. I’ll get you back later.” which earned you an amused hum in reply before you unwillingly locked eyes with Bora on your way turning back to face the front.

“So, how does our little sunflower feel about finally meeting her idol?”

You could see her grin turn into a smirk as she watch you start squirming, unsure of how to answer her question. Your lips grew dry, trying to find the right words to use to cut the teasing as soon as you could. In the end, no words came out of your mouth as you shrugged and casually turn back forward, ignoring the little “Ya! Look at me when you answer a question!” From Bora. Pretending to fiddle with your phone and silently observing her from the reflection of the screen until she got bored and turned behind her to harass Yoohyeon, you let your thoughts drift. There was no way you could remain calm this time no matter how much pep talk you were given. The thought of merely given the chance to interact with her made your heart beat anxiously, not less to say that you were there to promote your album, in which she has heard and complimented according to the letter sent. Shifting in your seat, you reached your free hand up to brush your slightly dry lips, making a mental note to reapply some more lip balm before entering the studio in a short bit. Right. The studio where you were going to meet your idol. That’s no big deal, the entertainment industry is just this big, you’ll eventually get to meet them one way or the other. Subconsciously, when your fingers brushed over a slightly chapped part of your lips, you begin picking at it. It was only until the van came to a stop did you realize what you were doing and pulled your hand away, licking your lips to moisturize it.

By the time the entire group was gathered in the lobby, you were yet again buzzing with excitement, and possibly fear. Feeling arms wrap around your waist and a head landing on your shoulder, you glance to the side slightly to see Siyeon staring at you with a small comforting smile on her face. Taking a few deep breaths with you in her embrace, you managed to push down some of the nervous feeling knowing that your members although teasing, won’t push the line.

On cue following Minji’s lead, everyone slowly piled into the small studio room, with you waddling slightly as Siyeon has yet to let go of you. Energetic music was playing to bring the atmosphere up, and along with that Bora started bouncing to the music, prompting for everyone else to join in. You were laughing as you struggled to get out of Siyeon’s arms to start the chaos when you looked past your members to meet with the amused face of her. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, and you could feel your throat tighten when the reality hit. It was like a switch in you was hit, and you were conscious of your every action. As the music faded out, everyone took their seat on the couches chuckling at each other’s antics and waited for the next cue.

“As you all know, a few of these members has been guests of our show already but I have finally managed to invite the whole group back into our studio tonight. Let’s welcome... Dreamcatcher back to Studio Moon Night!”

Following the countdown of Minji, everyone did the group introduction. “Dream of me, hello we are Dreamcatcher!” According to the script, everyone was to do a short introduction of themselves starting from Minji who was seated next to you. You glanced at each member as they did their introduction and your eyes occasionally drifted to your idol who was sitting across the group. Being in the same room as the Moon Byuli was honestly more mind blowing than anything, you decided. Her presence was jaw dropping-

A sharp nudge to your sides snapped you out of your daze as you inhaled sharply and look around at your members and their amused faces, trying to hold back their laughter. “H-hello everyone, I’m Dreamcatcher’s sunflower, (y-y/n)!” Chuckles were then heard coming from Moon Byul when you felt hands land onto your shoulders from behind. The introductions continued to the younger members when you look back, you could see a smirk growing on Bora’s face, as your smile dropped, knowing what she was planning. “Actually, our dear sunflower here admires you a lot, Byuli-unnie!” Your eyes widened, not daring to look in the direction of your idol as your face flushed red.

“Is that so, (y/n)-sii?”

Darting your eyes to your idol, you blink blankly and tried to clear your throat and find the right words. Only managing to nod to not embarrass yourself, you hid your face in your hands to drown out the laughter shared.

“Our little sunflower is usually very loud, but look at her now!”

Whining, you peeked out between your fingers and pouted to your leader sitting next to you. Chuckling and giving you a little pat on the head, she threw a look over at the younger member to cut the teasing and let the radio show continue. Finally relenting with a huff, Bora eyed the rest of the members as if to contemplate who to target next once Moon Byul continued the script and prepared to start the actual interview. There was a series of questions that were quickly fired to different members, and in order not to make a fool of yourself again, you kept yourself on edge and alert to whenever you were called upon. Such focus given had you become uncharacteristically quiet that you were barely aware of what you were doing without thinking. Your posture was rigid, and whenever you felt that a question was about to be fired your way, you would reach up to brush and start picking at your lips in attempt to busy your mind to keep it ready.

“(Y/n)-sii! What is your TMI for today?”

Jolting up slightly with your finger still on your lips, you blink blankly at the unexpected question. “My TMI for today...” Glancing over to your leader once again pleading for help, you saw her gaze lowered down to your finger on your lip. “Ah! Jiu-unnie made coffee for everyone this morning!” Pulling your fingers away from your lips, you made a peace sign and beamed. “I drank 2 cups of coffee that Jiu-unnie made!”

“Is that why you snuck into the room and jumped onto me while I was still sleeping, unnie?” Yubin whined from the side after hearing your comment, realizing your reason for your high energy early in the morning. Everyone laughed at her contribution, and you waved it off chuckling along with everyone else. Once the attention was off of you, your fingers automatically made their way up again to your lips but this time it was caught midway with a larger hand interlacing fingers with yours. Blinking blankly at the act, you traced the hand to it's owner to see Minji smiling at you. Bringing your held hands to her lips, she turned it and pressed a soft kiss onto the back of your hand before lowering it onto her lap, clasping it with her other hand. Watching her gently brushing her fingers across your knuckles and smoothing her thumb across the back of your hand, you looked back up to see your leader nod at you before turning to answer a question given to her. The gesture, although a little awkward for someone like you who needed to move around to express yourself grounded you down. Feeling the constant movement on your skin helped you relax and you were slowly going back to chipping into the interview with little comments here and there.

During a song break, everyone was reading through the live comments and causally grooving to the music of your group’s latest song, and exchanging glances with Sua, both of you started doing the upper body half of the song’s choreography. Since Minji has yet to let go of your hand, you both chuckled when you pulled your hand to cover your eyes only to have hers come along to cover half of your face. As the song came to an end, you winked to the camera and leaned towards your leader, giving her a little peck on her cheeks while energetically waving both your intertwined hands between the both of you.

“Wow, that was-” Chuckling as she tried to reorient herself, Moon Byul threw a look over at the comment feed on her screen and back to you. “I noticed a little something, and even everyone watching is saying, (y/n)-sii.” Clasping both her hands together, Moon Byul brought it into the air for the camera to see. “Both of you have been holding each other’s hand for quite a while now. I thought I was your favorite idol.” Pretending to look upset, you started stammering in fear of actually offending your idol.

“I was the one who wanted to hold our dear (y/n)ie’s hands, since she is always so energetic, she is always very warm and I forgot to take my hand warmers onto set.” Pouting back herself, Minji pulled you into a quick hug and nuzzled into you. Seeing this, the rest of the members started chiming in on how they never received such affections from their leader and that you were her favorite. Happily laughing it off, Minji smoothly redirected the conversation back to Moon Byul once again to keep the show going.

When the PD signaled that the cameras were cut, your members started nudging you towards Moon Byul who was packing up her interview cards and scrolling through her phone. Looking back at your leader for reassurance, she gave your hand a tight squeeze and slowly released while nudging you forward. Taking a deep breath, you approached your idol, heart slowly starting to pick up its pace. Seeing you approach, Moon Byul put down her phone and focused her attention on you. “You did good, kid.” Seeing your eyes light up at her compliment, she chuckled again and continued. “I’ll look forward to your next comeback. In the meanwhile...” Picking up her phone again, she held it out for you. “Let’s keep in contact?” You nod vigorously and quickly keyed in your details, only to look up at Moon Byul again. “Can I take a picture with you please?” Ruffling up your hair slightly, as she took back her phone, she gave a nod with a playful grin and quickly snapped a photo of the both of you. Feeling your phone vibrate in your jacket pocket, you pulled it out to see a new message from an unknown contact with the photo of both of you. Bowing low, you started bouncing on the spot. “Thank you so much!”

With a pat on your back, Moon Byul nudged you back to your teammates as you let out a squeal and dived back into Minji’s open arms. Groans and were shared between those that failed to cover their ears in time again as the rest laughed at the antics.

Still clinging onto your leader as you both were the last to leave the elevator, she ran her hand through your hair as the other rubbed your shoulder. “Unnie.” Calling for her attention, Minji looked down at you in her arms and pointed to her own lips. “Ya, your lips won’t look as pretty anymore if you keep picking at it.”

“I know, unnie. Thank you for today.”

Pulling you closer to her, she shook her head. “Not just today. Whenever you feel like wanting to pick at your lip again,” Gentle pats land on your head as you leaned your weight against your leader’s. “My hands are for you to hold, alright?”

“You’re the best, unnie.” Nodding, you felt yourself relax at the soothing actions. “I know.” Frowning, you looked up with a pout to meet the grinning face of your leader. Deciding that you don’t want for her to take back her offer, you huffed in half agreement.

[lovelyirony]

that rhodeytony piece with the bots........... iconic. do you think we could have more of that sweet sweet mit era?? I just think they’re neat

Look. Rhodey hadn’t meant to build another robot. But Tony was at some business conference for the weekend, and Dum-E was just pitifully sad. If Tony had been there, he would’ve convinced Rhodey that Dum-E is a drama queen and acts like the end of the world is happening at any minor inconvenience. 

But why not give Dum-E a little sibling? This is how U comes to be, and he’s quite the gentleman, far more gentle than his big brother. 

Rhodey enjoys teaching him how to pick up socks and shoes, and how to put the coffee mugs on the counter gently, something that Dum-E is not good at yet, but they’re trying their best. (He has a stuffed coffee mug that they got from the pet store that he’s flung at every single surface so far.) 

-

Tony comes back from his business conference (which ugh) looking for cuddles, dinner, and maybe a movie date night if they can get Dum-E to stop trying to escape the apartment. 

What he isn’t expecting is for his boyfriend to be mediating a fight between two robots. 

Two. 

He stares at his boyfriend for a moment. 

“Rhodey, darling, is Dum-E having a...play-date?” 

Rhodey freezes. 

“Oh!” He says, grinning. “I, um...made him a sibling?” 

“And they’re...fighting?” 

“Well, for now. Dum-E’s mad because he didn’t get to put actual coffee mugs on the counter, and U is mad because Dum-E stole the couch blanket. I think U is really into decoration!” 

“Yeah, that explains everything,” Tony says faintly, sitting. “So...U? Like, the letter?” 

“Yeah, you like it?” 

“And you thought that it made a good name for what?” 

“Well, it was more of a placeholder, honestly. But then he liked it!” 

U looks over at Tony curiously. 

“U, this is Tony. Your other dad. We used part of his code to make you!” 

The arm bumps softly against Tony’s, which is an improvement from Dum-E, who tends to go full-force. (Although they’ve worked on it.) 

“So...” Tony says. “You think with U, we won’t need to look for a babysitter for date night?”

“No, we will. We definitely will. Dum-E hasn’t adjusted to a sibling yet.” 

“Poor baby,” Tony coos, patting Dum-E on the claw. “You thought you were going to be the only attention-seeker for a while, didn’t you?” 

He glowers, wheeling back and acting very high-and-mighty for a robot who just threw the equivalent of a tantrum. 

Rhodey looks at Tony, kissing him on the forehead as he leans over to lay on his legs. 

“How was the business conference, honey?” 

“Utter shit. I didn’t need to go, I was an ego boost for Obie to tote around.” 

“Told you that you shouldn’t have gone.” 

“If I said ‘no’ one more time, we would’ve had to have a phone call about my ‘five year plan’ and ‘legacy’ bullshit. You know that that gives me a migraine. Besides, he gave me a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant, so that means we get to have a good meal one of these weekends when you visit.” 

“Who said I would visit with you?” 

“Because Jarvis adores you and I think Ana wants to adopt you and force you to stay.” 

“You make a compelling argument,” Rhodey says, pretending to think about it. “I’ll...consider it.” 

Tony snorts. 

“And they say I’m the asshole here.” 

-

Two years later, Dum-E and U demand that they get a sibling. The dads are back home together (for now) and Jarvis has grown tired of reason. 

“They want a sibling, Sir.” 

“What, each other isn’t enough?” 

“They have requested many movie nights where there are siblings or groups of friends, and I think they want to, in a sense, replicate the scenarios.” 

“They’ve already done all of it? Wasn’t it them who got onto a plane for DC just because they wanted to see Pops?” 

“Yes, yes it was.” 

“You know, J, I still think that you helped them with that one.” 

“I most certainly did not.” 

(Jarvis totally did. He gets bored, you know? Besides, Colonel Rhodes hadn’t been home for three months, which should have counted for cruel and unusual punishment.) 

“Well, regardless of your guilt in certain situations, we’ll have a family discussion about maybe a new sibling.” 

Rhodey gets a text as he’s grocery shopping. 

hey, need to talk about family stuff. can you also pick up some more colby jack cheese? 

sure. what’s it about? 

your son has decided he wants a sibling. he convinced dum-e....

got it. 

Rhodey laughs to himself as he turns his cart around, going towards the dairy section. Of course U would decide something like that, it makes sense. 

- 

Tony is looking at Rhodey with a disappointed look on his face. 

“This is all your fault.” 

“How is this my fault?” 

“You dote on the boys too much.” 

“Oh, I do that? Who makes them Halloween costumes every year and hosts a party with all of the other appliances we’ve made over the years?” 

“Oh like you hate those, Mr. ‘Here’s-the-hand-made-Halloween-playlist’.” 

“True,” Rhodey says, setting down the bags. “Help me put away all of this stuff, half of it is yours anyway.” 

“We have a shared fridge, Honeybear.” 

“Tell that to your pomegranates taking up about two shelves!” 

“Only for now, and half of those are Pepper’s! They’re not all mine.” 

“Do you think she would want a say in the robot? After all, she does have to deal with U and Dum-E worshiping the ground she walks on.” 

“And she is the reason that Dum-E usually succeeds in his smoothie-making,” Tony admits. “Yeah, sure, invite her over.” 

- 

Whenever Pepper is asked what it’s like having to be a personal assistant to Tony Stark, she always wants to answer with something like “oh, it’s really fulfilling to help a company reach its goal and learn so much from my boss to apply to what comes next” or even “oh, it’s nice.” 

She got invited to dinner, and is now in a conversation about whether or not Dum-E and U, her boss’s children, should get a sibling. 

And the fact that her boss’s children are robots, have two dads, and think that Pepper is the best thing since life itself. 

“Why do they need a sibling?” Pepper asks, chewing on her pasta. 

“Because they’re bored, and we think that maybe we’ll stop getting calls from the fire stations around town that they’re trying to wreak havoc again,” Rhodey says. “They’ll want to teach the new sibling how life works around the house, and we can start on security measures.” 

“Can’t you just put a genetic lock on the door or something?” Pepper asks. 

“They’re surpassed it,” Tony says grumpily. 

“How?” 

“Don’t look at me!” Tony defends. “Look at Jim-dear, who is obsessed with true crime documentaries! They picked up how to gain evidence and use it for proof from him and Forensic Files!” 

Pepper puts her head in her hands. 

“Just once, I wish that we had a dinner to discuss a business proposal or something normal instead of whether or not your two boys need a sibling.” 

“Well, we are thinking about a daughter,” James admits. “And we wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“Why, because I’m the only female either of you know?!” 

“No,” Tony says quickly. “We know plenty of women!” 

“Name seven.” 

“Plead the fifth,” Rhodey jokes. “But you spend time here, and so we wanted to know what you’d want to see in a robot.” 

“How the hell should I know?” 

“You work for the best tech mogul in two hundred years,” Tony says. 

“Tones, you’re entirely too cocky.” 

“Oh shut up babe,” Tony says, no real heat to the sentiment. “Besides, I’ve treated you well, haven’t I?” 

“Other than embarrassing me in front of every single government official every time you interact, sure.” 

“You love it, they hate it, win-win,” Tony says, stirring around his mocktail. “But Pepper, seriously. What do you think about a third robot?” 

“Well, can’t get anymore chaotic,” Pepper sighs. “And I think having a girl around would be...nice. Not as chaotic.” 

“You saying girls don’t bring as much chaos?” 

“No,” Pepper says. “I’m just saying that we know when to bring it.” 

- 

Butterfingers is born, and she is the most perfect definition of a “daddy’s girl” any robot has ever been. She wheels around with grace, although she can’t stop bumping into things and dropping things, being worse than Dum-E. (Which he actually adores.) 

She follows Pepper along in awe, and can be seen usually in her office. 

Curiously enough, the only time she doesn’t live up to her name is in Pepper’s office, where she handles things with grace and Pepper gives her little tasks to do, like delivering cups of pens to employees or papers. 

Rhodey gets her (and the brothers) little souvenirs from his time away, and Tony has an absolute ball of a time making them all costumes and taking a million little pictures that are hung up everywhere in the building. 

But perhaps the crowning achievement are the Christmas photos. 

Usually, Stark Industries will take pictures of their employees, put a newsletter out, and wish everyone a happy holiday and all that. 

But then the employees have an entirely different idea. 

It comes from one of Pepper’s assistants after she’s made CEO, Julia. 

“Why not have the bots be the Christmas picture?” she muses, restacking some of the papers Miss Potts had to sign. “They’re always around the office, and they’re the unofficial mascots of the business. I think it’d be fun to see their Christmas hijinks!” 

Pepper smiles. 

“Julia, remind me to add a little extra to the Christmas bonus.” 

-

Rhodey finds the idea to be the best idea anyone has come up with in years. (Although it just gives him an excuse to take more pictures of the bots during the festivities.) 

Dum-E is only too happy to finally be allowed within two feet of tinsel. (Unfortunate incident in 1998.) U is very excited to show off his understanding of symmetry and how to pick out the perfect tree, and Butterfingers just wants Pepper to tie ribbons around her wheels so that she looks “extra-pretty.” 

Stark Industries’ holiday card involves Dum-E and U at either side of the tree, with U gently readjusting one of the many ornaments they’ve had the bots make over the years, and Dum-E is trying to pull off a ribbon from the top of the tree. Butterfingers is at the center, guarding any attempt to unwrap presents, and presenting her bow-filled-wheels. 

Pepper has the picture framed in her office. 

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader) - Ch. 2

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: 18+ / eventual smut / kidnapping

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

The plane completed its descent, jolting you awake and away from the dream of what happened next.

His hands inside your dress and the moment in the evening that stopped feeling like an act.

“We are here,” he confirmed, gripping your hand and leading you from the plane.

The air wasn’t cold anymore and smelled like spring. It was May in the states and DC had felt the same so it was possible that you were still in the northern hemisphere. The United States and Canada weren’t options for the criminal, neither was Germany.

Italy?

He spoke to the driver in German and although you recognized the words, you had no clue what they meant. A short drive later and the car stopped. He untied the blindfold and you took in the sight of a lone chateau at the end of a lavish driveway. He opened the door and motioned for you to follow.

“No gun,” you questioned, eyeing his relaxed demeanor.

He smiled. Although you were angry and the sun was too bright, you were glad to finally be able to see something again.

“Not necessary,” he nodded at the rolling hills around them. “Where would you run?”

You glared at him, letting him know that this was still against your will and that any familiarity you’d had, was gone.

“You’re very confident that I prefer your company over death,” you hissed, eyeing the wilderness.

“You’ve come with me this far.”

Your eyes met his. It was impossible to know what he was thinking beneath the stern exterior.

“You could’ve screamed for your comrades,” he shrugged.

“There was a gun aimed at my temple.”

“Or jumped out of the plane.”

Again, you glared at him. If looks could kill.

“This way,” he said, clearing his throat. “Please.”

You followed him, debating if you could make it to the car or even out of the compound before Zemo shot you or caught up.

The terrain was unfamiliar, and now you were in a foreign country, alone and uncounted for.

Zemo slowed and matched your snail’s pace, signaling that it was time to hurry up. You moved slower despite his hand on your back and he clicked his tongue. You made the journey last as long as possible until there was no choice but to cross the threshold.

“Your room is up the stairs and to the right,” he said, eyes on your face.

You stormed up the wooden stairs, making each groan with your anger.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” he called after you.

You slammed your door in response. The wall shook and you half hoped it’d bring the whole house down, taking you and Zemo with it.

An hour later, you entered the small and intimate dining room. A round table sat in a nook surrounded by windows, looking out onto the cliff-like drop below. You didn’t even glance at the food before you. There was only Zemo, and convincing him to let you go.

“Is your room to your liking?”

You scoffed. “My cell is fine, thank you.”

Unfortunately, your warden was fond of conflict, and difficult people. The words only seemed to intrigue him further. His eyes danced over your face, glancing down towards the exposed skin on your chest and then up to your lips.

“They say a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity,” he mused.

“I’m a pessimist because of intelligence,” you quoted.

His eyes twinkled again, he knew, as you did, that it came from an Italian philosopher. It was applicable but also, a guess.

He raised his glass towards you before finishing the quote. “But an optimist because of will.”

In true Zemo fashion, he neither confirmed nor denied your suspicion. You lifted your glass of red wine towards him with a scowl.

You ate in silence for a while, you, staring out the window, Zemo, eyeing you. You made it half an hour before the weight of his stare became unbearable.

“So what’s your game plan, with all this,” you asked, waving your fork to yourself and then to him and the house.

“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to,” he chided. “It is beneath you.”

“My life for your freedom.”

He sighed then, almost like he didn’t like that answer either. It was the right one, you both knew that but it looked like it pained him. Seeing that flicker of humanity hurt more than you wanted to admit. It'd be easier if the man beneath the mask wasn't real. It'd be easier if he'd been lying and there weren’t two versions of him. You wished that there wasn’t a charming and passionate man beneath the evil Baron facade, but there he was again.

“Prison is not an option for me,” he admitted, laying down his fork. “But I am sorry that it had to be you.”

You nodded and scoffed, rolling your eyes for good measure.

“I do hope to make you comfortable, in the meantime — ”

“Before you kill me,” you interrupted.

He clicked his tongue again and glared. It was the plan he orchestrated and yet, he didn’t seem to like it.

“I may not have to,” he corrected.

You laughed then, with little care for his strained expression. “Have you met the Dora Milage? They’ll go through whoever they need to, to avenge their king. They don’t know me nor do they care about me. You don’t have the winning hand that you think you do.”

“You are forgetting about your colleagues. They've lost one of their own. If not loyalty, then pride will make them come for you,” he corrected.

Again, you smiled at his miscalculation. “I’m a foot soldier, not an avenger; not a super soldier; not one of them.”

"There is no such thing as small people, only small — ”

“Great,” you bellowed. “More wisdom! Your riddles and literature are useless now. You should’ve spent more time studying negotiations while you were incarcerated. Why didn’t you take Bucky? Or Caps little assistant? The US would’ve been at your feet for them back. You could’ve gotten a pardon and a reward!”

“I have no need for a reward,” he spat.

Your chest was heaving, out of anger, out of nerves, but most of all because the man in front of you was once again, impenetrable.

“Or a pardon from the great United States,” he continued, almost in a whisper.

Your eyes snapped to his but he avoided your gaze. He swirled his wine and stared off into space before inspecting you again. Something was missing, something that didn’t make sense.

The glimmer of humanity returned, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He’d been the main orchestrator of his outbreak from jail. He had private homes, apartments, transportation, weapons, cars, everything. He could run forever but he didn’t need you to do it. How was this life any different than what it would be if he was free? He watched you come to the realization and winced as it clicked into place.

“Why am I here,” you whispered, squinting.

He was silent and looked back to the window.

“Zemo,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Funny enough, he followed the order.

His lips moved in silence but words didn’t escape.

“Why did you choose me?”

He pursed his lips in exasperation. It was no secret that he liked having the upper hand but he’d shown you all his cards a moment ago. You wondered why he hadn’t bothered to lie.

“I chose you because they wouldn’t — they won’t.”

He stood up and leaned against the sill, sipping wine in small swigs and staring out at the greenery.

“You would die for your country, Y/N,” he explained. “I find that admirable — heroic even but the problem, for me, is that they would let you.”

“Let me?” You repeated the phrase slowly, trying to understand the point.

He let out a huff. “If you caught a grenade in the name of bettering America, what would happen?”

You cocked your head in question. “I die? Maybe get a Purple Heart?”

“And then what? Would they bat an eye before rejoicing you — celebrating you and your sacrifice? Encouraging others to do the same in your name?” He paused and stared at you.

“No….no they wouldn’t because your death would mean that their wars are working. Another name in the long list of people that they were willing to gift to the god of war.”

“That sacrifice is what I signed up for — it’s my choice,” you explained, confused about where he was taking this.

He nodded and yet made no amends or clarification. The angry veins in his forehead receded and his gaze flitted away like he couldn’t bear to continue. You suddenly wondered if he'd even sent a ransom note, or whatever kidnappers do. The look in his eyes, told you no. The tone of his voice told you that he might not ever.

“Then you are doing your duty as a prisoner of war here, with me.”

He smiled and your anger dissipated. You lunged to grab onto any remaining frayed piece of it but there was nothing left. All those years of training and fighting, all to succumb to an evil man in a fitted turtleneck. You hardened your expression in an attempt to remain vexed.

“Your circumstance could be worse,” he concluded.

“And what of your circumstance?”

Silence ate up space between you. His gaze was set on you once again and then it seemed like you were the only two in this room, this home…the world.

“Better than it has been in a long time, schatzi,” he sighed.

“How so,” you asked, pushing for information.

He shrugged. “I am free and I am alone….with you.”

You winced and shook your head. “Don’t,” you whispered.

His brows furrowed. “In previous interactions, you did not seem to resent my…affections, Y/N.”

Butterflies ravaged your sternum, bringing memories of the night at Sharon’s with it. If it was different, if he had turned over a new leaf, then it would be easier to admit your feelings.

“Is this your version of affection? Holding me hostage?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming to sit next to you, so close you thought he might touch you.

“Let’s not…talk about it,” you whispered, trying to push away the longing in your chest.

“I would like to,” he pushed.

All you could do was stare. The memories should've stayed in Madripoor. It should live in your brief collective drunk past. But you could see that it weighed on him as heavy as it did on you.

“That is fine,” he sighed. “I can talk if you will listen.”

You nodded once. The residual affections plagued you and it was impossible to keep your heartbeat at bay. The thought that he might feel the same was exhilarating and terrifying.

“It was you who assisted me with my escape plan. You who tracked Karli. You who guessed that I’d betray you on countless occasions. You who ensured that we evaded Captain America as long as we did. You who played your part so well that everyone in Madripoor thinks I have taken a wife.”

“Your point,” you hissed, deadpan.

“The super soldier solution does not increase intelligence, as you know. Nothing does. Even all the books in the world cannot alter what is already there. Either you are born with the glorious burden, or you live in ignorant bliss,” he explained.

He reached up and brushed his thumb along your forehead. “I know your burden, Y/N, because I share it.”

A stuttering breath left your chest. Compliments were the easiest forms of manipulation. You’d studied it, known it, resisted it in many years of training but this felt different. Everything he did and said, felt different.

“I do my job Zemo, that’s it.”

“You excel,” he corrected. “You make the rest of your colleagues look like newborns and yet they don’t...value you. Not like I do, Liebling.”

“If this is about the incident at Sharon’s,” you said, recognizing the nickname. “It was a mistake.”

He chuckled. “An optimist would call it a happy accident.”

“I’d call it life-ruining,” you said, trying to decipher the feelings of anger and something warm inside your chest. “If it led you to this.”

“I understand if you hate me,” he explained. “But you should know that living here with your hatred will be akin to breathing, for me, if it means you are safe. Natural and life-bringing.”

Your face gave nothing away but he’d stunned you.

“The evil baron is becoming less and less of a character.”

“They say hate itself is a version of love,” he mused, ignoring your words and staring at your lips.

The word knocked thought and common sense back into your head. This wasn’t love. This was ownership and selfishness. A myriad of terrible things that had tangled you both in this mess. It’d spurred from fascination and proximity but for love to grow, there has to be more. There has to be more good than bad. You looked around the home, owned by the man in front of you. Both beautiful, breathtaking even. But not enough to trade your freedom for.

“How convenient for someone with so many enemies,” you hissed.

His eyes squinted then and the Baron who commanded respect in Madripoor returned. There was this side of him too, you reminded yourself. And it seemed to be winning over the side who loved books and witty conversation.

“Are you my enemy, Y/N?”

For the first time, you didn’t know what to say. Before this, it wasn’t safe to call him anything other than an enemy but now? He ruined any chance of normalcy or redemption. The question lingered between you and it struck you how close he’d gotten. It would take almost nothing to start a repeat of the night at Sharon’s. But this was a different man.

“I didn’t have to be,” you breathed before breaking eye contact. You gave him no time to answer before fleeing back to your room.

[kyber-crystal]

A-Z List of Fluff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: An alphabetic list of yours and Steve’s dynamic relationship. 

Warnings: none, mainly just fluff and very very slight mentions of violence but that’s it :)

A/N: I combined these prompts from multiple people, so credits to all of them <3 @goldenhour-goldenboy​ . this is a friends to lovers trope :) Some letters are repeated. bcI wanted to add in an extra concept. This is prolly gonna flop bc its not a traditional oneshot, but I wanted to publish something for y’all while I’m editing my WIPs

A= Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Steve loves everything about you, but the two things that really drew him to you was your smile and compassion. Your smile and laugh were extremely infectious - nobody could stay mad for long when you were cracking a grin. Despite having been through hell in the past: overcoming many hardships and enduring countless difficult wars, you managed to find it in your heart to keep faith in humanity and always held your head up high no matter what. You were always respectful and kind to everyone around you, and he greatly admired that.

B= Best memory (What is the best memory they have with you?)

One weekend after a particularly rough mission in Eastern Europe, Fury forced the Avengers on a team vacation to Bora Bora for two weeks. During that time, you and Steve had grown extremely close - taking daily sunset walks, surfing together, and swimming with dolphins. It was a jam-packed fourteen days to remember. He loved seeing you genuinely happy as you got to relax.

C= Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

You’d moved in to DC together after the Battle of New York, and often times you spent evenings on the couch eating takeout while wrapped up in each others’ arms, so cuddling is almost second nature for him. He’ll come up behind you on nights you’re in charge of cooking for the team, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you prepared dinner. He loves to cuddle and he’s built perfectly for them. His muscular figure and warm arms make the best cuddles. Sometimes, he’ll randomly come into your room in the middle of the night and snuggle up against you. You’ll wake up in the morning to see him holding you tightly like a koala, an arm draped protectively around your torso and his legs entangled with yours. The team likes to tease you about your close-knit relationship and as in love with him as you were with each other, you kept trying to deny it in fears of those feelings not being returned. 

D= Dreams (What do they want to do in life?)

Steve is a very determined and headstrong man, with the desire to fight for his country and its citizens having been ingrained in the back of his head since he was a mere teenager. He doesn’t know when he’ll retire and give up the title of Captain America, but for the time being, he wants to keep doing what he’s doing. He loves his job and his teammates - he wouldn’t trade them for the world. But he knows he’d like to marry you and start a family with you someday.

E= Everything (You are my ___ (e.g my life, my world…))

“You are my infinity.”

F= Feelings (When did they know they were falling in love?)

You were on a quad mission with him, Sam, Bucky, and Wanda to take down a Hydra base stationed in northern Serbia. Steve was stuck in a fistfight with one of the agents and you could see another approaching from behind to ambush him, and you knew if you didn’t step up and do something, that he would die. So without a moment’s hesitation you ran into the crossfire, taking the bullet that was meant for him, straight to your stomach.

As upset as he was with you for getting injured, he couldn’t help the feeling of pride and awe in his chest at your unwavering willingness to lay your life on the line for those you loved; your selflessness. 

And he knew in that moment, he’d fallen for you, and fallen hard.

G= Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Steve’s naturally a gentle person (though he’s an absolute beast on the battlefield, with those skills of his) and everyone on the team can clearly see he has a big soft spot for you. He’s always extremely gentle and very polite: holding the door open for you, putting his hand out in front of the elevator doors so you can step in, and makes sure not to squish you too tightly because his bear hugs can be quite strong. Essentially, the man is a giant puppy.

H= Hand/Hold (How do they like to hold? How do they like to hold hands?)

He absolutely loves holding hands. It’s been a frequent habit of his - both platonic and non-platonic. He’ll take your hand in his and intertwine your fingers together, and when he senses that you’re anxious about a situation, he’ll begin rubbing circles across your palm to calm you down. Like always, the team goes nuts whenever you two do so much as make eye contact, because you’re acting like a couple but aren’t doing anything about it.

I= Impression (First Impression)

From the moment you first met, you and Steve were attached at the hip. Having been 27 when he came out of the ice, and you being just a couple years behind him at 24, you were assigned to help him adjust. He remembers seeing you walk in with your radiant smile and your head held high, greeting him politely. He particularly liked how patient you were with him, taking him around the city and updating him on all there was to know, answering all his questions. By the time you both joined the Avengers Initiative, and the Battle of New York came and went, you were practically inseparable.

I= I love you (Who says it first?)

Steve does. You’re already very comfortable around one another that he doesn’t think before saying it. It was so out of the blue when it happened - you were in charge of dinner for the team one night when he came and kissed your cheek as a thank-you, saying a quick “I love you, darling,” before sitting down between Natasha and Sam, who looked just as shocked as you did. 

“So are you guys dating or what?” Bucky questioned. 

“No,” you and Steve replied in unison, though your cheeks were both bright red.

J= Joker (Are they into pranks?)

He’s not a huge prankster like Loki and Sam, but occasionally he’ll walk up behind you and whisper ‘Boo!” into your ear, making you jump and scream lightly, whacking him in the shoulder from shock. But you realize it’s just him, not someone else - and quickly burst into laughter. It’s impossible for you to get mad at America’s golden boy.

K= Kisses (How do they kiss?)

Contrary to your initial belief, he doesn’t mind PDA at all. You would often joke around about people mistaking you two as a couple because of how close you were. You’d greet each other in the morning with a kiss on the cheek (earning snickers from Bucky and Sam), and he’d say goodnight by kissing you lightly on the forehead.

His kisses are very gentle and wholehearted, yet filled with passion at the same time. You can almost never get enough.

Your first kiss wasn’t how you thought it’d be at all. It was on a Costco grocery run one Sunday afternoon when you were trying to reach up to one of the higher racks to grab something, struggling on your tiptoes. He offered to help you and as he pulled the item down, you’d grown rather close, literally - with your lips being just a few centimeters apart. Oh, screw it, he thought to himself, placing a hand on the small of your back and pulling you to him, pressing his lips to yours. 

L= Little Things (What little things do they love/notice.)

Steve notices that whenever you’re extremely focused on something, you bite your bottom lip and an adorable little crease between your brows appears. He always likes to tease you about it.

M= Moment (Their favorite moment.)

Getting caught under the mistletoe at Tony’s party. As cheesy as it sounded, it was your guys’ favorite moment together. When his eyes landed on you in your shimmery gown, his heart began to race. You were the literal definition of a dream, perfection. And when he finally kissed you it felt like fireworks were going off in his chest, electricity shooting through his body as your lips met. It was only your second official kiss but everything about it felt so real, so true, so right - that he couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

N= Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Steve doesn’t normally go way over-the-top when it comes to gifts, but whenever it’s a major holiday or your birthday, he goes all-out. He’s a very good listener, so he’ll take note of the things you like that come up in conversation and take notes later, and will buy you those exact things. He loves seeing your face light up as you receieve his gifts - that’s when he knew he loved giving more than getting. 

O= Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Red. You’re bright-spirited and confident and kindhearted all at the same time, and not to mention powerful - just like the color itself. He can’t help but notice how good you look whenever you wear red - especially in your stealth suit with its’ burgundy highlights. He has to be paired up with Bucky all the time on missions so he wouldn’t get hurt while he was distracted with watching you fight.

P= Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Sweetheart, love, darling, doll, honey, etc. <3 (and once again, the team is frustrated because you’re acting like a couple but haven’t even started dating)

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Steve naturally has a better-than-average memory, but he remembers much more about you than the rest of the team does. He knows your birthday, your favorite color, your likes and dislikes, and every little detail. He remembers all the little things. He can’t help but remember everything when he’s so in love with you. And when he brings this up into conversation, it makes you fall even harder for him.

R= Rainy Days (How does he/she comfort them on dark days?)

You don’t have to tell Steve directly for him to be able to tell when something’s wrong. He knows you like the back of his hand, a skill nobody else on the team had. When you’re rather quiet after a rough mission or just feeling down in the dumps, he doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask any intrusive questions (he knows you hate it when people do that), and just pulls you into a warm embrace and holds you until you feel better. And usually, that’s all that’s needed to lift your spirits.

S= Soft (Something one of them did that turned the other into absolute mush.)

When he called you by a pet name for the first time. It was in the middle of an intense sparring match together in the boxing ring, the team eagerly watching from the sidelines as you circled each other. “You’re tough, but you’re gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear. You froze, taken aback, and in that moment of hesitation he whipped around and put you into a firm headlock. 

“The tension is through the roof here, I swear to Odin’s beard,” Sam groaned. “Just date already.”

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Steve is extremely protective of you. He’ll make sure to walk on the outside when you’re walking down the sidewalk together because as he insisted to you, “your safety is my number one priority”, often pairs up with you on missions to look out after you and if not, constantly checks in via comms to make sure you’re alright. With the way he’s constantly hovering over you, the team likes to tease him for acting like a worried boyfriend or husband. 

T= Talking (What do they love to talk about?)

Anything and everything that comes to mind, whether that be old memories together, favorite memories with the team, your childhoods, or what was on the news that day. You could go on talking for hours at a time - in fact, there were many occasions in which you stayed up all night together, sitting around on the sofas in the lounge with mugs of hot chocolate in hand and the fireplace on, warming your bodies as you spoke.

U= Universe (Use a metaphor, what are they to each other? (e.g he was the universe, ever-changing and mysterious.))

Before you became an Avenger, you were one of twenty-eight dancer-trained enhanced assassins of the Red Room Academy alongside Natasha. A doubtful fighter, you, along with Natasha, were taken under Tony’s wing to further your training with SHIELD. Before becoming an Avenger, your life was a mess. You lost your family at a young age, torn away from the life you’d known as a little girl, forced to grow up too fast. So meeting Steve was like taking a breath of fresh air. He was your safe haven. He was a life raft and you were lost at sea, his presence serving as a reminder that you were in fact, still sane and not just drifting mindlessly through space.

V = Vaunt. (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Obviously, his strength and speed. He purposely lifts heavier weights in front of you while you’re training in the gym with him. “It’s arm day today,” he’d whisper, sending you a flirty wink as he flexed his biceps. You blushed. Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes.

W= Why (Reasons why they love you.)

There are so many reasons for him to love you. One, you give him a sense of peace and happiness, of home. You were his home. He felt like he could trust you with anything, as you were very easy to talk to. Steve loves how he could just be himself around you, as well as your competitive nature - that’s why he always asks you to go on his morning runs with him. And he loves your kind heart. You’ve seen and experienced far more war, more bloodshed and violence than anyone should have to experience in ten lifetimes, and still, forced yourself to be kind and gentle, to soften your heart. He loves you with his whole heart and soul and wouldn’t trade you for the world.

X= Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Electric Love by Børns. After a nice dinner at Olive Garden together one Friday night, you decided to go on a little late night drive throughout the city. With the windows of the Audi rolled down, the wind in your hair as your face lit up and you grinned from ear to ear, you both sang at the top of your lungs as you made your way through busy New York. He fell in love with you even more, if that was even possible.

Y= Youtube (What are they like online? Do they post about their relationship constantly?)

After several days of you pushing him to get Instagram, he finally made an account (quickly catching up to your 30-point-something million followers). He loves to post about you and your adventures outside of missions together and whenever he does, his followers go absolutely crazy. 

Z= Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?)

An adorable mixed breed. You’re both left with cleared schedules on one Monday morning after breakfast, so you decide to head out to the shelter. There’s one dog that stands out to him above the rest, and as soon as he sees them come running up to you and jumping around you, he knows that’s the one. You settle on the name Dodger and take it home. The entire team spoils him to death.

[youngbugandtonystank]

Please write an irondad post about how peter feels about tony!! I feel like the directors make peter’s view of tony more subtle than Tony’s view of peter and it’d be awesome if you could decode it! ;0

Hi!

God, Tom’s words really got me♥

I’m going to use the movies and novelizations for this, especially the Homecoming novelization since I think no one talks about it and I want to point out certain things.

Ok, check this out:

Tony’s POV:

Peter's voice was as exuberant and light as ever, something Tony both secretly admired and feared.  This battle would be no place for someone as green and unbroken as Peter Parker.

Tony smiled as Peter stood tall in the center.

"Yeah, that makes sense"  Peter said, and Tony's heart broke. Even hanging off the side of a spaceship hurtling into space, seconds from dying, Peter Parker was still just open and trusting as he'd always been.

--

Peter’s POV:

"What if she’s expecting someone like Tony Stark? I mean, imagine how disappointed she’d be when she sees me."

dorks.

I just wanted to be like you.

And I wanted you to be better.

You know that feeling you get when you admire someone and at the same time, you feel like you can actually understand them? Yeah, this is them. They work like a mirror. This is how Peter feels, just like Tony sees himself in the kid, Peter identifies himself in Tony. Peter and Tony both react the same way when it comes to their relationship. They both think the other is ‘better’ and at the same time, they can understand each other pretty well.

Tony’s POV:

At the same time, Tony knew there was nothing he could do to keep Peter away. Just like Tony, Peter had a code. 

Peter’s POV:

Of course, Mr. Stark hadn't believed him. He'd seen right through him.

Peter has stated before that Tony made him feel okay and normal, something he never thought he’d feel again. He knows that if he gets Tony’s approval then he gets to feel that normalcy again. He feels understood.

It was probably the only place in the city where I fit in. You had your overachievers, genius-level-yet-stressed-out-obsessive-compulsives, inventors of the Next Big Thing, all with at least one overblowing backpack, all wiling in to forge new ground and show the world that nerds really would inherit the earth. I was surrounded by students showing off their newest advances in AI technology, “rebels” furiously hacking their way to exposing corruption online, friends discussing string theory, and the probabilities of Stephen Hawking’s multiverse.

This is how Peter thinks of himself, he thinks his school is probably the only place he fits in. I think I mentioned this before in my homecoming analysis but Peter’s need to be an Avenger is because 1. he truly wants to make a difference, 2.he’s bored, he’s a genius kid and school is not doing enough for him anymore and 3. he feels like Tony is the only one that can understand him.

I don’t understand exactly why but some people think Peter is dumb. He can be clumsy sometimes but this kid is a genius and he understands the struggles of having a brain like his.

“Do geniuses know how normal things like backpacks even work?“

“Yes, we are familiar,“ Peter replied with a weak smile. If only she knew...

--

“Right as always,” Ms. Warren said, her praise causing Flash to stare daggers at me. Whatever.

--

“Yeah, my parents feel guilty working all the time, you guys would really get along, Peter” Her joke hit a little close to home, and I looked down a little.

--

He looked from the ship to the other kids on the bus to see if anyone else saw it. Nothing. Just him. As usual.

Peter not only wants the understanding that comes from Tony, but he also wants someone he can relate to. And I’m not talking about money or fame, I’m talking something deeper.

When they were on the plane, Peter criticized Tony’s choice of food as if telling him that what he was eating wasn’t enough to be considered ‘food’ and then proceeded to only have some juice and sleep the rest of the trip because he recklessly pulled an all-nighter. lmao irondad stans you guys are always accurate with your fics. 

Also, are you really going to tell me that this is not what a relationship between a father and a son look like?

"I really don't want to sound like my old man here. Look, kid, Just forget the flying man. Stay closer to the ground in Queens, build up your game helping the little people. You know, like the old lady who bought you that churro." That churro. Happy had told him everything. "Look, Tony—uh, Mr. Stark," I started. --

My suit agreed. "It does seem unwise. Trespassers are prosecuted. Or shot' "It's worse than that—if they find me in here, Mr. Stark is gonna kill me!" I started to panic. I had to get out of here! --

"Okay, sorry, Mr. Stark" I sighed. "I know you said to keep a low profile, but I gotta get out" I started banging on the door.

--

Tony Stark's words echoed in my head: Keep doing what you're doing, saving the little people.... Except these weren't just the little people"—they were my friends. As long as they were safe, everything would be okay. I didn't need to wait for that call to be an Avenger. I was already Spider-Man.

I just love how they unconsciously treated each other like family.

Peter, just like any other teenager, looks for validation from people he admires. In the Homecoming Novelization Peter congratulates himself every time he does something good and loves it when it comes from Tony for the same reasons I listed before.

Finally, we pulled up a safe distance from the apartment, so we didn’t attract too much attention. We sat in some seriously awkward silence for a moment before Mr. Stark finally said something.“Ya did good, kid,”

“I did good? I did good!“

“It’s yours,” Stark replied. “You earned it.” My heart was going a mile a minute. “Awesome!”

Look at them mirroring each other when it comes to them and how they feel.

Peter’s POV

“Yeah, and pretty soon it’s going to lead to a real job with him,” I said, trying to convince both him and myself.

Something really cute about them is that they both are exactly as you guys picture them in fanfics. They don’t say each other’s first name but think of each other that way.

Peter’s POV

“I thought I was gonna freeze up after Tony yelled out ‘Underoos.”

That churro. Happy had told him everything. "Look, Tony—uh, Mr. Stark," I started.

Tony’s POV

Tony had only continued onto the ship because he felt certain that he'd gotten Peter safely out of harm's way.

"Kid! Where'd you come from?" Iron Man asked, his voice sounding a little too relieved and grateful for his taste. 

They refuse to call each other by their names even if in IW they already had a more solid relationship than in HOCO, for them it’s ‘Kid’ and ‘Mr. Stark’. They even have other nicknames, as you already know but one of the cutest nicknames is ‘boss man’. Tom Holland calls RDJ that in real life and they used that nickname in the novelization.

When RDJ said this: 

The amount of betrayal Stark has had to deal with and what it's like to try and open up to someone new. The actor points out that Peter is young and that treachery comes with age. That his character is more willing to trust Peter because of his age. And how the relationship was established in the previous film when Tony shuts Peter down after he's been hurt. Not a move Tony would've done with most of the other Avengers, expecting them to push through just as he would.

He’s absolutely right, as you can see, they both banter but at the same time Tony opens up to Peter without hesitation.

trust

"So where are you?" I asked, looking around suspiciously. I half expected to see a drone In the sky spying on me. 

"India." came the response. "I thought I'd hit up a Hindu temple. Center myself. That sort of thing."

banter

 "Thank God this place has WI-Fi or you would have drowned."

 "I had a strategy." I did not have a strategy.

 'What, to die and fight him in the afterlife?"

Another example of them mirroring each other is in IW. It's been said in the novels that Tony making Peter an Avenger when did was something he considered a big choice and major sacrifice. He truly didn’t want him on the team, not because he thought Peter wasn’t capable, but because he wasn’t ready for Peter to be that. Meanwhile, Peter, who knows Tony is pretty much capable on his own, said he stuck himself to the side of the ship in IW because he thought about Tony. 

The same level of protectiveness, same thoughts.

Like a mirror.

.

Also how cute are Peter’s thoughts about Liz?

Liz walked by with the rest of the Homecoming committee, and the entire world seemed to melt away around her.

“It’s working for her.” I stared at her outfit and agreed that it was definitely working for her. OUR SPIDEY BOI IS FLIRTY AF

She was thinking of me. The warm fuzzies started.

Liz defending Peter from Flash?:

“I can’t believe we’re catering to him. We don’t need this dork.” Good. There was my opening to break it to them that—“As team captain, I disagree,” Liz cut in.

"No way!" he objected. "You can't just quit on us and then turn around and stroll up here and—"  "Flash. Liz cut him off, her voice leaving no doubt as to who the captain was.

Liz smiled at me as I took my seat. Don't blush. Don't blush. I blushed and gave a small smile back as I settled in next to Ned for the trip to Washington, DC.

And Peter’s eternal beef with Betty either sharing Ned or with Spider-Man. I love for this friendship lmao

[fandom-meanderer]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Pt. 10]

Pairing: Batfamily x Batsis!Reader

Part: (10/?) [First] [Previous] [Next]

Genre: General Fiction

Fandom: DC Universe

P.o.V.: 3rd

Word Count: 1,152 Words

Warnings: Gore

Further Notes: Okay okay okay, I know I’m supposed to be doing FE3H requests but I’ve had this ready for WEEKS and I just wanted to POST it already! So here it is, my impulse post.

—

(Name) stood her ground, but barely. After losing her sword somewhere in the field she resorted to good old hand-to-hand combat, not the best match up for monsters twice your size, but it’d have to do for now. Reinforcements have just arrived at the nick of time, whilst more beasts wandered out of the woods and towards the ravaged town.

“This place is already razed down, I don’t understand why they keep coming,” she shouts.

“Captain!” Carter tosses her sword back to her. “Now’s not the time to get lazy.”

“I’ve been fighting these things for three hours, Adara.”

“Clearly, shape up a little more, Cap. We need you.”

“Ugh, this is getting nowhere,” (Name) mumbles just as she ducks below the beast’s swing. “Is it just me or are these things getting taller?”

“Not just you, Captain! Not just you!” Evangeline scrambles up from the floor, casting a spell to knock away the hoard. The blonde runs next to her Captain, shaking slightly. “Where are they all coming from?” Hints of French laced her panicked tone.

“No clue, but we’re going to be here for a very long time,” (Name) grimaces. Then, as if this situation couldn’t get any worse, an all too familiar cry. (Name) turned her head towards it, and saw a sight she had never expected to see. Without any care for herself, granted she never really did care in the first place, she sprinted towards the figure with the silver of her sword reflecting the flames. In a delicately crafted move, she fells the beast. The Captain holds her stance, her left arm blocking the one behind her, and her right arm holding the sword parallel to the ground. Then the beast slumped to the burnt earth, making no attempt at any further attacks. But her split decision move wasn’t without consequence.

“How… How did you get here,” she huffs, wavering slightly.

“(Name)…” Damien’s eyes widen. His eyes fall to the three large gashes that stretched across her hips and abdomen.

“Answer the question.”

“I was looking for you.”

“Try again.”

“A man in a lab coat brought me here,” he was too shaken to retort, regardless of how uncharacteristic of him it was. After all, the young boy was just dropped in the middle of a blazing battlefield with heaps of dead bodies sprawled across the ground. It was a sensory overload with the blinding flames and the heavy stench of iron. Not to mention his older sister covered in dried blood. (Name) grabbed a hold of his hand.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let go of my hand,” she commands. Damien nods, not used to this behavior from his supposedly angelic sister. With her left hand gripping Damien and the right brandishing her sword they charged across the battle field. “Keep up!”

“I’m trying!” Damien barks.

“Is that a kid?!” Nixon shouts. He pulls his axe from the broken ground. Damien first noticed the red stains on his white uniform before the disgust directed at him. “Lose him, Captain! He’s slowing you down! He’s going to get us all killed!”

“Don’t you think I’m trying?!” (Name) deflects a piece of charred wood. Damien’s hand slips for a moment and (Name) reacts with a vice grip. “What did I fucking say?!”

“Sorry!” Damien is taken aback for a moment before regaining his senses. (Name) looks to the woods and watches more of the monsters emerge.

“Oh fuck me…” She shakes her head. She runs into a building. and pushes Damien inside. She kneels to his level, and with a stern expression, instructs him: “Do not leave this building, I’m going to have Evangeline place a protection charm up, alright? I’ll come pick you up once I resolve this mess. You have to tell me every single thing that happened to you before you came here.”

“I can help.”

“No. You can’t. This world is very different than Earth-61. You’re not in Gotham anymore. Those things out there can crush your skull in less than a second, and I don’t need anymore deaths on my mind right now. Got it?”

“Yeah…” Damien looks back to her abdomen. It was still bloody but the wound was gone. “What happened to—“

“No questions right now. I have to get back out there before any of my teammates die. Stay. Here.” With that, (Name) ran out, slamming the door behind her. Not a moment later, Evangeline ran in, her white and silver uniform singed around the edges. She closes the door and places her hand on it, a magic circle appearing between the two with words of an ancient language inside of it. She waves her hand in the air and the building is surrounded in a veil of blue.

“So you must be Damien,” she smiles through the tired breaths. Damien nods and looks out the window. Eve seats him on the ground and hands him a thermos. “The Captain has told me so much about you.” Damien suspiciously eyes the thermos, but takes it anyways.

“Who’s that?”

“Hmm? Oh, your sister, of course,” Eve motions behind her. “She doesn’t talk about her family often, but her expression is always so kind when she does, especially when it comes to her brothers.”

“What is going on out there?”

“There are four of you correct?” Eve changes the subject. “Two older and two younger, if what she told me was right.”

“Yeah,” Damien caught on. She’s trying to distract him from the hell outside.

“Ah, you are just so adorable,” Eve coddles. “Are you hungry? I always have something on me.”

“What exactly is your role, woman?”

“Oh goodness, I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Evangeline, Evangeline Chandler, and I am from Earth-78, born and raised in Versailles, France. I’m the magic dealer of this team, you can tell because of these silver linings here, see? However, I specialize in support, which is why my uniform is white,” she claps her hands. “Ah, the Captain, your sister, is a damage dealer, she specializes in up-close combat with blade-type weapons. She truly is amazing.”

“I see… I assume this is normal for you people.”

“Not in the slightest, no. Oh, well, battle yes, but not these beasts. These monsters just started coming out of nowhere, actually. Originally it was only the Captain and the Lieutenant that were here, and there was only one. And now… I lost count after fifty,” Eve frowns. “We lost an entire squadron too…”

“What are those?”

“In truth… We have no idea.”

~

Alex stumbled behind a building, holding his phone close to his ear.

“Come on… connect, connect…” he plead. Finally, an answer.

“Alexander.”

“Remember when I told you to come tomorrow? Scratch that. We need you now.”

“What in the blazes is going on? Why do I hear fire?”

“Get over here and I’ll still be alive to tell you.”

“You really don’t take no for an answer, alright, hold out for a few more minutes.”

“Will do.”

Tag List: @loxbbg @holymotherofchickennoodlesoup @ijustwannabecanadian@oneshots-galore @xapham @peqchynero @sono-sakana@theroyalbrownbarbie @audioshoes @allycat4458 @izzy28901 @buchanangaby

[mystical-flute]

Black Coffee & Pumpkin Pie Chapter 8

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The Golden Trio. The Three Musketeers. There were many nicknames people had for Emma, Lily, and Alex. They had been born one month apart from the other, and had been raised together since diaper hood. They’d gone through everything together - learning how to ride bikes, first crushes, first broken hearts, driver’s ed, and now, they were all going to the same college.

But this time, Emma had kept something to herself. She had yet to tell either of them that she’d been on that date with Neal, because she knew Lily would get that smug, ‘I told you so’ look on her face. Plus, that date had felt different from the dates she’d been on in their little town, and she really wanted to make sure she’d settled in her feelings before blabbing to her friends about it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how Neal’s smile lit up the room, how the light hit his eyes, how that kiss made her feel like her heart was going to explode from happiness.

And they were planning a second date! Emma felt her head beginning to spin, overwhelmed. She’d spent an hour talking to her mom after she’d gotten home and showered, and thankfully her mom had been open to listening about how she felt and was encouraging her to see where the relationship went.

She wouldn’t be nervous about the whole “meet the parents” thing if it wasn’t for Eudora. She’d grown up knowing Mr. Gold all her life (he wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he seemed), but Eudora was a stranger to her, and despite Neal’s high praise of her, it still had her worried.

Emma was so deep in thought, she didn’t realize her friends were approaching until Lily’s lunch tray dropped down in front of her face, and Emma felt like she jumped a mile.

“Lily! Alex!”

“Geez Emma, any deeper in thought and you were going to land straight in your onion rings!” Alex remarked, setting her tray much more gently onto the table than Lily had. “What’s on your mind?”

“Wait, don’t tell us, it’s Neal, isn’t it?” Lily cut in, a Cheshire Cat-like grin already on her face. “He asked you out, didn’t he?”

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned. “Fine, yeah, it’s Neal. We went out on Friday.”

“It’s Monday and you’re only just telling us this?!” Alex yelped. “Emma! We’re your best friends!”

“Honestly, we were supposed to have a big montage of buying you an outfit for the date!”  Lily agreed. “But how’d it go?”

Emma smiled, coy. “I don’t kiss and tell, girls.”

Alex looked like she was about ready to explode from happiness as she bounced in her chair, while Lily, as expected, looked smug.

“So he’s a good kisser, huh?” Lily asked.

“Lily!”

“That’s a yes then,” Alex smirked.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Emma grumbled, biting an onion ring before taking a sip of her soda. “But what about either of you? Meet anyone interesting now that we’re nearing the end of our first college semester?”

“Nah. No one’s all that interesting. I mean, they’re fine to talk to… well except the guy that sits next to me in my music theory class falls asleep every day… and drools.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Ew. What about you, Lily?”

“Same. I mean, girls are cute which is always good but you know I’ve never been a big fan of dating,” she said with a shrug.

“I still think you should’ve asked out Maggie from your biology lab,” Alex pouted. “You would’ve been so cute together.”

“I’m not the dating type,” Lily countered. “But I have been very well acquainted with Maggie as of late.”

Emma gave Lily a triumphant smirk. “So I’m not the only one keeping secrets then, huh?”

“Um, I already told you all my secrets Emma. You’re the one still being coy about your date with Neal.”

She frowned. “What is there to tell? He let mom take a proper picture for her scrapbook, he took me to Tony’s for dinner and then we took a walk on the beach until it started raining. And then we planned for another date.”

Lily wagged her eyebrows. “Oooh, date number two, huh? When’s that going to be?”

“I don’t know. His mom and sister are coming in for Thanksgiving, so he’s got to figure all that out before we decide,” she said with a small shrug, tossing a napkin on her empty plate. “You know how busy it gets around here during Thanksgiving so I don’t expect it to be before then.”

“Then that gives us time to plan your outfit!” Alex chirped.

Emma groaned and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, this isn’t the first date I’ve ever been on. Why are you two so obsessed with this?”

“Because it’s fun to watch you squirm,” Lily shrugged.

“You two are the worst,” Emma grumbled as her phone buzzed. “Oops, time for me to head to my math final! Guess we’ll have to talk later! Byeeee!”

Emma was out of the cafeteria before Lily or Alex realized what happened, her cheeks still bright pink.

----

Thanksgiving in Storybrooke was a chaotic time for the small town. The scent of baked goods became even stronger in the air as the bakers frantically produced pies, cookies, breads and cakes for those who didn’t want to bake them themselves.

The town’s decorating committee, headed by Mary-Margaret Nolan, was hard at work transforming the town into something out of a magazine, with banners and an array of decorations on each and every building and light pole in the town.

Belle had mapped out the route for the parade, X’s carefully marking the sidewalks and roads before the sheriff's deputies put the barriers up to block traffic.

The Nolan family was hard at work during their free moments from school or work, harvesting fresh fruits and vegetables for their friends and loved ones.

Neal was used to a hustle and bustle in town, but Storybrooke was something else. The beauty of the fall colors he’d only seen on TV or in movies along with the decorations made it feel like something out of a cheesy Lifetime movie, and Neal didn’t mind. It would be fun to show it off to Mama, Tiana, Mr. La Bouff and Charlotte.

Bangor Airport was only a couple of hours from Storybrooke, but waiting for the plane to come in was agonizing. Neal found himself caught between frantically checking his phone and pacing between the arrival list and the nearby cafe.

“NEAL!!”

Charlotte La Bouff’s voice cut through the crowded airport like a knife, her blonde hair bouncing with each step she took.

He should have figured she’d be leading the charge.

“Hey Lottie - oof!” he grunted as she swept him up in an almost bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

She giggled, pulling away and allowing him to go into the familiar arms of his mother and sister and give Big Daddy a firm handshake.

“Welcome to Maine,” he greeted.

“Oh honey let me look at you,” Eudora said, putting her hands on Neal’s shoulders and looking him up and down. “You’ve been eatin’ right? Getting enough sleep?”

Neal chuckled and hugged her again. “Yes Mama, I promise. Papa and Belle have been making sure of that.”

“How far is it to Storybrooke?” Tiana asked.

“About two hours, so if anyone has to pee I’d do it now. I’d also brace yourself for the temperature difference once we get outside.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Neal. It was in the 50s in DC when we got our connecting flight.”

Neal scratched the back of his neck, thinking of the flurries he’d driven through to get to the airport. “Right. Yeah, the 50s.”

“You weren’t kiddin’ about the weather,” Eli said, shivering as they loaded Neal’s Jeep with the luggage and retreated into the warmth of the car.

Neal laughed. “Yeah, it’s taking a bit to adjust to. And they’re calling for snow tomorrow too. Not much, but enough to coat the ground.”

“Oh how fun!” Charlotte said, her knees bouncing. “I’ve never seen snow before!”

“Hopefully you’ll enjoy it then,” Neal chuckled, pulling out of the airport and beginning the scenic drive back to Storybrooke.

It took longer than the normal two hours to get back, with Charlotte and Tiana wanting to stop here or there to take pictures of the colors that lit up the trees, but they made it just as the sun went down, casting a dusky glow over Storybrooke as he pulled into the parking lot of Granny’s.

“You want typical diner food, this is the best place to come,” Neal said. “And… Emma’s working tonight.”

“Ooh! So we’ll get to meet your girlfriend?” Tiana teased.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Neal replied, praying none of them noticed his flushed face as he sent a quick text to his father to tell them they’d made it to town safely.

“Not yet,” Charlotte’s sing-songy voice hummed as she pushed the door open, and Neal suddenly remembered just how it was to be surrounded by two sisters prodding into his business.

“Anywhere you like!” he heard Emma call.

They carefully put a couple of tables together, saving three for his father, Belle and Gideon, before Emma appeared.

“Neal, hi! This must be the New Orleans crowd you told me about,” she said, glancing at the others. “My name’s Emma and I’ll be your server today.”

“So you’re the famous Emma we’ve heard so much about. It’s so nice to meet you, honey,” Eudora said with a wide smile.

Emma grinned. “It’s nice to meet you too, Eudora. Neal’s told me so much about you guys.”

“Papa, Belle and Gideon are on their way too Emma,” Neal said. “Do you mind grabbing drinks for them too?”

“Iced tea, Coke and regular tea. I got it, Neal,” Emma chuckled. “I’ll give you guys some time to look over the menu.”

“Oh, she’s good,” Tiana said, her eyes wide as Emma retreated back to the kitchen. “You sure she isn’t interested in the restaurant business, Neal?”

Neal snorted. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Tiana. She's studying criminal justice and wants to become a detective like her dad. Mama, who did you get to keep an eye on the restaurant while you guys are up here?”

“Ray and Evangeline. Figured another wife-husband duo would be good for the restaurant, and besides, they know how to whip the employees into shape,” she said with a small laugh. “But we decided to only do takeout orders the day before Thanksgiving. I’m hoping that will make things easier for the staff.”

“It’d sure make things easier on me,” Emma grumbled as she reappeared with the tray of drinks. “But Granny’s stubbornly set in her ways.”

“Granny?” Tiana asked.

Emma nodded toward the cash register, where Granny was overseeing a transaction from her wheelchair. “94 years old and still stubborn as the day is long. She’s an old family friend of my mom’s though, so I try not to complain too much around her. Oh! Hi Mr. and Mrs. Gold, Gideon! Do you guys need menus?”

“We know what we want, thank you Miss Nolan,” his father said, taking a seat next to Eudora as Emma set the tea in front of him. “We’ll take our usual orders.”

Emma nodded, departing again when Neal and the others gave their orders.

“How were your flights? Not too much trouble, I hope?” Aiden asked, sipping at his tea.

“Oh, not at all, the only big trouble was trying to navigate Reagan National. We got a little turned around and almost missed boarding,” Eli explained. “But otherwise it was smooth sailing, as they say.”

“Mrs. Gold?” Tiana asked. “What were you plannin’ on cooking for Thanksgiving? Because, I was wondering if I could make sweet potato pie.”

“Oh, we usually do the typical Thanksgiving feast. Turkey, stuffing, potatoes, salads. We would never turn you down if you wanted to make something,” Belle replied. “My father will be bringing mashed potatoes and Aiden’s mothers will be bringing vegetables.”

Tiana grinned. “Awesome! My daddy’s sweet potato pie is the best in New Orleans.”

“We can head to the Nolan’s farm tomorrow and see if they have sweet potatoes. I know Emma mentioned they have a lot of produce they still need to get rid of,” Neal said.

“We’ve gotten most of our produce from the Nolans since David took it over,” Aiden said with a soft smile. “David has really brought the farm back from the brink of bankruptcy. It’s like he has a magical touch for farming.”

“Ooh well, I can’t wait to see what sort of produce they have,” TIana said. “I love goin’ to the Farmer’s Market in New Orleans, so it’ll be a real treat to see a farm up close!”

Charlotte’s eyes turned dreamy. “Don’t you remember going to that farm in first grade? The horses were so pretty!”

“Lottie, you dared me to kiss a frog and it jumped on my head and wouldn’t let me go until the farmer managed to get it off. I’ve blocked out most of that field trip,” Tiana replied with a roll of her eyes. “Poppy called me the Frog Princess for a month!”

“You never did read that fairy tale again…” Eudora mused as the table broke out into soft laughter.

As the evening wound down and the group returned to the Gold house, Neal watched as the group splintered off into conversation.

His father, usually quiet and unassuming, sat with Eudora, looking at every photo she presented him - she had made copies of every single photo she had of or with Neal.

Belle, ever charming and worldly, was having an animated conversation with Charlotte and Eli about travel.

Gideon was with Neal and Tiana. Gideon, like their father, was at first quiet and unsure of the guests, but slowly began to come out of his shell, talking with Tiana about why food made the certain reactions it did when it was cooking.

The Gold household was full of laughter and light that night, each person going to bed with a smile on their face, and a small stomach cramp from laughing too hard.

The next day, Neal drove through the light dusting of snow up to Nolan farm with Tiana and Charlotte.

“Oh Neal, this town is just too cute! It’s like somethin’ out of a story! Oh! I know! I should do the top ten cutest small towns for my next blog!” Charlotte squealed.

“Lottie, you haven’t been to any other small towns,” Tiana laughed. “How are you gonna do that?”

Lottie bounced in her seat like a dog on its way to the park. “Then I’ll do the top ten cutest places in Storybrooke!”

“I’m sure Mayor Mills-Hood will be honored to put Storybrooke on the map,” Neal laughed as he pulled up to the farm. “Here we are.”

“Oh, hello Neal!” Mary-Margaret called, carrying a large basket of produce. “You must be here to pick up your dad’s order.”

Neal nodded. “Hi Mrs. Nolan, yeah, that’s right… but my sister was wondering if she could take a look around and see if there’s anything else she wants?”

“Of course. Were you looking for anything specific, Tiana?”

“Sweet potatoes. Mrs. Gold mentioned you have them.”

Mary-Margaret smiled. “We do. Let me take you to the greenhouse and show you.” She set the basket down on the table before leading the trio over to a large greenhouse. “David and Eva built this together to protect some of our plants. There are a lot that we tried to plant for years, but the climate here can be… unpredictable. But now we can with the greenhouse.”

“Mrs. Nolan, do you mind if I take pictures?” Charlotte asked. “Your farm is just so pretty!”

She hummed. “I suppose that’d be okay. Just don’t disturb any of the animals, alright?”

“I won’t, thank you!” Charlotte bounced on her toes before running off.

Mary-Margaret laughed softly, handing Tiana a couple of bags. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s a lot to handle sometimes, but she’s like my sister,” Tiana laughed. “Thank you so much for this Mrs. Nolan.”

“It’s no problem,” Mary-Margaret replied. “Oh, and Emma should be back soon if you wanted to say hi, Neal. She went to get breakfast with Lily and Alex.”

“Oh - okay.” He hoped the flush of his cheeks went unnoticed, or at least, was blamed on the sudden humidity of the greenhouse.

Tiana gave him a smug grin from behind a sweet potato plant and continued harvesting the sweet potatoes.

“Do you and your family have a big Thanksgiving, Mrs. Nolan?”

Mary-Margaret nodded. “Oh yes. It alternates between mine and my step-mother’s home, but we do love to do Thanksgiving in our family. And this year is even more special since Margot is home this year with her girlfriend.”

Neal gave her a weak smile. One day, he’d be comfortable announcing that bit to the town too. But for now it was safer to keep their relationship hidden. “I’m sure it was even more insane when Emma and all of them were kids, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Mary-Margaret laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “I can’t even tell you how many accidents we nearly had with the kids running through the kitchen when one of us was carrying a heavy pot.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got what I need!” Tiana announced, the bags full right to the top of sweet potatoes, green beans, peppers and berries. “If nothing else, some of these’ll make a great snack before we head back to New Orleans!”

“Here, Mrs. Nolan, I have the money for Papa’s order too,” Neal said, handing over the money his father had given him before they’d left.

“Thank you, I’ll be back with your things,” Mrs. Nolan said as the trio left the greenhouse and headed back in the direction of the farmhouse and driveway. “Oh - there are the girls now.”

Neal grinned, waving to Emma, Charlotte in an animated conversation with Lily.

“Lottie, come on! We need to head back to help Mrs. Gold!” Tiana called, adjusting the produce in the back seat as Neal got in the driver’s side.

He noticed the blush on Charlotte’s cheeks the moment he pulled onto the road back to his father’s.

“So how was the farm?” he asked casually.

“Oh… you know, it was nice. The sheep and the dog and the snow everywhere…” Charlotte replied, sounding wistful.

Tiana gave him another smug look as she glanced in the back. “And Emma’s friend? C’mon Charlotte, your cheeks are as pink as your gloves!”

“Okay, fine. Lily was not bad to look at either,” she admitted, looking down. “We gave each other our phone numbers.”

“That’s awesome, Lottie! I’m really happy for you.”

Neal grinned. “Lily’s a cool girl. Glad to see someone caught her eye.”

“Yeah… we’ll see where it goes. Oh Tia… this town really is magical,” Charlotte sighed. “Maybe we’ll find someone for you too!”

“Oh Lottie no, that’s - ”

“I mean it!” Charlotte declared, back to her normal self. “I found a princess, and I’m gonna find you a prince!”

The morning of Thanksgiving was nothing short of chaotic. Belle had everyone up bright and early, getting as much prepped for their meal as they could, before everyone hurried to the heart of the town for the parade.

It was a quaint thing, with the high school’s marching band leading the way as floats created by the other high school clubs were pulled down the road by whatever trucks they could find. Gideon was on one such float, for his science club - it was a giant vinegar and baking soda volcano that spewed out fall-colored liquids. Neal wasn’t sure how they’d managed to pull that off, but he was sure Gideon would be happy to answer.

What got the most buzz in the town though, was the float carefully built to the specifications of the decorating committee - the float pulling Marco in his Santa costume, nine reindeer suspended in the air greeting the cheers of children, while an unhappy-looking August waved to the crowd.

Charlotte was buzzing around taking photos of everything for her blog, happily chatting to anyone that caught her attention.

“You know, it’s almost like she’s at home here,” Eli mused. “I didn’t think I’d ever see her so happy outside of the big city like this.”

“That’s the charm of Storybrooke,” Aiden replied with a chuckle as Regina began her welcome speech from the small stage that had been set up. “It’s like a fairy tale.”

That evening, Neal settled between Tiana and Gideon as the group sat down at the large dining room table for dinner. His grandmothers, Anna and Isobel, sat across from him, serene smiles on their faces while his step-grandfather, Moe, looked a little tense, but relaxed when Eudora or Eli spoke to him.

He hadn’t known his grandparents growing up - all of them had died before his birth. Milah never spoke about them, but Killian would talk to him about his mother, Alice, saying nothing but praises about her.

“My only wish is that you and your cousin could have met her,” he’d said on more than one occasion. “She would have loved both of you.”

“I’d like to propose a toast,” his father said, rising to his feet and holding his wine glass with his free hand. “This past year has been extraordinary, and we are fortunate to be able to celebrate this Thanksgiving with more of us than ever before. Though the circumstances were less than favorable, I believe things happen for a reason, and fate brought us together for a reason. We have our Baelfire back, and new family members to welcome to our heart. This year, I am grateful for that. To our family.”

“To family,” the rest of the table echoed, clinking their glasses together.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #292

“dear god, let’s make this fucking clear: dear god, there’s nothing that i fear”

What internet browser do you use? Chrome. What brand water do you drink? (Smart Water, Dasani, etc) Mom just grabs the Great Value jugs. Do you have a job? No. Are you full-time or part-time? N/A Are you watching TV right now? No. Or are you listening to music? Yeah, "Mr. Crowley" by Ozzy. Such a great song. Would you go to jail for 3 years for $1,000,000? No. I would NOT survive in jail. When's your birthday? February 5th. I cannot fucking believe I'm almost 25. Thoughts on kids? Too impressionable for me. Even with my niece and nephew, I feel like every single word I say just like... stamps into their brains, and what if I say something that negatively affects them? I feel like it's my responsibility as an aunt to be a fountain of wisdom when I'm definitely not. I just get nervous around kids. Worst punishment you've ever received by your parents? I wouldn't call it a "punishment," but when I skinned the everliving fuck out of my knees and Mom was patching me up while I was just sobbing away, my dad literally roared "SHUT UP!" from my parents' bedroom, and it's stuck with me forever. Honestly, I think it may be a root in my extreme fear of men yelling. Worst punishment from Mom, probably this time where she smacked the shit outta my arm as a kid and left a clear handprint for a while. Are you the type who is completely against abortion? Why? No, I am firmly pro-choice, despite being pro-life most of my life. I don't feel like writing a moral essay, but basically, I absolutely cannot agree with forcing a woman to carry a human they don't want for whatever reason for nine fucking months, endure one of the most traumatically painful things known to man, and then properly and adequately care for that child. That is such a huge fucking responsibility that should be forced upon *nobody*. "But adoption!" Yeah, go tell that to the thousands of children waiting on you. This is leaning on exactly what I said I wouldn't do, so moving along. Have you ever read a book that actually changed your outlook on life? "I’ve read some books that were phenomenal, but I wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that they 'changed my outlook on life'." <<<< This was Johnny Got His Gun for me. Does your favorite flower hold any meaning to you? No. What would you do if your favorite animal became endangered? I would fucking freak. Have you ever owned an expensive eyeshadow palette? No, but I honestly do want at least one, primarily with a deep black and then some nice grays and neutral colors. Do you own a tripod for your camera? Yes. Are your nails always painted? Quite the opposite. What's one thing you've had a toxic reaction to? A breakup. Which holiday is your favorite to decorate for? I honestly don't really decorate because I just don't have the motivation, but Halloween is the best. Were you popular in school? Nope. Are there any foods that often give you heartburn or indigestion? BANANAS, dark sodas (like Coke or Dr. Pepper), peanut butter can... It's hard for me to tell much now because I have chronic heartburn and am medicated for it. Works great, so I don't experience this much. Is there something you intend to buy in the near future? Yes. Once my tattoo is done (I'm setting the appointment the next time we leave the house, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH), what I have left is going towards Venus' new terrarium. She really needs a 40 gallon. Is anyone in your family artistically talented? What about musically? I was the art kid, and family still insist I should be an artist. What cute behaviors or characteristics does/do your pet(s) have? Omg, Roman has so many. He nuzzles me all the time, will collapse into my hand to pet him, he insists on being the little spoon at bedtime (no, really), he literally tries to groom me with his teeth, licks my face... He is just a doll. My little buddy for sure. Now onto Venus. She loves to chill next to me in bed or find a cozy place under the covers, and omgggg does she love to slither around the bed doing the periscope thing. So curious. What's the screensaver on your computer? I don't have one. What’s the sexiest thing about a guy? I am WEAK for nice shoulderblades/muscular shoulders ok. What’s the sexiest thing about a girl? I am an ass bitch and I will not hesitate to admit it ayyyyyeeeee. Who were you with at midnight on January 1, 2021? Nobody. Who was the last person to send you a message on social media? My sister Misty. She's planning to surprise Mom (her stepmom, anyway) by showing up in a few weeks with her fiance and all her kids she's never met but desperately wants to. My mom is the only "real mom" she's ever had, and she just feels so bad that she has a by now teenage daughter (among three other younger ones) that has never met her "grandmother." It's just an expensive and long trip, but Misty's finally called it enough and is just driving down here with everyone. Mom is going to fucking sob. ^ What qualities does this person have, that you appreciate? Nice timing for this, since her fiercely anti-mask bullshit is all I can focus on about her lately... but there are good things about her. She truly is a very loving, passionate woman that, just like me, feels deeply and expresses it. What was the last thing that caused you to scowl, or frown? Does grimacing count from a sudden bodily pain? Have you smiled at any point during the last hour? Yeah. I'm watching the VOD of Arin Hanson playing Kingdom Hearts 2 for charity, and he went on a total fucking laughing fit. His laugh is so precious, so I just couldn't stop grinning. What was the last thing you consulted Google for? Ensuring "grimace" was the right word for my former expression, even though I was pretty positive it was correct... I don't know if anyone's noticed, but my English skills are degrading, particularly in spelling. It's concerning me. I was an English whiz my whole life up to now. My only guess is it's related to how godawful my memory is also declining. So, did anyone send you a "Happy New Year" message when midnight hit? No. When was the last time you were on a carousel? Probably not since I was a teenager being goofy with Jason or somebody. What is the closest you have ever been to an elephant? I have a picture on my dA of a beautiful elephant walking RIGHT by its fence at the zoo. It was pretty amazing, considering just how incredibly immense their enclosure is. Have you ever played Halo? No, it's not my kinda game. Have you ever read a National Geographic magazine? Oh, I'm positive I've read sections while in waiting rooms of various places. When was the last time you had a pillow fight? I have no idea. Realistically it was probably w/ Jason since that sounds like some cute playfighting thing we'd do, but I don't remember a particular instance. Name somebody who you think deserves more respect: "Retail works. The horror stories my mom has on the daily is absolutely ridiculous. People can be so incredibly rude." <<<< I absolutely agree with this; what friends and strangers alike rant about is just depressing. Nobody, especially those working through a goddamn pandemic that's killing thousands, deserves the disrespect that comes their way. Have some goddamn decency and know half the issues you bring up to retail workers isn't even their damn fault. Ohhhh, I could rant about this. In your own words, define what the word sexy means. So you mean like, what I think is considered sexy, not just the general definition? If that's the case, uhhh. Self-confidence (but absolutely not arrogance) is very attractive to me as a bitch who lacks it entirely, as well as good manners, being outgoing, and just... charm. I don't quite know how to describe that "charm" other than I'm really drawn to people who are unique and happy with it and just seem to have an aura about them that feels good to be in. What is the most popular tourist attraction where you live? I'm going to look at this question as if you're asking about my state and not general location because 1.) there ain't shit here and 2.) I'd prefer to keep relatively where I live quiet on the Internet. Looked it up and apparently NC's biggest tourist bait is the Biltmore Estate. Never been there myself, but it'd be pretty dope. Without looking - do you know what brand your underwear is? I'm in my own home and pjs, who the fuck wears underwear with that criteria lmao. Are you any good at volleyball? NOOOOOOOOO. I went to a volleyball camp thing once when I was younger and that shit hurts the hell outta your hands. I didn't stay long. Have you ever had a water balloon fight? Why of course. Do you think some babies are ugly? Quite honestly, probably most, especially newborns. Don’t you miss Chuck E. Cheese? I do; going there was one of the most exciting possible things to me as a kiddo. Do you think Fall Out Boy is gonna be a classic band, like Queen or AC/DC? Possibly. I mean they sure are pretty successful and well-known. Do you love stuff-crusted pizza? Eh, it's not my preference, but I'll eat it. Do you apply lotion after you bathe? No, but I really should, given how dry my skin is. What’s your favorite color? Pastel pink. Who did you have your most amazing kiss with? I'd like to not think about this. Has a YouTube video of yours ever gotten over 10,000 views? Lol definitely not. I think at least one on my older channel hit 1k somehow???? It was a birthday gift I made for someone. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? lol I already have one there. At some point I'm getting it covered, though. Do you like Robert Frost poems? I do! Do you go to church every Sunday? I never do. Have you ever been in a relationship on-and-off for more than a year? No, I don't play that game. You want me or you don't, so I'm not wasting my time on your uncertainty or just our lack of stability for whatever reason. If you had to get famous for one of the following, which would you choose: music, acting, writing, modeling? Absolutely writing. What do you think of girls with huge boobs that don’t wear bras in public? ?????????????????? i don't?????????????? care???????????????? they're not my tits??????????????? What is the last thing you tried on in a store? I don't know. I avoid trying shit on like the plague. And then it ends up being too big/small. I wonder why. Is sleeping naked more comfortable than in clothes? I've only ever fallen asleep naked once, and accidentally at that, so I really don't remember how I felt about it? Consciously though, I would feel very, very vulnerable so don't have plans to when I have my own place. Have you ever had a dream in which you were making out, or more, with someone? HAHAHA Y'AAAAAALLLLLLL THIS WAS DEADASS THE ONLY LUCID DREAM I'VE EVER HAD LMAOOOOO Do you feel as though you have a good memory, or are you forgetful at times? Do you feel that your short-term memory or long-term memory is better? My short-term memory is absolutely atrocious, like to the point it seriously affects my ability to get shit done. You can give me something that needs to be done and I will forget in a heartbeat. Now, my long-term memory is astonishing. I can remember many things from my childhood in incredible detail. Have you ever had a concussion or some other sort of brain injury before? Did you need to have surgery for it? I've had a concussion or two. I can't remember which. I didn't need surgery. Do you have any sort of mental illnesses or disorders? What do they involve? Yeah: chronic depression, crippling social anxiety, generalized anxiety, avoidant personality disorder (AvPD), obsessive compulsive disorder, PTSD, bipolar II, and I think that's it. My head's a mess and a half. What’s the longest that your hair has ever been? How about the shortest? When is the last time that you got it cut? About to the small of my back; how it is now, which is pretty much shaved on the left and fades to near my chin on the right. I actually got it cut last month; we've gone to a family friend for years whose shop is just an extra building by her house and very rarely has more than two clients in it. We had masks on, of course. At what age did you start getting gray hairs, if you happen to have any? I don't have any. Somehow, given my stress level at all times, haha. What are some ways that you style your hair? Do you use any sorts of products in it? It's too short to style. I don't use any products in it but obviously shampoo. Who was the last person to truly get on your nerves? What do you think caused you to feel that way? Probably my mom. I think she was in a rotten mood for one reason or another and just being snappy and generally rude. Do you recycle? Is this through choice or do you live somewhere where it’s compulsory? We do; it's by choice, and it'd be immensely ignorant not to where we live considering it literally gets picked up with the other garbage. Do you prefer plain, carbonated, or flavored water? Do you think you drink enough water throughout the day? I've never tried carbonated water, and flavored water rarely works for me due to artificial sweeteners giving me beastly headaches. So I'll just take really cold, filtered water. Have you ever needed to call the police, ambulance, or fire department? I had to call the ambulance for my mom right before her cancer was discovered because she was literally immobile and in ungodly pain. When was the last time you visited the library? What was the purpose of your visit? At my old college, as the newspaper photographer, I took some artsy pics up there. I will probably forever worry that leaving school resulted in the biggest career opportunity slipping through my fingers through that newspaper. Do you see a lot of wild animals where you live? Are any of them dangerous? I guess about the normal amount you'd see in the country. Some dangerous animals live here, sure, that's probably everywhere, but you very rarely see any. Aside from when you were born, have you ever had to stay the night in the hospital? For suicidal thoughts and one attempt, yes. Have you ever experienced a panic attack? Ahhhh, do I know those well. Thankfully, it's been a long time since I had an all-out panic attack. Would you ever want to go into the medical profession? Was your answer different pre-COVID? Nope. Well, besides being a vet, which I haven't wanted to be since I was a kid. Where you live, are people paying attention to whatever restrictions are in place to help control COVID? Many? No. Because it's apparently a fuckin hoax or not as bad as the government wants us to think. Fucking cretins. Do you get a real or artificial Christmas tree? Artificial. Real ones aren't worth the money nor mess. What’s your favourite type/flavor of popcorn? Caramel corn. Do you drink oat milk? No, but I'm interested in at least trying it. The dairy industry is absolutely repulsive if you look into it, and I'd love to do what I can to take as little part in it as possible... even though I am a dairy fiend. I seriously wish I could go vegan, I am just WAY too picky for it. Do you love thrifting? Oh fuck yes. I've been very few times in my life, but I'mm all about it. Do you consider using only lowercase letters your aesthetic? I do find it visually appealing; I like the flow of similar letter height. I never do it for "serious" things, but on places where it's "for the aesthetic," it's likely that's how I'll write something. Do you say “mood?” Way too much lmao. Do you own fairy lights? No, though I would like them if it wouldn't look stupid in my room. Do you own glass straws because the metal ones kind of gross you out because you can’t tell if they are clean or not? ... I didn't know glass straws were a thing. I have a handful of metal ones though, but I always forget I have one in my purse when I go out... Have you made a TikTok? No. Do you own airpods? No. Are you afraid of Mercury in retrograde? I don't believe in a planet's position or whatever having any effect on people. Do you make life choices based on astrology? Definitely not, considering I don't believe in it to begin with. How many pairs of converse shoes do you own? Maybe like, five? Number of jeans in your closet: Zero. What accent do you have? Not really any, but sometimes I sound kinda southern with specific words. Do you have a big butt? Yo I got a Hank Hill ass, so no. Do you count how long you and your gf/bf have been together? In my past relationships, yes, I assigned our anniversary to memory. I don't really... know why, like it doesn't really matter how long you've been together, I just do. Have you graduated? From HS, yes. I dropped out of college three times lmao. Rihanna or Lady GaGa? Ohhh, not sure. Maybe GaGa, but both ladies have songs I love. "Disturbia" doess beat all of her songs, tho. The fuckin BEAT. Do you use fake eyelashes? Never tried 'em. Which was the last book that really captivated you? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. What makeup brands do you use? I'm not loyal to any, really. I would be if I could afford expensive shit, but yeah, that ain't my life.

[fleetingfigures]

|| 2020: A Retrospective ||

With the year coming to a close soon, thank god, I thought it’d be cool to take a look back and see what’s transpired in FFXIV as well as this blog! Anyone also reading this, I invite to do the same, if you have time of course. It’s always nice to close out the year thinking of the positives. Though, without further ado let’s goooo~

Blog-Related

- Actually, well, started using this thing! Met a lot of cool peeps and had the chance to actually break out into the world RP thanks to it.

- Almost hit 100 followers, just 5 shy! 

- Top 10 Posts of the Year!

1). Promise Me You’ll... 116 notes - Aug 19 2020 

First and only post I’ve had reach 100 notes! Mighty proud of the posing I pulled off for this, and who knows, I might make a sequel in due time. WoL!AU’s are still very much my weakness. And G’raha. He’s a weakness of mine too, if it wasn’t readily apparent already.

2). LFRP - Saerno Glista (Balmung/Crystal DC)  75 notes - Jan 28 2020. 

Ah... My old LFRP. I even updated it, but I feel the need to change it again, especially given the fact I’m Giving my Carrd a complete overhaul. Might do the same to this blog too lmao. New Year new me as they say, but in actuality a lot has occurred for a certain catboy and things must be adjusted.

3). I Was Busy Thinking ‘Bout Boys  70 notes - Dec 5 2020

I was surprised this even got the attention it did lol. Seems NPC-related content is my most popular stuff. Also I am highly disappointed no one could recognize Arnott from the HW anima weapon quests. Y-yea he’s a very minor NPC, but I think he’s a cutie.

4). Black Mage is a Fun Class 51 notes - May 6 2020

The first of my fun class series! Originally wasn’t supposed to be a series at all, but I decided that every class in the game deserved some love! Also can I just say how much I love staves? Oh and the pagos bandana. It fits oddly well Sae imo.

5). Eden’s Promise Eternity 46 notes - Dec 18 2020

One of my more recent posts, and one not all too involved in the posing. Though, like I said in the post, the MOMENT I saw that arena, I fell in love with its lighting. OST is also a banger. Glad that people enjoyed random glamour shots with Gshade improving the already good lighting.

6). A Guide to Arcanima 42 notes - Sep 28 2020

The post I put the most time into... Photoshopping became so tedious at some points, but it was well worth it! I’m proud of the result and the opportunity to share some of my views upon the RP-flexibility of Arcanima.

7). Random Shower Thought 32 notes - Feb 9 2020

...I genuinely do not remember making this post.

8). Astrologian is a Fun Class 31 notes - Nov 30 2020

My old healing main, but still without a doubt the most beautiful class in the game. I wish Tumblr didn’t restrict gif sizes, but I understand the need for people’s devices to not implode when loading resources. So much grain could be reduced and more detail could be added, but alas. The screenshot at the end is still my favorite screenshot of Sae I’ve taken, even if it’s not IC.

9). Crystarium Coat of Scouting 29 notes - Mar 20 2020

And I still stand by my statements today. Since last tier is a patch behind us now, I could spare some augments to finally dye the coat. And, like a basic bitch, I’ve made Saerno’s ninja Rogue glamour jet black as far as the eye can see; all leather, of course. What is a rogue really without their leather?

10). 26 notes - Nov 16 2020

One of my first gifsets next to my Ninja ones! It Showcases the wonderful land of La Noscea, Sae’s only true home, and highlights some of his personal favorite areas! Hence why Limsa is barely pictured. He likes the city, but growing up in the country makes one appreciate the more natural side of La Noscea.

(Created by TumblrTop10)

In-Game

- Levelled all classes to 80! Though it does feel a bit hollow not being able to get xp for doing stuff now...

- Started Raiding... Well, seriously. I used to be a scrub and only do e1,e5 and e6 savage in PF, but a friend’s static needed a healer and they all but convinced me I was good enough to join. It’s been a hell of a ride, I’ll finally be going into e12s soon, but my experiences thus far have been awesome to say the least. I feel like I’m actually getting the most out of this game now that I both savage raid and take the time to RP.

- FINALLY GOT A HOUSE ON BALMUNG. 

God was the release of the new wards hella stressful. Stayed up all night, logged on the second I could, booted up next to the ferryman. Didn’t get my ideal plot, but got the neighboring one. I finally got to house something with more than 100 slots, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

- Finished those goddamn Shared Fates. And all so I could get a piece of music and possibly make a few million gil selling other SHB area themes. Crystarium night theme is the GOAT and you cannot tell me otherwise.

Roleplay

- Actually RP’ed outside of my circle of friends! Now I haven’t had the time recently to seriously go back to it like I once did, but the things I’ve learned and the people I’ve met... I wouldn’t trade it for the world. With this upcoming new year, and me taking a small break from Uni, I think I’ll begin in earnest again! First I’ve gotta update all these damn sites first to better reflect where Saerno is now.

- New Plotlines realized, old ones closed up. It’s cathartic and oh so satisfying, in a way, to see your OC go through legitimate change and to have them put a cap upon a phase of their life, slowly moving on to the next. While Saerno is still as brash as ever, he’s begun to realize just how fragile his life is. To slow down, to sit back, rest, to think about the direction his life is headed, that is the essence of his new arc.

- Secrets to uncover. To keep things brief and without many spoiler, Saerno has made the transition from Arcanist to Summoner, but with it comes its own host of problems, ones that Saerno has to grapple lest things take a turn for the worse.

- Potential Alts. Well, now that I have money again... I may actually follow through on one of the many alt ideas I’ve had, some tangentially tied to Saerno’s own story, others completely unrelated. A tailor with an unrequited love that’s inspired him throughout his hardships? Perhaps the prodigal daughter of a family whose cunning nature only fuels her desire of pure freedom? Or maybe the son of Doman liberators, trying desperately to gain the approval and praise of others so that his parents’ name do not die out completely. So many choices... 

And, well, that’s all! So far while 2020 has been quite terrible, at least I have these moments to look back upon fondly. Thanks to any and all of your who have been here this year, and here’s to hoping for a wonderful 2021! 

[saveyourblood]

Stolen Dance | Ch. 2

Notes: Is this only gonna get 3 notes and 0 reblogs? Yes. Do I give a fuck? nope!

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: None I can think of.

Song: Warm With You - Hayden Calnin

Part 1

Spencer was gone by morning. He had a plane to catch, so you understood. A part of you wished you had the chance to say a real, verbal goodbye, but your conscious knew a silent departure was for the better. Watching the only man you’ve had a mental, emotional, and physical connection with walk out the door would be plain cruel. It was better for him to disappear without a trace.

Only… it wasn’t without a trace. 

On the pillow Spencer hardly slept on was a note.

‘702-555-0103           Keep in touch. 

                 -Spencer.’

You were so, so screwed.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, you were still practically vibrating. The more you thought about it, the higher your hopes grew. You started thinking of alternate scenarios, a world where you and Spencer were in love and alone. A world where state lines and job interferences didn’t exist. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized that a world like that could be true.

State lines exist. High-demand jobs exist. Families exist. No matter how badly you wanted it to be true, a single man couldn’t make all those things go away. And yet, you pulled out your phone and added his number to your contact list. Because when it came to Spencer Reid, you went against your better judgement. You ignored your instincts. You broke your own rules. Really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your fantasy.

You walked to the door and looked through the peephole. With a slight frown, you pulled away and opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said in surprise.

“Hello Y/N,” he greeted. Despite it being 7:30 in the morning, he was wearing a suit. You wondered if he ever got tired of doing so.

“How do you know where I live?” You asked.

“Sheriff Longman,” he answered simply. “May I come in?”

“If you want,” you shrugged, stepping aside so he could enter. You gestured to the small table in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water..?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

You brewed a pot while you were showering, so thankfully, it sat on the hotplate, full and ready to be poured. You took two mugs from the cupboard, put a splash of milk in one, and let only coffee fill the other. You took a seat across from Hotch, pushing the mug of black coffee towards him.

“Thank you,” he said, then observed the hot beverage. “What makes you think I take my coffee black?”

“You’re a man of authority, and judging by your composure, you have been for awhile,” you said. “The lines on your face and bags under your eyes suggest you don’t get much sleep, so considering this and your demanding career, you drink coffee to function. You got used to the taste, eventually.”

You raised your own mug to your lips, then laughed nervously in realization. “Sorry. After helping with the case, my filter came off.”

“How long have you been profiling?” Hotch asked.

“Since before I knew its name,” you answered. “My dad always said ‘people watching’ was my hobby. Most people just think I’m good at spotting liars.”

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been profiling for as long as I can remember. I like studying people’s habits, learning the way they think. Humans fascinate me.” You paused. “Why are you here, exactly?”

Hotch smiled briefly, probably at how long it took you to ask. “You weren’t at the station for very long yesterday.”

“I talked to Caleb while you guys were arresting Beck,” you explained. “We talked. By the time you got back, I knew what I needed to know.”

“Which is?”

“I messed up the profile.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Caleb Chasing made mistakes when it came to his marriage, but he’s not a bad man. He told me it was his fault they ever got divorced, and that Stephanie didn’t win full custody, he gave it to her.”

“Really?” You nodded, sipping your drink. “It wasn’t court-ordered, but Caleb took the kids every other weekend. Stephanie agreed to that. I totally misread the situation.”

“You didn’t,” Hotch disagreed. “Your profile was spot on.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Stephanie was his type, and her divorce with Caleb was the stressor.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Austin didn’t kill because he was angry with Stephanie: he was angry with Caleb,” Hotch explained. “His love for Stephanie didn’t go away after she married, but his anger towards Caleb amplified.”

“He loved her so much that he didn’t kill Caleb,” you whispered in realization. “He wanted to hurt Caleb, but he knew it would hurt her, so he refrained.” Hotch nodded. 

“But why not just kill Caleb?” you said.

“Like you said, hurting Caleb would hurt Stephanie. Invert that logic.”

“The women were surrogates for Stephanie, and when he was done with them, he used them against Caleb.”

“Your profile was right,” Hotch repeated. “We brought in the wrong man, yes, but without Caleb, we never would have found Beck. We wouldn’t have found Caleb without your profile.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you ceded. You paused. “Did he ever mention why he washed and folded the clothes?” “He thought he was doing Stephanie justice,” Hotch answered. “He made his victims take off their clothes before he raped them, and after killing them, he wanted to touch the body as little as possible. That’s why he didn’t redress them.”

“So there was no blood on their clothes,” you thought aloud. “Beck just genuinely thought he was doing them a service.”

Hotch nodded. You merely shuddered in response. 

“Have you ever considered becoming a Behavioral Analyst?” Hotch proceeded to ask.

You looked up in surprise. “That’s... not really an option around here,” you replied.

“You could relocate,” Hotch said. “You served in the Army, which means you could attend classes virtually anywhere, and they would be paid for.” 

“Are you offering me a job, Agent Hotchner?” You asked, confused.

“I can’t promise anything, but considering your background and natural abilities, I think it’d be fairly easy to find an opening for you in the BAU,” Hotch told you. “You proved yourself to everyone on my team, including myself. All you would need is the credentials. ...That is, if you’re interested.”

You bit your lip, considering your options.

Hotch wasn’t offering you anything concrete, but damn if he wasn’t offering you something. You hardly knew the man, yet something told you it wasn’t everyday that he told someone they’d make a good profiler, especially when said person isn’t even in law enforcement. Not to mention, he was absolutely right — your service in the Army covered the tuition of practically any school you could dream of going to. You could get your degree in New York, or California, or DC.

You could be within a few miles of Spencer, rather than a few hundred. 

When it came down to it, though, you didn’t live in a fairytale. Similar to your ‘relationship’ with Spencer, conflicts arose. You already had a job, and you loved it. Colorado, though not your favorite place to live, was home, and it wasn’t done with you yet. Life wasn’t as easy as moving across the country to pursue a career while courting a man who might not even be interested in you.

“I can’t leave,” you said quietly. “My life is here.” 

Hotch didn’t seem to react; over the years, he mastered his poker face.

“It’s a lot to think about,” Hotch sympathized, “and I don’t expect an immediate answer. In fact, I don’t need an answer at all. All I ask is that you consider.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

Two phone numbers from two men in the span of two days. It seemed as though your bad luck charm was officially broken. 

It took you 3 months to call Spencer. It wasn’t that you forgot, or met someone else — he crossed your mind everyday. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him.

For a long time, you tried convincing yourself that he didn’t really care. You decided he gave you his number out of charity, or because he didn’t want to be a guy who has meaningless sex. It took you a long time to consider the fact that he might actually like you, might actually want to spend time with you. That he might want to see you again as desperately as you wanted to see him.

Once you came to this conclusion, an opportunity fell in your lap.

You decided to finally call Spencer right before your shift started. Other people probably considered it to be the worst possible time, but you thought through your plan for days before the execution. Your work kept you busy, which meant you wouldn’t have time to think about your boy troubles. You’d be too busy saving lives. Also, your shift was at night, so by the time you got home, you’d be too exhausted to let your worries keep you up. It seemed like a win-win situation.

When everyone left the locker room, you sat down on the bench with a nervous breath. Your stomach was in knots and it got harder to breathe with each passing second. Biting the bullet, you went to your contact list, scrolled down to the “S” section, and dialed the first name you read.

After 3 rings, the call went to voicemail. Though this partially worried you, it mostly made you feel relieved. It would be so much easier talking to his answering machine.

‘This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please, leave a message,’  a recording of his voice said.

It wasn’t a fake number. You sighed, endlessly grateful.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, sounding like you had just run a marathon. You cleared your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “This is Y/N, the paramedic from Colorado,” you said. “I was invited to this wedding in Vegas, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. It’s over the weekend, so you should be back to work by Monday.” 

You laughed nervously. “I honestly don’t know if you even remember me. If you don’t, or if you don’t want to go, please ignore this message. If you do remember me, and you do want to go, feel free to text me or give me a call back. That’s it, I guess. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

The butterflies in your stomach dispersed by the time you hung up. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling both triumphant and anxious. You pushed the latter emotion to the side. The worst part was over. The ball was in his court. 

_____________________

Your shift was the longest you’d had in a while. You resuscitated a middle-aged man, tended to to the bloody aftermath of a bar fight, and delivered a baby, all within the span of your 12-hour shift. Normally, your days were much, much slower. The silver lining was that you didn’t have a second to spare, which meant  you went half a day without thinking of Spencer and the voicemail you left for him. That aspect of your plan worked out pretty well.

Once you got home, you tossed your coat onto the table and dropped your bag to the floor. You were exhausted. Despite the change of clothes you went through in the middle of the night, you still smelled like blood and other various bodily fluids. Oh, the glamour of working in the medical field. 

Not wanting to bring the grime of your job into your bed, you hopped into the shower. You were in and out quick, deciding against washing your hair. You only wanted to clean up so you could get some sleep.

Once you were out of the bathroom, you walked back into your bedroom. You checked your phone, which you left on the nightstand. You had one text left unread.

‘Spencer: which weekend?’

So much for sleeping.

_____________________

Over the next month, you and Spencer worked out the details. The wedding was a great excuse, but Spencer actually proposed the idea of spending more time together, which may or may not have made you squeal. Thankfully, you were alone when you read the text, so only you had to live with the embarrassment.

The wedding was on Saturday. The flight he ended up scheduling was for Wednesday. He’d spend the night at your apartment, and on Thursday morning, the two of you would start a 7+ hour road trip to Nevada.

You enjoyed road trips already, so the idea of spending that time with Spencer seemed almost too good to be true. Plus, the fact that two nights would be spent at a hotel was no accident. You wanted to drag those 7 hours out for as long as possible, and Spencer didn’t seem too opposed to the idea. 

If everything went according to plan, the two of you would be back in Colorado by Monday, and his returning flight was scheduled for Tuesday morning. Almost an entire week of nothing but him. You could only hope he was as excited as you were.

Though it seemed like a fantasy, Wednesday did come. You stood in the airport, holding a sign that read “Dr. Spencer Reid”. Mostly, it was a joke, but a part of you thought he may have forgotten your face.

Eventually, you saw a tall, gangly brunette with glasses make his way down the escalator. Your face broke into a smile as you lifted the sign above your head. You managed to catch Spencer’s attention. He broke into a grin. 

Once he made his way through the crowd, Spencer simply stood in front of you for a moment. He looked your frame up and down, taking in every inch of beauty he saw. His eyes met yours.

“Hi,” he said quietly, smiling.

“Hello,” you responded. 

The two of you chuckled and hugged each other.

He was quite a bit taller than you, so moments after wrapping your arms around him, you felt his chin settle onto your shoulder. When he adjusted, you felt his lips against your neck. You held him tighter.

“You look… amazing,” he said breathlessly, pulling away. He kept his hands on your arms.

Your face was beginning to hurt because of how much you were smiling. “Thank you. So do you.”

You reached your hand up, carding your fingers through his hair. “You cut your hair.”

“You like it?” He asked. There was a small, almost microscopic nervous edge in his voice.

“I like you,” you said simply.

That earned you a kiss.

To anyone passing by, the two of you looked like any average couple: happy to be reunited, and happy to be in love. Oh, how you wished it was that simple.

You weren’t sure Spencer was in love. You weren’t sure you were in love, if you were completely honest. All you knew was that around him, the world disappeared, at least for a little while. No one’s made you feel that way in your life, not even before you joined the Army. 

You saw some things overseas, some things you wanted desperately to forget. You thought resigning and returning home would fix that, make you forget. All it seemed to do so far, though, was distract you with other things you also didn’t want to think about. It seemed like, no matter how hard you tried, you could no longer see in color. Since the Army, since your father… you saw the world in black and white.

Not around him, though. Around him, there was more color than you could fathom. Instead of trying to figure out why, you kissed him. You kissed him, and for the life of you, you didn’t want to stop. 

By Thursday evening, the two of you had been on the road for almost 4 ½ hours. You had done most of the driving, but you didn’t mind. With Spencer in the passenger seat, you could be occupied for days.

All you had to do was ask about a highway or a structure you passed, and for the next 15 minutes, Spencer would tell stories. You were sure some people found it annoying — he stopped his rants several times to see if you were still interested. That broke your heart a little. You understood that his job could have intense moments where only basic information is needed, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the only time people cut him off. It made you sad to think he got shot down when talking about the things he loved.

“Are you sure I’m not talking too much?” Spencer asked for the millionth time.

You smiled. Your window was open, so your hair was blown back and your arm rested on the ledge. “I’m sure,” you promised. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Vegas is where I grew up.”

“Wow, really?” you said in surprise. You’d never thought to ask. “You’ll have to show me around, then. I've never been.”

“You’ll fit in,” he assured. A brief silence washed over the car. “Did you grow up in Colorado?”

“Yeah, I did,” you nodded. “I grew up in Grand Junction, actually.”

“You never left?”

“Except for when I served,” you confirmed.

“How did that happen?” Spencer asked. “I mean, was joining the Army something you always wanted to do?”

You stiffened at the question. In an attempt to relax, you cleared your throat. 

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled sadly. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I just… I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone why.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Spencer assured. 

You considered for a moment. “I do,” you eventually said, tapping your thumb against the steering wheel. “I want to tell you.”

He didn’t say anything; he simply waited for you to start.

“Do you remember the bar?” you asked, mostly rhetorically. “How you sat next to me, asked me why I profiled Derek instead of you?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember when I said I have trust issues because my father wronged me?” You asked, this time, quieter.

You saw him nod in your peripheral vision. 

“That wasn’t exactly true,” you said. “I mean, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full story. You see, my dad didn’t wrong me so much as he… died.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged, wishing it was enough to brush off the feeling. “I was 16. Losing him made me lose myself for awhile, you know? He was there one second, gone the next, and I had to live with it. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of Colorado, start fresh. The Army did that for me. Plus, I got to help people. It seemed like a win-win situation.” 

“You made the best of a bad situation,” Spencer said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I did get to help people,” you thought vocally. “That part was nice. The PTSD… not as nice.” 

Spencer laughed sadly. “It never is.”

You decided to leave it at that.

The wedding was the part of your vacation you least looked forward to. However, you had to admit: you and Spencer looked incredible. You wore a short navy dress, he rented a matching suit. You turned heads in the church, at the reception. You swore the bride gave you a dirty look at one point. You didn’t care. All you cared about was Spencer’s hand on your waist as the two of you danced. 

“Why did it take you so long to call?” Spencer asked during a slow song. His lips were close to your ear. His breath against your skin made a pleasant chill go down your spine. 

“Life got in the way,” you muttered. It was a poor excuse, but it was hard to put into words that you wanted to see him but thought you couldn’t. Or rather, that you shouldn’t.

“I missed you,” he admitted. 

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “What did you miss?”

“Being around you,” Spencer said. He pulled away a bit so he could look you in the eye. “You’re the only person who’s never looked at me like I’m crazy. Don’t get me wrong, my friends are great, but… they don’t understand. You do.”

You set a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch.

“I wish you were closer,” he said softly.

“Me too,” you agreed. “But right here, right now, we’re together. Let’s make the most of that, hm?”

He kissed you in silent agreement. 

You were pouring a second cup of hotel coffee when you felt Spencer’s arms wrap around your waist. You turned around in his grip, offering him a mug while you took a sip from the other.

“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the coffee. He kept one arm around you. 

“What’s on the agenda today, Dr. Reid?” you asked curiously. 

“It’s a surprise,” he said, pulling you closer. 

“Another casino?” you asked. “I like watching you call people’s bluff. It’s kind of hot.”

He chuckled. “Not a casino. I’m taking you somewhere special. Well, it’s special to me, at least.”

“I’m excited,” you grinned, running a hand down his chest. “You know that means you’ll have to put a shirt on, right?” 

“I will,” he assured, setting his mug on the table. “Eventually.”

He then took your mug and set it beside his. This confused you at first, but you quickly realized why: Spencer picked you up by the waist.

You set your hands on his shoulders, tilting your head back and letting out a laugh. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

Spencer threw you on the bed and crawled on top of you. He kissed you feverishly.

“Still want me to put a shirt on?”

You traced his collarbone with your index finger, humming softly. “Maybe later.”

You let Spencer drive to wherever he was taking you, as the element of surprise seemed to be important. You stared out the window for most of the trip, enjoying the scenery that passed you by. Your hand was on Spencer’s thigh, and his hand was on top of yours. It was brief moments like those that you let yourself believe you and him were in a relationship. 

Spencer eventually pulled into a parking lot. You let yourself look at the building he parked in front of. In a plain, black font, the sign above the  doors read ‘Bennington Sanitarium’. You turned your attention to Spencer.

“Do you trust me?” He asked instead of explaining.

You turned your hand over and laced your fingers with his. “Of course.” 

The two of you got visitor passes quickly; it mostly likely  meant he visited often. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

As the two of you were lead through to building, you held Spencer’s hand. When you were shown to an open room that resembled something of  a lounge, you felt his grip falter. You took it as a queue to let go. You let your hand fall back to your side, suddenly feeling cold.

A woman with short, blonde hair in a long sweater stood up upon seeing Spencer. She was obviously older than both of you, but she carried her age with grace. She had wrinkles only a mother could get.

“Hi, mom,” Spencer greeted warmly. 

The woman smiled and hugged him.

“Hello, Spencer,” she returned. 

When she pulled away, she noticed you. 

“Who’s this?” She asked.

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s my…”

“Friend,” you finished for him. You stuck your hand out with a smile.

Though hesitant, the woman shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N, this is Diana Reid. My mother.” 

Diana looked to her son. “She’s pretty.”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s not like you didn’t notice,” she teased. She turned her attention to you. “Do you work with Spencer?”

“No,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “Well, not exactly. We met when he was working a case.”

“No conflict of interest…” Diana noted. Spencer gave her a look, but said nothing. “Do you play poker, Y/N?” “Not as well as Spencer, but I try,” you replied. 

You headed out of Vegas early the next day. You wanted to get a head start before the morning traffic, and besides, you knew it would be nice for Spencer if he got some real sleep before his flight. You didn’t want to think about the fact that your time with him was ending, though, so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. 

“Why did you take me meet your mother?” you asked softly. Spencer opted to take the first half the drive back home. You agreed, hoping the silence would clear your head.

“She’s my biggest secret,” Spencer said. “It took me years to tell anyone on the team she’s been in treatment since I was 18.”

“Why tell me?”

“You told me about your dad. I thought it was only fair you learn something ugly about me and my life.”

You reached a hand out, brushing back some of his hair. “Nothing about you is ugly.” 

When your hand hovered over his cheek, Spencer turned his hand to kiss your palm. You smiled. 

“Thank you for trusting me with your secret,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you for letting me.” 

The radio played quietly in the backdrop. The songs changed, and you recognized the faint beginning. You turned up the dial and sang along.

“A year from now, we’ll all be gone, all our friends will move away,”  You sang, mostly to yourself. “And they’re going to better places, but our friends will be gone away. Nothing is as it has been, and I miss your face like hell,” you sang a bit louder, mostly so Spencer could hear. “And I guess it’s just as well,” you reached a hand up, running your thumb along his jaw. “...But I miss your face like hell.” 

The rest of the ride was like a dream come true. At the halfway mark, you pulled over, got some lunch, and switched places. Other than that, the two of you sang, talked, sang some more, and stole kisses when the other person wasn’t paying attention. Of course, you were driving, so the kisses were nothing more than a peck on the cheek. Still, you blushed and giggled every time his lips touched your skin. 

Maybe this weekend was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter. 

_____________________

That night, your head rested on Spencer’s chest. You listened to his heart, and it seemed like with every beat, he pulled you a little bit closer. You felt euphoric. 

And yet, at the same time, you felt guilty. 

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, like if you spoke to loudly, the moment would evaporate. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he promised. His hands ran up and down your back, as if to assure you.

“Hotchner came to see me the morning before your flight home,” you said. “He asked if I had any interest in becoming a profiler.”

Spencer shifted, sitting up against the bed frame. You sat up as well. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Y/N, that’s… incredible,” he said with a laugh of blissful disbelief.

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked. “You’d make an excellent profiler, and you’d be a welcome addition to the team. Plus, we could use someone with your sort of medical expertise.” 

You smiled smally. “You think so?”

He took your hand, squeezing lightly. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” you apologized. “I’ve spent these last few months thinking.” 

“I understand; it’s a lot to think about.” 

As always, Dr. Spencer Reid was completely and utterly right. 

Saying goodbye at the airport turned out to be a lot harder than you thought. 

You sat side by side for a long time, holding hands and listening to music. You shared one set of earbuds, and the two of you took turns choosing the music. Spencer once mentioned that he mostly listened to Classical music, but he seemed to be enjoying the songs you introduced him to. And, surprisingly, you enjoyed the ones he chose too. You used to think you didn’t like classical music. 

At one point, during a song he picked out, Spencer began to tap his fingers against your knee. You were leaned against his body, one leg crossed over the other, so it was easy for him to rest his arm on your thigh and tap your knee. It took you a few seconds to realize he was ‘playing’ the song on your knee as he would play it on the piano. 

Eventually, his flight was called, and the two of you had to part ways. You stood up, and tears began to well in your eyes. You cleared your throat, forcing a smile on your face.

“I had a good time this last week,” you told Spencer. “I had a really, really good time.”

He smiled. “I did too.”

You felt a tear make its way down your face. You wiped it away hastily. “I hate goodbyes.”

Spencer moved in, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hello, Y/N.” 

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “Hello, Dr. Reid.” 

_____________________

“What did you do with your time off?” your mother asked, pouring hot water into your mug. She insisted on making you tea instead of coffee — something about how you should cut back on caffeine. 

“I went to Natalie’s wedding,” you answered, taking a careful sip.

She frowned. “The one in Vegas?”

You nodded.

“You hate going to weddings,” your mom said, taking a seat at the table across from you. 

“I hate going to weddings alone,” you corrected.

You bobbed your tea bag up and down. You chose to look at the movement rather than the look you knew was on your mother’s face.

“Who did you go with?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” you replied. Even in your peripheral vision, you could see your mom’s jaw drop. 

“‘Doctor’?” She asked. “How old is he?”

“My age,” you responded. “He’s not an MD: he has a few doctorates, is all.”

“A few? And he’s your age? Who is this man, Einstein?”

“He’s definitely a genius,” you assured with a laugh.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, he works for the FBI,” you answered. You tried to sound as casual as you possibly could.

“How did you manage to meet an FBI agent?” She paused. “You met him because of those girls, didn’t you?”

You tried not to think about that too often; it made you feel dirty. What happened to those girls was horrible, and it didn’t feel fair that one of the best things in your life happened because of their suffering. In fact, the guilt that fact caused you was part of the reason why you didn’t tell Spencer about Hotch’s offer.

“I did,” you confirmed. “I like him, mom. I like him a lot.” 

She smiled, setting a hand on your cheek. “I’m glad you do, hon.” she moved her hand away to take a sip from her own mug. “How often do you get to see Spencer?”

“Not often enough,” you said. 

“Is all you wanted to talk about, Y/N?” She asked. “You sounded worried over the phone…”

You sighed. “I applied to the University of Virginia… and I got accepted. I can start in Spring.”

“That’s… amazing,” your mom praised. “Since when did you want to go back to school?” 

“Since I realized the world is bigger than Colorado,” you replied. “Bigger than the Army, even.”

“What will you be going for?”

“Psychology for sure. At least a Masters, maybe a PhD if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Will you be working while you take classes? They could use a Paramedic like you anywhere,” your mom said.

“Mom, I never said I was going,” you told her.

“Why wouldn’t you?! It’s an incredible opportunity,” she argued.

“I know. It’s just… not here. I wouldn’t be in Colorado anymore.”

“So? Like you said, the world is bigger than Colorado,” she said. The expression on her face changed. “Honey, don’t stay here for me. Seriously, don’t. I can’t live with that.”

“It wouldn’t be your choice,” you said. “Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about me too, you know.”

“It’s about your father,” your mother disagreed softly. She took your hand. “If Virginia will make you happy, then go to Virginia. You’ll visit me, I’ll visit you… We’ll make it work. Promise me you won’t stay for me, for your dad, or for anyone else.”

“I left you once,” you said weakly, shame in your voice and heart. “Dad died, and 2 years later, I left. I can’t just leave you again, Mom.”

“You’re not leaving me,” she promised. “You’re living. That’s what your dad would want you to do.” She squeezed your hand. “It’s what I want you to do.” 

After awhile, you nodded.

You always thought you were good at leaving. Maybe now, you’d be good at living. You couldn’t wait to start living, especially if it meant Spencer would be by your side.  

_____________________

Part 3

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

10. Bathroom wall a.k.a. a queen bee, Prince in the shower and a backup Casanova (Part Two)

Finally, that Donna Summer song is over… Although disco is not my favorite genre, I have nothing against her generally but now… the part in which she’s repeating “Hot-hot-hot-hot stuuuuff” reminded me of the sound of the rototiller which would break down in every single winter and my grandpa would always have to try for hours and hours to breathe life into it in spring. And the music was also way too loud in comparison to the fact the clientele of this place consists mostly of exhausted truck drivers who only want to chill to Chris Rhea’s Road to Hell. If they wanted noise, they would go to a strip club to see Miss North Carolina ’86 dropping her clothes to something from AC/DC. Probably Highway to Hell. Variations on a theme. But probably this little dump doesn’t even have a proper strip club.

Luckily, this shabby roadhouse has a separate room for pool tables; it’s pretty hidden and easily approachable without being noticed. Not that I don’t like hanging out with the guys… okay, that’s also a part of it, we’ve been basically locked in a tour bus, concert venues and hotel rooms since last September. We’re each other’s company all the time, the only place where I can spend a few hours by myself is basically the ever-changing setting of my incoherent dreams. Only mentally, of course, since basically there’s always someone snoring around. And of course, they also keep showing up in random scenarios and with people they don’t even know but that’s the point of dreams, your brain forces you to put jigsaw puzzle pieces together that don’t match. Or they do, you just don’t know about it… Long story short, there’s no way to get rid of these dudes… Okay, it sounds as if they annoyed me… shit, they do annoy me more and more often and I hate this feeling. We’re basically friends; we wouldn’t be able to play in the same band if we didn’t get on well. But before we started touring, we’d all had our own circles including friends and colleagues, different hobbies, natural habitat… and music and the band had been only the intersection of them. We met when we had to do something as a band, we spent time together to write songs, rehearse, record… and in the remaining time, everybody lived their own life. That we don’t have anymore.

Usually, I try to not see only the dark side of this situation but now, I’m not feeling able to put on a smiley face. Maybe the fact that my whole digestive system is burning doesn’t help either… I bought a cola at the gas station next to the bar and smuggled it in under my jacket. That’s the only piece of advice of the doctor that is also useful under tour circumstances. I mean, I can’t just drop everything and lie down when the pains are coming, I can’t spend my evening sitting on the loo when I have to play a gig and who cares about diet when you can’t even eat or sleep on a regular basis? But cola is always there, no matter where I am. It’s the only thing that eases my nausea effectively and isn’t very conspicuous at the same time. And this one is as cold as ice, it feels good to press the bottle to my stomach as I’m crouching in fetal position in this armchair. Although the doctor probably wouldn’t approve, I spiked it with a few drops of rum. To be honest, they were bigger drops but I finally wanted to empty my flask. I decided to give up drinking spirits, beer makes me unpredictable enough and mixing drinks only fucks my digestion up too.

“Here you are, finally! I knew you were somewhere here too!”

So much for hiding…

“Hi, Karrie…”

“Man, you’re missing the best parts… some local chicks started courting the guys, they even got them to dance…”

“Awesome…”

“Mike, can you hear what I’m telling you? I said the guys were made to dance… I mean, the guys such as Jeff, Dave and Stone… and dance, like, moving the body rhythmically to the music… Although the girl who picked Stone had a difficult job…”

“Let me guess: she failed.” I remark in a bored voice and shake the bottle in small circles not to waste a drop of my drink.

“Mike? Is something wrong with you? Normally, you would basically drop everything and rush there to see the end of the scene but… yes, something’s wrong with you...” she answers her own question with a concerned face sinking down slowly onto the other armchair.

“I’m fine…” I mumble as I embrace my knees and lean my chin against them.

“Mike, I haven’t known you for a long time but I’m pretty sure that sitting alone curled up like a hedgehog is not your normal state. The pains, again, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t like being taken for an idiot. Ninety percent of my job basically consists of watching every move of yours and trying to figure out your needs before you would even think about them. Do you think I haven’t noticed you’re suffering?”

I should have known. She usually stays in the background, doesn’t meddle in the business of the others but she’s all ears and eyes… she knows everything about us.

“All I know is that it must be something with your stomach or intestines… I don’t know exactly how serious it might be but it seems to be serious enough to be treated…” she goes on ignoring my stubborn silence. “Have you already seen a doctor? Have you already been diagnosed?”

I’ve seen several ones. I have a diagnosis. But I doubt she wants to hear the detailed description of my medical history, in particular the analysis of that delightful feeling when objects are being put up into your butthole.

“Do the others know about it?”

Oh, sure… like the inexhaustible source of Stone’s stupid anal jokes needed any feeding…No, thanks. And enlightening the others about the fact that pissing in the corner and running around naked aren’t the only sorts of accidents happening with me from time to time isn’t one of my top priorities either.

“Look, Mike, you’re an adult. Legally, leastways. I can’t tell you what to do and I’m finished with the heart-to-heart, I promise but… come on, all I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to feel ashamed and you can live a quality life whatever your problem is, for example Effie…”

“Effie?” I try not to sound like a maniac but I almost kick the table over as I jump back in regular sitting position. “You mean she…?”

“Hasn’t Judy mentioned it?”

“What?” I ask so far as I’m able to speak at all due to the lump in my throat that grew out of nothing of the mere mention of her name.

“She’s been waiting for new kidneys, or at least one new kidney for months. It’s pretty difficult to find a suitable donor for her… but she’s optimistic, as always. And also angry a bit but it only helped her move on.”

“May I ask… what happened to her? I mean, I understand if it’s not public or…” I try to form coherent sentences, which is not that easy at all after this shock therapy.

“It’s not a secret, it’s the result of medical mistakes.” she starts telling the whole story. The chain of her ordeals is more than simple misfortune, and honestly, as I’m trying to recall that compelling but still playful voice, it’s difficult to believe her life depends on permanent medical help. “…and that’s where we are now.” she finishes with a deeps sigh.

“Poor girl…”

“She’d cut your throat if she heard you. She hates being pitied and tries to keep her life in the normal track very hard, limits and obstacles have always annoyed her… but she’s not that kind of girl to whom you can explain that life can be complete without sky diving, rock climbing or space travel too.” she shrugs with a bittersweet smile.

“Does that mean she keeps going on with her studies and…”

“That’s the problem. She’s suspended her studies, gave up her student jobs but she’s already regretted it. And Annie, I mean, her mom is overconcerned and wants her to rest and stick around until the transplantation will have been carried out. And that’s one of the reasons why I recommended Judy as my replacement…”

“They need money…”

“Yup. But the point of my coming up with Effie’s case is to make you understand you’re not alone, having an illness is not a shame but I hate clichés so I rather shut up. I don’t want to lecture you, I would just feel guilty if I didn’t even try to talk about it with you.”

“I have already heard so much about her… do you have a picture of her or something? I’m curious… I mean, it’d be nice if I could connect a face to all those awesome stories…” I hear myself talking. Gaah, I don’t want seem to be pushy or a psycho stalker but I need to see her face.

“Uhmm, I used to keep a few family photos in my wallet, if you’re lucky I still have them…” she begins to rummage in her purse. “Ah, here it is. But no, that’s an old one.” she puts the picture back before I could take a look at it.

“NO, I WANT TO SEE IT.” I grab her forearm. “Please…?” I soften my voice seeing her puzzled expression. So much for avoiding deranged behavior.

“She was like seventeen when it was taken, it’s the yearbook photo from her senior year I guess.” she hands it to me.

I don’t know what I was expecting or if I was expecting anything at all but one thing I know: I wasn’t prepared for THIS. Judy mentioned she was blond and had blue eyes and normally, I would pair this combo with a Barbie-type girl in my imagination. But she’s everything but a Barbie-doll, her clear, shining, honest eyes stare into the camera with some cautiousness but if you examine her face carefully enough, you can discover hints of impishness playing around her lips and those tiny freckles around her nose and her skin that was still wearing the last kiss of late summer sun when the picture was taken… Jesus ‘Cready, you’re not a poet, you’re not even sane. Yes, I must have lost my mind, I’m hearing music in my head… “Drea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream…”

“Mike… Mike… Miiiike…” I find myself in the reality again when Karrie snaps a couple times with her fingers in front of my face. And I realize I didn’t grow a DJ in my mind, the song of Everly Brothers is actually playing in the bar.

“I take this now back, I found another one.” Karrie has to basically disentangle my clenched, grabby fingers from the photo but my eyes are still glued to the face in it, greedily collecting the tiniest details until it disappears in the wallet. “Here.” she pushes the other picture in front of me. “It’s from last year, I think, her hair is curlier here but that’s her natural look, she doesn’t have it straightened too often.”

The second photo gives that human tornado, that young woman clearly back whom I’ve imagined so many times since that very phone call and of whom now I know that she’s officially out of my league. It’s definitively confirmed, not that I had any chance to meet her in real life or at least talk to her again…

“You know what? You should consider talking with her about it. I think she’d understand it better than any of us.” Karrie remarks casually while sliding the pictures back into their place.

Oh. Yes. Sure. Why not call this angel to tell her I’m a disgusting pig who doesn’t have the slightest control over his metabolism, lets out disgusting sounds involuntarily and shits in his pants at least once in a week. Yes, that’s something I would totally chat with her about…

“It’s just an idea, I’m sure Judy would help you find a way to get in contact with her… of course, only if you want to…”

“Houston, we have a problem… Karrie… there’s a situation… we need you…” Scully basically falls into the room breathlessly.

“Jesus, what happened?” she jumps up terrified.

“It’s Judy… you should go after her…” he gasps pressing his hand against his right side. “I’ll tell you on the way…”

“Sorry Mike, we’ll talk about it later…” she shouts back on leaving.

At least my interrogation is over and I can spend some time alone since the others seem to be busy with that “situation”, whatever it is… Maybe I could practice pool tricks, I still haven’t given up my goal to beat Stone at least once in this lifetime. Even if we aren’t playing against each other, he keeps bothering me with his sarcastic comments and doesn’t let me try things in my own way, I can’t really improve my pool skills when he’s around.

After playing a few rounds against myself and winning, of course, I realize the pains have almost gone… It’s so weird, you immediately notice discomfort but you’re always unaware of the lack of it for a while, especially if you manage to direct your thoughts on something else. I guess I should look for the others, I hope Judy’s okay…

“Sorry” an unknown female voice addresses me with a short cough “have you got light?”

***

„So… what’s the plan?” Dave asks leaning on the counter with his elbows facing towards the tables.

“What plan?” I ask back positioning myself in the same way to be able to take a look around.

“For the evening… with the ladies.” he winks meaningfully.

“I don’t know… I guess we’re just hanging out. But why are you asking me? It is you and Jeff who are allowed to have any plans with any ladies… I have a beautiful girlfriend at home, remember…” I answer and I feel my lips pulling in a wide grin; I can’t help, I’ve developed this instant reaction that occurs whenever my gorgeous blondie is on my mind.

“How could I forget… you’d never miss an opportunity to rub this fact in our face. Anyway, Jeff doesn’t seem to be interested in them either, for obvious reasons…”

I squint at the pinball machine where the two second fiddles whose names I’m simply unable to recall are trying to break their personal records. I don’t really get why they think screaming helps them keep the ball on the play field but at least they prevent Jeff from falling asleep; he’s suppressing one yawn after another while stealing glances alternately at the basketball match on the TV screen and the table around which Scully, the slightly deranged leader of the girl bunch and our pocket-sized roadie are having an apparently deep conversation.

“He shouldn’t torture himself, his obvious reason doesn’t give a fuck about his awkward performance.”

“You can never know. Maybe she ignores intentionally that he’s ignoring her intentionally. But I guess you’re happy about it, the super professional band leader who’s against within-band hook-ups…”

“You know my opinion…” I shrug. “Just think about Fleetwood Mac and what happened to them.”

“Uhm, they became a world-famous top rock band?”

“You’re right! Come with me in the restroom, NOW!”

We both burst out in a dirty, tipsy laughter and it takes a few minutes until we calm down enough to be able to speak again.

“So, what are your plans?” I nudge him still shaking of warm-down snorts from time to time.

“I guess if the dynamics don’t change very quickly in the opposite direction, Jeff will vanish in less than ten minutes… and I’ll have to sacrifice myself and keep both chick entertained in the rest of the evening. But I don’t mind, they’re both cute.” Dave takes a sip of his beer wiggling his eyebrows satisfied.

“Both chick? What about… Caledonia?” I nod towards the black-haired alpha female of the trio.

“Her name is Claudia, geez man, you’re hopeless… but no, thanks, her behavior reminds me of that psycho woman in Fatal Attraction too much.” he frowns. “Stoney, be a man and do what you gotta do.”

“…which is…? Jesus, I’m not interested in any random girl I encounter and as you said, she’s totally insane, while we were dancing…”

“… while she was dancing…”

“… I felt as if I had been caught by a boa constrictor that was squeezing me tighter and tighter and I swear, it must have been an extended, super long version of Hot Stuff, I thought it would never end, like, it was at least three minutes longer than usual…” I go on since I’m not willing to react to his undisguised reference to my dance talent.

“Just go back to her, have a polite chat with her and say bye in half an hour… maybe I can keep Jeff here and you can use each other as excuse for leaving. I’ll be here and keep an eye on you and in case she gets out of control, I call the local herpers to catch her.” Dave presents his concept about the strategy I should follow.

“Herpers against herpes, it sounds like the name of some non-profit organization... Okay, approved but if I start yelling “red code”, you launch the rescue operation, that’s the signal.”

“Just go finally, the sooner you begin, the earlier you can get out of here.”

I grab my beer and walk to the small company around the table but as soon as I arrive, all its members fall suddenly silent.

“What’s up, Scully? Hi Claudia.” I greet them and get a dark look from the third person whom I’m trying to ignore to get away with the situation as simply as possible.

“Scully… what kind of name is that at all?” Claudia mutters listlessly; for some unknown reason her energetic behavior has gone; she’s playing with her hair bored leaning her face against her palm.

“There are some who call me… Tim.” Scully uses the occasion to crack a Monty Python joke.

“Tim the Enchanter.” I finish the quote basically swallowing the last syllable since I hear the other girl uttering the same words simultaneously.

“Is that some inside joke of yours?” Claudia mumbles unwillingly.

“Kind of.” I answer in the same style. “But his real name is Timothy, that’s the truth.”

“Anyway, these weird nicknames are pretty common in your crew. Scully… Stone… I wonder how you got this one.” she goes on in a monotonous voice. It’s strange, she doesn’t sound like someone who feels like having a conversation at all. Maybe she’s that depressed type of drunk.

“Guess what: from his parents.” the annoying little smartass answers instead of me raising one eyebrow.

“Oh, really? Your name is almost as bizarre as you.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck. I don’t mind if she spares me an uncomfortable talk and leaves me alone before I would ditch her but why is this turnaround?

“Judy, you promised you were going to play foosball with me! Come, the tables are finally free!” Scully jumps to his feet pulling his colleague by her hand.

“What? I didn’t promise anything, I…”

“Come on, you have a mind like a sieve, of course you did! We could invite the others too and you could teach us those mind-blowing tricks!” he drags her enthusiastically in the direction of the foosball tables; she seemingly protests a little but finally gives in and follows him reluctantly.

“Uhm… I hate to admit but she’s a first-class player.” I speak up with a sentence I didn’t want to say at all but the urge to break the awkward silence was strong enough that my mind forgot to look for better topics.

“Wow.”

Gosh, I’ll need anti-depressants, if she goes on like this.

“I everything okay?” I try to look in her eyes. “I mean… you seemed to have fun when you came over, you even danced… but now… I mean, if it’s a private thing, you don’t have to answer…”

“Stone… you are a really nice guy and all, handsome, actually funny but… I don’t think we would match.”

Thank God. But something I can’t explain makes me ask for the reason instead of confessing I’m not available anyway.

“Oh. I see. And… what makes you think we’re too different?”

“I don’t know… there are just so many antagonistic characteristics… For example, I don’t like animals. I mean, I just can’t get on well with them, I don’t even like watching documentaries on them.”

“I love them, I have a cat called Red and I love dogs too, my family has always had dogs. But I know there are people who feel strange when animals are around, I’m okay with that… what else?” I inquire; the suspicious feeling keeps telling me something’s not okay here, something’s FUCKIN’ not okay here. Maybe if I ask further questions, I get closer to the reason of her behavior.

“I don’t eat red meat at all.”

“Haha, then we have something in common. I have vegetarian phases from time to time and I’m right in the middle of one. I have nothing against meat but I only consume them at special occasions.”

“But that’s the point, I hate these special occasions!” she blurts out passionately. “And I loathe even the smell of beef, let alone touching it.”

“I repeat, I can live without it.” I laugh. “And… your concern about differences is really sweet but I have to tell you something: I have a girlfriend at home, we’ve been together for months so…”

“I know! And you’re so lucky to have someone who accepts you the way you are, even if your taste is everything but ordinary and…”

Let’s wait for a second… how does she know about Amber? And what’s this babbling about my quirky style? And what was this madness about animals and meat? My mind switches to replay mode and I try to recall the moments of the evening double-time… I see ourselves arriving, them coming to our table, us dancing to the fast-forward version of Hot Stuff, them disappearing in the restroom, them getting back from the restroom and joining Scully and J…STOP! Her. That. Little. Shit. It could be only her. She must have said something about me, something crazy shit, because that’s what she’s doing all the time, she tries to turn everybody against me and ruin my reputation and… Okay, first I have to get rid of Claudia, it’s not her fault, after all.

“Thanks for saying that, it’s very nice from you. And I’m sure, sooner or later you’ll find a guy who really fits you. I hope I didn’t hurt you but I don’t really like to talk about my private life. But I guess my friends enlightened you about the details to avoid misunderstandings…” I squint at her playing the gentle refusal routine. If my presumption is correct, it’ll turn out here and now.

“Oh yes!” she jumps on my words immediately. “Judy told me everything. She cares about you a lot, she’s such a good friend!”

“She is.” A good friend of cheap tricks and pretended innocence. But she’ll pay for this. “Her problems are usually similar to mine so we are pretty much on the same wavelength.” Whatever it is, I throw the shit back at that viper. “But this is so awkward and I don’t want to waste your time so… I wish you all the best and good luck with guys!” I stand up already thinking about medieval methods of torment I would gladly try on that two-faced dwarf.

“Thanks… and be happy with that lucky girl!” she sends a saddish smile and I feel guilty for a second for leaving her alone right when she stopped playing the role of the tempting seductress. But while I’m walking to the foosball tables, my thoughts are going back to my unfinished business with that hypocrite, mean…

“No, Scully, the point is in the right angle, look, I don’t shoot the ball until… hey, Scully, you’re not even watching… oh.” she suddenly falls silent and flushes as she follows the gaze of the pale, petrified guitar tech in my direction as I arrive to them. He was obviously trying to save her ass but I don’t blame him, he hates fights, he probably feels being between two fires.

“You know what? I’m also dying to learn more about your little tricks.” I stop at the foosball table with folded arms.

“Oh my God, I love tricks.” Claudia’s enthusiastic friend chirps from the other side of the table. “What? I do love them!” she whines not decoding the strict face the third member of their bunch sends at her after nudging her to finally shut up.

“S-sure, I gladly show them to you too…” the manipulative little beast stutters.

“Face-to-face.” I cut her off in my coldest voice and I can basically hear how hard she just swallowed.

“Ugh… let’s look for Jeff and Dave.” Scully steers the two confused, reluctant friends of Claudia out of range basically tossing them towards the bar counter.

“So, what do you want to know?” she asks almost cheerfully; what an acting performance.

“Oh, I want to know a lot of things… if aliens exist… where the other half of my favorite pair of socks might be… what’s the equivalent of blushing at chameleons… why Claudia suddenly started treating me as if I was a leper…”

“They do. Probably in Jeff’s suitcase. You can’t embarrass a reptile. Maybe she has finally seen the light…” she lists her answers shrugging nonchalantly. “But I guess it’s a relief for you, so we’re happy now, huh?”

“It depends. I wonder if someone helped her out with some useful information about me…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about… not that it matters as for the result…” she starts spinning the sticks in the table for no reason, since no one else is around, it’s probably just a pathetic excuse for avoiding eye contact.

“You know, I like to decide on my own with whom I want to spend my time.”

“Do you absolutely exclude the possibility of other people feeling the same way? What if she just didn’t enjoy your company?”

“That’s not impossible but the marvelous change in her behavior makes me think something happened either in the restroom or at the table… and guess what? You were there the whole time too.”

“Are you stalking me? Jesus, should I have reported what I was doing at the loo? And I’m even sitting at tables, holy shit, that’s a federal crime.”

“She herself told you on. I haven’t figured out yet what you told her but I know Scully like the back of my hand; he’s obviously trying to cover for you but keeping secret and acting aren’t his strengths. Sooo… you can play dumb but it’ll take me less than two minutes to get everything out of him.”

Her hands stop fidgeting in the second she realizes there’s no point in denying.

“If you’re convinced that much, then why are you asking me? Just execute me here and now…” she stretches out her arms playing the role of the innocent, targeted victim.

“Nah, you can’t get away with it so easily. I wanna know why you did what you did.” I stand in her way since I can see her eyes mapping the possible escapes.

“Why do you want to know why I did what you think I did?” she asks back still keeping the poker face. She still thinks she can win, unbelievable.

“Well… it’s just interesting. Jeff and Dave danced with those girls too but as far as I can see, their popularity hasn’t decreased, I wonder why…” I turn around for a second and nod towards our table where the guys are laughing hard at something with Scully and Claudia’s friends, Claudia seems to have been vanished in the meantime, though.

“Because they don’t have girlfriends...” she remarks earnestly staring at them, not even noticing she broke the character.

“So that’s it? That’s why you did it? You think I can’t even look at other girls since I’m not single?”

“You just shouldn’t. I mean, you found a girl who meets your special needs, you wouldn’t have such luck once again in this lifetime.” she sits back on the high horse again.

“What special needs?” I ask eagerly hoping I can finally put the whole picture together.

“I don’t know, four boobs, tiny brain, large bed, I guess…” she goes on with the bullshit.

“That’s you theory about my needs? Wonderful… So you think I would have cheated on my girlfriend without your machination?” I raise my voice.

“I didn’t say that…”

“Did I kiss her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Did I hug her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Did I grope her?”

“You didn’t but…”

“Then what the fuck did I do that bothered your sensitive soul so much that you dared intervene in my business?” I lean over her making her back away.

“You laughed and…”

“What?” I scream. “You think me laughing with someone wearing skirt makes you entitled for shit-talking? You’re insane. You know what? You can play the self-proclaimed moral police of the crew or Seattle or the whole fuckin’ universe, I don’t give a fuck. Just leave. Me. Alone. Mind your own love life. Oh, wait? You don’t have one? Maybe that’s the problem?” I cover my mouth with my palm pretending shock.

“Screw you, Gossard.” she whispers hoarsely and tosses me away with her shoulder rushing past me.

***

I catch her at the entrance, in front of the building. Scully was right, she seems to be pretty upset.

“Shit, shit, SHIT!!!” she shouts emphasizing the last “shit” by kicking at full strength in the dumpster standing on the side of the road. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she bounces with painful groans on one leg until she almost loses her balance and limps back to plop down onto the curb.

“I heard that Converse was planning to launch steel toe sneakers, first I thought the brand managers were tripping on something but seeing you it totally makes sense.” I remark as I take place next to her with the moves and in the pace of a seventy-year-old woman; this position is anything but comfortable for my permanently aching knee.

“Ha, very funny. I should have kicked him in the balls. With steel toe boots…” she mumbles taking her foot in her lap. “I hope I didn’t break my big toe.” she tries to make a diagnosis by palpation.

“If I’m not wrong, you’re talking about the genitalia of Stone Carpenter Gossard.”

To my biggest surprise, it’s not the anatomical term that catches her attention.

“What? Carpenter?” she asks snickering but she also wipes out an involuntary teardrop with the back of her hand from the corner of her eye in the meantime. Whatever happened, it must have actually hurt.

“Yes, that’s his middle name. But: you didn’t hear it from me. And, I know the temptation is huge but try to keep this information until you can use it with cool head.”

“I’m as cold as an icicle.” she sniffles bitterly.

“As a melting icicle.” I stop a next teardrop rolling down on her face with my thumb. “Come on, what happened?”

“Nothing. I’m just so sick of it. So sick of him.”

“What has he done?”

“You mean apart from getting addicted to oxygen twenty-something years ago?”

“Did he say something?” I ignore her sarcastic response.

She laces her arms around her knees and begins to examine her shoes.

“Did he do something?”

She insists on remaining silent and resists my interrogation pretending the patterns on her socks require all her attention.

“Or didn’t he say or do something? That’s the problem? Look, I don’t have to care about your childish quarrel. I just wanted to check if you’re okay since Scully was worried about you. But frankly, maybe too many people are already busy with trying to keep your war over sandbox toys under control.”

“You could finally decide on whose side you are…”

“Obviously on Stone’s. But it has practical reasons, Mike mentioned once he had drunk expired beer during a gig with his previous band and he’d vomited in the amplifier…” I try to ease the tension. “But Jesus, Judy, joke aside, I’m on nobody’s side, of course. I’m just trying to help but if I don’t know what happened, I can’t. And I’m helpless since believe or not, I know he’s a really great guy and I also know you’re an awesome chick and honestly, I have no clue why your arrival has turned him completely inside out.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m just… so sick of him.”

“You’ve already said that.” I fish a tissue out of my pocket and hand her so that she doesn’t use her forearm to clean her nose.

“You know… he’s not the first smug prick I have to deal with, I met enough of them at Juilliard… but usually, I just ignored them.”

“Then why don’t you ignore him too?” I ask although I know there are several reasons that make this idea extremely difficult.

“I’m not in the position in which I could pretend he’s invisible. And inaudible. I mean, letting it slide sounds like a way that could be even effective, maybe he would get tired of torturing me after a while… but it’s not like high school bullying, I don’t have years to get rid of him, at least you have a glimmer of hope every year there that maybe the bullies find a new victim in the freshman class… But… despite what this whole situation looks like, this is the adult world. This is my job, the management is my employer and if the band is not satisfied with me, I’m going to be fired.”

“But they are satisfied with you…”

Her disbelieving expression makes me correct my sentence.

“They are not dissatisfied with you…”

“Stone is. And he’s the leader and main songwriter of the band so if it came to a dealbreaker… guess who would draw the short straw.”

“Who talks about a dealbreaker? At this point, you’re my trainee. You’re under my protection.”

“And you know what’s the most irritating part? That I’m trying, I’m really trying… I do everything to fulfil his wishes…”

“…which are often ridiculous, let’s be honest. I mean, he’s an immensely talented musician but he… all of them have to learn that being loud and raw isn’t the most important thing…”

“Exactly… I just want to turn up the volume until his monitor box explodes and then just shrug, like “you wanted this, fucker”.“ we both giggle recalling the awkward moments and the looks we exchanged at sound checks. “But what’s your strategy? How can you convince him?”

“Well… I don’t try to convince him with explicit arguments… somehow I learned how to make him believe that my suggestion was originally his idea.”

“Clever… but ah, I couldn’t make it… he disagrees with everything I come up with… it’s like an innate reflex at him.”

“Aaand you’ve just caught the point!” I snap with my fingers.

“…which is… that it’s a reflex and he can’t help it?” she frowns.

“No, the other thing you said… he disagrees with everything that comes from you.”

“…aaand…?” her hands circling around each other urge me for getting straight to the point. “Yes, I’m the problem, I know, there’s nothing new in that.”

“NO! And actually… I’d rather keep you in the dark about it. Namely, we’ve got a plan.”

Two plans actually, in case plan A doesn’t work…

“We? You and…?”

“Schmitty, Brett and Scully. None of them is particularly good at keeping secret but this time they are holding on, I’m very proud of them. But as far as I know you, you’d ruin everything if you knew the details.”

“I can’t wait… if it doesn’t involve a pair of dirty, stinky socks getting stuffed into Stone’s mouth, I’m not interested in it, anyway… whatever… sorry for being skeptical, the guy is smart, he smells plans and tricks from miles… and even if he doesn’t, he ruins your self-esteem and drives you into series of mistakes and then” she claps suddenly making me start ”he gets you and makes fun of you.”

“You don’t need to exaggerate, he’s not Satan itself…”

“Are you sure?” she narrows her eyes meaningfully. “I had finally gained some confidence by the time I graduated from Juilliard, I mean, I finally believed that being admitted and receiving a degree there meant I could really… achieve something… and now... I feel like I’m at the start again.”

“The situation is certainly out of your comfort zone… but you came from a different world… and his world is strange for you too and…”

“If it was only about this!” she cuts me off. “He’s mocking me permanently, at everything. Everything. Like in elementary school, he makes remarks about my look, my dresses…”

“But you mock him back!”

“… my love… life…” she goes on in a thinner voice. “Or… rather the lack of it. Rude remarks.”

Whoa, that’s new. Obviously, I’ve heard him cracking jokes about her innocent look and Jeff’s admiration for her that he rather disapproved than encouraged, by the way… but he hadn’t humiliated her publicly only for being single… I need a context.

“What did he say exactly?”

“He told me not to put my nose into other people’s business… and that I should to stay away from his private life and insulted me by saying I didn’t even have a love interest…” she recalls in a bored voice like she was reciting a textbook.

“That doesn’t make any sense… what happened before?” I inquire. Something tells me that’s only the second half of the story…

“We had sort of a… disagreement.”

“You don’t say…” I squint at her. “Come on, don’t make me pull everything out of you word by word!”

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asks out of the blue.

“But you don’t even smoke!” I protest.

“Do you want me to go on or not? Just give me a cigarette, please.”

“Oookaaay…” I hand her the pack with my lighter in it.

“So… there were those girls who showed up in the bar… they sat down to the guys’ table…” she begins as she hits the pack with her index finger a few times to set a cigarette free.

“Yes, I saw them, they even danced with them, it was hilarious!” I giggle. Honestly, not only the recall of the scene cracks me up, her fumbling with the lighter is hysterical too.

“One of them… Claudia… she hit on him. I mean, on Stone.” she utters with disgust as she succeeds in lighting the cigarette for about the sixteenth attempt.

“Oh yeah… she seemed pretty pushy.”

“Pushy is not the right term, she was just shameless! I encountered her in the restroom, she started asking questions about him, you know, if he’s single, what kind of girls he liked, stuff like that. And I… ahem… I told… ahem-ahem… I told her… ahem… I told he had a girlfriend ahem-ahem-ahem-ahem…”

Even the first drag drives her on the verge of choking.

“Are you sure you want to smoke it?”

“Yes, I am… ahem… I’m okay… I’m just… ahem. Okay. I think it’s over.” her breathing calms down finally. “So” she takes another drag, a perceptibly more cautious one “long story short, she didn’t even care… and that asshole didn’t even resist.”

“I didn’t see him reciprocating her approach… What should he have resisted?”

“Everything? OUCH!!!”

Due to her outraged hand moves, she managed to drop the ash onto her forearm.

“Okay, you give that to me…” I grab her by the wrist and take the cigarette between my own middle and index finger. “When you’re smoking, you have to ash it regularly to avoid accidents like this. It also burns while you’re talking, just sayin’…”

“Damn… but it’d feel really good to hold a cigarette in my hand while I’m flailing…” she whines still rubbing her forearm.”

“Here. But don’t even try to light it. We can pretend you’re smoking it. Go on.” I hand her a fresh cigarette and begin to puff the one I confiscated.

“And I got just… so angry! I mean, how can one be such a slut?” she gestures on with wider moves.

“Well, a lot of girls just want to have fun and…”

“No, I’m talking about him! He’s got a girlfriend… who must be beautiful and smart and perfect and… “

“Wait, you don’t know anything about her…”

“That’s true but guys like him obviously wouldn’t date any girl…”

I’m dying to know what she means by “guys like him” but maybe this is not the right moment to ask it straightforwardly…

“But he didn’t do anything particular with that girl…” I try to defend him effortlessly.

“Were you there too? Because I was. And trust me, without my intervention, a lot more would have happened…”

“Wait, your intervention?” I perk my head but receive no response. “Judy??? What did you do?”

“I… I might have said her a few things… about Stone…” she confesses with burning cheeks.

“Things like…???” I claim a detailed explanation. Maybe she’s not as innocent this time as I thought…

“I told her things about… what he likes…” she answers reluctantly.

“Like beer or dogs or disco music or what the hell? Tell me the whole fuckin’ story or I leave, I swear!” I flare out at her.

“Things… he likes in… bed…”

Oh. The idea of Judy disclosing Stone’s bedroom secrets sounds dangerous enough to make me choose my words wisely.

“But you… you don’t know what kind of sex he likes… do you?”

“Jesus, of course I don’t, I don’t even want to think about the fact that that freak has sex at all! Jesus… not even in my worst nightmares…” she rolls her eyes staring in front of her.

“But then… how did you know…”

“I… used my… imagination…” she sums up with a brief shrug.

I’ve never heard a more euphemistic synonym for lying. “I used my imagination…” Wicked woman.

“Oh my… and what was your intention with that?”

“To make her reconsider her choice… and to defend Stone from her… you know, I wanted to help him getting out of this situation, guys just never have the strength... I basically did him a favor!”

Of course, Judy helping Stone. I could even imagine it but strictly only after the arrival of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“Thinking back about the beginning of our conversation, he couldn’t be particularly grateful for the helping hand…”

“Well, the thing is that the nature of our relationship sort of… influenced my word usage…”

“Judy, I’ve known you since your birth, you don’t need to use vague sentences… just tell what you told her finally!”

“I told her he liked watching animals, I might have mentioned mating animals. For example, watching David Attenborough video tapes before he…”

“I get it, I get it… but that’s not that extreme, thank God you didn’t say he liked animal porn in which people do it with animals…”

“Maybe I mentioned further preferences too… maybe I said something about him liking eating from the girl’s body…”

“That can even be hot, a lot of people are into it, that’s not that bad at all, Judy…” I snicker.

“…unusual food… like bloody steak with Worcestershire sauce… with knife and fork…”

I immediately stop giggling and freeze because I have the sinister feeling she still has something to confess.

“Uhm… I thought you were talking about potentially erotic food like strawberry and whipped cream but in case the girl likes steak too…”

“…and it’s possible I said things about his… performance too…”

“Oh, no.”

“I remember mentioning… he needs, uhm, special actions to become… motivated.” she fidgets with her shoelaces absent-mindedly, wrapping them around her index fingers.

“Okay, whatever, go ahead, I’m prepared.” I cover my eyes with my hands as if they could prevent me from visualizing her bizarre ideas.

“As far as I can recall… I claimed his main turn-on was watching the girl doing her business…”

“You mean doing the business? Like… pleasing… herself?” I ask back since don’t want to believe what I heard.

“I said doing her business… on the toilet…” she repeats with a miserably groan, reddening and avoiding my gaze.

“Judy… you know I’m always ready to defend you from anything or anybody but… it’s no wonder Stone attacked you again.”

“No wonder? He deserved it! After all that bitching…”

“He deserved it? Helping hand, of course… you basically humiliated him in front of a girl!” I scold her trying to keep a serious face, which is not easy at all.

“Do you think I went too far?” she asks innocently with sincere concern. For a second, she turns back into the ten-year-old version of herself who was scared of everything and everyone and it costs me a lot of restraint not to hug her. “Anyway… thinking back… it was so funny, you should have seen the girl’s face.”

I admit, this is the most hilarious shit I’ve heard in the last few years and Stone does deserve some payback from time to time but I don’t want to confirm her behavior. I’m sticking on my plan about getting them to make up or at least to normalize their relationship.

“Judy…” I begin with a deep sigh “Most guys are very sensitive as for their masculinity and sexual abilities, even if they are not typical machos. When they are joking about themselves – that’s okay, a guy with a healthy amount of self-irony is usually considered funny or even attractive. If another guy teases them with sexual topics – they just fire back, with words or their fist. But if it’s a girl who makes fun of their performance – they just freak out, they can’t hit you, they can’t assert they are sex gods either, their only way to defend themselves is attacking back verbally and they try to be at least as rude as you were. Or even ruder.”

“Oh, please, Karrie, I don’t need to be lectured on the psychology of men. He didn’t even know what I said exactly, he wasn’t there of course.”

“But it was you who said he’s smart, he probably figured out the point of it, the chick didn’t seem to be a rocket scientist and she probably didn’t even realize she got in the middle of your death match…”

“Or he was just taking shots in the dark and had luck. Scully was there and Stone was about to torment him so that he would tell him everything word by word… poor dude… So everything will turn out, anyway. By the way, Stone immediately thinking that I’m the potential reason of him being refused by a girl is insulting but also flattering at the same time…”

“Judy, I’ve never denied that it’s pretty difficult to bear Stone’s remarks without saying a word. But getting a taste of his own medicine only gets him fired up all the more, he always wants to have the last word, he’s simply just like that. And if you want to be the quicker one and make his jaw really drop, you have to get your shit together. But to be honest, I’d be happier if you’d keep your quarrels on the level of innocent teasing…”

“It was already everything but innocent in that very moment he heard my name for the first time. It didn’t depend on me, it’s all his fault and he has to face the music at least once his lifetime!” she declares determined.

I better activate plan A as fast as possible before someone gets killed.

***

I can’t wait this terrible day finally come to an end. I just want to take a shower and have some sleep… but I don’t even know how I could get myself to close my eyes, this place is a mess. What if cockroaches come out of their hideouts in the second I turn off the lights? But I’m so tired… what if I asked the driver to open the tour bus for me? Sleeping in the bunk bed sounds definitely safer… but what if he’s already sleeping? I don’t even know his room number and the reception desk was empty too; I don’t feel like looking for the staff in this haunted house. I better start with a shower, it always helps clear my mind. I’m so busy with my own thoughts that I basically bump into Beth in the hallway who’s walking sleepily towards their room; she must be coming from the shower judging from her wet hair.

“Already back here? It wasn’t a long evening…” she mutters in a tired voice.

“I’ve had enough of it. Is everything okay?” I examine her resigned face.

“Yes… uhm… Ed was typing lyrics the whole evening and then he passed out… so I had a shower and I’m about to go to bed too.” she rubs her eyes. “Carefully with the water tap, I almost scalded myself due to that crap. It’s better to wait at least thirty seconds before standing under the water and be careful when you try to change the temperature, there’s not much transition between ice cold and scalding hot, I had to mess around a lot until I could find the optimal level.”

“If I can’t work it out, I’ll just shower with cold water, that wouldn’t be the first time.” I wave.

“Ugh, if you’re a masochist…”

“It’s not the most pleasant thing I can imagine but at least it’s not dangerous either. It can be even refreshing sometimes.”

“Oookay… as you want... And there are no hooks in the shower either, by the way. But no bugs there so far either… Good night!” she pats my shoulder with almost closed eyes and totters to their door.

As I unlock the door of our room, I reach in with one arm to turn on the light and wait for a few seconds before entering; I don’t want to see my little roommates running in the corners. I lift the blanket on my bed only to realize the bedclothes aren’t the cleanest and there’s no towel prepared for the guests. Thank goodness I didn’t listen to Effie when she tried to dissuade me from bringing my own one; she claimed hotels always offer towels and travel-size personal care products… So much for Effie’s assumptions. Of course I also brought my toiletry bag decorated with treble keys and musical notes containing small bottles of shower gel, body lotion, a tiny tube of toothpaste and… due to the foresight of Effie, my “emergency package” now includes also gratuitous amount of condoms that stare at me accusingly every time I unzip it. I decide to leave my clothes in the room since I don’t like when there’s no place where I could arrange them properly, I don’t want my sleeping shirt and boxers to get wet either. There’s no living soul here, no one would see me walking a few meters only wearing a towel…

But when I pull it out of my backpack, I realize there’s one thing I didn’t take into account: I brought a smaller towel to spare place for other clothes. As I wrap it around my body, I have to trick for a while until I can arrange it in a way that it covers both my chest and my backside at the same time. Since it’s not only narrow but also short, I can forget the ordinary method of walking, I can basically only waddle pressing both arms tight to my body without exposing anything. I try to exercise this ridiculous way of moving pacing back and forth between the two sides of the room a few times and I end up sitting back on the bed hesitating if I should dress up again. I’m at a public place, after all. But fuck it, I’m tired, I had tequila and this day can’t get any worse, anyway. I peek out to the hallway to make sure I won’t get unexpected company and I set off to cover the longest twenty meters in my life. In duckwalk. But my bravery pays off, I encounter no one so on entering the shower, I finally allow myself to relax.

I put the toiletry bag on the classroom chair in front of the sinks in the forefront and fish out the shower gel bottle. I leave my glasses on the bag and head towards the innermost compartments. I decide to hang my towel on the wall separating the opposite compartments and after turning on the water, immediately jump backwards to safe distance. Beth’s advice on the adjustment proves to be useful and a few minutes later, I’m already enjoying the pleasant, warm water. Of course I brought my favorite, rough sponge too, it always helps refresh my blood circulation.

I catch myself rubbing my body stronger and stronger as I involuntarily recall tonight’s events. What a prick. Of course he deserved everything, I don’t have to feel ashamed about anything. It was him who looked for trouble. His girlfriend would have felt terrible, if she’d seen that disgusting scene so I did the right thing. His huge ego just can’t accept, this time someone was smarter than him. It’s so pathetic when a man needs this cheap kind of confirmation to feel his masculinity ensured. But come on, Stone Gossard’s name referred in connection with manliness and masculinity is the most ridiculous idea in the world, he’s got the body and mind of a thirteen-year-old.

I turn off the water and spill a few drops of shower gel into my palm but as soon I touch my shoulder with it, I hear a noise. A squeaky noise. A squeaky noise of an opening door. Oh no. No, no, no. The smacking sound of slippers on the tiled floor leaves no doubts that I have a visitor and the lazy, shuffling steps are approaching. I pull in the corner and don’t even dare breathe, I’m shivering but not only of cold, shit, what if it’s a stranger? What if it’s a man? What if I make some noise only with my mere existence? I got trapped here naked and… The sound of steps ceases and the water starts running right in the shower cubicle next to mine. Luckily, the wall is high enough to hide me although I can’t check the other person without revealing my presence either. A few seconds have gone by when humming gets mixed into the sound of water… Oh shit, it’s a male voice. The humming slowly turns into singing and my blood runs cold when I realize: I know this nasal bleat.

“If you didn’t come to party, don’t bother knockin’ on my door…”