#hope u guys have a good december!!
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hello my beloved awrkive nation just dropping by to say i wont be here for the next 2-3 weeks or so. its my finals season, finally! nb 12 & 13 (on wattpad) are set to release by the time i get back so im pretty excited to finish the sem 💗 luv yall and greeting you an advanced happy holidays!!
#will also be logging off and deleting the app from my phone for the meantime#so i wont be able to answer messages for a while 😞#i unfortunately have to be in a locked jn mode for uni 😞#until then#hope u guys have a good december!!#blabs
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OKAY i fixed the most glaring canon inconsistency for ITNL that i discovered last night
which is. the fact that i fully thought the final battle happened in December. but turns out it happened in Octovern!
idr if they mentioned it outright that they were heading there, but they mentioned "humanity's last stand" in December so. i just. fully thought that's where everything happened. but then Meryl mentions Octovern at the end & i double checked and. yea it sure says Octovern on the wiki lmfao.
i'll have to read thru it more carefully (i wasn't exactly reading too closely for details yesterday) to figure out Exactly what the fuck is going on with the locations here. but for now, every reference to the final battle in ITNL has been changed to Octovern
sigh.
#speculation nation#itnl shit#the Sigh is bc it is so very exhausting to be writing for a thing that is so flippant about details#so you misread One Thing and suddenly you have a glaring inconsistency in ur writing that's evident in the very first paragraph#like i know vash traveled from the orphanage to the final battle. but i THOUGHT that was bc the orphanage was very outside of december#like in the 98 anime it mentions the orphanage being 300 iles from december. so i thought that was true for the manga as well#but wolfwood does enter some city gates in order to access the orphanage... i guess it'd make sense for it to be closer to december#and they had to travel a while between the orphanage and the final battle site. which was. apparently! octovern.#Oh Well........... at least it's fixed now...............#and it's marginally less embarrassing of a mistake as accidentally putting 'arc' instead of 'ark' for the Full Fic#bc the december vs octovern thing was me missing a small detail in a whole big Thing#but the 'arc' was just me being bad at spelling sldkjfsldkjf#Oh Well this is why it's good to revisit old chapters every so often#lets me review things and keep things as consistent as possible.#both between canon and within my work itself.#my biggest goal in ITNL edits is going to be internal consistency.#as well as double checking to make sure there arent any OTHER glaring mistakes#once i finally finish. ITNL will be born anew. and i will be more than ready to tackle what comes next.#hope u guys dont mind being patient. & i hope my effort will make ITNL 15 worth the wait.
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What's in a Name?
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: 5 times you and Agent Hotchner questionably cross paths over the years, just for him to watch you walk away (+1 time you don't). Warnings: long asf, murder, violence, addiction, unhealthy coping mechanisms, corruption in government, allusions to abuse, one made-up case, hotch is a lil ooc (not rlly), and reader has grey morals (lmk if there's more) Eps incl: S1E21 (secrets and lies), S3E20 (lo-fi), S4E1 (mayhem) Words: 24.4K
Masterlist | Bonus (no.6)
a/n: this is the longest fic i have ever written. guys, one section is literally 10k words long— and i didn't notice!! it's too long for one part (there's a 1k block limit on tumblr) so the bonus is linked above and at the bottom. it took me... a while. so i hope u enjoy! might do a part 2. also i'm only on s4 of cm rn (even tho i know too much alr) so pls don't spoil. ly guys!!
1. The myth
Quantico, Virginia, 2004
The interrogation room was cold and your fingers felt frozen against the metal of the table, but you doubted it had anything to do with the fact that it was December. If anything, you'd bet good money that as soon as you stepped out of the room, the heat would return. You'd bet good money that a certain Agent Hotchner sitting across from you had fucked with the AC unit.
Nonetheless, you didn't show your discomfort, keeping a poker face.
Well, as much of a poker face that you could keep.
You had a smile on your face, a twinkle in your eye. While you preferred not to spend time in police stations, this really was turning out to be quite interesting.
Agent Hotchner didn't seem to hold the same opinion as you. The frown on his face was unmoving, his expression stone cold. High-strung, you thought, and then you wondered what crazy things he might've seen to make him that way.
You turn to the man sitting next to him (the boy really), and asked, "Does he ever smile?" You pointed to the man in question to emphasize your point, even though it was clear as day who you were referring to.
Spencer, as you'd learned his name was, looked somewhat flustered at your question, like he wasn't expecting you to speak to him, but he ignored you regardless. You took that as a no. "Ms. Y/L/N, you're known throughout the United States and many other European countries as 'The Angel of Death.'" Your smile widened at your nickname. "They say that, as soon as you contact someone, they're as good as dead."
"Oh? Is that what they say?" Your voice was sly and teasing.
Spencer ignored you yet again. Rude. "You send them a message through various online media, and then they mysteriously turn up deceased."
"Do they?" you drawled.
The stoic and silent Agent Hotchner took this as his cue to speak up. "As of late, your existence has been nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth."
You hummed.
"But your recent attempt on Congressman Baylor has failed. You got sloppy," he deadpanned. "You went for a fish bigger than you could handle, and now the myth is likely headed for life without parole unless you tell me who you're working for."
You were silent for a moment as you held his stare, and he thought that finally, he was getting somewhere with you, but then you broke that silence with a giggle so bubbly it was almost hard to believe you were assassin.
"That's cute," you remarked.
He narrowed his eyes. "What's cute?"
You shrugged nonchalantly. "The fact that you think you can convict me."
It was Spencer this time that spoke up, his voice soft in comparison to the jagged edges of his partner's. Perhaps this job hadn't broken him yet, you thought. "Y/N, arrogance isn't gonna get you out of this."
You snorted. "No, trust me, this isn't arrogant. It's self-assured." You didn't give them a chance to get another thing in. "Tell me, what exactly has your technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, been able to dig up on me?" You saw slight alarm flare up in Agent Hotchner's eyes, surprise in Spencer's. "She's FBI, yeah, and you guys sure do like to play by the rules, but she isn't an agent like you, Hotchner. She must get impatient, bend the rules, perform some illegal activity that you don't question because it helps you with your case. That's why I'm a bit surprised that, even though she likely did run an illegal background on me, she didn't find my records. I mean, they're not that sealed. I bet I could unseal those bad boys right now."
He's lucky you didn't put money on that bet, because you would've won.
Aside from his eyes, no emotion other than irritation showed on his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, you poor sweet things." Another chuckle left you. "Have you ever heard of this little thing called immunity?"
Hotch was quick to dispute. "No. You do not have immunity."
You contested, "Oh, yes, sweetheart, I do. And if you had checked my pockets for anything other than a pistol, then perhaps you'd have noticed this." Since they hadn't cuffed you, you reached into your back pocket easily and pulled out your badge, the words Central Intelligence Agency catching their eyes immediately.
Hotchner scoffed, the most emotion you'd seen from him since you met. "You're CIA?"
You cocked your head. "Y'know, for some of America's supposed best minds, I'm a little unimpressed."
Reid leaned forward in his seat. "You're—"
"Yes, I am. So your girl back at HQ seemed to miss a few details about me, and you have missed more than a few details about this case— if a case is even what you could call it." You stood up and rested your hands on the table, getting bored of this game already. "What you have, SSA Hotchner and Dr. Reid, is not a serial killer. I hope your victimology analysis picked this up already, but the quote-unquote victims you have are all bad people, people who have broken the law in irreparable ways. And when I say irreparable, I don't just mean Bill Clintoning it up with minors, despite many of them having done that. I mean selling government secrets, espionage, treason. Things that threaten national security, things that my bosses do not like. I'm sure you catch my drift, don't you?"
Before Agent Hotchner could respond, the door to the interrogation room was opening, and a smirk automatically arose on your face. About damn time.
A man who you instantly recognized as Jason Gideon stood in the doorway. You briefly met once, but you doubt he remembered you. His face was stern, too, and reluctance shined through his voice. "Hotch, the Secretary of Defense is here, and the DOD is demanding she be released."
You maintained Hotch's stare all the while Gideon spoke. The clench in his jaw was small, but you caught it. Something told you this man didn't like to be challenged—you'd keep that in mind.
Eventually, he nodded.
You grabbed your coat from behind your chair, stowed your badge away and flashed them your million-dollar smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, boys. Let's do this again sometime, yeah?"
Then you were out the door, and Hotch thought that if he went forever without seeing you, it'd still be too soon.
And when Congressman Baylor was found dead a few hours later, he wasn't surprised.
2. Smile
Langley, Virginia, 2006
"I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot—it's all there in the conference room. Now if you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers. This is Gina Sanchez, she's the Associate Director of Field Operations. And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the Assistant Director of Operations. The lady with him is his second-in-command, Olivia Hopkins. And then there's, of course, my boss."
Gideon's brows went up. "Your boss?" he echoed. The rest of the team's confusion was just as palpable. When he was brought in by Bruno Hawks to assist the CIA in finding their mole, he assumed he was the one running point. As far as he was concerned, Hawks didn't even have a boss that'd be there.
"Yes, she's flown in from an assignment to help with this case." Right on cue, you walked out of an office, heels clicking on the floor and the same smile on your face that Hotch could remember from two years ago. "Meet Director Y/N Y/L/N; she's head of a CIA black ops initiative and envoy from the NSA."
Your voice was smug. "Oh, trust me, Bruno, we've met before." This time, Hotch couldn't conceal his scoff. He felt Elle glance at him in confusion—she's the only one who didn't know who you were. "Agent Gideon, it's a pleasure to meet you formally." He shook your hand, albeit unenthusiastically. "Agent Hotchner, I knew I'd be seeing you again." He rolled his eyes, making your smile widen, but out of his strong urge to be polite above all other things, he shook your hand, too, pulling away as fast as he could. "Dr. Reid." He nodded back to you, almost hesitant. You nodded to the rest of them individually. "You two I haven't met, but you must be Derek Morgan and Elle Greenaway. I wish we had more time for pleasantries, but lives are on the line, so I'd like to get moving ASAP."
With that, you swiftly turned and walked back to the office you'd made your own. You didn't often spend time at headquarters, but a mole in the Agency was enough to pull you away from the case you'd been working previously.
As you left, you heard Reid explain to Elle in a hushed tone, "That was The Angel of Death."
You stifled a chuckle. Let's see if Agent Hotchner's team was as good as they claimed to be.
❧
You and Hotch stood on either side of Bruno on the platform as he spoke to the entire office, Gideon off standing alone, seemingly in thought. "Now, we all know why BAU and Ms. Y/L/N are here. They have their job and we have ours. And we're down to the wire on this. Aaliyah Nadir risked everything, and now she and her children deserve our fullest attention. Let's find her."
They all walked off after Bruno dismissed them, all but Gina Sanchez. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye as she went to talk to Agent Gideon. You didn't hear their conversation, but you saw the hostility painted all over her face. Interesting.
After she left, Gideon made his way over to where you were standing, speaking quietly. "We think the agent who's tipping off Hassan may have had some kind of extreme event in their life."
"Something that distorted or redefined their belief system," Hotch added.
Bruno was quick to get defensive. Why, you weren't sure. "No, every agent undergoes regular psych evals. You know that. They're trained to cope with extreme events"
"Well, whatever turned this agent must not've been something you can train for," you cut in. You didn't miss the way Hotch glanced at you.
Bruno gestured outward with his hands. "Well, you're welcome to everything I have. Every op undertaken by these guys is on file."
You snickered a bit under your breath. Your ops certainly weren't "on file."
"What about the ones that aren't on file, like the wiretaps of the Saudi Embassy?" Hotch questioned.
"Those don't even exist," Bruno said. You didn't confirm nor deny that statement.
"How long has your department been running operations in Riyadh?" Hotch turned to Bruno, back straight and eyes sharp.
"We have a declared presence in Riyadh, monitoring US interests there. You know that. Now if that's all, I have an informant to save." You hummed as Bruno walked off, finding his attitude quite intriguing.
"And you, Agent Y/L/N?" You turned to face Gideon. "What do you think?"
You tilted your head. "Aren't you and Bruno friends? Why not ask him?" Because he had the same feeling you have.
He responded without missing a beat. "You don't have a belief system—this job is all you believe in."
This caused you to chuckle. He wasn't wrong. "Good profiling, Agent Gideon. And yes, I have my suspicions, but until further information is gathered, I'm not at liberty to discuss them. For everyone's safety." You gave one last glance to Agent Hotchner. "I look forward to see what your team has brought together."
❧
Not long after your talk with Hotch and Gideon, you stood with the latter and Agent Greenaway in a supply office where the body of Olivia Hopkins was lying dead.
Gideon turned to you expectantly. "It's your job to clean house. You do this?"
You scoffed. "If I wanted to kill a CIA senior officer, believe me, you wouldn't have thought it was a murder at all." You glanced around the room you were in. "And I certainly wouldn't have done it in a federal building."
He must've believed you because he ended his line of questioning there, turning back to Elle. "Have any other agents seen the body?" When she shook her head, he replied, "Good. We can use this to our advantage. Get the others."
You met up with the rest of the BAU in their designated conference room as Gideon quickly explained the situation. Your suspects filed into the room shortly after, each confused and annoyed. You analyzed their body language closely, standing next to Agent Hotchner.
"You're pulling us away from our assignments?" questioned Kruger. "There's a woman out there whose life depends on us."
Defensive. Self-centred. Rude. But not your guy.
Gina was the first to ask where Olivia was, which was either genuine or she was covering her ass.
Hotch was the one to answer. "Olivia Hopkins was murdered 10 minutes ago. Her neck was snapped."
"Just like John Summers," you drawled.
Kruger let out a scoff, but you kept your eyes on the other two as he spoke. "What are you talking about?" Gina looked spooked, but Bruno's expression was cold, even as he tried to imitate warmth. "You're lying. Where is she?"
"Right now, she's dead," you emphasized, not really caring to be sensitive.
Kruger looked at you like you'd just killed his dog. "Look, people don't just... get murdered inside the CIA."
Gina looked at him with betrayal in her eyes as if he were a traitor. Shifting blame.
Hawks spoke up. "I realize the enormity of this, but Hassan Nadir is still out there looking to kill his wife, and I need every agent on this." You tilted your head. Deflecting. He didn't even acknowledge that his own colleague, his responsibility, was dead.
Gina was the first to leave the room, deeply frazzled. Gideon followed after Hawks, but you didn't go with him. You stayed in the room with Hotch while the rest of his team filed out.
You weren't expecting him to talk to you, let alone ask for your opinion, but he did. "What are you thinking, Y/L/N?"
You hid your surprise, nodding to the door Gina and Kruger walked out of. "My money's not on her; it's not on Kruger, either."
He furrowed his brows, lowering his voice. "You think Bruno Hawks is the mole?"
You shrugged your shoulders. "Bruno's been leading this unit for all of, what, ten years? And he hasn't advanced at all? Someone like him must have higher ambitions, like leading the Agency one day, but that's not in his cards. Gina Sanchez and Kruger Spence have bright futures here; Hawks is already at the end of the line. So what's the next best thing in this city besides power?"
Realization dawned upon him. "Money."
"And by the looks of the old car he drives, that's something he's lacking, but something that he wants," you deduced, pausing. "But I'll let you continue your investigation."
He caught your hand just as you turned away, and you ignored the small spark that was sent through your body. His eyes were earnest and curious, but most of all you realized that they were beautiful. "Y/N, what's going to happen to the mole when we find them?"
You ignore the unfamiliar flutter you felt after he said your name for the first time, and it's then that you remember Hotch was a prosecutor. Before he was unit chief Agent Hotchner, he was just Aaron Hotchner, a man who valued balance and believed in justice. Even now, after climbing the ladder, he still didn't seem to understand that his own government was different.
In matters like these, the United States government didn't value justice.
They valued revenge.
But still, if not just to help him retain his faith in his country, you shrugged and told him, "The scales will be evened, Hotchner."
Then you pulled your wrist out of his light grip and walked away, and he couldn't tell if he wanted to know what you meant.
❧
Sanchez and Morgan were on their way to rescue Aaliyah and her children, and then you were made aware that Hassan was already there.
Bruno turned to Gideon. "Look, we can't arrest him. This is still a CIA matter. You do know that?" He then turned to you, like he was expecting to you to back him up.
You shook your head as Gideon said what you were thinking. "How are you going to explain this to the Saudi government?"
"Explain what?" he fired back. "This isn't happening."
You crossed your arms. "That's not how this works, Bruno. You don't just kill a Saudi diplomat and get away with it—that is how wars begin."
He scoffed at you. "Look who's talking. The Angel of Death, giving me a lecture on in-house cleaning."
You narrowed your eyes and stepped forward. "I don't know who the hell you think you're talking to right now, but you need to double back because, at the end of the day, what I. say. goes."
Bruno opened his mouth to argue, but Jason mediated, "Let's just get Aaliyah and her children back alive. We'll worry about Hassan's life after."
You gave Bruno one last hard stare before you turned back to the screen showing the Nadirs with Morgan and Gina outside. "Make the arrest, Morgan," Gideon called out. "It's FBI jurisdiction. You're in charge."
You listened to them over the comms. [FBI! Let the lady go and put the gun down. I said, put the gun down!]
The movement of heat on the screen told you that Hassan listened. [Diplomatic immunity, my friend], he said, and you chuckled.
[Uh-uh, you got it wrong, my friend. This container hasn't passed through customs. Officially, we're not on US soil. Summers was a smart man.]
Suddenly, you heard Gina's voice. [That he was.] Pause. [Drop the gun.]
The feed cut in and out as the figures moved out of the container. Confused, you called out, "Morgan, Sanchez, what's going on?"
Hawks turned to you and Gideon, and you wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face. "You two still certain that Gina isn't the mole?"
Gideon ignored him. "Morgan." No answer. "Morgan, what's going on?"
[Gideon, we got a situation here.]
You raised your voice. "Gina, don't do this. Do not do this."
"She doesn't take orders from you," Bruno snided.
You took another step forward to him. "Listen here, asshole—"
Gina cut in, [Bruno, what do you want me to do?]
"Gina, you put down that gun. That is an order—"
[Bruno?]
This made you turn to Bruno, and if you were in an animation, smoke must've been coming out of your ears. "Hawks, I swear to god, if you don't stand down, you will be endangering the security of this country—"
Bruno only responded to Gina. "You know what to do."
[Say it!]
"This is not your call. It is not your fucking call, Bruno."
He finally turned to you. "This is strictly in-house and you know it."
"I don't give a damn. It is still not. your. call."
"Finish him."
"Gina, don't you dare do this."
[You're going to cut the visual feed, right, Bruno?]
"Of course. Cut it now. Cut it," he ordered, and the feed was off before you could even protest.
And then you heard four gunshots.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. White hot anger rushed through your veins in contrast to your normal playful demeanour. Meanwhile, Bruno turned to Gideon, saying, "I want to thank you, Jason, for your help."
You stayed quiet as Gideon responded, too angry to speak. "Why?" He paused, genuine disbelief evident in his tone. "Why'd you turn against everything you believe in?"
"What are you talking about?"
"When someone asks you how you feel about... losing one of your colleagues, the only human answer is 'I feel guilty,' isn't it?"
Bruno nodded and mocked, "But as you so brilliantly deduced, Kruger Spence is the guilty one." Following that statement, you watched as Elle walked up to where you three stood, a tiny paper in hand that she gave to him. Based on the ignorant smile that graced his face upon reading it, you could guess what it said. "Ridiculous," he deflected, tucking the paper into his jacket pocket. "Absurd."
That's when you snapped out of your anger-induced stupor. "No, Bruno." You shook your head. "The only thing that's absurd is how arrogant you are to believe that you're getting away with this."
Bruno pursed his lips, flashing you a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, with Hassan now dead, you have no proof."
"Oh, you son of a—"
Dr. Reid cut you off, announcing to everyone, "Actually, Hassan is alive and well. He's en route—that's all the proof we'll need." At this, you let out a chuckle. You certainly didn't need that proof, but it was nice to prove Hawks wrong before he was sent to where he deserved to be.
He clenched his jaw, stepping closer to Gideon instead of you, likely because he knew he couldn't shake you. "You are a fool if you think they're going to put me in prison with all that I know." He glanced at you and your lips quirked upward, because this was true.
"Why'd you have to kill Olivia?" Elle interrogated. She was straight to the point; you liked her.
"Economics," Gideon replied, staring straight at Bruno. "Olivia was looking into your financial records when you snapped her neck."
Elle scoffed under her breath. "So she knew your dirty little secret."
"Which one?" Bruno asked. "I have so many."
You stepped closer to the trio. "The one that involves you cashing out through Hassan, maybe buying a real Rolex instead of the fake you don so proudly."
You could see Bruno's façade cracking, his frustration leaking through. "Twenty-million from Hassan will go a very long way to help occupy my mind on a beach somewhere."
Gideon wasn't fazed. "The only beach you'll see is on a postcard I send you from my vacation. Let me have your gun."
Knowing there was no way out of this, Bruno did what he said willingly, but he still had to taunt. "You know, I think the consequences of what you're doing to me, my friend, are going to be a lot harder to live with than you think."
Jason stared at him without blinking, and he stared until Bruno walked out, escorted by agents left and right of him. You found it comical, that petty thieves were escorted to the back of police cars in chains, yet a man who nearly started a war could walk out freely.
Well, you supposed Bruno Hawks wouldn't be free for much longer.
And it was your job to see to that.
❧
You were packing up your things in your office when a knock sounded. You turned to see a raven-haired man in a suit standing there, a hand in his pocket. A grin came to your face. "Agent Hotchner," you greeted. "Congrats on solving the case."
He let out a chuckle that surprised you. Aaron Hotchner didn't look like a man who laughed often. "Yeah, well, thank you, but I have a feeling you knew from the beginning."
Your grin widened. "Ah, I just needed proof." You continued to pack your things. "And besides, I wanted to see what your team was capable of."
He hummed, and you thought he'd leave after that, but he stayed, looking around the room with a careful interest. "No pictures," he noted. "No personal artifacts. It's extremely clean in here—untouched, almost. How much time do you spend here?"
You fully turned to him after that, giving him your full attention. With comments like those, that must've been what he was after. You crossed your arms, but the smile never left your face. "Perceptive, Hotchner," you remarked. "Profiling me now?"
He shook his head. "Not profiling, just observing."
Now it was your turn to hum, looking him up and down. You found that you liked what you saw, visually, but the implications to what you saw weren't very fond. "Well, what I observe, is an accomplished man in a nice suit, but you don't wear that suit because you're unit chief, you wear it because you got used to it as a prosecutor and now it makes you feel on top of things... professional. You're stiff and stoic, but that's because you like to separate your work life from your home life. At home, with your wife and kid, you're lively and relaxed, but that's also to compensate for the fact that this job takes a lot out of you; you're not home often, and that puts a strain on your marriage, which is why you haven't called your wife once today." Your voice was soft as you delivered that final blow. Hotch looked both uncomfortable and, surprisingly, impressed. But thus far, nothing about Aaron Hotchner was what you were used to. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, was I correct?"
Hotch lightly snorted, but he didn't answer. Instead, he took to staring right back at you. You'd been stared at by bad men, murderers, rapists, terrorists and the like, but for some reason, his stare bothered you. You turned back around and packed one last thing into your bag. Then you walked toward the door, stopping just before you made your exit like an invisible barrier was holding you back.
You patted his shoulder, telling him, "You should smile more, Hotchner. It'd suit you."
And then Aaron watched you leave for the second time in his life, except this time—for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom—he hoped he'd see you again.
3. The games we play
Washington, D.C., 2007
The air in Washington was always crisp. There was something different about it—like you could smell the power in the air, like you feel it. When you were home, in your apartment, it was suffocating. There was enough politics in this city that you could drown in it, politics you didn't care for. You saw enough of it as is.
Nevertheless, you weren't home often, so it wasn't too troublesome. Today, however, you were home, except you weren't here to rest.
You stepped out of your Mercedes as soon as you parked, locking the car and walking straight into the alleyway. Men in blue stood in your path, hands out. "Ma'am, this is a crime scene—"
You wordlessly held up your badge, effectively shutting him up. With red climbing up his neck, he nodded and lifted up the yellow tape for you.
When you made it past them, there was a woman in a red dress there. She'd be beautiful, you thought, if she weren't sprawled out dead on the ground. Her dress was so dark you almost couldn't see the blood stain.
But the blood pooled around her was a telltale.
Next to her body was a card with typed-out letters and numbers that appeared random.
But you knew better than that.
There was a woman taking photographs of the scene and a detective analyzing it. He was just as confused as those officers when you showed up. "Excuse me, who are you?"
You gave him a short smile. "Detective Walker, I wish we could've met under better circumstances. I'm Y/N Y/L/N." You held one hand out and simultaneously held up the other with your badge. "I've been instructed to take over this case."
He furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, but I've already alerted—"
"Detective Walker."
At that, you screwed your eyes shut and cursed under your breath. You recognized that voice—hell, you recognized the sound of his footsteps. And he was exactly what you didn't need.
Composing yourself, you spun around with your signature smile. "SSA Hotchner."
Hotch looked momentarily stunned at your being there, but that was quickly wiped away. "Y/N. What are you doing here?"
"Well, if you mean in the city, I live here. And if you mean at this scene, then that's because it's mine." You paused, letting that soak in. "This is my case."
Confusion was visible on his face. For a second, you thought it was cute. "No, this is a BAU case. Series of murders, victimizing high-level escorts—forgive me, but I don't see why this would require a CIA presence."
Of course, you don't, you thought, but for once, you didn't say what you were thinking. Instead, you explained, "I understand that 4 women have died in the past week, but believe me, Agent Hotchner, that is not the case I'm here to solve." When his brows knitted together, you elaborated, "These women are not the targets of these attacks."
"What do you mean?"
You sighed, pointing over to the woman's body. "See that card over there?"
"Yeah, it's the unsub's signature."
"No, it's more than that. It's not a way for him to get off; it's not something he does compulsively. It is a taunt," you stressed. "Those letters aren't random. They're part of a code."
"A code to what?"
"A code to an NSA file recording every single undercover operation the United States has in foreign countries." Like your words were a vacuum, they sucked anything lighthearted out of the atmosphere—if there was any to begin with—and left tension in their wake. "6 high-level analysts have parts of that code. I'm guessing that 4 of them are already dead." You glanced back at the dead body before looking back at Hotch. "The unsub isn't a serial killer, Agent Hotchner. He's a traitor with a mission to annihilate everything in his wake."
❧
After looking at the scene, you sent Detective Walker away, telling him it wasn't personal but this case was too sensitive to be worked by local police. They didn't have the clearance nor did they have the means to help. You asked him to send you all of his evidence, and he complied easily, but someone wasn't so easily persuaded.
"You're going to need help."
You snorted. "Thank you, but I think I'll do just fine without it." Just as you reached your car, Hotch grabbed your wrist.
You turned around, but before you could say anything, he spoke. "You could use my team, and you know it."
Your eyes ever so slightly narrowed. "All due respect, Agent Hotchner, but this is above your pay grade."
He held your stare for a few seconds until you saw his jaw tense. He glanced to the side before he exasperatedly muttered, "Please, Y/N." He looked up at you. "I want to help with this case."
Unknowingly, you straightened your back. Aaron Hotchner surprised you more and more each time you saw him. The corners of your lips curved upward, but something about your smile was more sincere. "You're not a man who says please much, are you?"
He rolled his eyes and neglected to answer. "Does that mean you'll accept our help?"
You paused. Was that what you meant? Your mouth didn't correspond with your brain as you replied, "I'm running point on this." Hotch's shoulders imperceptibly relaxed and he nodded. "I'll tell Detective Walker to send his stuff over to the BAU. I'll meet you there to brief your team." You turned away before you could see him nod a second time.
You don't know why you said yes, but you did. On the drive over, you told yourself it was because he was right, you could use some extra hands, and it helped that the BAU were good at what they did.
Yes, that's why I didn't send him away.
You didn't explore any other option.
❧
Hotch got to the BAU before you but waited for you to arrive before walking into the building. To make sure you got to the right place, you reasoned.
You went through the typical security procedure: removed your guns, walked through the metal detector, and showed your ID. In the elevator, you cracked a couple jokes that he didn't laugh at, asshole, but you nearly caught him slipping at one.
"This city's so damn power-hungry that even the serial killers would prefer a fucking computer code over sex. What a nerd. Hey, how often does that happen in your line of work, Hotchner?" You turned your head for his response when you saw his lips twitching.
You let out a dramatic gasp. "Agent. Hotchner. Are you..." you lowered your voice, a devious smile crawling to your lips. "smiling?"
His efforts to suppress his little smile failed after that. "Let's focus on the case, Y/L/N."
"Sureeee," you drawled. The elevator dinged and opened. "Better be careful, Agent. I might just start thinking you have a soul."
He shook his head at you and walked out of the elevator ahead of you so that you couldn't see him as a full smile graced his face. However, once you got to the conference, Hotch erased any sign of that smile and walked in full-stride.
You gave the room a cursory glance, duly noting that they must've spent a lot of time in here. You noticed immediately afterward that some faces were missing, and on the other hand, some new ones had appeared.
You followed Hotch to the front of the room in front of their TV.
"Everyone, this is Director Y/N Y/L/N from the CIA. She'll be leading this case—and as some of you may recall, she's already worked with us on an investigation about a year ago," he announced, subsequently gesturing around the table. "Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss, SSA David Rossi, our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia."
You nodded, smiling at them. "It's nice to meet you all—"
"You're— you're her."
You turned to the blonde with pink highlights that'd cut you off, Penelope, and furrowed your brows. "I'm sorry?"
"Oh my god, you're her," she whispered, her eyes wide and her face awestruck. "You're The Angel of Death."
You held back a laugh. "That is what people to tend to call me, yes."
She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly before eventually blurting, "I— you're an icon. I've read some of your code before in snippets, and it's beautiful. And, I mean, when you can code like that and then do what you do, it's no wonder that the government would want you all to themselv—"
"Garcia." At Hotch's command, Penelope's mouth snapped shut and snickers were heard around the table. "We are here to work," he told her, trying to be serious, but you could hear the amusement hiding behind his tone.
"Yes— yes, Sir. Work. Working," she said, but her eyes remained trained on you even as she spoke.
Morgan laughed, swivelling his chair toward you. "Sorry, angel. She gets a little..." he twirled his finger next to his head, "Comicon-y whenever things involve computers."
This snapped her out of her trance and made her whip around to point her finger at him. "You better shut it, Morgan, before I show everyone those pictures of you at Comicon with me."
His smile dropped. "Babygirl, you wouldn't."
"Oh, yes, sugar, I would."
Hotch exasperatedly cut their very entertaining banter off. "Work."
"Morgan, you've been to Comicon?" Without even looking at him, you could hear the smirk in the man's words.
"Leave it, Rossi. You heard the bossman: we've got work," he changed the subject, but based on the fiery look being sent his way by Reid and the teasing one by Emily, you'd bet that this conversation wasn't over.
Hotch signalled for you to start, so you stepped forward, got a little more serious for his sake, and began, "The serial killer you've been phoned in on is not a serial killer. The women he's killed are unfortunately collateral damage to a much bigger problem." Behind you, pictures of the paper left next to the bodies appear on screen. "The unsub is going after high-level members of the NSA who have fragments of a specific code. He's been leaving those fragments at the crime scenes. So far, he has 4—there are only 2 more. Once he gets the last two, it'll only be a matter of time before he's able to unlock a classified file, detailing every undercover op we have or have had in other countries."
The room was quiet. Morgan was the first to question, "So, he's a whistleblower?"
"No, not necessarily. Given his M.O. and need to taunt us with these papers, his goal isn't to expose the government—it's only a stepping stone to what he truly wants, which is chaos."
Emily spoke up next. "Well, he's clearly a narcissist, and he's sadistic at that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed these women like this."
Dr. Reid nodded, keeping his eyes on the file in front of him. "Craves control, finds a way to manipulate the situation and mold it into what he wants it to be." He looked up, talking with his hands while explaining, "Narcissists are devoted to themselves and will further themselves in whatever way possible. They lack empathy and find enjoyment in causing others pain, stemming from their grandiose sense of self-importance. Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb were drawn in and obsessed with Nietzsche's idea of Übermenschen, supermen who possessed such high intelligence that it put them above the law. They later confessed to the police that they sought to commit 'perfect crime.' This unsub is likely suffering from the same sense of entitlement."
Rossi tipped his pen at him, agreeing, "Yeah, he's arrogant and he believes he can get away with this, hence the taunting. All he wants is to feed his ego, but he hides behind the whistleblower façade to absolve himself of blame."
"And he's impatient," Derek added. "4 bodies in one week. We don't have much time before he strikes again."
"No, we don't," you said. The screen changed to display the pictures of two men. "The last two people with the code are Malik Hussein and Ethan Torrie. I believe he'll go after Ethan first; he's in D.C. for this big gala tonight. That's where the unsub will make his move."
Emily looked between you and Hotch, almost as if she was unsure who she was addressing her question to. "So what's our plan?"
You, too, glanced at Hotch before looking back at her, splaying your hands out in front of yourself. "Well, we only have one course of action: wait for the unsub to approach Ethan."
Unexpectedly, Hotch interrupted you, saying, "Y/N and I will go in undercover." What? You held yourself back from widening your eyes and whipping your head around. "The rest of you will be waiting for our signal. Garcia, can you get us on the guest-list?"
"Already on it, Sir."
He nodded, firing orders away, "Alright, Morgan and Prentiss, I want you both to go back to the crime scenes. Talk to the owners of the establishments, bartenders, doormen—anybody who could've seen the unsub leave the building with the victims. Garcia, consult with CCTV footage. Rossi and Reid, I want you looking at his M.O. and why he didn't leave the men there with the women. JJ, contact The Post and tell them not to run the latest murder; it's imperative we keep this and the unsub's true motives out of the press. Y/N and I will go over tonight's plan."
They all voiced their confirmations and, like clockwork, filed out of the room until it was just you and Hotch left standing. The air suddenly got heavier—with what, you had no idea.
It felt different, old and new all at the same time, like everything and nothing you'd ever felt before. You couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't describe it.
Growing bored of the silence, you raised a brow, repeating, "'Y/N and I will go undercover?'"
Hotch, who was in the middle of collecting his things, paused and raised a brow of his own, turning to face you. "Yes. Is there a problem?"
You looked him up and down, taking your time and not bothering to be subtle about it. After a moment, you responded, "No." A smirk slowly came to your face. "Let's go over that plan."
He maintained his stare for a few seconds, reminding you of when you met. Eventually, he nodded and got to it. All the while, your mind ran rampant—but not with the case.
Agent Hotchner continued to surprise you.
And you'd be sure to return the favour.
❧
After planning for hours, you and Hotch came up with a decent story. He'd be going as himself. You'd pretend you were his girlfriend, his tag-along for the party, with a fake identity. His presence would make sense, but if people found out Y/N Y/L/N was there, they'd start to wonder things that this plan couldn't afford.
Your name wasn't widely known, nor was your face, but at a party like this, you had to be careful.
That's what you explained to Hotch.
"I don't understand. Nobody knows who you are. Not even Garcia could figure out who you really were when we met." He furrowed his brows in confusion.
You sighed, "There's going to be a lot of powerful people there, Hotchner. Everybody knows The Angel of Death, but there are some big fish in Washington that know she's Y/N."
This seemed to confuse him more. You surmised that he didn't like not knowing things. "Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?"
You gave him a look.
His eyes widened. And for the second time that day, you found yourself thinking that Aaron Hotchner was cute. "It's not your name?"
"Why do you think Penelope had such a hard time finding my credentials?" you inquired. You went on before he could answer. "I take it she didn't find my records at The Academy, either. She found that I went to Caltech, but she didn't find yearbook photos or my social media. She found that I grew up in Massachusetts, that my parents are dead, that I was born in '79. But otherwise, I'm a ghost, aren't I?" Your voice was somewhat playful.
Hotch didn't seem to find the humour in what you were saying.
"So everything about you is a lie." It wasn't a question.
Your eyes glinted with amusement. You leaned in to where he sat across from you on the other side of the table. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that Agent Hotchner stiffened. "'Nothing more than a rumour, an urban legend amongst criminals and internet sleuths. A myth,'" you whispered. "Does that sound familiar?"
He didn't respond.
"As you said, Agent Hotchner, I am a myth. I am not meant to exist. So find me another identity and show me that you're up for the task before this entire plan is derailed by a name."
Your memory was cut off by a knock at your door. You swiped your lipstick across your lips and they immediately quirked upward right after.
You took your time getting the door. Whether Agent Hotchner realized it or not—or rather, whether he was willing to admit it or not—this was a game. And you were nothing if not a damn good player.
Without knowing it, he started it when he picked you up off the street that day in '04. He moved another piece on the board when he walked into your office in '06. And then he asked to work on this case.
It didn't matter what he thought about you or what your name really was. All that mattered was the next move.
You opened the door and his eyes immediately widened on their own accord. They travelled down your body, tracing the outline of the red dress you'd picked out, finding the slit on the side. But this was all within a split-second.
In the blink of an eye, his eyes were back on yours. If you hadn't been paying attention, you would've missed it. He was hoping you did.
But you didn't.
You did, however, miss his ears going red when you turned around, leaving the door open as an invitation inside.
"You're wearing a suit," you noted, smirking. "How out of character for you."
You heard the door shut, and then footsteps behind you. "Funny, Y/N."
You chuckled. "Please, I know you think I'm hilarious."
He lightly shook his head as you stood in front of your mirror, putting on your earrings. He took that moment to look around your apartment, eyes scanning over your living room. No pictures anywhere, no plants or art. You had a couch, but no television. He glanced to the adjoining kitchen. There was an espresso machine, but he was willing to bet that if he checked your fridge, it'd be empty.
"You can stop trying to profile my apartment," you informed him, still adding the finishing touches to your outfit. "I don't stay here often."
"I can tell."
He watched as you picked up your heels then went to sit on the couch to put them on. He tried not to let his eyes wander, instead trying to look around the room some more, but even without having his eyes on you, he still couldn't get your picture out of his head.
Distractedly, he heard you absentmindedly ask, "Hey, whatever happened to Gideon and Greenaway?"
He looked at you to respond, seeing you get up. "Things with the job. Certain cases take more of a toll on others." He didn't explain that Elle spiralled or that Gideon lost everything he held dear. He preferred not to think about it.
You tilted your head. "Did things happen with you, too?"
He didn't answer, instead opting to suggest, "Let's go over the case one more time."
You nodded and let him get away with it.
Hotch schooled his expression. "You're Deirdre Carter. You're a CPA. We met years ago on a work conference but hit it off recently. We've been dating for five months."
"Dating," you repeat.
His brows furrowed. "Yes." He didn't understand why you were hung up on it until he saw you glance down at his hand. It's then that he realized he was still wearing his ring. "Oh."
Your voice got softer, and you didn't know if that was part of the game or not. "Look, Hotchner, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can do this solo."
"No—" he sighed, looking down at the ring he'd worn everyday for years on end. "I'm divorced. I guess I just wear it out of habit," he revealed.
"Oh."
He took it off and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Let's head out," he said. You nodded, leading him out.
And you didn't mention the ring again.
❧
Once you got to the building, you met Derek, who was in a secuirty uniform, at the front. He momentarily disabled the metal detector for you so that the guns on your thigh and in Hotch's boot weren't caught.
In the hall, the music played ceremoniously, an orchestra of jazz players working tirelessly to entertain D.C.'s wealthiest and most powerful. The President would be making an appearance later. You hoped to get this done and get out of here before that happened.
Your eyes found Torrie within a minute, subtly signalling his location to Hotch. He was by the bar, a redhead on his arm. The two of you went that way.
He ordered you drinks at the bar that he wouldn't drink, but as soon as your martini was in front of you, you were picking it up and taking a sip.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, talking through his teeth. "We don't drink on the job."
You smirked at him. "You don't drink on the job. I'm just keeping up appearances." You then took the olive and bit into it. For some reason, you enjoyed getting under Hotchner's skin.
He rolled his eyes at you, likely about to reprimand you again, but a voice in your ears stopped him. "Do the two of you have eyes on Torrie?"
Hotch turned to you and brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek. To those surrounding you, he was just a man caressing his girlfriend—hell, the leap in your chest told you that you nearly bought it. But you knew he did this so that the mic hidden in his sleeve would be at your mouth. You held his stare, a sweet smile gracing your face as you replied to Rossi, "Yes. By the bar."
"Good. Prentiss is on the floor with the ambassador if you need her."
You leaned into Hotch, too, running your hands down his suit jacket while he glanced around for Emily. "Got it."
The next voice you heard was Garcia's. "Hello, my lovelies, I am watching you on camera. Hotch, to your left is the door through which you'll take our bad guy. It's being guarded by Reid and JJ as we speak."
You lowly thanked her, to which she stammered out a "you're welcome." Hotch took his hand away from your face and you removed yours from his chest, cursing the part of yourself that missed his touch.
If you weren't on a case, you'd have thought more about how pretty his eyes were.
The music suddenly changed, becoming a slow song. Your eyes darted behind Hotch to see Ethan and his date making their way to the dance floor. You downed the rest of your martini then grabbed onto his hand, wordlessly pulling him to the floor.
You felt him lightly tense when you put your hands around his neck. "Relax," you whispered. "Just go with it."
At that, he eased up, wrapping his hands around your waist. You moved to the beat of the song, taking control of your dance while he kept a close eye on Torrie. No one had approached them yet, you gathered.
The dance came easy to you, too easy, like it'd been rehearsed or like it was something you'd been doing all your life. Your feet moved synchronously like they had a mind of their own. You didn't have to think about it—it just happened.
It was funny, almost. The stiff and stoic Aaron Hotchner could dance. Your mind went back to when he smiled in the elevator earlier. It made you wonder what he was like before. Before he was a profiler or unit chief.
You know you were different before you were in this life, before you became Y/N.
You wondered what would've happened if you met back then, when you were just you and he was just him.
And just as soon as you started wondering, you no longer wanted to think about it. Instead, you asked him, "Did you ever think you and I would be dancing together like this when we met?"
He glanced down at you then looked away. "No." A ghost of a smirk came to his lips. "I thought I'd be putting you behind bars."
You chuckled. "I know. It was quite entertaining."
"To you, maybe." He glanced down at you again. "I don't like being blindsided."
"Oh, I know." When he glanced down at you this time, he saw your eyes twinkling. "That is precisely why it was so entertaining, Agent Hotchner."
He chuckled under his breath, and something in you fluttered. "You're something else, Y/L/N."
You hummed, murmuring, "And don't I know it?"
He was gonna say something else but then something in his expression changed. He was back to stoic, eyes hardening. You straightened your back and stopped dancing. "7 o'clock," he muttered.
You unwound your hands from his neck, turning around to see a man beelining at Torrie from across the room. But if you had your way, which you would, then he wouldn't make it to Ethan at all.
With Hotch hot on your heels, you headed his way, moving through the crowd effortlessly. Just before he was about to reach them, you inconspicuously unholstered your gun from your thigh and pressed it against his back, stopping him in his tracks.
Hotch caught up to you, standing to the side and obstructing the view. "Careful, friend. I wouldn't want to shoot you in front of all these people, but I will." As a warning, you clicked the safety off.
The man tensed as Hotch grabbed his arm. Your voice was sweet in comparison to your sour words. "Now, you're gonna follow him or I'm gonna pump you full of lead. Capisce?" Neither you nor Hotch waited for a response, leading him towards the side doors that Garcia had notified you of.
Upon getting there, Reid and JJ opened the doors without a word and closed them immediately after you'd gone through them.
As soon as the doors closed, the unsub twisted Hotch's arm, prompting him to yelp. Simultaneously, he knocked the gun out of your hand, sending it thudding across the floor.
He shoved you against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Meanwhile, Hotch threw a punch his way. A crack resounded through the hallway followed by the unsub growling. He threw a punch back that Hotch narrowly dodged, but in one quick motion, he pulled Hotch's tie, catching him off guard.
In a flash, he had Hotch in a chokehold, fighting for breath. You acted quickly, reaching for the knife sheathed on your thigh, running up behind the ubsub and holding it to his throat, causing him to go rigid.
"Let him go or I slit your fucking throat," you spat.
He didn't ease his hold, making you bring the knife closer, knicking him. "I said, let. him. go."
Begrudgingly, he let Hotch go, who was gasping for breath. You let him catch his bearings for a moment, but you had to alert him, "Hotchner, the cuffs."
He coughed but nodded, grabbing the cuffs from his pocket. You took them from him, shoving the unsub against the wall just as he did to you and pulling his arms behind him. You wrapped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them until you heard him grunt.
"In case you didn't get the memo, you're under arrest, asshole."
Knowing this would never reach a courtroom, you didn't read him his rights or tell him what he was being arrested for. He knew.
Where he was going, he'd never forget it.
❧
You and Hotch stood to the side in an alley after you'd shoved the unsub into the back of a black sedan, watching the car drive off.
"I know that you're just itching to interrogate him," you commented, your voice echoing in the night. "But trust me, that's somebody else's job now." You felt Hotch's eyes on you, but you didn't look at him.
His stare burned into the side of your head. "That wasn't a cop car," he said.
"No," you finally looked back at him. "it wasn't."
"Who was driving that car?"
"A CIA agent."
"And where is he going now?"
"To pay for his crimes," you slowly answered, narrowing your eyes. "Stop worrying about it."
He stepped closer to you. "He should be doing that in a federal prison, with a sentence decided by a judge and a jury. The families of those analysts, those women— they deserve closure."
You shook your head, an incredulous laugh leaving you. "You still don't get it, do you?" Your voice was teasing, but your undertone was hard and serious. "A trial means telling a bunch of people, including civilians, about ops that are not meant to exist. It's just not gonna happen."
Hotch kept staring at you for what felt like forever but was really only a few seconds, giving you the urge to squirm under his gaze. For some reason, you didn't like the way he was looking at you. Finally, he looked away, exhaling, "It's not right, Y/N."
Somewhere, deep inside, you felt a pang. You touched his shoulder, softly telling him, "You should know better than anyone that the law isn't about right and wrong."
He still didn't look at you.
You sighed. "Thank you for your help, Agent Hotchner." You patted his shoulder one last time and then left the alley, walking through the door you came out of and, in doing so, you felt something change.
The game was over.
You just couldn't tell who won.
By the time Aaron had noticed this change, he tried to follow you, but when he opened the door only to see an empty hallway, he realized it was too late.
You were gone.
And he didn't know why that disappointed him so much.
4. Unpredictable
New York, New York, 2008
Whenever Aaron was in New York, he liked to pick up good coffee and eat good food. But as he stood over a dead man's corpse, he felt his appetite vanish.
He and his team stood at the crime scene, analyzing it. It was different, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything about these murders were different. There was something off about them, and he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black car pull up next to the yellow tape, the Mercedes logo glinting in the light. He furrowed his brows then shook his head, thinking better of it. Stop thinking about her.
"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses."
Detective Cooper and Brustin's arrival made him look away from the car and toward them instead. "Doesn't sound like anyone got a clean look," Cooper said.
Morgan looked up at the security camera that should've caught everything but in reality caught nothing useful. "It's over in a flash," he remarked. "He's probably gone before anyone even realizes what's happening."
Right beside him, Kate asked, "Is this what it felt during the Son of Sam?"
Just as Brustin was about to answer, a new voice sounded from behind them. "Son of Sam is the least of your worries." His breath hitched. They all turned around, and Hotch instantly realized that he was right: that car was yours—and now you stood right in front of him.
You gave him a glance but then your eyes were back on Kate. "What you should be focused on is another 9/11."
Kate lightly scoffed. "My apologies— who are you?"
"Y/N Y/L/N, CIA," you introduced yourself, flashing your badge. Recognition briefly flickered through her eyes. "And you must Kate Joyner, head of New York's field office." To be polite, you held out your hand, and she reluctantly shook it. "I'm here as the Agency's delegate, and I'll also be representing Homeland Security for the time being."
"Homeland Security?" You looked to Morgan. "It's nice to see you again, angel, but what does Homeland Security have to do here?"
You went to answer, but Joyner cut you off, "I'll ask the questions, Agent Morgan, thank you." Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a quick look at Derek told you that his did, too, but then Kate was looking at you again, waiting for you to answer.
Your mind was brought back to the situation at hand. You glanced at Hotch once more to see he was already looking at you, but then you looked away. "I have reason to believe that this guy is more than a serial killer. In fact, I have reason to believe this is more than one guy."
Kate crossed her arms. "What are you suggesting?"
Every time Hotch had seen you, no matter how serious the situation was, you were lighthearted, amused, knowing you'd come out on top. But this time, your voice was devoid of its usual playfulness as you disclosed to them a fact that changed their entire investigation.
"If I'm right, Agent Joyner, then we're dealing with terrorists."
❧
Once the initial shock from your revelation died down, you told them that you'd explain everything back at the field office. Unexpectedly, Morgan asked to ride back with you and you obliged, figuring his company wasn't too bad.
Hotch stared at you the entire time as you got in the car, and he continued to stare at you until you sped out of sight.
You didn't look back once.
"So, terrorism, huh?"
You glanced at Derek and smirked, finding that playful nature again. "I told you, I'd explain at the Bureau."
He shook his head at you, a similar smirk on his face, then he quizzed, "Hey, did Hotch happen to tell you why Joyner's giving me attitude?"
You furrowed your brows as you came to a stop light, turning toward him. "What makes you think I've talked to him?"
Derek snorted. "Please, every time I've seen the two of you together, you're all flirty—even when he was still with Haley."
"So what? I've flirted with Spencer before—doesn't mean I wanted to get into his pants," you defended.
His smirk widened. "I never said you wanted to get into the boss' pants."
"You insinuated it."
"Why, angel? Do you want to get into his pants?"
You deadpanned, "No, I do not." Despite yourself, you couldn't stop red from crawling to your cheeks.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Right after, the light turned green, as if saving you from whatever this was. Then the teasing disappeared from Morgan's voice, replaced with curiosity. "Wait, so you're seriously telling me Hotch didn't call you?"
"Yes, Derek. That is exactly what I am telling you," you insisted, then you glanced back at him. "But to answer your question, Kate doesn't like you for the same reason she doesn't like me: power." He stared at you confusedly, so you elaborated, "Word on the steet is that the FBI wants to reassign her, and you're their star replacement."
"What?" Shock laced through his voice.
"What, are you telling me you actually didn't know?"
"No, I thought the Bureau was so proud of itself for stealing her away from Scotland Yard."
"Well, don't ask me to explain FBI politics to you. I'm in an entirely different organization, my guy."
Derek groaned in exasperation, making you laugh and forget about Hotch, even if it was only for a second.
❧
By the time you and Derek got to the field office, you were all business, unlike any time Hotch had ever seen you.
With the team gathered around you, you stood in front of the evidence board and started, "The unsubs' behaviour is questionable. They're disciplined, they're using countersurveillance. They take a quick shot then leave the scene immediately, not stopping to watch or enjoy the kill at all. There is nothing sexual about it, and that is because these killings are not the work of a serial killer. They're methodical. They look like mob hits at first glance, simulate gang initiations. They seem random, but they're not. The murders, just like the Death card you received, are a smoke screen."
Kate cut you off. "How can you be so sure?"
You suppressed your irritation at being interrupted and kept calm. Cooly, you explained, "Murders like these create panic— not just amongst the general population, but amongst law enforcement, as well; it is terror. It serves their greater goal." You gestured with your hands as you spoke. "The murders simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch, gauge how long it takes police to respond."
Understanding flashed through Morgan's eyes. "At which point they bring in a second bomb."
"Exactly," you affirmed. "The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders. It's trial and error—it's how they practice. And if someone catches the shooter, that's fine because we just end up thinking we have a murderer; the cell is never compromised. And in creating such panic, they ensure the most urgent response time short of a bombing. It's by far the smartest way to plan for a terrorist attack."
You crossed your arms, giving them time to absorb your words. You didn't expect anyone to respond so soon, and you certainly didn't expect that person to be Hotch. "It's a theory, Y/N." His voice was soft, and that seemed to only add fuel to the fire.
You resisted the urge to scoff, sharply retorting, "Isn't any profile?"
He didn't answer. Perhaps that was the smartest choice; he didn't want to pick an argument with you, not now.
Hesistantly, Spencer spoke up, "I think— I think she's right." He walked behind you to the board, picking up a red marker and circling spots on the map before turning back around to face you. "I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or tunnel."
"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, Manhattan Bridge," Emily muttered.
"If bombs went off, emergency response would shut down any ability to get in or out of the city," JJ remarked. "It's— it's like people would be trapped on the island."
It looked like you had everyone convinced, even Hotch—despite his reluctance to believe you—but for some reason, Kate Joyner just couldn't let up. She crossed her arms. "I still fail to see how you came to the conclusion of multiple shooters."
Unbothered, you replied, "Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for their cause."
She countered, "But is there any evidence that that's the case?"
You narrowed your eyes, going to respond when someone's ringtone sounded. Derek picked up his phone and put it on speaker. You could almost thank whoever it was for stopping you from saying something you would or wouldn't regret.
"Talk to me, babygirl."
Penelope's voice came through the phone. "Okay, I have bad news then badder, connected news. What would you like me to start with?"
Derek glanced up at you, then at Hotch. "Gimme the bad news, Garcia."
"Alright, well, I was looking at the surveillance footage from the murders, specifically the most recent compared to the previous, and found something very, very off. I'll share my screen with you." Emily turned on the laptop on the table closest to all of you, and the footage immediately appeared. Silently, you watched the videos one after the other, and you had a feeling that Garcia was just about to vindicate you. "You guys see what I saw?"
"Well, he sprints off in one and walks calmly in the other. It's two entirely different demeanours," Morgan said.
"Exactly, my dove. So check it out, I did a digital perspective analysis rendering on all the shootings we have footage of. Now the first two were inconclusive, but again, in the last two, I found something très weird." Garcia did a freeze-frame, her analysis software appearing. "Your calm, walking type—he's about 6 foot 1." The screen changed to the other scene. "But your sprinter, he's like 5'9", 5'10" tops."
While the air in the office got colder, you stood there holding back the urge to smirk. You saw both Morgan and Hotch glance at you from the corner of your eye, but you only turned to Kate, seeing somewhat of a defeated expression on her face.
"Is this evidence enough for you, Agent Joyner?"
❧
That surveillance footage was enough confirmation for you, no matter what Joyner had to say about it. Following Garcia's revelation, you walked away from the team's makeshift conference room and walked into the bullpen, pulling out your phone and dialling Homeland Security.
You notified them of the situation at hand and that you were expecting something big soon, but not yet, telling them not to act without your say-so. It was of vital importance that you controlled the situation; you couldn't let the unsubs know you were onto them, so you couldn't make any moves just yet, either.
You hung up the phone, sighing. You hated cases like these. Being The Angel of Death was something you got used to; you could control that, but dealing with a cell like this wasn't just more challenging—it was unpredictable, and unpredictable was something you weren't quite fond of.
You turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hotch standing right behind you. Your hand slapped against your chest. "Holy shit, Hotchner, don't they teach you not to a sneak up on a girl in FBI school?"
Something almost like a smile came to his lips, the last thing you were expecting from him, especially at a time like this. "I'd hardly call that sneaking up on you. And according to you, you've been to 'FBI school,' so you should know."
You scoffed. "Regardless." Hotch's eyes remained on you, and the corners of his lips never went down. An uncomfortable silence then settled between you, despite the loud bustling in your surroundings.
You were hoping you could've gone this entire visit without speaking to him alone.
He must've noticed this, because his next words were, "You've been avoiding me."
You tensed ever so slightly. You'd been here all of five minutes, and he thought you were avoiding him. "I have not been avoiding you—"
"Yes, you have."
"We have bigger problems to deal with. Not everything is about you, Hotchner."
"Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?" You hated how his voice sounded, calm and soft. You hated the fact that he was even asking you this right now. You wanted him to be the stoic guy he always was. You didn't like this. And deep down, you knew that that was why you were avoiding him.
You didn't like the unpredictable.
And Aaron Hotchner was just that.
In lieu of responding, you dodged the question, biting back, "Why do you care?"
Hotch stilled as if you'd just hit him with the question of the century. It was then that he realized he didn't know. He couldn't answer you because he didn't have the answer himself.
He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, and he supposed he never would, because a second later, a phone rang.
A sigh left his lips as he went to pick the phone up off some agent's desk, and you watched as the stoic man you knew returned. Yet, for some reason, you weren't as relieved as you thought you'd be.
"Hotchner." Kate chose that moment to walk out of her office while Morgan and Rossi came up from behind you. Hotch's voice became grave. "Does it look it could be one of our guys?"
Derek took the words right from your mouth. "What's going on?"
Hotch put down the phone. "We've got eyes on one of them," he answered. "He's on the subway platform at 59th and Lex."
"59th—? We could've been right there." He looked at Kate with an accusatory glare. The fury that lit up in his eyes and the way she refused to look back told you there was a conversation between them that you missed.
Over the phone, you heard Garcia let out a shaky breath, telling you all that the unsub shot the woman.
Kate paced. "Where the hell are the police?"
Meanwhile, you picked up another telephone from the adjacent desk. "This is Y/N Y/L/N with the CIA. We have a murder suspect on 59th and Lex, subway platform. Hurry."
You slammed the phone down as you heard Penelope fret, "God, he's getting away."
"Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?"
A few clicks were audible as she responded, "He's heading west on 59th Street."
Kate spoke up, stating what you already knew. "If he makes it to the park, we've lost him."
"We lost the visual," another woman said.
Derek scoffed while Rossi questioned, "Are the police on the scene?"
"Negative."
And just like that, without another word, it was clear to everyone in the room that you just lost your only suspect.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing under your breath. Next to you, Derek made his frustrations much more known. "We could've had that guy," he snapped.
Kate finally looked at him. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."
This didn't console him at all. "Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot—"
"I had every available man on the street."
Morgan stepped forward, seething. "And I suggested to you that you use this team." Realization came over you. Now you understood why he was so angry; Kate let her resentment of him get in the way of the case, and that decision may have just cost you a life.
Just as you thought Hotch couldn't get any more unpredictable, he scolded, "Morgan, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."
Your brows raised, but he didn't look at you, nor did he look at Derek.
"Hotch, we have a possible terrorist attack coming. How am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?"
Hotch's reply was sharp. "We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do."
Derek ignored him, pressing, "I said to put as express stops. 14th, 42nd, 59th— and that's exactly where they hit—"
"It's not your place to have this discussion." This time, Hotch did look at him, and his eyes were hard.
Immediately, you cut in, spitting out his name. "Agent Hotchner." Hotch's eyes went right to you. You stepped forward, firing, "We have six bodies. And right now, I have to call Homeland Security and tell them that we not only have another one, but we also just lost a valuable chance to find one of the perpetrators."
"Which is exactly why we need to stay focused."
"Focused?" Derek echoed. Then he took a step closer, standing eye to eye with his boss. "From where I'm standing, all your focus is on her."
Kate's head ducked down, and from there, it didn't take much for you to connect the dots. All of a sudden, it made sense why Derek had asked you about Kate earlier instead of going straight to Hotch.
And to think that, just a few moments ago, he'd been going after you.
With a tick in his jaw, Hotch commanded, "Take a walk. Now."
Derek stared at him for a split-second before walking off without another word.
"You know, I think I'm gonna take that walk with him," you muttered. And just like that, it was as if Hotch realized you were still there.
He went to say your name, but you were turning your back and walking away before he could even utter the first syllable.
Unpredictability. What a fickle thing.
You hated it.
❧
You found Derek at a nearby bar, the closest bar to the field office. Contrary to what you said to Hotch, you didn't come looking for him; he just so happened to find the same place you did.
Before you even pulled out the barstool, he was sighing. "I know. I was out of line."
You lightly snorted. "I'm not here to chastise you, Derek." He looked up at you, surprise flashing through his eyes. "I'm just here to drink." Right on cue, the bartender came up to you and asked you wanted to drink, to which you ordered brandy, neat.
When said drink arrived in front of you and you downed it in one go, it prompted him to ask, "Aren't you still on the job?"
A slight chuckle left you. "Morgan, I run an entire CIA ops division and then I also get asked to do things like this." You then deadpanned, "Trust me, I can hold my liquor."
He held his hands up in surrender, an amused expression on his face before something serious took it over, wiping the smile from his face. "I'm sorry about Joyner, by the way." When you look at him confused, he explained, "I didn't have to say that. Not in front of you."
You sighed. Not this again. "Derek, I have nothing going on with your boss. So whatever the deal is with him and Kate is absolutely none of my business." For some reason, the words stung coming out of your mouth, and you didn't like it one bit.
He left it alone and didn't press the issue further (thankfully). You glanced at the beer in front of him. You nodded toward it, stating, "You haven't touched that."
He glanced at it. "Guess I don't have the appetite for it right now."
You hummed. "Or you want to go back."
He let out a long, dramatic sigh, nearly making you laugh. "I have to apologize to her, don't I?" This time, when you nodded and he ran a hand over his bald head, you did laugh. "Fucking hell."
You sarcastically patted his shoulder. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. I'll walk back with you."
"Sweetheart?" you heard him question as you stood up, putting enough money down for both of your drinks. "And now you're paying for me? You're threatening my manhood here, angel."
"Get over it, Morgan."
And as he let out a hearty laugh, you let yourself pretend that you didn't have a different agent on your mind entirely.
❧
Upon getting back to the office, you suddenly wished you'd had another drink as you were informed that there was not only another shooting, but Detective Cooper was shot after he and Prentiss chased after him.
Kate seemed to have taken Derek's suggestion and sent the team out on the streets in the hour and a half you were away. In that time, Prentiss and Cooper nearly got one of the shooters, but he was fast; he could've gotten away. Yet he stopped and shot Cooper, prompting Emily to fire a shot of her own.
Suicide by cop.
You hung up the phone, walking back into the room after telling Homeland that you'd be calling with another update soon. "Three shootings in one day," you said, catching everyone's attention. "They're ramping up to something."
Morgan held his phone up in the air and wiggled it. "Yeah, well, while you were on the phone, Garcia called. They hacked into at least one camera at every scene and have been watching from day one."
You cursed under your breath just as Kate called your name. "Y/N." You looked up at her in half-veiled surprise, seeing her standing with her arms crossed, a somewhat uncomfortable look on her face. "Aaron told me more about your position in the CIA, how you're more well-versed in situations such as these." It looked like she had a hard time getting the words out, despite the sincerity in her tone. "I'd like you to take the lead on this."
You were sure that the surprise must've shown on your face, courtesy of fatigue, but you quickly masked it and nodded. You took one deep breath, and then you dived in. "We need to hit the ground running." You turned to everyone individually as you gave them instructions. "Rossi, I'd like you to talk to the Commissioner. He'll be familiar with you." He nodded and left the room. "Derek, you brief Homeland Security, tell them I sent you. I want them to know we're expecting them to strike any minute now."
"You got it, angel."
You turned to Emily, who was already ahead of you. "I'll head to the hospital, check on Cooper, and brief Detective Brustin."
"Good. And Spencer—"
He (with a creepy accuracy) anticipated what you were going to say before you even said it. "JJ and I will talk to the Port Authority Police."
You nodded then realized that left only two people, unwelcome dread filling you. Out of a stubborn attempt to prove his earlier claim about avoiding him wrong, you looked to Hotch but still didn't meet his eyes. "Agent Hotchner, you and Kate should speak to the mayor. I have to make some calls to the DOD. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible. We are crunched for time, but the one advantage that we have is that they don't know we know they're watching."
Everyone who hadn't already left nodded and got to their tasks. Hotch looked like he wanted to stick around and say something to you, but as you said, the clock was ticking.
You called the DOD and briefly explained what Homeland Security had likely already spoken to them about, that you saw a terrorist event on the horizon. They told you that, luckily, the Deputy Secretary of Defense was in town, only ten, maybe twenty minutes away from where you were.
Quickly, you gathered your things and made your way out of the building. At the exit, however, you found exactly who you didn't want to see.
Hotch and Kate.
They hadn't left yet.
They stood outside the door, facing each other. He had his hand on her elbow, and he was saying something you couldn't make out. Whatever it was, it made her lips upturn.
You couldn't recognize the feeling that crawled through your veins at that moment. The green monster and you hadn't been acquainted in a while, but for some reason, she was showing up, making your body her home, and you hated it.
Shaking off whatever it was you were feeling, you pushed the door open. Hotch noticed you first. "Y/N," he said. He took his hand off her arm. A weight was lifted off your chest.
"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, promptly turning to the blonde and doing the same. "Agent Joyner. I've gotten word that the Deputy Secretary of Defense is in New York; I'm heading to see her."
Kate nodded. "Good. Aaron and I are on our way to the mayor's office now." She turned, starting to walk away, and then you realized she was heading in the same direction as your car.
Fuck. They parked next to you.
You started walking, too, Hotch now at your side. Kate was ahead of you guys. You're sure that Hotch could naturally walk faster than you, but he remained at your side. This is deliberate, you thought.
Your conversation from earlier hung in the air. With Kate gone, the tension between you was now palpable. But he wouldn't say anything, you assured yourself, not with her in earshot.
But perhaps you underestimated him. With every meeting, Aaron Hotchner continued to surprise you. He had become unpredictable to you.
Yet, the two of you would soon bear witness to just how unpredictable life could truly be.
Just as you were nearing your vehicles, Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but a loud boom cut him off.
Before either of you could register it, you were sent flying backward, shockwaves rippling through your body.
And then everything went black.
❧
New York City has never been so quiet, you thought, blinking your eyes open. And you've never been able to see the stars in this city, either, but tonight, you saw them just fine. Part of you wondered if you were dreaming.
No, not a dream. A hallucination.
There's been an accident.
The thought hit you like a ton of bricks as pain erupted in your side. A groan left you unwarranted. You went to touch it then hissed at the throbbing. There was no blood there, though, no wound, so it must've been the bones.
Nowhere else hurt—not that bad, at least. You tested yourself, trying to sit up. It hurt to do so, but you did it. And when you did, you were met with the sight of an SUV, up in flames.
No, not an accident. This was planned.
But it wasn't your car. It would've made sense if it were your car, if you were the direct target, but you weren't. Your mind ran a mile a minute. Why would they blow up a random SUV?
It's then that you remember it wasn't a random SUV. It was Hotch's.
Hotch and Kate.
They were with you.
With that realization, any and all intellectual thought escape your grasp. You shot upward, the pain becoming nonexistent as a surge of adrenaline flowed through your body. "Hotch!" you screamed. No answer. "Hotch! Kate!" No one answered. "Aaron!" You continued to cry his name but no one answered.
Tears you welled up in your eyes. It was lost on you that you hadn't cried in years. It was equally lost on you that this was the first time you'd ever said his name.
You spun around, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding when you spotted a man in a suit, standing there, just staring at the fire. You jogged over to him and called out his name, but he didn't move his head. You tried again. "Aaron." No response. "Aaron!"
Finally, he looked at you. A plethora of emotions could be seen on his face. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Then worry. "Y/N," he breathed. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine." That was a lie, but you could handle the pain well. You had good experience. "Are you?"
"Yes, I think so."
You took a quick moment to examine him, the cut by his brow, the blood by his ear; you think back to how he didn't respond to your calls. Concussion, you thought, and a ruptured ear drum.
You take ahold of his arm, gently but firmly, and slowly asked him, "Aaron, where's Kate?"
He blinked, glancing back at the wreck and then back at you. You watched him swallow. "I—"
"Hey! Are the two of you okay?"
Your eyes and his simultaneously snapped to the voice that'd just appeared, seeing a scrawny kid stand in front of you. Like a switch had been flipped, the abundance of emotions on his face dissipated into one.
Determination.
"What's your name?" he questioned.
The kid looked at him, confused. "What?"
Hotch repeated, "What's your name?"
As if he thought you two were crazy, he glanced between you warily. "Sam," he replied.
Hotch didn't look at him or acknowledge his name as he ordered, "Call 911."
"Yeah— yeah, I did."
"Call 911— tell that there's been an explosion."
"Sir, are you okay?" His eyes darted to you. "Ma'am, are you hurt?" Momentarily, he glanced down, his eyes catching the gun on your belt. He looked to Hotch, finding the same thing. Stunned, he looked back up. "Are you guys cops?"
Hotch's eyes were still on the fire. "Call 911. Tell them... that a— that a federal agent—" Without warning, he took off running towards the car, yelling, "Kate!"
"Hotch!" You went to follow him but the kid stopped you.
"Okay so you want me to say you're a federal agent?"
You turned around, eyes blazing. "Call 911. Tell them that there's been a car explosion, involving two FBI agents and one CIA officer." You barely finished your sentence before you were running after Hotch.
By the time you got to him, he was taking off his jacket, about to shield himself and run right into the car but you stopped him. "Aaron!"
His eyes darted to you then travelled behind you. The dread painted on his features mixed with relief, but you couldn't tell which emotion was stronger. You turned, following his line of sight, and saw Kate lying on the ground, a trail of blood leading to her body.
Without missing a beat, you both ran to her, her coughing becoming more audible as you got closer. Aaron got down immediately, and her first words were, "My purse. I can't find my purse."
He shushed her. "Don't move, don't move."
"Aaron, my purse."
Shock. She's in shock.
If only just to placate her, Hotch glanced around for it. "I don't think you had one," he said.
"I must've dropped it," she gasped, moving her head.
"Kate—" you cut in from above, "Kate, you need to stop trying to move."
She looked up at you, her eyes widening at whatever she saw. "Y/N. Y/N, what happened?"
You ran a hand through your hair. "I don't— I don't know. A bomb. An IED, I think." You glanced back at the car, your mind going back to the same race it was racing in before you found Aaron.
"An IED?" she echoed. "I have to get up."
"No. No, no, no. Lie down. Lie still. You need to lie still," he pleaded with her.
Suddenly, she caught your attention back. "Am I moving my legs?"
Hotch shushed her again at first, then he questioned, "What?"
Both of you glanced down at her legs at the same time. You resisted the urge to cup your mouth.
You were gonna be sick.
Weakly, she asked again, "Am I moving my legs?"
You didn't have the heart to answer her. From the looks of it, neither did Aaron, because he changed the subject. "I'm going to have to turn you and see where the blood is coming from," he said.
"Do it."
"Alright? Okay." He turned her while you focused on the sirens wailing in the distance, getting closer. The sound blended in with Kate's crying until it was all one and the same to you.
Police cars and ambulances soon pulled up just ahead of you, maybe a hundred yards away. You stood taller, yelling, "Officer down!" When they didn't come any closer, you flailed your arms. "Officer down! Here! There's an officer down!"
Kate's voice, ever so quiet, cut through the noise like a knife. "They're not coming." You turned to her, seeing her look at both of you defeatedly. "We told them not to. Remember?"
Your own words rang through your head. The goal is always to take out a first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders.
The reality of the situation struck you. They weren't coming.
"The first wave of responders are the targets," she got out. "ESU orders are not— to let anyone in until the area is cleared."
"No." You shook your head. "I'm not taking that as an answer."
"Y/N—"
"We are getting you out of here, Kate, come hell or high water." Your previous aversion to her no longer mattered. She was lying on the ground covered in blood, unable to move her legs. All that mattered was getting her out.
Without wasting another second, you ran toward the barricade. ESU officer braced their rifles, but you had your badge ready as you stood a safe distance away from them. You were trying to think calmly, as calmly as you could. Your ribs stung as you held the badge up in the air.
The words were spoken in an erratic panic. "My name is Director Y/N Y/L/N, I'm a senior officer of the CIA. Behind me are SSAs Aaron Hotchner and Kate Joyner. She is injured— badly—"
A man stepped forward and cut you off cooly, "I understand that, ma'am, but I have orders not to let anyone in—"
You lost it. "Screw your orders! She can't fucking move!"
"Ma'am, my orders are what they are."
"Your orders are what they are," you repeated under your breath, a humourless chuckle escaping. "What's your name?"
He squared his shoulders. "It's Captain Warner, ma'am."
"Well, Captain Warner," you spat. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Director or Agent Y/L/N, not ma'am. Director. And I am quite familiar with your orders, Captain; I gave them. You are here because I made the call that put you here. And, so help me God, if you don't listen to this order, I will make the call that relieves you of your position."
Warner didn't appear to be shaken, but you could see the cloud of doubt floating in his eyes. You'd think that anyone would grapple for their job, but Warner was being difficult. "I apologize, Director, but I can't do that."
Your nostrils flared. You were just about to continue telling him off when an awfully familiar voice sounded, asking for someone in charge. Your eyes widened. "Derek!"
Derek's head snapped your way. "Holy shit. Y/N!" He came running towards you but was stopped by the same officers that kept you from crossing the barricade, holding up their guns.
"This area is restricted," he said.
He held up his badge. "I'm Agent Morgan, FBI. That's my friend—"
"This area is restricted," Warner repeated, barely looking at him. "I will take care of your friend. Now go back to the Federal Building. There are evac marshaling spots. Check in and make sure they know where you are."
Morgan held his ground, stepping in front of Warner and retaliating, "I am not about to do that."
"Get out of my face or I'll have you bodily removed, Agent."
"Derek." You caught his attention. "Hotch and Kate are down there."
He spun around. "That's my boss down there!"
"My orders are what they are."
You scoffed at the recycled statement while Derek argued, "I don't give a damn what your orders are!"
"I get it, Agent, but we've been told by you" he gave you a glance "'Responders are the targets.' So, until the blast site is cleared, no one goes in."
Morgan looked back at you then back at the Captain with a renewed resolution, trying a different approach. "You're Marine Corps, right?" Warner didn't respond, looking down. "Right?"
"Please. Go back to the marshaling point."
"I'm not doing it." He pointed to the site. "I'm not just going to let my man lie down there like that."
As if on cue, Hotch screamed, "Someone! Damnit, we're here!" You nearly flinched at the sheer pain in his voice, and Derek certainly didn't look unaffected, either.
"'Never leave a man behind.' You do remember that, don't you?"
Hotch kept screaming as Morgan and Warner stared each other down. It seemed that he must've gotten to him, because within just a moment, he said, "Go."
Derek didn't waste another second, immediately running to you and grabbing onto your shoulders. "Y/N, are you alright?"
"I'm fine! I'm fine, it's Kate."
He nodded and then took off following with you trailing closely behind, but not before you gave Captain Warner a pointed glare.
When you got to Hotch, the kid was back, seemingly tending to Kate as Morgan explained, "They're not letting any ambulances down here until they clear the scene." He glanced at the kid like he just noticed he was there. "Kid, you've gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go." The kid didn't move. "Go!"
"Go, Sam." At Hotch's word, the kid got up and ran, but your attention was focused solely on Kate, checking her vitals.
"Talk to me. Can we carry her?" Morgan barely gave him time to respond. "Hotch, can we carry her?"
"No, I tried. Morgan—" he paused, intaking a shaky breath, "she's going to bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We've got to do something."
Derek's phone ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He picked it up immediately. "Garcia, I got Hotch and Y/N, but listen to me, you got to get somebody down here right away. You hear me? Right now." You didn't hear what Garcia said next, but it caused his head to snap up. "What? You're absolutely sure?" He glanced at you then to the kid who you realized never left.
The kid held his hands out like he was asking what you were waiting for, causing you to tilt your head, confused.
Morgan hung up the phone and then his next words shocked you. "Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber."
Your eyes went wide before instantly going to Hotch. "Are you okay to stay here?" you asked.
He didn't even think about it. "Go."
With that, you and Morgan took off running. The kid bolted, leaving you to chase after him.
Despite the heels on your feet (that luckily weren't stilettos) and obvious bruise to your side, you couldn't feel pain. All you feel was the pure adrenaline pumping through your veins. You hadn't been so ready to fight in ages. The anger coursing through your body was unparalleled.
This kid wasn't getting away with this, and you'd make sure of it.
You chased the kid down the street, Morgan ahead of you. An ambulance passed you while you ran, and you prayed it'd be heading Hotch's way.
You kept chasing after the kid, turning a corner and he was gone, but Morgan was already heading down the stairs for the subway, so you knew he was down there.
You ran down the stairs, skipping steps as you went, following Morgan's lead and pulling out your gun. Civilians filled the station, evacuating. "Out of the way!" you screamed, pushing past them.
"Move! Where'd he go? Where?" Some pointed straight ahead, so you kept running.
You got down to where the subway was, but by now, it was empty. You came to a stop next to Morgan, holding up your gun.
"Show your face, you son of a bitch!"
No one showed. You nodded to the train and panted, "Morgan, I'll take the back. You take the front."
Heaving, he nodded, going for the front. You entered the train with your gun held high, pointing it on either side of the door. You walked through the cart slowly, checking beheind yourself periodically to ensure the kid wouldn't sneak up on you.
You pushed open the door to the next cart warily. It was just as empty as the previous one. You went for the next cart. Nothing again. You met Morgan in the middle. "Nothing," you said.
"Me neither. But there's a door at the front. I'm thinking he could've hopped through there," he told you.
You nodded and followed him there, accepting his help and jumping down. Carefully, with your gun and flashlight in hand, you walked on the tracks, avoiding the power supply. You shouted, "We know you're in here, kid. Show your fucking face, you coward!"
A noise sounded, making you turn around to check it while Morgan continued forward. "You've got nowhere to run, man. You hear me? There's nothing down here for you."
"Is that all you see?" At the sound of the kid's voice, you spun around, moving your flashlight around. "Huh? Darkness?"
You caught up to Morgan, and then the kid showed himself. Your flashlight revealed his shoes lying on the ground while he slowly walked on the rail, balancing himself like this was a game. You cocked your gun. "You listen to me, you little shit. This is not a fucking game. Get your ass off the tracks and put your hands on top of your fucking head. Do it now."
When he failed to listen to you, Derek yelled, "Do it now!"
The kid did as you said, but not to listen to you. It was to mock you. "You will lose in the end," he said.
Derek moved forward. "Shut up. Shut your mouth."
"You wanna know why?" He continued on like he'd never said a word. "Because you fear what we embrace."
Before you could do anything, he took one foot off the track and put it on the third rail. "Get off the— no! No, no!" Derek and you were forced backward as the light blinded your eyes. Without even lifting your eyes up, you knew undoubtedly that the kid was dead.
He just killed himself right in front you.
"Damnit." You reached to run a hand through your hair but you were stopped by the stabbing pain in your ribs, suddenly reappearing. You hissed, "Ah, shit."
"Y/N?" Within a blink, Derek was in front of you. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm fi— fuck." Your knees buckled, but Morgan caught you, holding onto by your waist. When that caused another hiss, he switched his hold to your arms.
"I think you might've broken some ribs. How the hell didn't you notice this before?"
"I— it didn't feel this bad before."
Morgan cursed under his breath. "Your adrenaline is wearing off. We need to get you to a hospital."
"No, I'm o—" a sharp stab cut you off, making you grunt. "Fine. But what about Kate?"
"We both saw that ambulance drive their way," he reasoned. "They're gonna be okay. Look, if we get back and they're still there, we can stay, alright?"
You thought over his proposal and eventually relented and let him lead you off the tracks, giving in to the pain. You just hoped that he was right, that they were okay.
Please let them be okay.
❧
You arrived at the hospital in record time, passing through the streets like light work. After receiving confirmation that Hotch and Kate were at Saint Barclays, he drove the two of you there, too, insisting that a doctor see you despite your equal insistence that you were fine.
Now, you sat on an ER bed. You had a few cuts here and there but nothing too deep; you were given sutures for one cut across your cheek. The doctor wasn't looking at you right now; she was looking at your chart, giving you time to glance around the triage room.
You weren't a big fan of hospitals, never were. They were never a source of good news, and every hospital you stepped into smelled the same, like bleach and chemicals. When you were younger, you were convinced that this was to cover up the smell of death.
That wasn't too far off.
The doctor pulled you out of your revierie, snapping the chart shut. "So, Ms. Y/L/N, I've ruled out the possibility of a collapsed lung, but you've broken 4 of your left true ribs," she informed you. "From what your partner has told me, you've over-exerted yourself, and thus exacerbated the issue."
"I'm a CIA officer and had to chase a suspect," was the only explanation you offered.
She deadpanned. "I understand that, Ms. Y/L/N, but you've just made your healing process ten time harder."
You gave her a short smile. "I've been through worse."
She looked at you for a few more seconds before she sighed, re-opening the chart book. "I can prescribe you some medication for the pain."
You declined perhaps a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright."
Slowly, she looked up at you, her eyes questioning. "No? Why not? I can imagine you're in a great deal of pain right now."
At her inquiry, you were reminded of someone else's interrogative questions. Hotch's voice filled your head, Why do you say it like that—say your name as if it's not your name?
Your mind travelled back to a time you weren't Y/N. There was a girl with a different name who wore your face, a girl you separated yourself from entirely. She didn't grow up thinking she'd have a future in law enforcement—she didn't even think she'd have a future at all.
She hung around the wrong crowd and picked up bad habits, habits like oxycodone and amphetamines. But you weren't her anymore.
You were 7 years sober.
You'd rather not explain all of this to the attending in front of you—you'd rather not explain it to anyone. Instead, you just said, "I have a high pain tolerance. I can handle it."
She stared at you warily, but otherwise, there wasn't much she could do but accept your decision. "I'd advise against that, but it is your choice."
You pursed your lips into what you hoped was a small smile. "It is."
She kept her persistent stare until she eventually gave up, leaving the makeshift room. You didn't wait long before you left, too, jumping off the table and pushing back the curtain. You walked through the halls in search of the tan-skinned man you came in with, avoiding looking anywhere but ahead of you.
Hospitals were unpredictacle.
You didn't like that.
You turned a corner, and as if you just had good luck, Derek was there, already walking your way.
He raised a brow at you. "You all good, angel?"
You fell into step beside him, letting him lead the way to wherever you were going and flashing him a flirtatious smile. "Never been better, muscles." It wasn't a total lie; the pain had mostly subsided, and you'd felt worse in your life.
Morgan didn't bat an eyelash. "Well, that's good because we need to get moving. The team's on the way."
At the mention of the BAU, your thoughts were re-directed. Without stopping, you glanced over at Derek and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed normal: he was flirting with you, no signs of dejection. So Hotch must've been alright. Still, though, you felt compelled to ask, "Hotchner and Joyner. Are they okay?"
If Derek noticed the small blip in your voice, he didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you even noticed it, either. "Hotch is fine, back to barking orders and being a drill sergeant. Kate's in surgery, though."
You couldn't explain the wave of calm that came over you at that moment. You couldn't explain why you even cared.
But you did.
You nodded in response and changed subjects. "Has anything happened since the first blast?"
"No. Nothing."
An exasperated sigh left you. "That doesn't make any sense. Something should've happened by now." You ran a hand through your hair, your gears turning. "I mean, why go through all this trouble just to hit a single SUV with a few agents? Why not wait until we were in our cars?"
"I don't know," he replied. "What I'm still stuck on is why the kid would stay knowing we'd figure him out."
"Yeah, why would he stay—" suddenly, you halted in your tracks, cutting yourself off as memories rushed to the forefront of your brain.
[Thank you for your input, Ms. Y/L/N. The Secretary of Defense is unavailable at the moment, so the Deputy Secretary will be fielding all defense matters for the moment. She happens to be in town, and she'd like to be briefed in person, if that's alright.]
Yes, I can do that. Just send me an address.
Then you heard the voices of Secret Service agents in your head: I'm sorry, but this hospital is on strict bypass.
"What? What is it?" Derek's voice shook you out of your reverie. You looked up to see him standing in front of you, a worried expression on his face. You would've laughed if it weren't so serious. He probably thought you had a concussion—and while you didn't, what you were going to say was worse than that.
"Derek," you started.
Your tone must've scared him because he stepped closer. "What?"
You paused, mulling over the details in your head. Secret Service was here. Someone important was in the building, someone like the Secretary of Defense. And that bomber just so happened to stick around until an ambulance showed up, taking Hotch and Kate straight here.
Sam didn't wait until you were cars, and that wasn't a careless mistake. It wasn't because he was so excited that he couldn't wait. It was because that blast wasn't meant to kill you, not on impact.
It was meant to take you here.
When you made up your mind, you took a step closer to him and lowered your voice, not wanting to attract panic in spite of the fact that it'd happen, anyway. Your voice was rigid.
"I think there's a bomb in this hospital."
❧
After quickly explaining your theory to Derek, you parted ways; he went to go find the team while you took off to find the head of that Secret Service detail.
Any uneasiness you felt being in this hospital increased a tenfold, no longer because of the fact that it was a hospital but because it could blow any minute now. You knew you weren't scared, though—and maybe you should've been, but this was the job.
You found the SS soon enough, calling out to them, "Hey, men in black!"
Your volume turned heads, including theirs. The bald man stood up from where he was leaned over on a counter and greeted you first, leading you to believe he was in charge. "Ms. Y/L/N." So he knew who you were. That made this a lot easier.
You didn't waste any time. "The Secretary of Defense is in this hospital, isn't he?"
"Ma'am, I know you're high up on the ladder, but—"
You cut him off briskly, "There is a bomb in this building, and it's rigged to assassinate the Secretary."
The agent whose name you didn't ask for stiffened but adapted quickly, ordering the agents behind him to hit the alarms all without looking away from you. "Where is it?" he then questioned.
"The ambulance my colleague drove in, I believe." The word colleague tasted wrong on your tongue, but you didn't have the time to dwell on it. "Is it already in the basement?"
"Yes."
"Okay, then you need to evac the building. You need to get the Secretary and everybody else out of here right now."
"We can't do that," he answered. "He's undergoing surgery as we speak."
You were sure that the next words to leave your mouth would be curses, but before you could even get them out, a band of rushed footsteps became audible from behind you. It didn't take you long to recognize who they belonged to.
The footsteps stopped where you were. You glanced to see the team surrounding you, Derek on your left and Hotch on your right. So he was alright. You held back a sigh of relief and kept your eyes off him, directing all your focus to the task at hand.
Silently, Morgan handed you a Kevlar vest. You nodded to him in thanks and put it on while Hotch hurriedly interrogated, "The paramedic I came in with—do you have eyes on him?"
The Secret Service Agent briefly glanced at you, to which you nodded, prompting him to turn over a computer playing a live feed.
"Is that a cell in his hands?"
Rossi pressed onto a mic on his chest. "Garcia, can you remote access the grid I'm in and jam all the frequencies?" She said something you couldn't hear and then he added, tone clipped, "There's a bomb in the basement of this building."
Garcia worked quickly, disrupting the satellite feeds in your location within seconds. You could tell she did this by paramedic's actions on the screen. "Look. He's coming back," Prentiss said. "He's going to detonate the bomb manually if he has to."
"Where did Morgan go?" At Hotch's abrupt words, you turned to your left but Derek was no longer there. He'd snuck off while you were paying attention to the feed, and you had no doubt as to where.
His appearance on the computer screen confirmed your suspicions. You sighed, before tiredly voicing, "He went to find the ambulance."
Hotch's voice was incredulous. "Alone?"
Rossi didn't share Hotch's surprise. "Let's head down."
You were off before he even finished the sentence, trusting the Secret Service agents to do their jobs well enough while you all did yours. You removed your gun from your holster, holding it up and jogging through the now empty hallways with tunnel vision.
You barely noticed the others behind you until Hotch somehow got ahead of you. "He's going to the basement," he called out.
You think it was Emily that replied. "Stairs."
You pushed the door to the stairwell open and Hotch entered quickly, scanning the area with his gun as he moved. It was eerily silent, the only sound being the alarms in the distance and your footsteps rapidly hitting the stairs as you took them two at a time.
None of you said a word.
By the time you reached the basement, the alarm was non-existent. Your loud footsteps became quieted, soundless with the precision only people like you could have. You could hear a pin drop.
At the end of the hallway, you wordlessly split into two groups: you with Hotch and Rossi, and Prentiss with Reid.
Hotch led the way while you and Rossi covered him. Your bomber was sitting criss-crossed against the netted gate, gun tossed on the ground with a cellphone in one hand and a knife in the other. Fuck.
You could only pray that Morgan got out before that signal came back online.
You had your gun in the air, even though you knew what was gonna happen. You all did.
Rossi's voice cut through the air. "FBI."
The bomber didn't flinch, staring at the ground with a lifeless look in his eyes. He was a dead man.
He raised the knife to his neck—and if you weren't with FBI agents right now, you would've shot his shaking hand and knocked that knife straight to the ground. You would've forced him to take accountability—perhaps not in a courtroom, but in a place that would still enforce a semblance of justice.
But you were with FBI agents. And Hotch reminded you of this as he spoke up, "Put it down. It's over."
Yes, it was. Because the coward slit his throat thereafter, and the knife clattered to the ground.
Slowly, you lowered your guns. You holstered yours, and then you were walking away. You didn't spare the body another glance. It wasn't a life lost.
Either way, he would've died. It just shouldn't have been on his terms.
Emily was behind you. She flipped her phone open and then you heard a sigh of relief. "Garcia just messaged me," she told you. "Morgan's okay."
Spencer and Rossi let out their own sighs while you muttered a small "Thank God" under your breath. You hadn't known Derek Morgan for long, but he was good, and he felt like a friend.
You didn't have many of those.
You got back to the floor you were on in little time, and everyone parted ways, likely going to rest. The night was over—this was over. You, on the other hand, still had some administrative work to do, starting with checking on the Secretary of Defense.
But before you did anything, you stood there. You stood there and watched the team trickle out of the area, everyone but Hotch. He was still down there.
You went to glance back to see if he was coming up but then thought better of it, choosing to walk away instead.
He's fine, you thought. He was fine.
And so were you.
❧
You got off the phone with the DOD, your last in a long line of phone calls, telling them that the threat had been eliminated as far as you were concerned. You would've been out of that hospital ASAP, but they asked you to stay there until the new Secret Service detail arrived, and you couldn't really say no.
The lack of action suddenly made you more aware of your surroundings. Your senses returned to you; the smell of bleach became more pungent, and the fluorescent lights seemed to just bounce off the white tile.
With nothing else to focus on, the pain in your side returned, too, but you were good at handling pain. It hurt to breathe, but the alternative was relapsing, and you'd come too far for that.
Normally, when you were craving drugs or just stressed, you'd find a drink. It wasn't the best coping mechanism, but it worked. Alcohol wasn't strong enough to hook you; it was just enough to sate you, to take your mind off the pills.
However, you were in a hospital, and none of that was around. So you went looking for the next best thing: coffee.
You found a mini coffee bar in a nearby waiting room, right next to a vending machine. It was one of the automatic ones that took capsules. The selection was pretty shitty, but you weren't exactly expecting premium Italian coffee, so you plopped a pod into the machine, anyway.
You waited for your coffee to brew in silence, listening to the sound of the machine whirring. The PA dinged in the background and footsteps were muffled. You had a habit of listening for those, for footsteps. Most times, like now, if you weren't preoccupied, you could detect them right away.
You sensed Hotch when he was 5 feet away. You could recognize his footsteps so easily, but that was the habit.
You told yourself it was the job.
Without turning around, you quietly greeted, "Agent Hotchner."
He returned your greeting, grabbing a styrofoam cup and going to stand next to you. "Y/N." His voice was as saccharine as the sugar you poured into your coffee.
You hated that, and you hated what it implied.
The case was over. The threat was defeated. And now you were alone together with a conversation unfinished, a conversation you'd much rather not have.
To think that, when you last saw Hotch in Virginia, you were all for the game, the chase. But now it felt like the roles were reversed. This was different. He shouldn't be talking to me.
But he was.
"Yo—"
You cut him off, "How's Kate?" Low blow, Y/N. The breath of air he sucked in made you look up from the creamer to his face. His eyes were no longer on you; they were on the machine as it poured his coffee, but you understood. You could taste apology on your lips before you even said the words. "I'm sorry."
Hotch nodded, grabbing his coffee from the tray when it was finished brewing. "She wasn't in pain," he said. That's all there was to say, really. She wasn't in pain when she died, nor was she in pain when you found her.
Kate Joyner was dead the second that blast hit.
But you spoke none of this. You went to grab your cup, intending to walk away, but Hotch stopped you, placing his hand on your arm before you could fully turn away. You stopped yourself from intaking a sharp breath.
"You're avoiding me."
He said it so plainly, like you were talking about a case or the weather, like this was normal, like the two of you didn't see each other every other year at most, like you weren't you and he wasn't him. It made you want to screw your eyes shut, but you didn't. As if to prove a point, you turned yourself toward him fully, facing him head on.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Your eyes narrowed. "I'm not an unsub, Hotchner. I'm not gonna fold to this interrogation tactic."
"I met you as an unsub," he retorted.
"But I wasn't." You let out a little scoff, half amused, half annoyed. "How would you know if I was avoiding you? You didn't know me then, and you don't know me now."
"But I want to."
Whatever reply you were expecting, it wasn't that. Your breath got caught in your throat. His voice was still so soft, a harsh contrast to the cuts littered across his face. He took a step closer to you. "I want to know you."
You blinked once in shock, almost like you were checking if you were hallucinating, but when your eyes opened, he was still there. When you blinked a second time, it was in realization.
He's just been told Kate's dead, and now whatever pain meds they gave him are kicking in.
Reality slapped you across the face. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head. "You don't want to know me, Hotchner."
He took another step forward. "I do."
Another step back. "You don't." You shook your head again, emphasizing your point. "You really don't."
"Y/N—"
The shrill sound of your ringtone cut him off, and you'd never been so grateful. You picked it up immediately. "Y/L/N." The lady on the other end got to it quick; all you had to do was agree. "Okay, I'll be there momentarily. Thanks."
You hung up your cell, snapping it shut. You gave Hotch a glance before you were looking away, letting your eyes wander everywhere else. "That was the DOD. Secret Service is here. I have to go check out with them." You didn't let him get a word in. "I'll see you around, Agent Hotchner."
And then, just like every other time Aaron Hotchner had ever been in your proximity, you were leaving. In his grasp one second, in the mist in the next.
He watched you walk away wordlessly, not knowing when he'd see you again, words he was going to say dying on his lips.
And then you were gone.
He let out a long sigh, and then looked to his coffee on the mini table, spotting a similar one right next to it.
You left your coffee there, he realized.
With all the other things you left, too.
5. The gavel and the gun
Southbridge, Virginia, 2008
You didn't find yourself down in Virginia too often, not unless you were on business, but Derek assured you that tonight was about everything but that.
"I'm breaking you out of your shell, angel," he said, making a turn on Curtis Drive. "You need to get out more."
You snorted. "One, I don't have a shell. Two, I am literally out so much that my apartment collects dust, and three," you held up a third finger, despite his close attention to the road, "that's bullshit. You just want me to score you some hot chicks."
He let out a burly laugh, something you'd gotten used to after hanging out with him. "Baby, I don't need you to pick anyone up for me. I can do that all on my own."
"What, are you afraid that I'll steal all your girls, Morgan?"
His reply was swift. "Couldn't do that if you tried, Y/N/N. You're still hung up on Hotch."
Your jaw nearly fell, but you were used to this banter you had. You quipped back, "Please, the only one hung up on anyone here is you. You want Garcia."
He choked on his own spit, making you throw your head back and laugh. He didn't see that one coming.
You caught onto Derek's feelings for Garcia early on, but they became especially prominent when he was buzzed one night and told you she was the one on call with him when he drove that ambulance into the field.
That was six months ago. And now, you were in Derek Morgan's car, trying to coax him into asking out a woman with whom he violated many HR regulations.
Derek clearly didn't have a response which only made you laugh harder. You patted his back while he recovered. "Caaaaareful, muscles. I don't want to die on my way to a bar. I'm literally in the CIA—that would be so heavily anti-climactic."
The only thing he heard in that sentence was his nickname, snapping out of his stupor. "Okay, this 'muscles' thing is starting to feel less like a compliment and more condescending."
You huffed out a little chuckle as he put the car in park. "And 'angel' isn't?"
He furrowed his brows, opening his door. "You love that name."
You copied his movements, getting out of the car before pointedly looking at him. "Yeah, when the words 'of death' follow it."
He snorted. "Cryptic." He held his arm out for you, to which you obliged, wrapping yours in his before walking into the estabishment with him.
You would've responded and teased him further had you not been cut off by an oddly familiar voice. "Morgan!" Your head snapped to a table where not only the object of your teasing stood, but all of their crime-fighting friends. From afar, you watched Penelope's eyes widen behind her glasses. Then she squealed, "And Y/N!"
To her credit, she did look just the slightest bit embarrassed when people turned to stare at her.
She still wasn't used to you. And God, was that comical.
A smirk crawled onto your face as you walked to their table, glancing at Derek and recalling your earlier quip. "Ooh, careful, Morgan. Your girl's a fan. I might just take her."
For a guy that nearly died in the car at the mention of her, he didn't seem all that startled. In fact, a smirk of his own graced his face. "I doubt you'll be focused on Penelope tonight, angel."
Your brows pinched together, but before you could question what he meant, you reached the table. JJ and Emily greeted you with wide smiles, the latter pulling you in for a hug that was surprising but not unwelcome. Garcia followed right behind her, hesitantly wrapping her arms around you. You cleared this hesitancy by embracing her tightly. Goodness, she's precious.
Over her shoulder, you mouthed to Morgan, Don't fuck it up.
When you let her go, Rossi tipped his glass at you while Reid just gave you an awkward wave. For his benefit, you resisted the urge to laugh.
You spun back around to flash a smug smile at Morgan, eager for him to see that you weren't fazed by this little surprise he so clearly wanted to jar you with, but then your eyes locked with a darker pair and you realized, oh. They weren't the surprise.
He was.
"Y/N."
What was this feeling? Winded? Was it— breathless? You couldn't describe it; you'd only felt it a few times in life, and you didn't know why you felt it right now. Eventually, you realized you had to answer.
"Hotchner."
You were going to fucking strangle Derek Morgan.
❧
If it wasn't considered rude and you weren't surrounded by a horde of profilers, you would've been texting Derek furiously. It didn't help that the only spot left at the table was next to the man you'd be texting about.
Derek was fun to party with—you went out with him all the time—but whenever he invited you out with the rest of the BAU, you politely declined and came up with whatever excuse was available. Clearly, he caught on to the reason.
You've been avoiding me.
And maybe that was true.
A gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You looked over to see Penelope jumping out of her seat. "Oh, my god, I love this song. Derek, get up right now, we're going to dance," she all but demanded.
It's then that you noticed that JJ and Emily had already beat them to the dance floor, and Spencer was being talked up by some girl at the bar.
No— "Alright, alright, calm down, mama, I'm coming." You glared daggers at him as he flashed you a sly grin, then he wrapped an arm around Penelope and left. He left you alone with Hotch and Rossi.
At least Rossi's still here— "You know, I think I'm going to get another drink." You're kidding.
Apparently, he was not kidding. Rossi got up, and you could've sworn you saw him wink at Hotch before he left for the bar.
And then there were two.
Fuck.
Now that the others were all gone, you felt his proximity much more prominently. If you moved just the slightest bit, your knees would touch. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.
But you couldn't leave. If you left, then it'd be obvious that you were, in fact, avoiding him, and you didn't want it to be obvious. It shouldn't have been obvious because there was nothing there to avoid; the two of you were nothing, so you had no reason to avoid him.
You were nothing.
Even if, for a second, you might've felt something.
"What's wrong?" His voice cut into the tension like it was butter. But the question didn't sound like concern; if you didn't know any better, you'd say it was almost teasing.
You finally looked at him, turning your head and realizing he was closer than you thought. Close enough to see the specks of green in his eyes and the locks of hair falling over his face. Close enough that you could push those locks back if you wanted to. And you wanted to.
But you didn't.
You schooled your expression and raised a brow, causing him to elaborate, "You were much more flirtatious when we didn't know each other."
Of course, I was, is what you wanted to say. Of course, you were; that was before whatever happened in D.C., before you danced with him and before you let him down. Before reality came knocking and showed him that you were polar opposites, that he was a man of the gavel and you were a woman of the gun. Before he confronted you. Before he told you that he wanted to know you.
So, of course. Of course, I was. Because what the hell was I supposed to do with that?
That's what you wanted to say, but you didn't. Instead, you countered, "Why do you assume something's wrong? Maybe I've just lost interest in our game."
Hotch looked at you like he knew that was a load of bull. He looked you up and down like he could see right through you, and you hated that, because if he looked hard enough, he just might. You thought, for a second, he'd drop it, but then he came back harder. "Is that because you're not winning?"
Taken aback, you laughed to hide how astounded you were, looking away as you deflected, "You must've been one hell of a lawyer, Agent Hotchner."
He let you re-route the conversation, humming. "I was good at my field," he admitted, pausing briefly. "I actually got my nickname while I was working at the DA's office, Hotch."
"Oh?" you uttered, disinterest shining through your voice that you hoped he'd pick up on.
"Yeah. And now it's what everybody calls me." Another pause. "Everybody but you."
You turned back to him. Clearly, that's what he wanted from you with that statement. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting on you for something—you just didn't know what. "You dwell on what I call you?"
He shrugged like he was unbothered. "It's just an observation. You refer to everyone using their first name, even Kate. At one point, I think you even said our names consecutively. Agent Hotchner and then Kate."
Shit, you didn't remember that, but he was probably right. It must've been a blip, you must not have been paying attention. Still, you shrugged right back at him. "I don't put that much thought into it."
He continued like you'd never said anything. "You said my name after the blast." You stiffened. "Repeatedly. And then, once we were in the hospital, you were back to formality."
You forced a smile onto your face in attempts to mask the discomfort. "So?" you said. Like you weren't affected. Like you weren't surprised that he noticed or equally surprised that he was calling you out on it.
"So," he repeated. "What's holding you back from saying my name?"
Damnit, he had you. He had you, and he knew it. You knew he knew it based on the fire in his eyes, fire with intent to burn.
But you had more.
You had walked through fire; you were forged in fire, so this was a challenge you'd accept.
You leaned in closer, just until your mouth was next to his ear. He inhaled sharply. Good. Slowly, you breathed, "What's in a name... Hotchner?"
When you leaned back, you were met with a thrown-off-Hotch, but you didn't stick around to savour the image. You hopped off your barstool and left the table, opting to go dance with Emily and JJ as opposed to let him have the last word.
If you had it your way, he wouldn't get another word in for the rest of the night.
If only you could always have it your way.
❧
You danced with the girls the rest of the night, Hotch forgotten. The others were elsewhere, off on their own. They were good company, and it was nice to hang out with other women. Eventually, the dancing wore them out and they decided it was time to head out, making sure to exchange numbers with you and add you to their group chat before they bid you farewell.
Something told you they were a little more than friends, but you weren't sure if they even knew that.
Alone, you decided to get off the dance floor, making your way over to the bar to text Derek. It was getting late; the bar would close soon, and you wanted to head home. But when you opened your phone, you already had a message from him—timestamped an hour ago. Furrowing your brows, you clicked on it.
Sorry, angel, but Pen opened a window for me and I had to take it.
If you know what I mean ;)
Please don't kill me. I'll send a car for you when you're ready.
Audibly, you groaned, closing your eyes in exhaustion. Of course, he shot his shot with Garcia on the night he's meant to drive you home. And you couldn't even be that mad about it.
You sighed, accepting it and going to open your Uber app when a voice queried from behind you, "Are you alright?"
Fuckkkkkk, you were really hoping he left by now. Reluctantly, you turned around, facing Hotch. "Yeah, Derek was my ride home, but he um," you paused, wiping a hand across your face, "he got lucky."
"With Garcia?"
You laughed at how transparent it was and how quick he, their boss, was to get it. "Yeah, so I'm just gonna catch an Uber home."
"Don't be ridiculous; I'll drive you home." You were shocked at how quickly he shot you down, looking up at him to see he was being totally serious.
"No, you are being ridiculous. I live all the way in Washington."
He shrugged his shoulders like it was nothing, like you were friends and his offer was normal. "I live in Arlington—it's not out of the way. Besides, would you rather pay for an hour-long car ride or have me drive you for free?"
Honestly, you'd rather do many things besides let Hotch drive you home for an hour, so you excused, "I'm good for the money."
He rolled his eyes. "It's 1AM, Y/N; I'm not gonna let you take an Uber home." He nodded to the exit. "Come on, let's go."
Now you rolled your eyes. He'd made up his mind, despite your disapproval. Yet you still glanced down at your phone, debating it. You supposed that he was better than a total stranger, and it was only an hour.
Maybe you were tired and your judgement was impaired, but for some reason, you obliged. "Fine."
You didn't know if it was a trick of light, but for a second there, it looked like Hotch's lips quirked upward.
For a second.
❧
The car ride was silent if not for the music drumming lowly in the background. You didn't crack any jokes or say anything playful or innapropriate; you were a silence filler, you hated silence, but you'd rather sit in silence than talk to Aaron Hotchner any longer than you had to.
His presence was already pushing it.
If Hotch noticed how quiet you were, which he likely did, then he didn't comment on it. You were sure that he was profiling you silently, though, the same way you were silently profiling him.
He wasn't driving his official government vehicle, but it was still a black SUV. Not a Tahoe, though; it was an Escalade. It wasn't too proud or boastful but it wasn't too unassuming, either. Expensive but not too much of a head-turner.
A glance to the back displayed a car seat. You suspected that his son was with his ex-wife, since he was here at one in the morning and not at home. He was a stable father, and you could tell.
You knew what instability looked like.
The CD he had in when you got into the car was the White Album, Beatles. That, you could've guessed easily. It fit.
The car was clean. It smelled like peppermint and his cologne. If you opened the glove box, you'd probably find a gun. He carried two on his person while working, so he probably had one in here and then another at his place.
Prepared.
But what neither of you were prepared for was the sudden downpour of rain.
Hotch turned on his windshield wipers, then you saw a flash of white followed by a loud clap of thunder. He cursed under his breath, and you then cursed yourself for finding it attractive. "It's a storm."
"I can see that."
He ignored your quip. "Well, we're already in Arlington. My apartment is two minutes away—we could stop there until it's clear."
You held back a sigh. Regardless of your feelings, it was unsafe to drive in this weather. That's why you agreed. "Okay."
He wasn't lying about being two minutes away. With in no time, you were in front of his complex. Running inside barely did anything; you were drenched after being outside for maybe ten seconds.
The thunder was loud and continuous; the only place you didn't hear it was in the elevator. Then it returned once you were out, walking through the halls to his apartment.
You were on your phone while he unlocked the door, checking the weather app. This time you couldn't repress the sigh that left you. "Forecast says this storm's going all night."
"Oh." He opened the door, holding it open for you. "Well, you can stay the night." What? "I'll drive you home first thing in the morning."
"Um—"
He gestured to his living room, suggesting, "I'll take the couch. You can have the bed." Well, it wasn't really a suggestion, and you didn't have much of a choice, either.
So you nodded. He said something about going to change and fetch you clothes, and then you were alone in Aaron Hotchner's foyer.
You. In his apartment.
You thought back to when you met him, in an interrogation room as he accused you of being a serial killer. And you were a killer, just not that kind. Yet, now, he willingly had you, a gun for the government, in his apartment. This was the same Aaron Hotchner who prosecuted criminals, who hunted down evil, and believed in justice and court of law. The same Aaron Hotchner who frowned upon your unseriousness and grey morals. And he was also the same Aaron Hotchner that stood next to you in a hospital waiting room and told you he wanted to know you.
God, it was ironic. Him wanting to know you. You didn't know if he understood what that meant, what that entailed.
He was the gavel, and you were the gun.
And that was that.
He walked back into the room after a good three minutes, changed into attire more informal than you'd ever seen him. He wore a button-down and jeans to the bar, but you didn't imagine you'd ever see him in sweats.
"Bathroom's on the left," he told you, pointing to it. "Feel free to use the shower. I left some clothes on the bed for you, and if you need anything, I'll be out here."
You nodded, saying a quiet "thanks" before you walked past him to his room. You'd skip the shower; you didn't have any underwear for that.
Closing the door, you took a moment to scan his room. Bed in the middle, navy blue sheets. Window facing the door, dark red curtains covering them. There was a closet to the side, likely filled with suits, then a dresser across from the bed for ties and everything else.
There were two nightstands on either side of the bed, a frame on one. When you got closer, you saw it was a picture of a little boy with a grin so wide that it brought a smile to your face.
On the bed, Hotch left you a pair of grey jogging pants and a worn blue hoodie with George Washington University painted on in chipped white in the middle. You changed out of your wet dress, and all hesitation for wearing Hotch's clothes went out the door the second you put on his hoodie.
The sweatpants were just as comfortable, despite having to pull the drawstrings immensely far. You could fall asleep like this no problem, but then just as you went for the bed, the light cut out, drowning you in darkness.
You're kidding me.
There was a knock on the bedroom door soon after. You weren't sure if you could find it without stumbling or knocking something over, so you just shouted, "Come in."
Hotch's head poked in, illuminating the room with the flashlight on his phone. "It's the whole neighbourhood. Do you want a candle?"
Yes, I do. You had a thing about sleeping in the dark, but like hell if you were gonna tell him that. A CIA agent, afraid of the dark—you weren't telling anybody that. "No, I'm good, but um," why am I stammering? "Could I get some water, please?"
"Yes, of course." Hotch was quick to leave the room for what you requested, and you were quick to follow him. He was the one with the flashlight.
His kitchen was barely visible, but you caught a glimpse of a few drawings on the fridge. When he lit a candle and placed it on the counter, you saw the the drawings were finger paintings, one of a whole child's hand. Again, you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from curving upwards.
Aaron Hotchner. You'd seen the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and now the father.
"Here." Hotch's voice cut through your thoughts as he handed you a glass of water. You didn't even hear when he turned the tap on.
You wordlessly took the water, thanking him with a nod. He stood there as you took a sip, watching you with a gaze that felt scrutinizing but probably wasn't. He was good at hiding what he was thinking, but you could still tell that he was thinking, nonetheless.
In a split-second decision, you lost the battle with yourself not to engage in conversation. "What? Did you poison this?"
He ignored you, like always, and questioned, "Are you afraid of the dark?"
You just barely stopped yourself from choking, masking your cough with a chuckle. "What?" How the fuck did he guess that?
Vaguely, he added, "You seem like the type."
"Oh, 'I seem like the type?'" you echoed. "Is that your normal-person way of saying 'it fits with my profile?'"
He shrugged. "More or less."
Another chuckle left you, this time unforced. You were wondering if he was drinking before you and Derek showed up. This confidence and nonchalance was new, but amusing. Maybe you had one too many drinks, too, or maybe something about this version of Aaron was drawing you in, but you indulged him. "Okay, Hotchner. Give me my profile."
He paused, looking at you like he was debating if you really meant it but you saw the moment he made up his mind, decision flashing through his eyes. He gave you a once-over, but not because he needed to; you had a feeling this profile had been brewing for a while now.
"You're a control freak," he started. "This doesn't just shine through in your work—it also appears in your day-to-day life, like your overwhelming need to fill silence or dislike for the dark. This comes from a period of your life when you weren't in control, and now you have to control every situation you encounter. You come off as easygoing, but in reality, you're closed off. You hide behind jokes and arrogance because you don't want people to know the real you, but every once in a while, she reveals herself. She cares, but you can't have that be used against you, so you pretend you don't. You don't have many friends because that opens doors, and you are afraid of what is behind them. That is why, even as you stand in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, you still refuse to say my name. It's a defense mechanism, a way for you to create distance because, as much as you deny it, you feel something."
Somewhere in his explanation, he got closer to you. He never broke eye contact, not once. He stared at you like you were a puzzle he was waiting to solve, and he had too many pieces. You suddenly wished you'd never asked.
You intook a deep breath. "Ho—"
He cut you off, voice now just above a whisper. "What are you hiding from, Y/N?"
What am I hiding from?
Your eyes involuntarily darted down to his lips, and he caught it. He took another step closer, and you let him. What am I hiding from?
Your breath was shaky as Hotch leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. One movement and your lips would touch. You wondered what it'd feel like. To kiss him. To stop hiding.
What are you hiding from, Y/N?
You leaned in, and then just before your lips met his, the lights turned back on.
Just like that, you pulled away, the sound of your racing heart concealed by the sound of the heater kicking back on. "I should— I should get back to bed now." You kept your eyes on the tile.
"Y/N—"
"Um, thank you for the water—"
"Y/N."
Finally, you looked up at him, concern and confusion swimming in his eyes, and you understood it. One second, you were on the verge of kissing, and now you were on the verge of tears. You didn't understand it, either.
But this, whatever it was, it couldn't happen. This was a lapse of your judgement. He was Aaron Hotchner, the prosecutor, the profiler, the unit chief, and the father: the gavel. You were Y/N Y/L/N, the hacker, the director, the addict, and the killer: the gun.
This wasn't gonna happen.
So you loaded a round into the chamber, put your finger on the trigger, and took the safety off. Then you aimed it at yourself and fired, "You're a good man, Aaron." Too good for me.
You think he was too shocked by his own name, and that's why he let you walk away.
And as you closed his bedroom door, you had a feeling that it wasn't the only door you just closed.
6. A lie is the truth (link)
taglist: @flow33didontsmoke
extra a/n: guys i'm so mad ab this block limit and how this can't be one part but wtv!!
#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#i love hotch#aaron hotchner fic#star crossed lovers#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner fluff#bau x reader#bau family#bau#criminal minds#cm fic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fandom#derek morgan#penelope garcia#morcia#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#jemily#spencer reid#david rossi#elle greenaway#jason gideon#cm lo-fi
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two wheels
george russell x biker!reader, social media!au
summary george's new girlfriend seems way too cool for him and the fans just cannot believe it
notes bit of a longer one here (what is a plot) but i just wanted to do something fun since it's the winter break. and i love poking a bit of fun at my favs
yourusername
tagged: yourbestfriend and 6 others
Liked by lilymhe, georgerusselll63, and 29,412 others
yourusername that's my party people! 🍾
10 December 2023
view 116 comments
yourbestfriend for the record, everything that happened after 9pm is completely yn's fault
⤷ yourusername sooo r u still up for next week?
⤷ yourbestfriend @/yourusername 100%
⤷ yourfriend1 yn is the reason why you shouldn't drink and drive 😭
nadissodone HOLDDDDD IT 🚨🚨 george liked this post
⤷ 44formula but he wasn't tagged soo??
⤷ goatmilton what is a polar bear doing in arlington texas 💀💀💀
champagneshower no way 4th slide is george tho
liked by yourusername
⤷ jadedtrack it does kinda look like him tbf
4strobaby yn ma'am could you please confirm whether or not you have a boyfriend
liked by yourusername
⤷ 4strobaby GUYS SHE LIKED THE COMMENT THIS MIGHT MEAN SOMETHING
⤷ unevilincorporated OMG WAIT @/yourusername does that boyfriend happen to be f1 driver george russell???
liked by yourusername and georgerussell63
⤷ unevilincorporated BOTH HER AND GEORGE LIKED THAT ONE???? IT DEFINITELY MEANS SOMETHING
⤷ maroon.jpg @unevilincorporated yall are crazy why are we playing ouija board with comment likes 😭😭
georgerussell63
Liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and 127,384 others
georgerussell63 Pretty good start to winter break ❄️
p.s. thanks danielricciardo for the wine
18 December 2023
view 316 comments
danielricciardo Hope you guys enjoyed the wine!
⤷ yourusername the wine was a banger, will 100% be getting more
⤷ tracklimited @/yourusername oh yeah she basically just confirmed that they're together 💀
oceanblvd im almost positive that's yn's helmet theyre really not trying to hide it anymore
yourusername • 3hrs ago | georgerussell63 • 2hrs ago / 20 December 2023
you replied to georgerussell63's story:
i'm taking u out on another one tmr and u can't say no babe
georgerussell63:
what if i do say no?
you:
u can't. i'll kidnap u and throw u on my bike
georgerussell63:
i could run away
and i think mercedes will have something to say about that
you:
don't worry, i won't keep you for too long
besides, the team loves me
they'll let me off the hook
georgerussell63:
i don't like how i can't argue with that
yourusername
tagged: georgerussell63 and 7 others
Liked by francisca.cgomes and 211,220 others
yourusername i should be playing in the winter snow, but imma be under the mistletoe (with youuu)
25 December 2023
view 213 comments
lilymhe nobody tell her it wasn’t snowing in london last night
⤷ yourusername i wouldn’t have known anyway tbh
⤷ pierregasly @/yourusername too busy?
⤷ georgerussell63 @/pierregasly we can’t disclose that i’m afraid.. the nda and all that 😂😂
⤷ brockenclocks @/pierregasly why is pierre always at the scene of the crime 😭😭
⤷ certifiedlvrgrrl @/georgerussell63 george wtf do u mean by the nda
mercedesamgf1 Merry Christmas from the team!
liked by yourusername
yourusername • 2hrs ago / 28 December 2023
yourusername
tagged: georgerussell63 and 4 others
Liked by lissiemackintosh, georgerussell63, and 52,220 others
yourusername starting the year off in the beautiful south of france 💋
📸 1&2: georgerussell63
4 January 2024
view 224 comments
georgerussell63 i think i should get credits for the 4th pic too since it was taken on my phone
⤷ yourusername georgie please just let it go 😭
⤷ georgerussell63 @ yourusername you took 50 pictures before letting me leave the bathroom and i was only in half of them.
⤷ yourusername @ georgerussell63 they're for ur personal collection 😘
⤷ moonriver @ yourusername PERSONAL COLLECTION????
⤷ sativaur @ yourusername "personal collection" yn im going insane
fonedance yn you're so fine please break up with ur bf i can treat you better than he ever will
⤷ cuntlonso realest thing i've read all day 😭😭😭
georgerussell63
Liked by pierregasly, logansargeant, and 216,993 others
georgerussell63 A refreshing little getaway to start the year
📸 2: yourusername
4 January 2024
view 431 comments
jadedfc the way his arm wraps around her in their pics im sosoo sick
⤷ rollemodel he lowkey shut down all the haters with it too
⤷ sunburnns that should be me pls
yourusername
tagged: georgerussell63
Liked by georgerussell63, lilymhe and 39.238 others
yourusername trying out a couple extra wheels...
16 January 2024
view 146 comments
yourbestfriend coolest girl itw ⚡️
lilymhe so the final verdict on 2 vs 4 wheels is...?
⤷ georgerussell63 4 wins
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 hell no it's obviously 2 🙄
⤷ georgerussell63 @/yourusername think that's because you lost by an entire lap?
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 as if you didn't almost fall off the bike!! u're also biased
⤷ georgerussell63 @/yourusername why don't we just agree to disagree?
⤷ yourusername @/georgerussell63 you just don't wanna admit i'm right
⤷ motogp @/georgerussell63 @/yourusername🍿🍿🍿
⤷ lilymhe @/motogp pass me some, too
⤷ alex_albon @/motogp me 3
gr63stan their arguing is so adorable 😭😭
mercrarri yep i still think she's way too cool for him
⤷ landoshelmet ikr she's such a badass and he's... there
⤷ pastrydish literal she's everything and he's just ken
⤷ 4lbons she already said leave the man alone damn 😭😭
maiadrsh george russell has to be the luckiest man alive
⤷ yourusername more like sexiest man alive
⤷ alex_albon @/yourusername i did NOT need to see you say that today 🤢
⤷ georgerussell63 @alex_albon you'd better believe it 😎
⤷ alex_albon @/georgerussell63 not today, not for a single one of the past 15 years we've known each other, and not ever
⤷ yourusername @alex_albon sincerely, even i doubt that second part
⤷ silverstoned what is yn insinuating in these comments 🤨
an: i feel like every time i post a new smau i level up and introduce new formatting. also comment tags r weird bcs i wna avoid tagging real users and it irks me
bonus:
yourusername • 12hrs ago
seen by georgerussell63, francisca.cgomes, and 153,329 others
georgerussell63 replied to your story | 16:44
"but you love me more"
"right?"
you | 16:45
"hmmmm i gotta think about it"
"i'll tell you tomorrow?"
georgerussell63 | 16:46
"..."
"i can't believe i might lose to a bike 😐"
you | 16:46
"jokes 😭"
"would you pick your car over me, though?"
georgerussell63 | 16:48
"no comment"
you | 16:49
"george."
georgerussell63 | 16:51
"i love you"
you | 16:52
"i'm coming over"
#george russell x reader#george russell smau#george russell#george russell fanfic#george russell imagine#formula one#f1#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#formula one fanfic#formula 1 x reader#george russell x you#alex albon#george russell social media au#f1 smau#george russell one shot#f1 one shot
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always forever ; vi (arcane) part three !
a collection of (modern) domestic life activities with vi ! college au , modern au , self indulgent
part one, part two, part three, part four soon !
note : this one’s a short one *sighs* i promise part four will be longer (& juicier, can’t wait for vi to meet the parentals)
content warning : swearing, nsfw (will let you know when the nsfw content starts!)
drable three : officially yours
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who ever since you guys made it official(ish), became more comfortable in parading around the apartment shirtless. sometimes she’ll have a sports bra on or a wrap around her chest, but most of the time she’d just have her bare titties out (especially during warmer weather). sometimes when you scold her, she’d even joke around and ask you to join her. “free the nips baby!”
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who’s your stereotypical masc lesbian. hello ?? the red/pink hair color, the one side of her head shaved, the tough exterior but is actually a softy deep down? i mean the woman looks tough and acts tough. despite that though, vi would 100% combust and explode into flames whenever you call her “my pretty girl”, “my baby”, “my girl/girlfriend”, most especially when you call her “my pretty violet”. if vi was a cut she’d be purring whenever she’s around you, if she was a dog her tail would be wagging 24/7z
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who definitely has attachment issues :( she hasn’t really opened up everything about her past (which you don’t mind, you know that she’ll tell you eventually when she’s ready), but you know that something bad has happened in her childhood that affected her mentally.
ꕀ ever since you and girlfriend vi ! became a couple (officially), you noticed how she became clingier and touchier than usual. cooking? doing the dishes? rest assured that vi would be standing behind you. her front against your back as her head rested on top of yours, her arms resting around your waist. showering? taking a soak in the bath tub? the next thing you know vi would be knocking on the door and asking if she could join you.
during times where she felt as if she’s being too much she would try to distance herself, which you’d notice of course and it would always end up to you two cuddling. you know damn well that you’re as clingy as her.
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who has never slept in her own bed ever since she told you she loved you. to be honest, it doesn’t really matter where she sleeps as long as it’s next to you. staying over at ekko’s for band rehearsals? you bet your fine ass she’s crashing there as well. visiting your childhood home for the weekend? your phone would always end up dead in the morning, the battery drained from being on call with vi the whole night.
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves spoiling you. during the days where she’d wake up earlier than you (because of rugby or hockey practice), she’d always make sure to drop by the coffee shop you fell in love with to grab you your usual coffee and pastry combo. whenever she’s running late and doesn’t have the time to wake you up, she’d leave the food on your bedside table accompanied by a sticky note containing her scribbled handwriting.
to: the prettiest girl
from: the love of your life :p
good morning baby :D i hope you had a good sleep (pretty sure you did, you snored so loud last night lol) anyways, sorry for not waking you up and giving you the pastry and coffee. we finished practice late and i had to attend heimerdinger’s class :< i hope you have an amazing day mi luv <3 enjoy the food.
p.s pls text me when u wake up ;)
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! absolutely loves buying the two of you matching outfits, especially if they’re the stupidest, funniest, brainrot thing ever. she got you two matching fairy princess batman boxers, hello kitty x batman pjs, and the corny sexual shirts from spencers. she’d also plan couple halloween costumes in the middle of december.
“baby! i know what we’re gonna be for halloween next year?”
“omg what??? i love matching costumes.”
“sukuna and cinderella!! i can be sukuna and you’ll be cinderella of course.”
“… what?¿”
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves taking you out for a late night drive, especially if you haven’t seen each other the whole day because of school, work, and extracurricular activities. vi hates it when she doesn’t get to spend time with you (yes, cuddling in bed before sleeping isn’t ‘spending time with you’). when both of you are finally home, she’ll offer to take you out for a drive immediately. doesn’t matter what you guys do or where you guys go, vi did not care.
feeling down in the dumps? had a rough day? failed a test? your girlfriend would immediately take you on a 30 minute drive to the nearest beach to stargaze (and maybe take a quick dip). hungry? vi will drive you downtown to ya’lls favorite fast food joint that’s open 24 hours.
ꕀ i think we all agree that girlfriend vi ! is a gamer. she has a gaming setup that costs around $5000 (probably more tbh), a ps5, and fucking nintendo switch. one day you got curious and asked vi to teach you how to play some of her favorite games and boy was she ecstatic ya’ll basically spent the whole day playing games, switching from the ps5, to the switch, and even her pc.
! nsfw !
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is a munch. there. i said it.she LOVES eating pussy. i don’t make the rules
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is a giver. she’d rather go down on you than you down down on her. despite that, she doesn’t really mind you eating her out (especially when you 69).
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is definitely a switch, but tops you most of the time. tbh she’s a service top. anyways, she absolutely loves it when you ride her and sit on her face. something about you showing the tinniest bit of dominance makes her pussy drool, oh lawd she coming.
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! who loves your titties. rest-assured that she’ll either have her hands or her mouth on them all the time.
ꕀ sex with girlfriend vi ! be so good that it feels like two cis women might actually make baby.
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! likes it rough, but still prefers soft vanilla sex. her fave position (other than 69) is missionary, she loves seeing your face (especially when you come).
ꕀ ya’ll this woman’s stamina though. girlfriend vi ! can go for hours and multiple rounds. i mean she does play rugby & hockey, so it makes sense. its still crazy how long she can last though.
ꕀ girlfriend vi ! is an absolute sweetheart. aftercare is always a must. she’d wipe you down, runs you a bath (when you’re not too tired), would get you water and food as well. cuddles after sex is a must as well.
#vi x reader#vi arcane x reader#arcane act three#arcane#vi arcane#jinx arcane#arcane smut#violet arcane#caitlyn kiramman#arcane season 2#vi is so hot#ekko arcane#vi league of legends#caitvi#arcane x you#league of legends#sevika arcane#caitlyn arcane#jinx league of legends#wlw yearning#wlw post#wlw blog#wlw x reader
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omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well
tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!
this december
jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader
it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.
content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry
word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)
click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!
it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.
“why me?” you groan.
gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.
“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”
“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.
satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”
you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.
“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.
satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).
satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”
your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”
“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”
“i appreciate your honesty, but—”
“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.
“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”
“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”
“gojo!” you whine.
“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”
and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).
so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.
megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.
“i think we should break up.”
and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.
now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.
���need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.
you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.
“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.
the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.
what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.
if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.
megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.
you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.
“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.
it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.
you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.
“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.
“i can take the couch,” megumi says.
it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.
“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”
“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”
we’ve shared a room countless of times before.
megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.
“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.
megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”
he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.
“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.
“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”
to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.
and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.
december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.
“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”
you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”
he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.
by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.
you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.
your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.
you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?
“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.
with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”
you pale. “this sucks.”
“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.
“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.
he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”
your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”
“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”
“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.
“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.
you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?
there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.
that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.
so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?
you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”
you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.
it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.
you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.
when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.
“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.
you smile and nuzzle closer.
it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.
to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.
tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.
it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?
“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.
you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.
“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.
the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.
“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.
you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.
“don’t touch my wife.”
the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?
“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”
“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”
the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.
“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”
“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”
you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”
“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”
“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.
“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”
“i don’t want to,” you argue.
“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”
“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.
“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”
from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.
you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”
“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.
“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”
the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.
when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.
the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.
there’s nothing to do anyway.
you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.
you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.
without much thought, you buy the gift.
the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”
you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”
she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.
you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.
reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?
you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.
you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.
you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.
he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.
“is this for me?”
“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”
he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”
“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.
“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”
you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”
“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.
you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.
he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.
“thank you,” he whispers.
december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.
“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.
“huh? why not?”
“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.
“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”
“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”
your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.
“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”
“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”
“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.
you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.
“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.
he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”
why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?
your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?
you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.
“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.
he stills completely. “what?”
“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”
his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.
“i do care,” he admits sorely.
“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.
“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”
you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.
“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.
“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.
“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.
he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.
“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”
“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”
he flinches against you. “but i…”
“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”
he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.
you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.
“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”
“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?
“w-we gotta report back to—”
“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.
the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”
“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.
all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.
it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.
“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.
“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”
megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.
your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.
"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.
satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”
“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.
“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.
“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”
megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.
“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”
“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.
“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”
“watch me!”
“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”
#jjk x reader#jjk x you#megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#megumi x you#fushiguro megumi x reader#jjk megumi#megumi fluff#not my best work tbh
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⭒ the other woman
christopher sturniolo x poc!reader
summary: an angsty story of regret and selfishness told through different moments in time
warnings: alternate universe (takes place in the early 2000s bcs i’m obsessed), angst, implied sex, cigarettes, cheating (with, not on y/n)
a/n: hiiii srry for ghosting u guys again :/ i finally have motivation to write again!!! send in blurb or one shot ideas pls. unfortunately im putting tgwtt on hold for right now bc i feel writing that series takes so much out of me and i end up not enjoying anything i write. i hope u understand & im sorry to those who enjoy it! anyways i hope this is well received since it’s a bit different than my other works — lowkey tuned into my inner sally rooney bc her angst HITS . luv u baiiii
★ march 2004
there’s a vile and shameful look to you that you’re not so sure you’ve hidden well enough.
your stomach feels overweight and heavy with an extreme amount of pain bubbling and stabbing your insides whenever they decide to pop.
you clutch at the edge of the bathroom sink, staring at your figure and aching eyes (you added some dark eyeliner into your routine hoping to distract from your disdainful mood but you’re starting to think you may have drawn more attention with the dramatic look).
you suck your stained bottom lip into your mouth out of comfort or maybe a need for something to hold as you move to dig for the pack of slightly crumpled cigarettes in your small, wine-red purse.
the door handle begins to rattle unnervingly just as you spark the slim stick to life.
you comically still yourself in your exact position (bent over odd and cupping your hand around the cig as if there was any sudden wind to blow out your flame in your friend's classy bathroom).
"y/n? you in here?!"
your eyes widen first, before they eventually roll. you wave your hands around to cut through the plumes of clogged smoke in the quaint room.
“y/n!”
“someone’s in here!” you reply, taking another puff of smoke and adjusting your hair a bit in the mirror.
“you gonna open up for me?”
“ummm,” you sputter through the cigarette held in your mouth as you adjust your strapless dress with both hands in the mirror.
“y/n.”
you let out a soft groan and quickly smash the cigarette a few times against the french vanilla ceramic sink bowl, throwing what's left of it in the trash. you practically shove yourself against the tiny wall space to the side of the door as you inch it open enough for the two of you to gain a full view of each other.
you smile, “chris.”
★ december 2003
they say the holidays are worst when spent alone.
and despite having three siblings and parents who’d want nothing more than to spend their christmas eve with their son, chris has always preferred to spend the holidays with a beautiful girl — in hopes that she’d gift him the intoxicating feeling of her thighs tightly trapping his face by the end of the night.
so it’s shocking that he’s at your door step, dressed in a suave, ribbed white long sleeve, dark blue jeans, and somehow caught without one of his usual hats slouched on top of his head of fawn hair.
and it’s real fucking odd that you answer the door wearing a dress that fits you extremely well, paired with a cardigan to keep some modesty.
it’s so very weird given that chris has his girlfriend of over a year texting him another apology for abandoning their plans together to visit her family in wisconsin as you both share an intimate hug on your porch.
you try not to think it’s so unnatural for you and chris to go out for dinner, despite the fact that everyone in your small town knows he has a girlfriend who’s notably quite the opposite of you.
thank goodness chris keeps some casualty — leaving you to open your own door when climbing into his beloved truck.
★ february 2004
“okay, um, this is something you can eat and there’s, like, a million types- you like granny smith!”
“oo, apples!”
chris nods excitedly and flips to the next card, “it’s my favorite meal of the day.”
“breakfast!”
“yes, you’re perfect. alright this is casper the friendly-”
“ghost!”
“amazing! ‘kay, i’m always complaining that mine isn’t stiff enough.”
“your dick?” josh jokes.
“fuck off, josh! i’m more than capable…” chris laughs.
“gross! chris?!”
“what?! don’t make it a biggie. now hurry ‘n gimme that answer baby, please?”
“well i’m guessing it’s your mattress?!”
“you have 7 seconds!” nick says while intensely staring at the tiny hourglass.
chris gives an encouraging hand motion for her to continue on that path.
“ummm… your bed?!”
“yes! that’s what i’m talking about!” chris shoots up from his position, on the ground in front of the coffee table, and immediately picks liv up from the couch in celebration.
the group let out plenty of laughs and giggles at the fear in her eyes as she’s lifted up and down excitedly.
cassie yells out, “aw yay mom and dad!” when chris sets her down and kisses her lips.
you try to control your face. your eyes flicker over and see them smiling with their faces so close together. and it drives you a little mad that whatever chris whispered to make her burst into laughter can’t be heard from your spot across the couch, especially not when there are so many conversations going on at once.
it’s just a game. you have no right to be jealous. it’s fucking taboo.
you clear your throat and uncross your legs as you begin to leave from the leather couch, “matt and josh, you can go before me- i’m just gonna grab some water.”
★ march 2004
“smoking cigs again?” chris asks as he steps into the bathroom.
“no,” you lie, resting your hip against the edge of the counter.
he knows you’re lying but doesn’t bother to pressure the truth out of you, he’s not your father. or your boyfriend at that.
“are you doing okay?” he pauses and waits for you to acknowledge him.
you don’t.
he clears his throat, “you look beautiful in this,” he tugs your dress down showing off the cleavage you’d just got done hiding.
“‘m all good,” you answer his initial question while exaggerating a smile.
chris mindlessly nods his head and somehow gets even closer to you, to the point where you have to tilt your head just the slightest bit to make eye contact.
“can i kiss you?” he asks with a genuine glimmer of generosity in his eyes and tone; as if he wanted you to want it more than he wants it himself.
you’re silent. he holds your neck gently and raises his other hand to drag your large bottom lip downward, cooing a tease, “hmmm..?”
you whine a little to yourself — this can’t happen again.
“yes?” chris mocks a little, giving a squeeze to your neck, “say it.”
your eyes droop and suddenly the ache of pain and guilt melts down to a slush of excitement and warmth both inside and evidently outside, if the stickiness of your lace underwear says anything. you nod your head.
chris is so obsessed with your mouth, his thumb doesn't move from your bottom lip as you peek your tongue out to wet it, "yes, please." your words echo off of his lips that now practically hover yours.
even though you've used your manners you manage to deliver it as a command. and it doesn't help that you paired the sentence with your hands running up the hot skin underneath his dark shirt. his mouth hangs slightly ajar as his head nods softly once more and his eyes flicker over your pretty face.
you wait for his response before your eyes lock onto his and you pout, "i thought you wanted to kiss me, chris?"
★ december 2003
“that’s hot,” chris mumbles as he kicks his legs over eachother and stretches out on the longest part of your L - shaped, funky-green couch.
“what is?” you ask as you return to the living room, popcorn cradled in an oversized bowl against your waist.
“pamala anderson,” chris jokingly moans out, biting his bottom lip and covering his lower half with one of your fuzzy throw pillows.
“gross, you perv!” you throw a handful of popcorn at his face — that’s stretched into an adorable smile — and take a seat next to him.
“baywatch reruns are all that nbc play anymore,” you squint with a sigh, taking a swig of the cool bottle of beer chris requested before handing it to him.
“they lost the best thing to ever happen to ‘em, i’d milk that shit too.” he then takes a sip, smirking when a desperate pamala anderson begins to run in slow motion on your fuzzy box television.
“what would liv think of you drooling over some baywatch tits?”
“what would liv think of me replacing her with you for my christmas eve dinner?”
you can’t help but think that ‘replacing’ is possibly the meanest word he could have used.
he smiles and gives a soft laugh when your face doesn’t respond, “joking- don’t spaz on me now…” he rolls his eyes from you back to the screen in front of you.
you swallow and adjust your legs to sit underneath you, trying to get comfortable while remaining in your small red dress.
★ march 2004
“never again,” you remind chris and yourself as you step into your once discarded underwear.
chris nods his head a few times, replying when he finally catches his breath, “right.”
“okay,” you slip your dress back on and chris redresses himself away from you.
chris slowly comes up behind you, kissing your shoulder once and hugging you gently. you want to cry — because in any other circumstance you’d embrace this feeling. but you can’t help but feel dirty.
he whispers with his head buried in the side of your crowded neck, “you know your my best friend, right? i love you.”
and you can’t help the shivers and sobs that decide to escape from your sad, used body.
“shhhh,” he apologizes, “i’m sorry.”
★ december 2003
chris imagined having sex with you plenty of times before — figuring most guys have thought of it with all of their girl friends, at least his friends made it seem true.
though his imagination could never ever live up to your whines and the way your body effortlessly takes him as you bounce yourself on top of him.
you both knew this was a bad idea, it was bad before you ended up back at your place after dinner. chris is an admittedly horny drunk and you’re no better so sharing a few beers while sitting so close to each other was bound to backfire.
only in the morning would some ounce of guilt and regret wash over him, when he’d listen to the cheerful voicemail his unknowing girlfriend left him while he was busy with his fingers in your mouth.
★ november 2004
chris hasn’t spoken to you since you came clean to liv about your disloyalty, six months ago.
he yelled and cried at your doorstep. he told you that you ruined his entire life, that he never wants to see you again.
you convince yourself you never want to see him again, but you tend to miss him in the loneliest times. when you’re sat awake in your dark bedroom.
you still miss his voice and his face.
#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#angst#sturniolos#chris sturniolo x black reader#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x you#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo triplets fan fiction#matt sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets smut
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maybe this christmas time
pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader
summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.
word count: 9.5k
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!
a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.
And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.
That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.
“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.
“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.
“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.
He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.
It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.
But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.
“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”
“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”
“Not likely.”
“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”
You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.
That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.
Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.
“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.
“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”
“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”
“At least you look cute!”
You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.
Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.
He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.
And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’
Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.
To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.
There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.
So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.
You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.
“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”
Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.
“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”
He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.
Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.
“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.
“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”
You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.
“Rudolph’s a loser.”
“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”
“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”
“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”
The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.
So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.
“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”
You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.
“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”
He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.
Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.
He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.
“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope!”
-
Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.
Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.
The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.
You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)
Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.
“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.
Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.
“Don’t have one.”
“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”
“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”
“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”
“How did you-”
“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”
“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”
Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.
Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”
“No, I guess not.”
“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”
“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”
You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.
“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”
He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”
Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.
Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.
It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”
Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.
He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.
Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.
“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”
“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”
Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.
So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”
“Wait, really?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”
“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.
“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”
Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.
Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.
-
In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.
You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.
He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.
And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.
“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”
The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.
“What is it?” You ask her.
“Can you do it with me?”
You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”
Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.
It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.
“Say cheese,” he says.
The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.
Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’
“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”
You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.
You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.
From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.
And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”
“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”
Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.
You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.
Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.
“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.
“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”
Sunshine. That’s new.
“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”
Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.
You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.
Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.
He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.
At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.
“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”
“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”
“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”
“Absolutely not.”
While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.
“Steeeve.”
“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”
“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.
“I’ll get back to you on that one.”
That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.
That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.
“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”
“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”
You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”
“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”
“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”
“Well in that case…”
You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.
Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.
-
Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.
It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).
“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.
“Um… yeah. Why?”
“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”
“I thought you had a list.”
“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”
“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.
“So I’m thinking we go skating-”
“Nope.”
“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”
“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”
“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”
“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”
“Deal.”
And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.
Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.
He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.
Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.
His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.
“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”
“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.
He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.
Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”
“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”
“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”
He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.
“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”
“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.
The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.
There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.
Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.
You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.
You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.
Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.
“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”
“You make it sound like it’s easy.”
“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”
“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”
“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”
He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.
Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.
He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.
You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”
“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.
When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.
“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”
This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.
He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.
Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.
“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Super sure.”
You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”
On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.
“You okay, sunshine?”
The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.
Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.
And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.
-
Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.
It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.
Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.
Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.
All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.
This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.
He wishes he didn’t.
“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.
“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”
“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”
“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”
Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.
“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.
This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.
“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Right.”
“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”
And just like that, she hung up.
Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.
At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.
So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.
The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.
You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.
Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.
With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.
Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”
You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”
“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.
Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.
“Um,” you start, voice small.
“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”
Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.
You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.
“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.
“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”
Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.
Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.
He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.
“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”
You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.
It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”
“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.
“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”
“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”
Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.
“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”
“Oh.”
His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.
“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”
One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”
You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.
“I’m gonna change that,” you say.
“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.
-
Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.
So, you did.
You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.
There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.
You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.
“Steve? What are you doing here?”
He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”
You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.
“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”
He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.
“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”
“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”
“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”
“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”
“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”
You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.
When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”
“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”
Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.
You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.
There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.
You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.
“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.
“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”
“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”
You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.
“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.
“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”
“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”
“Whatever you say, Steve.”
“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”
You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”
Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.
“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.
Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.
“You’re done for, Harrington.”
He only laughs, bright and quick.
Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.
By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.
“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”
“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.
“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”
Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.
His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.
“Sprinkle,” he says.
You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.
And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.
Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.
It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.
He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.
You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.
And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.
When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.
Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.
And that’s that.
-
December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.
You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.
He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.
But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.
Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.
“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”
“Cheese!”
The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.
If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.
Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.
It’s all because of you.
Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.
You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.
The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”
“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”
You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”
“No, they are not.”
Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.
“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”
“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”
My doses of sunshine.
You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.
That one makes you break character, “really?”
“Really.”
Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.
You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.
“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.
He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.
It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.
You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.
It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.
You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.
He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.
Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.
You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.
“Really?”
“Open it, please.”
You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.
“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.
“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”
“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”
He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.
You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.
“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.
You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.
He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.
Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.
He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.
“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sunshine.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”
“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”
Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.
“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”
As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.
Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.
‘Make next Christmas just as good.’
Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.
⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆
thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington story#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington blurbs#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington request#steve harrington requests#steve harrington x y/n fluff#steve harrington christmas#steve harrington comfort#steve harrington stranger things#steve stranger things#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#steve x reader#stranger things steve#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you
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part 2 of childhood best friends!charles & y/n
part 3
2021
yourinstagram
Liked by arthur_leclerc and 86,893 others
yourinstagram happy birthday to my best friend in the whole entire world i love u charlie!!! this is only time of the year ill be nice to u 🫶🏽🫶🏽
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charles_leclerc You call posting that second photo being nice?? 😭
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yourinstagram i said i love you is that not enough
user7 I LOVE THEM!!!!!
ynfan y/n is the only person allowed to clown on charles
pascale.leclerc.355 🥹🤏
user2 he looks so good in the first pic omfg
pierregasly 🤣
October 16, 2021
charles_leclerc
Liked by yourinstagram and 432,577 others
charles_leclerc L.A. ❤️
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yourinstagram i post such good photos of you and u post urself in those horrible pants..you'll be single forever
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charlesupdates LMAO get his ass
charles_leclerc Only need you 🤗
user1 DONT GIVE ME HOPE LIKE THIS
user13 does she have to follow him everywhere?
arthur_leclerc Thanks for the invite guys!!!
user4 who was y/n looking at like that
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yourinstagram the waiter bringing us our food
ylnleclerc get married already 🫣
December 4, 2021
2023
rubendias
Liked by masonmount and 538,838 others
rubendias 🤍
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yourinstagram not enough pictures of me but okay
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rubendias Other pictures of you were not appropriate 🤣
user2 i cant stand them
yoursister she looks beautiful ❤️ and you're there...
jackgrealish Vacay is over..time to come back to training!
user3 i love when two sexy people date each other
sasha_rebecca Angel in slide 3! 👼😇
March 3, 2023
charles_leclerc
Liked by yourinstagram and 953,389 others
charles_leclerc Third in the main race today. Nothing we could have done more.
Thank you for the support and see you in Miami 🇺🇸
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ylnleclerc IS THAT A Y/N LIKE IN THE YEAR 2023
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user6 i'm literally in disbelief...
charlielover they def rekindled in february thats what im choosing to believe and now all we need is for them to follow each other again 🙏
scuderiaferarri 💪❤️
user8 not to sound delusional but i bet y/n is still so proud of him despite what happened between them 🥺
pierregasly P3 Baby 🏋️♀️
charlesfan proud of u for being able to take that horrible car past its limits
April 30, 2023
yourinstagram
Liked by pierregasly and 197,288 others
yourinstagram happy birthday to my boyfriend!
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rubendias Best birthday present 🤤
yourfriend you are so funny bruh
ynstan i could treat you better queen 😭
user2 pierre back in her likes.....im connecting the dots
pascale.leclerc.355 Beautiful 🤗
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yourinstagram thank you pascale 💓💓
May 15, 2023
yourinstagram added to their story.
May 21, 2023
dailymail
43,382 likes
dailymail Seems like trouble has hit for Manchester City player, Ruben Dias and his girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N 👀 The star snogs mystery woman on boat during holiday in Formentera despite his ongoing relationship with Y/L/N.
Comments on this post have been limited.
July 24, 2023
tags (tagging everyone who asked about a part 2/asked to be reminded!): @julesandro @tempo-rary-fix @briandaflores19 @fangirlika @escapism-writer @haloxmendes @leclerc16s @vita-di-moda
#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#charles leclerc instagram au#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#ruben baby im sorry i love u!!!!#i saw someone tag part 1 with pls dont hurt ruben and i apologize....hes perfect tho
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lucy bronze social media au
face claim - taylor hill
finally finished this
———
liked by user1, user2 and 5,748 others
enews Longtime couple, Y/N Y/LN and Timothée Chalamet have reportedly split, sources say. The couple have been on the rocks for a while after a video of Timothée has been seen circulating the internet getting cozy with a mystery girl.
Read more with the link in our bio!
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user1 love doesn’t exist anymore
user2 bout time she left him
↳ user9 she was always way out of his league
user3 damn! timmy tim broke up with a whole supermodel for some rando
user4 bet he gon try running back to her in a week
march 17, 2020
liked by user1, user2 and 224,738 others
yourinstagram my favorite sidekick 💙
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user1 she said ‘forget about timmy here’s me and my dog’
user2 so beautiful!
user3 go out with me now that tims not in the picture
liked by user1, lucybronze and 746,804 others
yourinstagram beach bum 🌞
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user1 great view, but i prefer to look into your eyes
user2 u got a little sand on you
user3 where is this bikini from?!
june 25, 2020
liked by user1, user2 and 12,474 others
tmz Y/N Y/LN seen holding hands with a new partner just months after her breakup with longtime boyfriend- now ex - timothée chalamet, in manchester, united kingdom.
click the link in our bio to read more!
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user1 she’s back!
user2 she’s already with someone else? girl is going around
↳ user3 tim moved on while in a relationship bffr
↳ user4 it’s been six months that’s a long time
september 5, 2020
liked by user1, user2 and 5,637 others
enews Y/N Y/LN just deactivated her instagram account just before the new year starts!
click the link in our bio to read more!
view all comments
use3 what? no!
user4 good! she wasn’t good enough for timothee anyway!
↳ user5 girl bffr he cheated on her. good for her for leaving!
user6 hope she comes back soon!
december 31, 2020
liked by gigihadid, taylorswift and 10,748 others
view all comments
user1 IS THAT A RING?
user2 miss girl comes back from the dead and just drops a pic
enews Y/N Y/LN engaged? click our bio to find out more!
↳ user3 she’s not back more than 5 seconds and you already have an article up
↳ user4 fr give her a break
march 10, 2023
liked by alexiaputellas, leahwilliamsonn and 11,748 others
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user1 wait… are these wedding photos??
user2 did she get married?
user3 what’s with the no caption post again??
tmz click the link in our bio to find out more out more on this marriage
↳ user4 you and enews need to fuck off!
user5 what’s the barca and england team doing in the likes??
april 22, 2023
liked by lucybronze, gigihadid and 5,839,648 others
yourinstagram @/victoriasecret world tour is out now!
loved to be in wings again 👼
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lucybronze ❤️❤️❤️
↳ yourinstagram ❤️❤️❤️
gigihadid so glad to share the vs runway with you again!
↳ yourinstagram love ya gi!
user1 are we just gonna ignore her last two posts??
user2 acting like she didn’t break the internet
user3 what is lucy bronze doing here?
↳ user4 and most of the barca and england team liking??
may 15, 2023
liked by user1, user2 and 5,738 others
ynupdates yn seen at the barcelona women’s game with a friend!
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user3 has she been in barcelona this whole time??
↳ user4 is that why paps haven’t been able to find her?
user5 since when was she into sports?
user6 guys i’m at the same place as her right now and she’s in the friends and family section!!
↳ user7 OMGG WHO IS SHE THERE FOR
↳ user8 IS SHE A WAG? FOR WHOOOOO?????
liked by user1, user2 and 7,748 others
enews Y/N Y/LN spotted in public after 2 years since deactivating instagram. Since activating her account again, it has been scrubbed of all posts except some new ones which look to be about her wedding. Y/N Y/LN is a very taken woman ladies and gents.
Click the link in our bio to read more!
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user3 enews is already back on y/n’s tail
user4 she’s in barca’s friends and family section
↳ user5 how do you know
↳ user4 i’ve been to a couple games and that’s where it is
liked by user1, user2 and 5,445 others
ynupdates y/n posted and deleted this video from her insta stories. did she marry a woman? did she have a baby?
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user3 wouldn’t be surprising if she did. she’s been very open about being bi
↳ user4 didn’t she used to date hailee steinfeld
↳ user5 yeah but she said they were better as friends
user6 no longer supporting y/n
↳ user7 good riddance to you!
user8 if she did have a baby, she really is mother now
tmz can we use this photo?
↳ ynupdates no the fuck you can’t! leave mother alone!
liked by lucybronze, onabatlle and 10,638,637 others
yourinstagram made a little oopsie yesterday so… surprise 🤷🏻♀️ @/lucybronze
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lucybronze love my little family ❤️
↳ yourinstagram i love you 💕
keirawalsh just want to put it out there that i am the favorite aunt
↳ leahwilliamsonn you’re the godmother you don’t get to be the favorite aunt too
alexiaputellas amo a mi pequeña bebé
↳ yourinstagram te amo tia alexia - baby bronze ❤️
↳ user4 omg baby bronze ugh 😩
user1 AHHHH FINALLY
user2 she’s off the market
user3 mother is a MOTHER
1maryearps my favorite milf
#woso x reader#greynatomy#woso#woso imagines#woso imagine#lucy bronze#lucy bronze x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader#lucy bronze smau
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sharks 😭 please tend to nikolai kovalenko. i am writing out notes for u like i'm leaving him at the catsitter's but ugm. i love he.
● his dad, andrei kovalenko, was also an av, and was nicknamed "the tank" ○ kolya is um. not that big yet. ○ he is still only a jeep (but he plays like he thinks he's a tank) ● here is what he had to say after his first ever nhl game: "everyone's so big. i try to hit but they not falling" ● the avs traded his dad away in december 1995 in exchange for a goalie (patrick roy). so i guess they can bond over that ? ● he was born in raleigh, north carolina, while his dad was playing for the canes (i just think that's neat) ○ they moved back to russia when he was only 2 though ● his english is not the best yet, and the guys don't always understand him, but he's still never not yapping ● on being ready for the first day of school the new season: “I play only 200%, not less, because it’s my favorite game in the world. First thing - work. Second thing - fun, enjoy the game.” ● through pre-season and the start of the season, when the avs were all playing like shit every night, kolya was stepping up ○ he does make. um. mistakes. sometimes ○ like for example, his first nhl game was during the playoffs and he made a panic bad decision that led to a goal against (iirc) ○ media asked the hc what he should do instead in that situation ○ answer: "well, he can't do that." ○ he's making enormous progress though. making better decisions all the time. and the skill is definitely there. he is going to be. so fucking good. ● his wife is uhm. very beautiful 😳 and they have a tiny adorable stupid dog named Teddy ● the avs made him wear the giant hat (player of the game item) when he got his first nhl goal ○ and yes, that picture is framed in his home with the puck
pplease i hope that you will love and cherish him 🥺 he is my most favorite rookie. don'tt forget to water him, and call me if he scores a goal, okay?
#sharks lb#<- idk where else to put this#my heart is breakingggg#at least he's going to a good home (team i am fond of)#when you guys uh. x the y with him in 5 years (or whatever)#i will be there with the camcorder and tears in my eyes#shepping nachas#💕#hockey#nikolai kovalenko
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Desk Deliveries — ljn
‣ pairing: lee jeno x reader
‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l/coworkers-to-lovers, secret admirer au, office!au
‣ wc: 5.6k
‣ summary: When gifts start appearing on your work desk on December 1st, you have no choice but to hunt down the man who’s been planting them. And with only 7 men on the floor, this shouldn’t be difficult… Right?
‣ warnings: nothing really?, cliche-ish ending, a lot of dialogue (I gotta get this story goingggg)
‣ an: jeno’s wooooo, honestly easier to write than I thought but it’s wayyyy longer than I wanted it to be (I keep underestimating? myself), I just hope it’s up to my own standards lmaooo, but hopefully u guys enjoy!
Series Masterlist
DECEMBER 1
Desk Delivery!
Starting today, consider your desk a treasure trove of surprises.
‘Tis the season of giving, after all, and your radiant presence in the office deserves to be celebrated.
Each gift is carefully chosen, a small reflection of the little things I love about you. I hope they bring a smile to your face and add a sprinkle of magic to your December days.
Stay curious,
Your Secret Admirer (or would Secret Santa fit the season?)
You almost laugh out loud, blinking at the note sitting on your desk. This must be a joke, right?
“What is that?” Karina digs her chin into your shoulder, reading the note from behind you.
“Some joke,” you reply, letting her pluck the card from your fingertips.
She pouts, “But it’s cute!”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” you counter, taking the card back.
“I just don’t believe it’s real.”
DECEMBER 3
Today, you arrive at the office greeted with a small, neatly wrapped cube on your desk and you’re beginning to think that the message you were given on the 1st wasn’t a joke and that, whoever it was, was being serious.
You glance around the office to see if any of your coworkers were present, but you seemed to be the first one there. Your brows furrow, carefully sliding the box toward you before ripping the wrapping paper.
You use your office scissors to slice the tape open, and then once you are sure you can open the box to see what was in it, you take a deep breath in. You push the box away from you so it’s at arm’s length, afraid that something was going to pop out when you lift the flaps open. Counting to three in your head, you ready your fingers to lift the covers after the third count.
Fully expecting there to be fake snakes of some sort, you were met with nothing (thankfully). You pull the box back and peek in to find a mug and a card. Your brows furrow, pulling the card out first.
I know how much you love that mug of yours, Y/N…
But it’s time to retire that broken one.
Got you a new one. Hope you like it!
Your Secret Admirer
You can’t help but giggle at the tone of the writer, placing the card down before going for the mug. You’ve been teased maybe once or twice for using a mug with no handle, mostly because you’ve been complaining about how the edges of the glass edges left behind by the absent handles had been poking at your palm.
Carefully, you fish the cup out of the box, making sure you won’t drop and shatter the present before you can even use it, and you use your other hand to pull the box off. And when you finally get a good look at the mug, you laugh out loud, bringing it up to eye level to get a good look at it.
It was the exact same mug you already have been using, the only difference was that this one actually had a handle.
You were so caught up in your present that you didn't notice Karina approaching you, “Morning, smiley face.”
“Huh?” you blink at her, confused.
“I would take a picture of you right now, but I’m too lazy,” she huffs, “But you’re smiling like a child on Christmas Day.” Karina blatantly points at your face, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”
You shrug but gesture to the card and the mug, “I don’t think that first one was a joke…”
DECEMBER 4
“Hey! Hey, Y/N!”
You hear someone call your name, but you don’t actually hear it. It was sort of like background noise to your thoughts, entering one ear and leaving the other.
“Y/N! Hey!”
Then, you feel something rough hit the side of your face and you realize that Karina was peeking over the wall of her cubicle and into yours.
“What the fuck do you want!” you whisper. You pick up the balled-up scrap paper she had thrown before throwing it back to her, “I’m trying to work!”
She dodges the ball with ease, head briefly disappearing then reappearing, “Do you have any candidates for who your secret admirer could be?”
Karina was speaking a little bit too loud for your liking, so you gestured for her to come closer. She doesn’t hesitate to leave her workspace to enter yours, sitting down on an empty spot on your desk, “So? Candidates?”
You shake your head, “Barely. I was only able to pick out that the writing is a guy’s writing because the girls have neat writing… Other than that, I have nothing.”
The two letters sitting on your desk were your only explicit clues. Then, you had the thing with the mug, but everyone knew of your broken mug. So really, it was just the handwriting that you had as insight.
“Okay, so it’s a guy…” Karina hums. She stretches her neck to glance around the office, “And there’s only like… seven? It wouldn’t be difficult to eliminate some of them.” She picks up your two cards to examine the cards. You can see her eyes move back and forth between the letters, pressing her lips into a thin line. “It’s not Renjun.”
“Huh? How do you know that?”
“He handwrites,” Karina states, “Like straight-up longhand writing. So it’s not him.”
“How do you know he’s not just changing up his writing so it’s not obvious?” you narrow your eyes.
Karina laughs, “Okay, you have a point, but let’s just say that he’s out temporarily, to make it easier on us. In the case that everyone else is out, then it’s Renjun.”
You don’t notice the way your face scrunches up, your facial features pushing in toward your nose.
“Hey, what’s with the face?” Karina’s head tilts to the side. It takes a beat and a half before she realizes, “Wait, you don’t want it to be Renjun, do you?”
You don’t answer, mostly because you didn’t want to outright say that you didn’t want Renjun to be your admirer—no offense to him. Renjun was a great guy, but he wasn’t someone who you saw yourself being with. And if you were to actually build a relationship with this person, you didn’t want it to be Renjun.
An all-knowing smirk appears on Karina’s face, “Then who do you want it to be?”
You want to throw a punch at Karina’s knee, but you remember you are still in the workplace and you need to keep it (at least a little bit) professional. “Fuck you, you already know the answer to that.”
Jeno, Karina thinks.
“Of course you want it to be him,” Karina puts the cards back down, “I should have known. You’re down bad for that man.”
Karina wasn’t wrong. You and Jeno go way back to your internship days, and your (hopeless) crush on him has been there since then.
“Down bad for who?”
From seemingly out of nowhere, Chenle appears at the corner of your cubicle, leaning against it as he takes a sip of his coffee. And of course, wherever Chenle was, Jisung followed, standing right next to the former.
“Uh, that-that one actor!” you lie in a panic, “From that one show!”
“You suck at lying,” Chenle snorts, “You could have at least named someone. It could have been Nam Joohyuk for all I care.”
“It’s not you guys if that’s what you’re thinking,” Karina snickers, “Sorry, boys.”
Jisung and Chenle burst out laughing, almost comically in sync. They even threw in a high-five, though it was out of habit. “No offense, Y/N, but I don’t see you in that light.” Chenle is practically in tears.
“No offense, Chenle, but I don’t either,” you reply, “Now can you guys please leave my space or I’m reporting you guys to Taeyong.” And that sends them away because it wasn’t the first time they’ve been reported.
“Okay so we can scratch those two off the list,” Karina concludes.
And you nod.
So far, so good. This should be easy.
DECEMBER 8
Okay, it wasn’t as easy as you thought.
All your interactions with the other guys were normal. None of them seemed suspicious enough for you to star, nor did any of them do anything that ruled themselves off your list, and you had to admit, it was frustrating.
Of all the boys, the most suspicious was Jaemin, who snickered every time he passed your desk. But when you mentioned this to Karina, Karina pointed out that Jaemin was like that in general, always up to his own shenanigans like Donghyuck was.
“That or he knows something,” Karina thinks, “We should ask him.”
It was nearing the end of the day and you and Karina were sitting at one of the open tables by the floor’s wall of windows, mugs in hand while you carefully eyed the boys of the department.
Karina’s about to walk up to Jaemin when you stop her, pinching her blouse to keep her from leaving, “I don’t think Jaemin’s stupid enough to spill anything if we ask. We have to make it subtle.”
“Subtle, how?”
You shrug, “Just subtle.”
“Subtle, how?” Karina repeats.
You want to bonk her in the head, “I guess pretend like you don’t really care, maybe say you think it’s Renjun or something and see what he says.”
Let’s say Jaemin really did know who your admirer was. If Karina were to think it was someone else, she could note the way Jaemin would react to her guesses and you both can go from there.
You shoo her away and let her do her thing, staying back to pretend you were watching cars drive past down below.
In 8 days, the only clues you were able to gather included the fact that he was a boy, he worked on this floor (the mug thing), he liked to end his J’s in loop de loops, and there was always some type of water or coffee stain on the cards.
The last clue was something you and Karina had just recently discovered, simply because the first few cards were wrinkled in the slightest with water, while the most recent one, today's, had been stained with a drop of coffee.
You’re not sure if these were purposeful or accidental, but nonetheless, you and Karina took any details as clues, hoping that it would lead to a conclusion.
“You haven’t blinked for a while.”
“Shit, I didn’t hear you come,” you greet Jeno with an awkward smile, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, “I was just deep in thought.”
Jeno’s eyes disappear when he smiles and your stomach does that thing it does when he does so. It’s so stupid how you’re feeling like a giddy high schooler around this man, but you’ll defend yourself any day and blame him for everything.
“Is it about your secret admirer?” Jeno questions. He’s facing the window and you’re facing him. You can see him peeking at you through the corner of his eye and he’s smiling teasingly.
Your eyes widen, “Wait, how do you know about that?” You haven’t told anyone but Karina, Chenle, and Jisung, the last two only earning the information for being the most persistent duo on the planet.
“Word gets around,” he shrugs, “And I pass your desk to and from the elevator.”
You’re guessing the two younger boys had let it slip out but you disregard them for now, “Oh… right…”
“So, what about him?” Jeno questions.
“Just… I don’t know who it is….”
Jeno turns to you and you’re taken aback by how tired he looks. Sure, everyone in this damn office repped the good ‘ol panda eyes, but Jeno’s hair was a bit dishevelled, eyes half closed from fatigue. You choose not to point it out.
Jeno’s words register in your head and your brows furrow, “Wait… how do you know they’re a he? I didn’t say anything about him unless…” You don’t quite notice the way Jeno freezes up only because he wasn’t moving much beforehand. “Unless you know who he is!”
Jeno shakes his head, “Jisung told me!”
“I didn’t tell Jisung anything.” “You probably told Karina who told Chenle who told Jisung!” At this point, Jeno’s heart is beating at an erratically fast pace and he’s about to panic until Karina returns. She’s pouting, a tinge of disappointment evident on her face and Jeno takes this as his chance to escape.
“What did Jaemin say?” Your attention is easily pulled away from your friend, “Did he say anything?”
“No,” Karina grumbles, “I accidentally let it slip out that this was about your admirer and all he said was, 'Secret admirer, huh? Wouldn't you like to know.'” Karina mocks Jaemin’s voice, rolling her eyes. “But I guess that just proves that he knows something… it’ll just be harder to get it out of him.”
“Jeno’s being suspicious now, too,” you nod your head to the boy.
Sure it could be implied that your admirer was one of the guys, but the way the man had handled your questions was definitely something to take note of.
DECEMBER 10
“Please tell me you’ll be leaving after you finish this?” Another one of your coworkers, Minjeong, was standing at the edge of your cubicle, leaning against the divider. You can tell she’s ready to leave, hands stuffed deep into her pockets, “Everyone’s left besides Mr. Jo.”
Mr. Jo was the custodian.
“I will, I promise.” You don’t even look up from your screen, waving your hand in her direction as if it would make her scurry away, “I’m almost done. Have a good night, Jeongie!”
She returns your farewell and leaves, knowing that you won’t budge until you finish your task.
You genuinely were near completion. You just had a few more points in the report to finish before you reached your goal for tonight and you’ll go home.
Your fingers are flying across your keyboard, fatigued eyes blinking at the words you were producing in hopes that they were coherent. Your brain had shut down an hour ago and now you were on autopilot.
Who cares if it’s coherent if I’m going to edit it anyway? You think. And now you were carelessly typing, making typos left and right.
When you finally finish the draft, you grab your mug from your coaster to put in the office’s sink. Your eyes finally catch a break from staring at the screen for so long, practically feeling your ocular muscles relax. Closing your eyes, you blindly make your way down the pathway, which honestly was easy after the amount of times you’ve made your way down it.
But when your feet hit something that was obviously not as hard as a cubicle wall you freeze.
Shit.
Your eyes fly open and quickly look at what you have unintentionally kicked.
“Jeno?” You blink your eyes a couple times to make sure you aren’t just seeing things.
Sprawled out on his desk was Jeno, fast asleep. There was a small pond of drool underneath his cheek, mouth hanging open. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Jeno.” You feel the need to whisper now, leaning over to shake his shoulder. “Jeno!”
He begins to stir, “Huh? Wha?”
“What are you still doing here?” you ask.
One eye stuck closed, he glances around the empty office. The side that he had been lying on was flat as if he had been in that position for a while. Jeno yawns and stretches, his back popping a little as he sits up.
"I was waiting for you to finish," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.
You glance at the clock on his computer screen, realizing it's much later than you thought. "Jeno, it's getting late. You didn’t need to wait for me."
He shrugs, a sleepy smile on his face. "I didn't want you to go home alone in the dark. Plus, I figured you might need some company."
You hit him on the shoulder, “You dumbass!”
Jeno winces even though you didn’t even hit him too hard. “Ow!”
“I didn’t even know you were here! Dumbass!” You throw another thwack at his shoulder blade, “You’re lucky I tripped over your foot!” Jeno ignores you and starts getting up, pulling out his packed bag underneath his desk, “You should’ve told me you were gonna wait for me.”
“Yeah, but then you would’ve pushed me onto the elevator so that I could leave,” Jeno replies. "Ready to head home?"
Although you and Jeno don’t live anywhere near each other, your place was on the way to his. Usually, you’d walk home and go sightseeing as you walked past the small shops on the way, but because the weather could freeze your arteries shut, you’re forced to transit home.
"Sure, let's go." You pack up your things quickly, and the two of you head towards the elevator.
As you wait for the elevator doors to open, you glance at Jeno. His eyes are still a bit heavy with sleep, but there's a warmth in them that makes your heart flutter. When he notices you looking, he tightens his lips to give you a tired grin that reaches his eyes. The office is quiet now, only the hum of the elevator breaking the silence.
Once inside, Jeno presses the button for the ground floor, and the elevator starts its descent. The dim lighting casts a soft glow on both of you, and you can't help but appreciate the peaceful moment.
"Long day, huh?" Jeno breaks the silence, his tone sympathetic. “Your secret admirer mystery still bothering you?"
You chuckle and nod, "Yes. But it just makes me more determined to figure it out."
"Any progress?" Jeno raises an eyebrow, curious.
You shake your head, "Not really. It's driving me crazy."
"Maybe it's someone you least expect," Jeno suggests with a playful smile.
"Maybe," you reply, unsure. The elevator doors open, and you both step out and into the nearly empty office lobby. Then you think out loud, eyes narrowing as you look at Jeno through your lashes, “Maybe it’s you.”
The cold wind hits you as you exit the building, making you shiver. You pull your coat tighter around you, and Jeno does the same.
“Why? Do you want it to be me?” Jeno smirks playfully.
“I don’t know,” you lie, “I’m just asking because there’s a possibility it’s you. Besides Chenle and Jisung, you’re the only one willingly asking about him.” That really couldn’t even mean anything, but it’s suspicious. You’re starting to think this was a joke set up by all the guys, and you’re the target.
“Nope, it’s not me,” Jeno stares ahead of you both, and you miss the way he swallows his spit when he says it, “And I don’t know who it is either. That’s why I’m asking.”
You look at him to detect if Jeno was lying—maybe a nose twitch, multiple blinks, or a dishonest glance to the side—nothing.
You feel your heart skip a beat, and not in the way you liked. Because, sure, you didn’t care about who this person was, but for the past week and a half, you’ve been raising your hopes that it was Jeno who had been leaving these presents for you.
You realize that that was a mistake.
A weak laugh shoots out your mouth, almost sounding like a huff and you force a smile on your face, “Well… that’s a relief.”
DECEMBER 15
Losing a bit of interest in your admirer just because it wasn’t the person you wanted it to be wasn’t fair to your actual admirer. Especially when they were still putting the effort into dropping off those presents and writing those letters.
The day after, you had told Karina that Jeno made it clear that your admirer wasn’t him and she refused to believe it, delusion taking over for your sake. She said something along the lines of ‘can’t say it’s not Jeno until there’s solid proof’.
This morning you decided to switch up your strategy and arrive at work early. For the past 2 weeks, these little deliveries had appeared on your desk either after you left or before you arrived, and since you had kept track of who left the office yesterday evening, you were sure that he was going to be coming in early this morning to leave his present.
You greet the security guard in the lobby, leaving your mouth more as a yawn than an actual sentence before you hop onto the elevator and cross your fingers for luck.
The office is quiet and dimly lit as you enter, the only sound being the gears of the elevators turning as the doors slide open. Once you step out, you’re quick to scan the room before ultimately settling your gaze on your desk.
The universe couldn’t have timed this any better.
Standing at your desk, you see a figure, gently placing a wrapped box on your desk. You hold back a gasp, clamping your mouth shut with your palm, not wanting to bring attention to yourself. The man appeared oblivious to the elevator letting someone off, his back still turned to you.
You catch the sound of his satisfied hum, and just before he pivots, you quickly move to a concealed hallway, keeping yourself out of sight. A lingering fear holds you back from confronting whoever this person is, but you so badly want to know who it is. You figured it would make the confronting part easier.
Footsteps grow closer before they stop, and you can easily guess he’s standing in front of the elevators. With curiosity getting the best of you, you risk being seen and lean your head around the corner, just enough so that one of your eyes can see who the boy was.
Another gasp attempts to leave your mouth when you finally recognize who it was.
Jaemin?
The elevator arrives at your floor before you can even process that it was truly him you just saw, almost as if you’ve seen his ghost and he was gone before you knew it.
So your secret admirer was Na Jaemin?
In a way it made sense. You and Karina had ruled him as one of the more suspicious ones. He and Jeno were close, so Jeno being curious about your progress added up. Now you have solid proof that Jaemin actually was your secret admirer.
How were you going to let him down easily?
DECEMBER 19
Despite having the weekend and Karina's assistance to strategize how to break the news to Jaemin, you found yourself at work on Monday without a clear plan. Today, you mentally braced yourself for another gift, feeling a pang of guilt as you realized your friend and coworker had been investing so much effort, only for his feelings to not be returned.
Today’s box was slim and rectangular, wrapped in the paper you’ve grown familiar with. At first glance, it looked like a wine box, but you quickly deemed it too short to be a wine bottle.
With a bit of hesitation, you carefully pick at the paper, ripping it open before you slice the tape that was keeping the box closed. Then you pry the box open, flipping the flaps over so that you can see the item from a bird’s eye view.
Huh?
You pull it out—an umbrella in your favourite colour. On the handle, your initials are engraved into the plastic. The umbrella looked beautiful, but considering the other presents, this was… random.
Your eyes catch sight of a card at the bottom of the box and you stick your arm in to fish it out.
I bet you’re curious as to who I am, right?
I think I kept you waiting far too long for a hint.
A hint?
Your heart picks up its pace and your eyes scramble to keep reading.
Today’s gift? An umbrella.
Bought one for myself and one for you because we need to be prepared next time.
I don’t know about you, but I didn’t enjoy being drenched in rain at work.
Your Secret Admirer
A hint.
Hell, it was more than a hint.
Your eyes grow wide as you reread the note over and over, your heartbeat fluttering. It flutters because you know exactly what your admirer was talking about.
Back during the rainy season, the morning you were getting ready for work, you completely disregarded the weather forecast and left your house without an umbrella or an appropriate coat. And much to your stupidity, you told yourself that it wasn’t going to rain that hard when you heeded the darker clouds in the sky.
You realized your mistakes on the walk to work when rain started pouring down from the sky, like someone dumping a bucket of rainwater all over you. You were sprinting, sight impaired by the rain pelting your face, flying past other individuals who had been smart enough to pack heavy-duty umbrellas with them.
Luckily, you finally arrived at your building before you were wet to the bone. When you noticed the elevator was still open, you called out for it, fast-walking through the lobby just so you could catch it.
“Thanks,” you had sighed out, huffing in relief.
The man who had held the elevator open for you laughed and spoke up, “I take it you forgot an umbrella too?”
You laugh at the memory, remembering being thankful that you weren’t the only dumbass who didn’t bring an umbrella—that you weren’t going to be the only one on the floor who would be showing up soaked and dripping wet.
Because Jeno was that other dumbass.
Even with this realization, with this hard evidence that your admirer could actually be Jeno, you still recount your almost-encounter with Jaemin and the fact that Jeno had denied your accusations.
You find yourself caught in a web of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the thoughtful gesture of the umbrella brings back memories of that rainy morning with Jeno. On the other hand, the recent revelation and Jeno's denial cast a shadow of doubt on the identity of your secret admirer.
As you stand there, staring at the umbrella, your brain cells are desperately trying to think up a good explanation for all of this. The evidence seems to point to Jeno, yet you can't ignore the possibility that this might be an elaborate misdirection. Or maybe Jaemin was the misdirection?
Your thoughts are interrupted by the familiar voice of Karina, who has just gotten off the elevator. She notices the umbrella in your hands and grins, "Mr. Admirer? An umbrella?"
You manage a half-smile, the weight of the situation pressing on you. "It’s a hint. There’s a memory tied to it.”
Karina arches an eyebrow, intrigued. "Memory?"
You decide to share the story of that rainy morning with Jeno, how both of you got caught in the downpour without umbrellas. As you recount the details, Karina listens attentively, connecting the dots between the past and the present.
"So, you think Jeno might be your secret admirer because of this shared memory?" she asks, thoughtful. The way her expression brightens at the thought of your admirer actually being Jeno and not Jaemin—just like you wanted.
You shrug, uncertain. "It makes sense, right? But then there's the whole denial part. He flat-out said it's not him."
Karina leans against the reception desk, crossing her arms. "He probably just didn’t want you to find out like that. Maybe he's trying to surprise you later. Who knows?"
You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity. "I just want to know. I’m this close to banging my head against the corner of my desk."
Karina snorts and nudges you playfully. "Confront him again but this time, give him no choice but to confess."
You consider Karina's suggestion, realizing that confronting Jeno might be the only way to unravel this mystery. Gathering your resolve, you decide to have a direct conversation with him, determined to get to the bottom of your secret admirer's identity.
DECEMBER 20
Who would’ve thought that confronting your secret admirer would be nerve-wracking? Cause what if it really wasn’t Jeno and you were making a fool out of yourself?
It’s your break and you’re sitting at one of the lounge tables with Karina and Minjeong, playing with the edge of your instant ramen cup.
You’re replaying how you want the situation to go down in your head. You want to go up to him, make small talk, he small talks back, you confront him, and he admits it—easier said than done. But your goal was to do it by the end of the day, mostly because you know that if you kept this going for any longer, you’d actually go crazy.
Minjeong and Karina are talking about something, you’re not quite sure what it was when Ningning joins in, “Did Giselle pass by?”
Karina shakes her head, “Haven’t seen her.”
Ningning pouts, “I was going to ask her someth—”
And again, you tune them out—not on purpose.
The voice in your head is screaming Jeno repeatedly and it’s driving you insane. You want it to stop, but the only way you can do so is by confronting him.
Then the door opens again and in comes Jeno and Jaemin, laughing about something Donghyuck and Mark related. Karina notices the way your eyes divert toward their direction and she tries to catch your attention, jerking her head in their direction. Eyes widening, you shake your head as if you were saying not now.
“Shit, I got coffee on my shirt,” you hear Jeno huff.
From where you were sitting, you could see Jeno turning to show Jaemin the coffee stain on his white shirt, pouting. Jaemin laughs, “That’s what you get for using a broken bottle. Just buy a new one.”
Jeno pouts, “You buy one for me, then.”
At first, you don’t pay attention to their conversation, passing it off as the usual banter between the two, but then it clicks. Your mouth speaks before you can even process everything, “It’s you!”
The room grows silent but, frankly, you don’t care because now you’re sure it was Jeno.
Other than the umbrella and the memory, the only other hint other than handwriting were the water and coffee stains that the cards were always covered in (and you and Karina were still unsure whether that was on purpose or not).
Jeno’s bottle was broken.
You rise abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. Rounding the tables, you navigate toward to get to Jeno, heart beating against your rib cage. Once he is within your reach, you snatch him by the wrist and drag him out of the lounge room and into the hallway.
“Dumbass!” you smack his shoulder, “It was you! Liar!” You weren’t angry, in fact, you were laughing, disbelief etched on your face.
Jeno looks off to the side, “I… don’t know what you’re talking about…” He’s horribly holding a smile back, cheekbones growing prominent from his attempt.
“Don’t play dumb,” you say, “The umbrella hint was enough for me to know it was you!”
Jeno unleashes his smile, physically shrinking and lowering his head as his cheeks grow hot from your statement. “I didn’t think you’d remember it that easily…”
"You've been driving me insane, you know that?" You shake your head, still processing the revelation. "I even thought it was Jaemin for a bit. All this time, it was you!"
“Did you… want it to be Jaemin?”
You shake your head, “Honestly, I was relieved it was you… no offense to Jaemin. Why didn’t you admit to it when I asked you?”
“Probably a similar reason for why you said ‘that’s a relief’ when I said it wasn’t me,” Jeno counters, slowly regaining his confidence.
You chuckle, realizing the playful banter unfolding between you and Jeno. "Good point."
He grins, "Plus, watching you try to figure it out was entertaining." There’s a mischievous glint in Jeno’s eyes as he's holding back a smile.
You cross your arms, glaring up at him, "So you enjoyed torturing me?"
Jeno panics slightly, shaking his head, "No! It’s not like I was torturing you! It was just something fun! I liked seeing your reactions!"
You playfully roll your eyes. "You're lucky I like you."
Jeno freezes, “Wait, you like me like me?”
You look at Jeno as if he just said the dumbest shit that’s ever come out of someone’s mouth. “Lee Jeno, I literally told you I was relieved it was you and you think I don’t have feelings for you?” You want to smack him again.
“Yes?”
Smack.
“Ow!” Jeno rubs his arm and frowns.
“Of course I like you!” You’re looking up at Jeno, “I was working my ass off trying to figure out who my admirer was because I had hopes that it was you!”
Jeno's eyes widen with surprise, and then a broad grin stretches across his face. "You... really?" he stammers, almost disbelieving, “So would… this be the right time to ask you on a date?”
You stuck out your bottom lip and shrug, half-joking, “I mean… it’s the least you can do after putting me through all that.”
“You’re right,” Jeno laughs. He takes a step closer, looking down at you with the world’s prettiest smile, “So will you?”
“Will I, what?” you tease, staring back up at him.
“Will you go out with me?”
taglist: @tytrackfebreze @lovesuhng @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi @reignessance
an: the answer is yes 👀,,, Felix's is up next and it's gonna be cute
#nct#nct dream#nct imagines#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios#lee jeno#jeno#lee jeno imagines#jeno imagines#lee jeno scenarios#jeno scenarios#nct dream blurbs#nct blurbs#jeno blurbs#lee jeno blurbs#nct jeno#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#jeno fluff#lee jeno fluff#my writings#my nct writings#kpop#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#kpop blurbs#jeno x reader#jeno x reader fluff
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—back to december.
as selfish as it was, breaking up with the man you loved seemed like the best way to free yourself from the inner demons created by the shadow of your mutual friend.
until time kept passing and life kept going on without him, and you realised how bad you wished you could turn back time to the night you left, not to leave at all.
pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
genre: written series, angst, fluff, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, she fell first but he fell harder, yearning, mutual pining, non-idol au, baker!y/n, movie producer!hyunjin.
warnings: y/n has self-sabotaging tendencies, cursing, mentions of alcohol, eventual smut, mature content, MINORS DNI!!!
status: on hold
updates schedule: there's none!! i will update whenever i have the time and inspiration to.
tag list: open. send me an ASK to be a part of it, otherwise i might miss it. i will only be adding people who are willing to reblog the chapters and/or comment on them, because it does take time out of my day to tag everyone and likes or straight up cricket noises do nothing for me in return if i'm honest.
a/n: hellooo! here i am once again with a series bc i cannot control myself apparently lol. it is obviously inspired by taylor swift's back to december (thank u to my tiktok fyp for not letting me escape the taylor x taylor edits) so go listen to that song if you wanna get a better look on what the story's gonna be about.
this series is gonna be a little different structure wise ig. i've taken certain verses of the song and rearranged them so they could tell the story before and after their break up the way i want it. you can get the hang of it by taking a look at the masterlist. i reckon there will be around 12 or 13 parts, but i didn't wanna list them all down to kinda keep the suspense going (as much as you can keep suspense going in a cliché ass plot lol).
i'll announce when i'm posting the first part beforehand, since i'm not done with it yet. but for now i hope you guys enjoy! feedback is always greatly appreciated<3
↬part one
"these days, i haven't been sleepin'
stayin' up playin' back myself leavin'"
↬part two
"then i think about summer, all the beautiful times
i watched you laughin' from the passenger's side"
↬part three
"and realized i loved you in the fall"
↬part four
"i miss your warm skin, your sweet smile
so good to me, so right"
↬part five
"and how you held me in your arms that september night
the first time you ever saw me cry"
↬part six
"and then the cold came, the dark days
when fear crept into my mind"
more to be listed...
#skz#stray kids#hwang hyunjin#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#hyunjin imagines#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#hyunjin fanfic#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#hyunjin scenarios#skz reactions#stray kids reactions#hyunjin reactions
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AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for @sungbeam for the tag, yours was so prettily laid out and i was in shock. ALSO THE TAG WAS SO SWEET EVEN THOUGH WE ONLY BECAME MOOTS AT THE END OF THE YEAR. even though i really only started writing fics towards the end of the year i did write more than i thought could so it’s fun to go over yknow…
no pressure tags: @chenlesfavorite @ddolbyong @fatalhoon @galacticseonghwa @hazyhae @jirsungs @lyvhie @odxrilove @polarisjisung @peterm4rker @sehunniepot @strrykais @thatsatricky1 @viasdreams @vanesycho @wonbin-truther @yizhrt
FIRST FIC OF 2024: yours for the night ◎ park jongseong (april 20th)
chat… don’t talk to me about this one ok. DONT READ IT 😐 i can see you wanting to read it DONT ISTG. but genuinely i re-read it and cringe cause wdym i thought this was good and posted it. it was kinda rushed though, cause i think i was trying to time it with jay’s birthday. kinda funny that i’m a mainly nct account and my first fic ever posted was an enha one
LAST FIC OF 2024: mutual affection ◎ park jisung (december 25th)
start the year with fluff end the year with fluff! 🤗 this one changed drastically from it’s original concept though. it was supposed to actually be professor x reader where y/n comes in during class to deliver lunch while his students tease him but then they go on a date, except @polarisjisung liked the idea of them passing notes to each other during class 😚
LONGEST FIC: wicked love ◎ na jaemin
y’all ate this one up i’m so glad it didn’t scare you guys away. the reaction was so positive and lovely, i was a bit afraid since i’ve never written a yandere type character before. plus 5k is definitely long for me, i’m hoping to write something longer next year so wait for me okay??
MOST POPULAR FIC: inyun ◎ mark lee
lowkey didn’t expect this to do well but somehow mark lee + past lives combo works well. also did not cave into the angst ending!!!! so i don’t have much to say on this one love u all mwah mwah
PERSONAL FAV: my apology letter ◎ zhong chenle
obviously i would have to choose between winwin or chenle for this one (no shit) but genuinely as much as i hate this man so much this fic just. i don’t think i could write anything like it again? maybe? don’t trust me on that i’m unpredictable. but the idea was just insane and i can’t believe i pulled it off well in writing.
i hate zhong chenle. i hate that man why is he so writeable. WHY (i got lazy with the banners don’t kill me)
NO. 1: Zhong Chenle (12,300+)
find him in: heart to heart, secure that once upon a time, stop posting about BALLER, my apology letter
NO. 2: Na Jaemin: (9,100+)
find him in: that’s okay, wicked love
NO. 3: Huang Renjun (can’t count cause smau lol)
find him in: the last dance, and belladonna!
if y’all couldn’t tell i didn’t start seriously writing fics until the later half of the year, and i also am a new writer 🤭🤭 i started writing around march/april of this year starting off with smaus. i was also lazy with my banner making abilities so i hated that but anyways we learn!
i plan to write more obviously, it was just so fun!!!! to pump out fics in the span of 2 months but i lowkey can’t keep neglecting my smaus i feel bad 💀 but on terms of what i have on my brainstorming/working on list rn!
- an angel reader x demon haechan fic (won’t give much details bc i don’t want to spoil but hehe 😛😛)
- super super lore heavy fic involving some modern retelling of alice in wonderland theming going on but make it romeo and juliet, and detective themed with some mystery. (😐😐 this one might be so long idk if i even have the ability to write it but i will try!)
- delinquent jaem smau (i’ve talked about this before but yall cannot let me start another smau i gotta finish underneath the tree and mark lee vs the world first okay)
- upstairs neighbor haechan smau except he literally crashes through the ceiling into your room and that’s all the plot details i can tell you rn
- secure that card (but better)
- a jisung smau that will tie in every single smau i’ve ever written together (guys the winwintea universe is real)
#technically first fic was secure that card….#they could never make me forget you#📢: london yaps#winwintea’s 2024 wrapped 💕
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Obsessed With You Pt. 4 | Jude Bellingham
Social Media AU! Inspired by Central Cee and Madeline Argy getting back together.
Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Rapper! Y/n
Face claim: Flo Milli
Part 4/4 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
November 25 | Instagram
y/nusername 📍London, United Kingdom
liked by centralcee, mayajama, sza, and 1,201,981 others
y/nusername Back home after the fucking greatest tour ever! All the US baddies came out for this one😍 And I know you guys have been asking...so "Never Lose Me" out next month💋
Comments
y/nstan1 NEVER LOSE ME OUT NEXT MONTH THANK U MOMMMYYYYY
emilythiry31 seeing you in nyc was the best night of my life nothing will ever top it
y/njudelovechild telling myself this song is about jude 😔
sineadpeters about to have my hot girl winter with this song coming out
November 28 | Instagram
judebellingham 📍Cádiz, Spain
liked by camavinga, davidbeckham, and 3,002,194 others
judebellingham Feels good to be back after the international break.🤍 #HalaMadrid
Comments
vinijr again again
tobybishay Few more assists now please😅
judesbee22 just realized that jude was in england when y/n got back...
judesbee22 a girl can dream
December 3 | Instagram
y/nusername 📍 London, United Kingdom
liked by monaleo, lilyachty, ellathomas_, and 1,219,034 others
y/nusername "Never Lose Me (ft. Lil Yachty)" out Friday 😘💋
Comments
judesbee22 you guys see it too right...
y/nsarmy SECOND PIC !!!! ZOOM IN !!!!
y/njudelovechild i spy a #5 necklace, i think i'll just pass out now
judebelleggnham a 5 necklace AND a song called "never lose me" ?? might as well just hard launch jude rn y/n
December 7 | Twitter
December 7 | Instagram
judebellingham 1m ago
December 7 | Twitter
December 8 | Spotify
December 8 | Instagram
y/nusername 1m ago
judebellingham 1m ago
judebellingham 1m ago
December 8 | Twitter
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TBHHHH this isnt proofread bc i just wanted to get it posted but i'm leaving the house now 😆 hope yall like 😘
#jude bellingham#jude bellingham fanfiction#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham headcanons#jude bellingham x reader#jude bellingham social media au#footballer imagine#Spotify
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𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐓 ! - 𝐀𝐋𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒┊i’ve left you guys w nothing for so long 💔 so take this small series (multiple chapters) as a apology, hopefully you guys will forgive meeee— AND i’d like to add the kazuha smut isn’t gonna come out till the end of november or thee begging of december, anddd expect a albedo smau ❤️
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒┊fluff, suggestive (ofc, it’s written by pri, what else do u expect?), fem! reader, modern au, somewhat ooc alhaitham not rly though, AND CUTIE PATOOTIE READER… w a little attitude
“ come on alhaitham! it can’t hurt to try dating someone… ” kaveh tried to reason with him— claiming that he’d been single long enough and needed a relationship. ( also he is very attractive, and has chicks swarming all around him… you’d think he’d make the effort to start something with one of them… but! guess not! )
“ kaveh, i said no. i’m in no need of a reltionship— plus all these.. girls. ” he hesitated— thinking of a proper way to describe them.
“ their annoying, and clearly don’t care much for their studies.. i need a partner who actually has a brain. ” alhaitham said sourly.
“ ugh… ” kaveh pouted, “ brains aren’t everything, you know? if i were you i would’ve got a girlfriend already!! ”
“ i hope one day these girls realize you’ve got no personality and are rude and— and well, you know!”
“then they’ll realize what a true man is… ” he grinned. “ aka, me. ”
“ brains aren’t everything? i disagree… a persons brain is—”
“ shush! i don’t need one of your lectures about how blah blah means blah blah. ” kaveh scoffed, frowning once more.
“ one day you’re going to end up dating a no brainer, just because their pretty. ” alhaitham murmured, closing his book and leaning his head back on his seat.
“ and you’re gonna end up dating no one. ” kaveh snapped back.
“ fine by me. ” alhaitham said stoically, but to be honest… he did want to love someone eventually, but he wouldn’t admit that to kaveh.
“ you know what? if you can’t find anyone you like here at our uni… why not get a dating app! there’s plenty of smart people on those! ” kaveh exclaimed excitedly, desperate to get his “lonely” roommate a partner.
“ and get catfished? no thank you. ” alhaitham declined quickly… but seriously, a dating app might be a good idea— maybe he could meet someone at his intellectual level.. not some dumbass like all the girls here.
“ not everyone on dating apps are catfishers, come on! please try one! and i’ll pay you a visit to the library…!! ” kaveh pleaded. “ you don’t even have to date… you can just make a friend! ”
friend….? well he certainly needed more of those— as well as new books.
“ a visit to the bookstore, not library, and you have a deal. ” alhaitham tilted his head up at kaveh.
“ ugh… fine. just don’t buy too many books! or else i���ll never be able to afford supplies for my project. ”
alhaitham hummed. “ alright, i’ll limit myself to… eh, three books. ”
from the most expensive section too…
“ three?! come on make it at least two… ” kaveh pouted. “ you always get the most expensive books, so two! ”
alhaitham sighed, “ fine, two books, and i’ll try that stupid dating app. ”
“ bet! ” kaveh gleamed, picking up alhaitham’s phone which made alhaitham jolt up a bit.
“ hey what are you— ” kaveh shushed him.
“ getting you the app, obviously!! ” kaveh chuckled, flashing the phone over to alhaitham’s face for face-id.
poor alhaitham couldn’t even snatch it back.
kaveh was typing away on alhaithams phone ( without alhaitham’s consent too! how rude! )
“ here! now you can set up your profile. ” kaveh handed alhaitham back the phone.
“ okay, okay. ” alhaitham muttered, sounding unhappy… but in reality he was a little bit excited.
“ kaveh. why do you even want me to date someone….? ”
“ because haitham, your 23 and haven’t even gotten a peck on the lips— and your like, i dunno, attractive? i have no idea i just wanna help you live a little… ”
alhaitham blinked at his friend a couple of times… live a little? he was already living his life the best he could.
well actually, that was debatable.
“ yeah, okay. ” alhaitham clicked on the profile… he needed a profile picture and bio..
“ use the photo from the festival! you know, the one with the glasses and you actually smiling! ” kaveh suggested.
“ that one…? okay. ” alhaitham scrolled through his gallery, which was mostly just photos of kaveh making faces, books, and some things he found appealing (aesthetic sunsets, and photos of trees and plants).
“ what about for my bio? ” alhaitham asked kaveh, who seemed to already be conducting something “good”.
“ say your name, age, mbti, zodiac, and major! and whatever else you think is important for your soulmate to know. ” kaveh nodded proudly.
“ soulmate? you make me laugh. there’s no such things as soulmates. ” alhaitham scoffed. “ people fall in love and that’s it, there’s no mystical soulmate thing behind it— think realistically kaveh. ”
“ i am thinking realistically! ” kaveh snapped back, brows furrowing. “ your so ungrateful. ”
“ and my zodiac? the fuck does that have to do with anything? ” alhaitham raised a eyebrow, but typed it down anyways.
“ i thought you believed in astrology! ”
kaveh sighed, trying to calm himself down— screaming wasn’t going to help him. he couldn’t get a another sore throat from alhaitham.
“ whatever, just put anything down at this point…”
“ i should write down ‘ lover has to be smart ’… ” alhaitham said with the faintest smile.
kaveh gave him a look.
“ it’s a joke dumb ass. ” or was it?
( 2 days later ) it was about 1:24 a.m— and for some reason alhaitham was awake watching tiktok.
i mean he couldn’t sleep because of kaveh’s loud snoring.. and he has finished his books— and didn’t exactly want to binge on his new ones all in one night.
and that’s when he got it— a silly little notification.
‘ you matched with… [ name ], [ last name ] ! congratulations!! ’
“ the fuck… ” alhaitham squinted, clicking on the notification to be brought to your profile.
he examined it for a moment, you took the same major as him and were fairly… pretty.
he stared at it for a moment longer before receiving another notification.
‘ [ name ], [ last name ] would like to chat with you! ’
of course, he quickly clicked the approve button.
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