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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 4 years ago

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if I can never give you peace — two || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 5.8k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Threats, kind of dark in general

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The car is late, you think as you smooth over the fabric of your skirt, your mouth twisted in a disapproving scowl. Annoyance is one of the few emotions that ever appear on your face, and you don’t even bother to hide it. You have only been standing there, waiting, for a few minutes, but it already disrupts your perfectly well-oiled routine. This is just one of the many changes that have come with Jungkook taking over, but it could be the one you are the least fond of.

You used to have the routine down to a T. You knew exactly when to leave your apartment so that the car would stop in front of you right as you reached the pavement. There were small hiccups every now and then — traffic, last-minute phone calls —, but most of the time, it went perfectly. You liked that. Having that kind of control, when your life had always been completely out of your hands, was comforting.

That went out the window the day you started working for Jungkook.

When the car stops in front of you, five minutes, that’s three-hundred seconds, after the agreed-upon time, you take a short breath before opening the door and stepping in.

There, of course, is your new boss, sitting with his legs widely spread on the leather seat. He changed your discreet sedan for a limousine, which you find obnoxious, but you didn’t protest. You liked to think that you were better than that at picking your battles

“Mr. Jeon,” you say with a nod, voice even.

Jungkook grins when you call him that. You know he enjoys the title, the power it indicates, particularly since hybrids are supposed to only ever have the same last name as their owners.

“Lot of work to be done today,” he comments, and you know he’s just saying that to rile you up. You used to report to Mr. X, but you worked on your own more often than not. Now, you’re basically Jungkook’s glorified secretary. You wouldn’t particularly mind the change if it didn’t mean that you had to sit and watch him superbly ignore your carefully crafted schedule, as he had every single day for the past week.

“Indeed,” you reply without batting an eyelid. “This morning, you have a meeting with Suga,” this one he should go to, he never misses them, “then you are supposed to eat with Fred Lucas,” chances were he wouldn’t show up to that and make you take him to a fancy restaurant instead, and you would be the one to have to handle the situation with him, “and later today I think it would be important for you to pay a visit to the Mystery Room.” That place was one of the few legal aspects of the business at the moment, if you ignore the drugs that get sold there, and it was not a location you should lose right now. “They have been quite… difficult, since the change in direction.”

That last one is new, and you’re not sure how Jungkook will react to it. Of course, there is plenty more work to do, but you’re trying out new methods to get him to do at least what really matters. You don’t understand why he would hire you if he doesn’t let you do your job, but hey, at least you’re alive. And so is your family.

You don’t know how long that will last, though. Unless Jungkook seriously gets his act together, it won’t take long for someone to think that they can do the same thing he did, and have him murdered. You’re even mildly surprised it hasn’t happened yet. That’s the thing, when a leader gets killed. It weakens the whole structure, and it gives people ideas.

The grin disappears from Jungkook’s face and he nods gravely at that last piece of information. That catches your eye, because it’s new. You tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, he spent the last week riding the high of his victory against Mr. X, and that he will be efficient if there’s trouble, at least.

“Cancel that second thing,” he says. “I want to eat at that restaurant I went to last week. You should get me a reservation there.”

Or not.

“But you can go meet him,” he adds, and you blink.

“Mr. Lucas is expecting to see you,” you say, in case you weren’t clear.

“And he doesn’t get to demand my presence like that,” Jungkook snaps. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from wincing. His voice sounds harsh, cutting. Dangerous. “Did he think that I’d go ask for treats because a human joined us? That’s not how that shit works.”

Okay. He’s not wrong here, but you don’t know about this— approachto the situation. Fred is, indeed, one of the two human leaders who decided to immediately join Jungkook when the news of the death of Mr. X and the uprising of hybrids in various parts of your branches in the city spread. You wouldn’t be surprised if he expected a treatment of favor for that, too, but you’re not sure letting him know how little his gesture was appreciated was the way to go.

“I don’t think—”

“He’s replaceable,” Jungkook says with a dismissive movement of the wrist. “I’ll swap him for one of my men the second he makes a mistake. It would be a lot better if no one forgot that.”

The look he gives you makes his message crystal clear. You feel your mouth getting dry, but you know nothing is showing in your expression, and that at least is a relief.

“I’ll go to the meeting and get you your reservation, then,” you say, pulling out your phone. “Does the rest of the schedule work for you?”

Jungkook frowns, and the tiniest feeling of satisfaction spreads in your chest. You know he’s just applying pressure and waiting for you to crack, but you won’t.You’re used to contorting yourself to please everyone. You’ve made it work for years, and it will take much more than those childish games for you to snap.

Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past week.

“Fine.” Then he closes his eyes and leans back in the seat. You raise an eyebrow at the sight. You know it’s not because he trusts you, but because he doesn’t think you have the guts to do anything to him — and because, even if you did, he’s pretty confident he wouldn’t have any trouble stopping you. You hate that you find something endearing in that vision. Jungkook was genetically designed to be handsome, and he is.More than that, though, when you look at him right now, even though his long bunny ears are skillfully hidden under a headband, he looks cute.

And he could — and would — take less than a second to snap your neck.

“This afternoon should be fun at least,” he mumbles under his breath, and you hide your grimace.

Shit. That can’t be good.

It’s been clear to you from the very first day that Suga knows exactly what he is doing. It’s also been clear that this isn’t his scene. Being at the forefront of operations, taking the lead — it’s obvious that he would much rather stay in the shadows. You’re not sure how important he was to Jungkook’s organization before, since no one has bothered trying to inform you of that, but you suspect that he’s usually more the type to be in the field.

Right now, though, he’s standing in front of a small group, exposing what the recent developments have been. Sitting behind Jungkook, you listen to him attentively. Those reunions should become less frequent, but right now things could still change completely, and you cannot afford to be taken by surprise.

You are, however, starting to feel less and less comfortable with the fact that nothing seems to be coming out of them. Sure, Yoongi informs you of the people who have sided with Jungkook and of those who are openly opposed to him — a minority, so far — but there is a large group in between that seems to be in no hurry to take position. And you don’t like it.

It hasn’t been long since Jungkook has taken over, but you should at least have gotten someintel by now. You’re not sure what isn’t working here. For now, you don’t want to risk provoking anyone by offering your services. Worry is starting to gnaw at you, though. You could all be driving into a dead-end street at full speed, and that stupid struggle you’re having with Jungkook just isn't worth dying over.

“So not much has changed,” Jungkook comments, tapping his fingers onto the table. He looks nonchalant, but you notice a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wonder if he understands more than he lets on.

“Things have been stagnant,” Yoongi admits without batting an eye. “There hasn’t been any open rebellion, but communication is lacking.”

“That needs to get better.”

“We’re working on it.”

They probably are, but it doesn’t look like that’s going well. Word has reached your ears that some of the branches have been keeping hybrids at bay as discreetly as possible.

“What about that Mystery Room thing?” Jungkook asks, frowning. “What’s going on over there?”

“The what?” Yoongi frowns.

Jungkook looks puzzled — pissed, actually — for a second, then glances at you over his shoulder, and the attention of the whole room suddenly shifts to you. You straighten your back, swallow.

“The owner of the bar has missed a payment to us,” you state calmly, “and it seems that he has no intention of making it and is trying to get out of his contract with us. It would be better if we didn’t lose it right now.”

“What do you mean, ‘it seems’?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his golden eyes at you. His voice sounds more like a hiss, and this time, you struggle to hide your reaction. You haven’t forgotten what it felt like, when you thought he was going to kill you. It’s affected you more than you’d like to admit.

“I have a contact who—”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, and you close your mouth.

“I’m going there today,” Jungkook informs him, and Yoongi nods.

“I’ll be around.”

The two men have a silent exchange of looks. Their relationship is somewhat atypical, not something Mr. X had with anyone. It looks like they genuinely rely on and trust each other. You suppose someone else would find it touching, but you don’t have it in yourself. Especially not when that means they both have it out for you.

“Haven’t you been following what we’ve been talking about here for the past week?” Jungkook snarks at you, and you blink. “Any information you get from now on needs to get to Suga so he can factor it in.” At that, you give him a disbelieving look. That just won’t work. It can’t. Not for the first time, you wonder how much he underestimates you, exactly. If he knew anything about the way you work, about how many contacts you have and how much information you’re usually juggling with, he would never ask that of you.

Yet you nod. You don’t know yet if you’ll send a believable amount of intel to Suga, or just absolutely drown him under it until they tell you to stop, but once more, this just isn’t worth fighting over.

Especially when fighting over something can so easily mean dying over it, in your current situation.

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

He looks displeased, and you know it’s because all he’s waiting for is for you to slip.

“I shouldn’t even bring you to these meetings. You’re not even taking any notes. That’s fucking useless.”

It takes everything in you to bite back a scoff at that. You could tell him you don’t need to take notes when Yoongi is talking about minimal changes in a landscape you know on the tip of your fingers, that maybe you would if he said anything of value, and that this wouldn’t be an issue if people actually feared him.

You marvel at how annoyed that quip makes you. You suppose you don’t like it when your competence is questioned. You don’t like the threat either, though. You don’t want to risk falling out of the loop.

“I’ve gotten you a reservation at that restaurant,” you say. “If things are done here, I’ll be on my way to meet Mr. Lucas.”

Changing the subject. Deflecting. Trying your best to live to see another day. It seems like it’s all you’ve been doing for the past week. You know you can keep it up for a long time, you’re patient enough. You also know that this game is set up to make you lose.

Right now, as Jungkook looks at you, clearly not amused by your attitude, there is a terrifying moment during which you fear that he might just drop the charade. The only point of this whole thing is to get rid of you. He could decide he only wants to do that any second.

“Yeah, right. Be on your way.”

He dismisses you like you’re some low lackey, but that, at least, isn’t anything new, and you know how to handle it. You bow politely, then exit the room.

“You really wanna keep her around?” Yoongi asks once you’re gone, and Jungkook groans.

He doesn’t know why he had expected you to break easily. He’d seen you work for Mr. X, do that same shit he makes you do and survive as long as you had, so he should have known you’d be good at it. He supposes he’d been used to you making decisions for him, back then, and had thought that was a normal thing for you, that you wouldn’t enjoy being in the position of taking orders. But you were, after all, just someone who worked for others that whole time.

Not that he gives a fuck about it. He couldn’t care less why you did the things you did. All he wants is to give you a taste of your own medicine. Dangling a false chance of survival in front of your eyes and let you handle the rest yourself. So as long as you push through… well. He’ll let it slide.

It’s not like you can keep doing it forever anyway.

Fred Lucas worries you. He’s always smiled too widely, been too loud, made too many jokes. You know Mr. X considered him to be some sort of buffoon, but also kept his distance from him. Mr. X didn’t like people who pretended to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

“Always a pleasure to see you, (Y/N),” he greets you warmly when you walk up to him and you give him a nod. If he’s upset that Jungkook isn’t there, he doesn’t show it, just like you don’t show your distaste for his use of your first name. “I’d like to discuss with just you, though,” he adds, eyeing Hector, who’s standing beside you. The fact that you still have him by your side is the only good thing that has come from working for Jungkook so far.

You don’t like that. You’re all too aware of the fact that this is his land, and that the only reason why he’s saying that is that Hector is a hybrid. If that gets back to Jungkook, it wouldn’t be good for Fred — but you don’t think he’ll go down without a fight. You glance at Hector, who looks as placid as always and offers no help. The gears in your head are turning fast. Before, you were protected by how indispensable you were considered by Mr. X. That is clearly not the case anymore, but Fred likely isn’t aware of that. Yet.

On the other hand, sending Hector away would show weakness, and you can’t afford that.

“Hector goes where I go,” you say.

Fred’s smile widens even more.

“Of course, of course, can’t trust anyone those days, can you?”

You wonder if it’s a jab at you and how quickly you changed sides, but he is more or less in the same position, so you could just be paranoid.

“Come on, come on in, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

You don’t want a drink, but you do follow him in. The sooner you do that, the sooner you will be out of here.

Fred has a lot of things to say. Most of it isn’t relevant to anything that is happening right now, but you’ve never been able to tune things out. You always worry you’ll miss an essential piece of information. So you listen as he babbles about his business — getting weapons in and out of the city, something he is decently good at — but also about his family, his friendships, and his favorite kind of alcohol. You let him pour you a glass, even if you have no intention of touching it.

“I hear you,” you manage to interrupt him, “but I am curious to know why you wanted a meeting with Mr. Jeon. It seems to me that you have the situation here under control.”

Flattery has always worked on Fred, and you have no issue in using that against him.

“Of course we do,” he gloats. “It’s just— There are a lot of rumorsfloating around those days, you know?”

You do know. You suspect Fred has heard the same things as you. You also suspect most people have been very careful not to let those things reach Yoongi’s ears.

“People are talking about a ‘human opposition’ forming,” Fred gasps dramatically. “Can you believe it? Some people are really not happy about being led by a hybrid.”

That seems to be more concrete than what you’ve heard, which means that Fred could be exaggerating things… or that he was contacted to join that opposition. And you don’t like that second possibility, not at all. You trust Fred about as far as you can throw him, and that means you certainly don’t trust him to not try and play both sides.

“That was to be expected,” you reply calmly. “I do not doubt that Mr. Jeon knew such a reaction was coming.”

Fred narrows his eyes at you, trying to gauge what you knew then and what you know now. Which isn’t much, but that’s not something you plan to let slip out.

“Do you know of anything specific?”

You see from the glint in Fred’s eyes that he knows the game is on. If you know something and he doesn’t tell you, he will look suspicious, but he could also reveal too much, and you doubt he wants to play his cards so soon.

“I— don’t, unfortunately,” he finally says, and you nod. Either he hasn’t heard of the Mystery Room, or he is voluntarily hiding it from you. Regardless, that limits how useful he is to you. “But the word on the street is that Jungkook may not know what he’s doing all that well.”

You send him a sharp glance. He’s taking a risk in telling you that, you both know it. That doesn’t make the information any less precious.

“I see. And, again, I don’t suppose you know where this— ‘word on the street’ is coming from?”

He shrugs, a true picture of innocence, and maybe you’d have believed it if Fred hadn’t been in the business for longer than you. He knew, he just wasn’t telling because he wanted to preserve his opportunities if something happened.

“I have to go, then. Thank you for the drink, Mr. Lucas.”

��Please,” he says, holding out his hand. “Call me Fred.”

That won’t be happening.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lucas.”

Once you’re out, you take a second to collect yourself, Hector following like a shadow and waiting for you silently.

“Is everything okay?” he asks after you’ve mulled over the conversation that just happened for several minutes.

“It’s fine,” you say as a reflex. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Fred had taken a gamble when he’d proclaimed his allegiance to Jungkook. He’d bet on him coming out on top, and yet you didn’t trust it. You couldn’t think of a reason why he would do that instead of carefully waiting to see how things would go, like everyone else. You didn’t like this. Not one bit. “We need to get to Mystery Room,” you add.

“Of course,” Hector nods, gesturing towards the limo, and you don’t bother repressing a groan this time.

“God. That’s so tacky.”

That brings a smile to Hector’s lips, but you don’t smile back. You never do. Instead, you climb in, roll your eyes at the whole thing, and let yourself be driven away. You can’t come to a conclusion about Fred Lucas just yet, but you have no intention of forgetting about him either.

It takes you a few seconds, once you’re out of the car, to understand that something isn’t right. You’ve never been good with feelings — instincts, as hybrids call them — and the air doesn’t feel particularly tense or charged to you. Hector stands a little close to you for comfort, and you piece things together from there. There are a few cars around, but not too many, which isn’t surprising considering it’s the middle of the afternoon. Still, you can hear voices from inside, and you know there’s an argument going on there.

“Let’s go,” you say with a decided nod, and Hector leads the way, shoulders tense, ready to pounce if needed. You trust him to do his job, and that’s a lot, coming from you.

You frown when you walk into the bar, taking a few seconds to let your eyes get adjusted to the lack of luminosity, and that frown only deepens when you hear the argument going on and recognize Jungkook’s voice. God. The concepts of subtlety and discretion are completely lost on him, aren’t they?

Making your way through the room, you try to evaluate the situation. Yoongi is leaning against a table, looking bored out of his mind, though you’re sure he doesn’t miss anything from what is going on in the room. As if to prove your point, his golden eyes flick towards you for a second when you approach, before looking away, clearly uninterested. Other than him, it seems that the only other people present are the owner and various employees. You think it’s stupid and dangerous that they showed up here basically alone but, for the millionth time today, you grit your teeth and don’t say anything.

There are five men around, including the bouncer and a security guard. They’re probably armed, and that’s to say nothing of anyone you cannot see. Outside of Yoongi, though, no one pays attention to you, not until the bartender asks loudly “Mojito, as usual, Miss (L/N)?”

It’s a bit early for that, actually, but you give him a nod. The Mystery Room isn’t quite your scene — you’ve always been one to prefer classy restaurants — but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re well-known here, and everywhere, actually, which is something that everyoneknows, except your own boss. That is obvious by the way people’s attitude shifts when they see you. The owner bows to you politely. You acknowledge it with a curt movement of your chin. Jungkook raises an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t look happy about it.

You wait until you have your glass in your hand to say something. The silence that fills the room is heavy, and you can feel Jungkook’s anger emanating from him, having lost the men’s attention. He’s the man who murdered Mr. X, took over half of his operations without anyone noticing, and their fucking boss, and they’re still treating him like a low-life hybrid.

“You haven’t been paying what you owe us,” you say, almost lightly, when you get your drink. “Has business been slow?”

You know it has. You know people aren’t too sure what to think of Jungkook yet. You also know they’ve still made money. Better yet, you’re sure the men in the room know youknow that. You’re giving them an obvious way out. All they have to do is say “yes”, and you’ll come up with something. You won’t let them go off scot-free, but there’s no need for this to end in a bloodbath, either.

“That’s not the issue,” the man says, voice raspy, and you don’t let it show, of course you don’t, but you’re still taking the hit. They’re underestimating Jungkook.

This might be the last mistake they make.

“I think it would be better for everyone if we could work through whatever issue there is,” you say slowly.

Better for them, really, especially because this is you giving him a second chance. There won’t be a third one.

“I’m afraid we don’t, uh, approve of the recent change in direction,” he replies, a stupid grin on his face. He’s mocking you and your infamous overly procedural speech. You know people say you can’t accept who you’re working for, that you can’t take the idea of having blood on your hands.

You may not care, but you’re well-aware of it, and you really don’t appreciate him saying that to your face. You’ll have to make an example out of him.

You sigh and shake your head at his answer. You��re not going to enjoy this. You’ve seen people’s attempts at rebellion against Mr. X, even if those were few and far between, and no matter how much of a fight they put up, it never ends well. For them.

You’re prepared to just leave the place and arrange for it to be set on fire during the night, when Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of it.

“What’s your problem with the change in direction, fucker?”

The mood changes immediately. Hector’s hand on your shoulder gently pulls you back, and Yoongi hops off the table to come stand next to Jungkook, hands in his pockets. He looks nonchalant and relaxed. He could probably easily kill everyone in this room and not get a drop of blood on his jacket.

The owner squares his shoulders and walks up to him. He’s slightly taller and much larger than Jungkook.

“Listen, bunny…”

You barely have the time to widen your eyes at the word, to think about all the ways Jungkook has made it clear that he’s not your typical rabbit-hybrid before his right hook connects with the man’s jaw, so fast you would have missed it if you’d blinked.

A moment of stunned silence follows, during which the man stumbles backwards, hand coming to cup his face in disbelief. And then, he seems to decide that it’s a good idea to retaliate. The dozens, hundreds maybe, of fights you’ve seen Jungkook win flash before your eyes. He doesn’t stand a chance.

People start moving around you, but it seems like it’s only a fistfight. No guns are drawn, for now, and you’re reminded of how much you fucking hate watching people fight. You take a step back, bored already at this stupid display of strength and violence. Still, you can’t help it when your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. There’s a— curiosity within you. How much has he truly changed, in the past two years?

For one, he certainly isn’t pretending this time, isn’t trying to make this fight last for a few more rounds. There iscertain showmanship there, though, you note. He’s giving time for the owner to recover while he takes out some of the other men with hits of surgical precision. He wants them to seewhatever he’s going to do to their boss. Hector and Yoongi keep the fight contained, don’t let anyone escape or call for help, but Jungkook doesn’t need their help. No one here is a threat to him, and it doesn’t take long for the men to be on the floor, groaning in pain.

The owner pushes himself up, spits some blood on the floor. Jungkook turns to face him and beckons him closer with a flick of his hand. He looks amused.

“You fucking piece of—”

This time, Jungkook doesn’t go for the head. His fist gets the man in the ribs, and that first punch is followed by dozens of others, not giving the man any respite, not letting him breathe. When the man falls back, Jungkook doesn’t stop, though the hits slow down, based on what you can see and hear. You have to clench your jaw to stop yourself from grimacing at the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of the bones underneath clashing. It was drowned out, back when he fought in a ring, but knowing it was there disgusted you back. You don’t know why, you just hate it. It makes you sick.

When Jungkook finally gets back up, he hasn’t even broken a sweat. There are five men on the ground, clenching different parts of their bodies and crying out in pain, and he isn’t even out of breath.

“You should fucking reconsider,” he spits out.

They won’t have to. This place will be gone soon enough.

His eyes meet yours as he walks out, and his expression turns to a disgusted scowl. It almost draws a scoff out of you, but you hold it in, and instead, you follow him dutifully.

Jungkook doesn’t speak to you in the car, eyes instead on his bloody knuckles. It will heal fast, you know, and that’s probably why he doesn’t bother taking care of it. When the car stops, you look outside and find yourself faced with your own apartment building. It’s not even five in the afternoon yet. You turn around to give your boss a quizzical look.

“You’re not needed anymore,” he shrugs. He doesn’t sound like he’s playing this time, though you’re still sure that he wants to get on your nerves.

You hate that it’s working this time.

“The day isn’t—”

“I think you’ve proved exactly how efficient you are today,” he says, obviously dismissing you. “I have no fucking idea how you got this job.”

You bite your tongue not to reply. You don’t care about the job, you don’t care about his opinion of you, you barely even care about the Family. You should just nod, give him the usual “yes, Mr. Jeon,” and walk out. But something keeps you in place a little longer than it should, and that’s how much you hate jobs that aren’t well done.

Your voice sounds distant to your own ears when you say what you’re supposed to, your body doesn’t feel like your own when you walk out and close the door. Your breathing quickens while you hear the car leave behind you like it’s all happening in a dream, your head spins, and you stand frozen in place, staring right in front of you.

Is this your life now? you wonder, feeling your heart thumping like it’s trying to get out of your chest. Are you going to let yourself be so disposable, so mediocre, let everything you’ve spent years building fall apart? This isn’t the time for pride, you’re well aware of that, but it’s still eating at you inside.

You walk back to your apartment like you’re in a trance. There’s a heavy weight on your chest, and you realize you have to make a choice. If things stay like that, you suppose Jungkook will have your head at some point. This is a fight of patience. One you cannot win. But if you make yourself indispensable, then maybe, maybe you can survive it. You’ve done it once already.

You brush aside the little voice mocking your reasoning, telling you that you’re doing this because you don’t want to lose your status. Not because it’s wrong, but because you know that’s not enough of an incentive for you to take a risk. You need something stronger than that. Even if you know it’s a lie.

That doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you dial Yoongi’s number. You’re happy there’s no one to see you, because God, you couldn’t take your carefully crafted facade crumbling right now.

“Yes?” he answers quickly. If he’s surprised to hear from you, it doesn’t show.

“What are the plans for the Mystery Room?” you ask, satisfied that your voice doesn’t quiver, even if you’re a mess right now.

There’s a silence at the other end of the line, and you suspect he’s considering not answering you, so you take the initiative.

“You need to at least replace the owner,” you say, kicking off your shoes. “You can convince him to sell to us,” — convince, one of your favorite euphemisms — “or get rid of him and get the place from his family. Burning the place down is also an option. We can’t let what happened slide like that.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says.

“Also, it would better if Mr. Jeon could avoid fighting with people. The last thing we want is people who think they can challenge him.”

“He can take them.”

“That’s not the issue. If people think they have a chance, they’ll keep trying. We don’t want them to do that.”

Another, longer silence.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’ll listen to you.”

“And you think I will listen to you?”

You roll your eyes. It’s strange, you know you’re gambling your life right now, but the tension you were experiencing earlier has been replaced by an eerie calm. You feel detached from everything.

Maybe you’ve been doing this for too long.

“You don’t have to,” you say, “but this is my job. I’m good at it. If you just let me do it, it would be far more efficient than whatever has been going on for the last week. I know you don’t trust me, but you can probably come to the same conclusions as me in this situation at least.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest. This is an explicit critique, something you would never have risked with Mr. X, and it’s the most open act of defiance that you’ve ever done — and it’s to convince them to let you workfor them.

“We’ll see about that,” he replies dismissively, and your shoulders fall at first, but then he adds, almost reluctantly, “I’ll take what you said into consideration.”

“Good. We also need to talk about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve gotten some important information about the opposition to Mr. Jeon, and I think—”

As you explain the situation to Yoongi, you feel yourself calming down. Maybe it’s because you’re doing something that’s familiar to you, you’re not sure, but you can breathe again, and that solidifies your conviction that you’re making the right decision.

Finally, you’re ready to take back your life.

Tag list: @chaiwivluv @mintyrae @btswdwsmhrdt @xxquenwxtchxx @fekitza @kimmieloveswho @deeepvibes @lonleycoffee @gookiebts @kpop-baka @taecallsmenoona @mimiinluv @dabbingangels @jooahchu

#jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hybrid jungkook #bts mafia au #bts hybrid au #candywrites #if i can never give you peace

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crimsonophelia · 4 years ago

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Can I request for a fluffy friends to lovers fic with Venti and a human gn reader? They’re good friends (but the reader doesn’t know his real identity) and when reader brings up their desire to see a wind wisp in real life Venti decides to surprise them by transforming into his true form and paying them a visit. The reader finds this mysterious little wind wisp at their doorstep and gets excited, takes care of it, and while feeding it apple slices starts talking about how their good friend Venti would love to see them - but oh, he’s less of a friend and more of a crush who I’ve loved for a long time… wait, where did the wisp go? Wait, Venti?! When did you get here?!

featuring: venti x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: june 30, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for sending this in—i need more venti requests, he’s my baby <3

you could tell that the drink was beginning to hit you hard when you felt your muscles go slack. it was your fourth pint of the night, and although you thought that you could hold your drink fairly well, you could never hold a candle to your bard friend’s seemingly bottomless appetite for wine. venti was on his seventh--or was it eighth?--mug of cider for the night, and was still fairly unfazed, if you consider his usual bumbling amiability to be his default. after a long day of working and whatever it was that venti did in the daytime, you two had decided to meet up at the angel’s share that evening for a drinking night between friends, and to catch up on life and whatever else goes on in the city of mondstadt.

the night had begun with a mug per person, as you and venti caught up with each other. due to your duties at home, and his rather inconstant job as a traveling musician, it was oftentimes difficult for you and the bard to stay in touch--responsibilities always seemed to get in the way. so, naturally, you took advantage of every opportunity you could get to see venti, one-on-one, and simply talk. after knowing him for quite a while, he really was a delight to talk to, always full of witty riddles and forever knowing the right thing to say at the right time. venti really was quite remarkable.

he also had the unique talent of contagious alcoholism; after having spent an hour or so drinking and chatting with him, you unwittingly started drinking more than your usual limit, absolutely carried away with whatever small conversation venti had you engaged with at the moment. the conversation had somehow strayed into the topic of myths and legends of mondstadt. venti was speaking of some strange conspiracies surrounding the origin of the anemo hypostasis up in the mountains, and as the alcohol began to break down your proper judgement, you began to go on and on about how you, as a child, dreamed of seeing an elusive wind wisp.

you had heard stories about the boy revolutionary, armed with his bow and his words, accompanied by a little white wind wisp, leading mondstadt’s journey to freedom. the story had enchanted you when you were young, and clearly you still had not given up hope of meeting a similar wind wisp. perhaps it would bring you the same joy and power to change your life for the better, just like it did for the hero of old mondstadt.

venti listened to your reminiscing closely, looking at you with a quizzical look of interest. your intoxicated state made it so that you didn’t notice the look on his face as if he was plotting something, but, to be fair, venti’s poker face was notable for its impregnability. the night ended with him having to walk you home, propping your arm over his shoulders so that you wouldn’t trip and fall on the cobblestone streets. the last thing you remembered was him tucking you into bed, and singing you one of his funny little songs.

the next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and the bright noon sun peeking through your shutters. archons, was it so late already? you pulled yourself out of bed, trying not to stumble, distracted by the pounding in your head. you had a long list of things to do today that you had to complete, and you severely regretted drinking so much and so late with that damned bard last night (though you could never really hate him--he was too adorable).

slipping on whatever clothing closest to your bed and sluggishly following through with your daily morning routine, you got ready to head out the door to water the carrots and potatoes in your backyard. as you pulled open the door, prepared to step out and face the piercing daylight, you caught yourself as you almost stepped on the little figure at your doorstep. lying there on its side, was a wind wisp. yes, just like the ones you had read about all your childhood and you had mused about endlessly last night. it had its little eyes shut, sleeping probably, its delicate little form curled up on the step.

you were bewildered, partially at the coincidence of it all, but mostly by the rarity of what had occurred before your eyes. a wind wisp, something most people never even saw once in their lifetimes, suddenly showing up right at your doorstep after you had talked about your desire to meet one just the night before. crouching down, you scooped up its little body in your hands. the little thing began to wake, hands rubbing its eyes sleepily, as it made a chirping noise. it was ridiculously adorable.

“hey there, little guy”, you cooed. “what are you doing here?”

as it began to regain consciousness, the wisp floated up off your hands, small gusts of air emitting from its form, and it flew up to nuzzle against your face. it felt like a warm breeze brushing against your cheek, and you heard it chirping in your ear.

you giggled. “well aren’t you the cutest little thing!” you raised your hand to pet it, and it made a little gurgling noise, leaning into your touch. something about its mannerisms felt so familiar, almost like something you had known in a past life perhaps, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. its presence was just endlessly comforting, even though you had only known it for a few minutes.

reaching into your pantry, you pulled out some apples you had picked the day before, and cut it into small slices. the wisp watched you eagerly as you went about your business, like it could understand everything you did. holding up a thin slice to the wisp, a little hole in its void of a face opened up and enveloped the slice whole. a little shocked but certainly entertained, you gave it an approving head pat.

as the day went on, the little wisp continued to follow you throughout mondstadt as you ran your errands. you went outside, behind your house, to take care of the crops you were growing. as you watered your plants, the little wisp helped you disperse the water more efficiently, blowing a gentle wind from your watering can so that you didn’t have to walk as far to water the faraway plants. you go to pick some apples and sunsettias nearby, and the little fellow would fly up to the hard-to-reach fruits and throw himself against them to knock them loose from the branches, right where you could catch them. you worried a little bit whether he was hurting himself by doing so, but he appeared to be pleased just to assist you, and he certainly was not ashamed to take a few bites from the fruits of your shared labor at the end of the day.

considering how efficiently your errands were completed today, of course all thanks to the helper you acquired that morning, you thought it would be nice to use the time you had in the late afternoon to take the wisp out for a picnic dinner at windrise to show your appreciation. gathering some of the fruit the both of you had collected, and some sandwiches you made, you placed it all in a little wicker basket and set off for the great tree with your companion upon your shoulder.

upon arriving, you laid down a gingham blanket in the shade of the great tree of windrise, just a moments away from the ancient statue of barbatos. you felt like a child again, remembering the summers of carefree exploration, tunneling through the thickets in the forest, or catching frogs by the creek, or tumbling down the hills by the sea. and now, a wisp joined you, taking you back to the memories of those years, when life was much simpler.

you couldn’t help but to think of venti, the bard, the friend, who had brought you such comfort through difficult times, whose music, like the warm touch of the wisp, reminded you of home and the beauty that life could bring. your companion was now feasting comedically fast on the food you had brought along, swallowing up fruits whole, and chewing for several moments before helping itself to another. you chuckled and gave it a pat. “greedy little fellow, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but to think venti would have loved to meet the wind wisp, considering his love for nature and all sorts of fauna, and considering the small resemblance between himself and the creature.

“stick around for a bit and i might introduce you to my friend, the bard”, you told it, not really caring that it probably couldn’t understand you. “im actually not sure that we are friends, to be honest. these days we rarely see each other but...” you trailed off, distracted by the sound of the breeze through the branches. the wisp stopped eating and watched you intently. “well”, you began. “i sometimes find myself wishing him and i were more than friends. maybe not lovers, not right away but... i just know that dearly. i cannot be sure that he feels the same, but that is of no matter.” you pat the wisp’s little head again. “if i can make him happy, even just as friends, that is enough for me.”

out of nowhere, a strong wind blew past you, knocking over your wicker basket and sending it flying several feet away. agitated, you scrambled up to chase after it, finally grasping it before it could fly too far. you were perplexed—where in the world could such a strong wind have come from? the sky was clear, and there were no clouds obstructing the setting sun. how odd, you thought to yourself.

you turned around to bring the basket back to your sitting spot, but to your surprise, the wisp was gone. no, in its place was now your bard friend, venti, sitting there on the blanket like he had been there all along. how in the world did he get here without you noticing, and where in the world did the wisp go off to? you hurried over to venti, questioning, “since when did you get here?”

the bard smirked, and fiddled with his lyre that you just noticed he had brought along with him. he had that look on his face again, the one he wore whenever he had some sort of plot in mind. “whatever do you mean, [y/n]?”, he replied amusedly. “i’ve been here all along.”

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #venti headcanons #venti imagines #venti fanfic #venti x y/n #venti x you #fluff #venti fluff

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flshtopher · 3 years ago

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where the heart is

pulcinella takes young fatuus ajax back to morepesok for his birthday.

The year after Ajax joins the Fatui, Pulcinella pulls him aside before routine combat training and tells him to pack an overnight bag.

So he does, with all the speed and efficiency of a boy whose worldly possessions consist of little more than three sets of the same drab uniform and a handful of toiletries. Part of him is disappointed. He likes it—the training. He’s good at it. The other recruits are older than him, bigger, but that hardly matters when everything down there had been older and bigger and a hundred times more terrifying than any human.

Still, orders are orders, and Ajax is a soldier now.

(He knows better than to talk back, had learned his lesson the hard way.)

Pulcinella greets him with a kind smile when he boards the carriage. It’s just the two of them, and Ajax allows himself to sink into the plush upholstery.

“Where are we going?”

“East,” Pulcinella says.

An answer, but a nonspecific one. Ajax drops the matter.

By and large the journey is uneventful. Ajax spends half of it gazing out at the Snezhnayan countryside and the other half dozing in his seat while Pulcinella busies himself with some sort of report.

It’s nice, almost.

Ajax rarely has time away from the hustle and bustle of his unit. He’s used to it—the noise, the lack of privacy. Growing up as the middle child of a large family meant there was always someone around. Someone to play with, someone to laugh with. And at the end of the day, he would snuggle up with his siblings, all of them in one big pile to keep warm.

(These days, Ajax sleeps by himself on a hard cot with a knife beneath his pillow.)

Some time later, Pulcinella wakes him with a gentle shake of his shoulder. The carriage is stopped, and the sky through the window is painted in hues of yellow and orange and purple. Half a day has passed since they set out from the Fatui camp.

“Big Brother!”

For a moment, Ajax writes off the voices as figments of his imagination. Then his senses register the crashing waves, the distinct scent of salt and sulfur he’d spent the first fifteen years of his life marinating in. He clambers over Pulcinella, scrambling to wrench open the door and—yes, there, two rapidly approaching figures with their arms in the air screaming and waving and Ajax doesn’t hesitate to leap out of the carriage to meet them halfway.

His back meets the ground with a thud. The air is knocked from his lungs, and he can barely breathe with the weight of both Tonia and Anthon on his chest, but that small detail hardly matters when he can finally wrap his arms around them, feel their warmth and reassure himself this is real.

“I… What are you two doing here?” Ajax asks. “I mean, why—“

“The young lady wrote to me,” a voice from above replies. Pulcinella shoulders both their bags.

“Tonia?”

His sister pouts. “Because Big Brother wouldn’t answer my letters!”

Well, no getting around that one. It wasn’t intentional—not entirely, anyway. He’d been angry at first. Hurt and betrayed. Not by his younger siblings, never them, but for a time, he remembers not wanting to think about anything related to his past life. The home he was no longer welcome in, the celebrations he would miss, the childhood that was cut so painfully short.

(Weeks and months pass, and Ajax’s anger morphs into something closer to shame. The letters stay hidden beneath his cot, dozens of them in a secure box Ajax buys with the first payment he receives for his service to his nation.)

“Sorry,” he says, because what else is there to say? “I’ll write back next time. Promise.”

Tonia looks at him for a long moment. Then, satisfied with what she sees, she extends her pinky.

“You break a pinky promise…”

The house hasn’t changed much. Ajax is greeted by the same old yard, the same old chipped front door. His family has lived here for generations, many of his ancestors having never ventured outside their small village.

(His father was different though, and oh how little Ajax wished to be like him—)

The inside is much the same too. It makes it easy to pretend the past year has been nothing but a bad dream, that he is simply returning home after a day of play. His mother has dinner on the stove, and his father sits in his leather armchair with a toddler on his lap.

“Ajax,” he says, setting Teucer down.

Teucer approaches him with none of the wariness Ajax possessed at his age. Rather, he offers a wide grin to the brother he was too young to remember, and extends his chubby arms with a simple request:

“Up!”

Glancing between the wide eyes of his youngest brother and his father, Ajax waits for a nod of approval before scooping Teucer into his arms. “Wow, look at how big you’ve gotten!”

The delighted squeal Teucer lets loose is infectious, and soon Ajax is laughing too as he spins them around. A whole year… he’s missed a whole year of this. Of Teucer’s first words, his first steps. He won’t be around for Teucer’s birthday, or his first day of school, or any of the days in between.

A large hand claps his shoulder and Ajax stops to meet his father’s gaze. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes, similar to the day he—

“Ajax,” he says, gruff but not unkind. “Son, how have you been?”

Son.

(The stench of alcohol, a stinging handprint on his cheek—

“Who the hell are you? What have you done to my son?”)

Ajax coughs. “Good,” he says. Hates how his voice wobbles. “I… Lord Pulcinella has been taking good care of me.”

“It’s been my pleasure.” Pulcinella’s smile is kind, betraying none of the ruthlessness that comes with being a Fatuus, with being a Harbinger.

His father nods. “Thank you, Lord Harbinger.”

Growing up, Ajax is something of a crybaby. A mama’s boy, they called him, always clinging to his mother’s skirts and hiding behind her leg. She indulged his desire to stay close, and it was her who taught him how to cook a proper meal, how to make a home.

She cries the day Ajax emerges from the Abyss.

(It’s the first time he sees her cry, but not the last.)

Now, as she crushes him to her chest, Ajax feels the tension melting from his body because no matter how tainted he’s become, part of him will always be the little boy who craves the comfort only a mother can provide.

(She doesn’t fight the day Pulcinella takes him away, but Ajax sees the way her hands tremble, the wetness in her bright blue eyes.)

“I’m sorry.” The words are murmured close to his ear, and it occurs to him that he’s taller than her now. “I’m so sorry, Ajax, I—“

Ajax returns her embrace. “What are you going on about? I’m fine, see?”

“Ajax—“

“Dinner smells good. Do you need help with anything? I can set the table.”

With a firm shake of her head, his mother starts ushering him out of the kitchen. “No, no, none of that. You must be exhausted. Go wash up first and show our guest around. He’s more than welcome to sleep in Simon’s old room tonight.”

She lets him go with kiss to his cheek, right above the scabbed over cut he received during training earlier that week.

“And put some medicine on that, dear.”

“I will, I will.”

(The cut is minor and already on its way to healing, but he’ll slather the smelly ointment on anyway for her sake.)

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

Pulcinella is a hit with the kids.

They call him Uncle Boris, and Ajax doesn’t miss the way Anthon hastily wipes the crumbs from his face as he approaches. Bribery—classic.

The tour of the house doesn’t take long. There isn’t much to show, after all, but Pulcinella seems charmed anyway. Vaguely, Ajax wonders if Pulcinella has a family of his own, if he misses them, if—

—if any of the harbingers have a family to return home to.

(Maybe that’s why Pulcinella treats him the way he does.)

The carriage arrives first thing in the morning.

Ajax yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his mother stuffs his once pitifully empty bag with food, clothes, medicine, and Celestia knows what else. She fusses with his hair, and straightens his uniform, and pulls him in for one final hug before he turns to leave.

“This will always be your home, dear. You and Uncle Boris come visit any time and I’ll have a hot meal ready.”

Ajax smiles. His bag is heavier, but his heart feels lighter. “I know, Mama.”

Next to her, his father calls out just as Ajax gets one boot on the footplate.

“Be safe, Ajax,” he says. Then, to Pulcinella: “Please continue to take care of my son.”

“Thank you,” Ajax says, a little ways into their return journey.

Pulcinella glances up from his report—different from the one he’d been reading yesterday—and Ajax notes the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Of course,” he says. “Happy birthday, my boy.”

#genshin impact #tartaglia #childe #pulcinella

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emilycollins00 · 4 years ago

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I saw your requests were open so I 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 I’m not sure if you do Guy but if you do, maybe a scenario where the reader is dancing under the rain and having fun but Guy is worried for their health and is trying to coax them back in but the reader manages to pull Guy with them and start dancing together. I personally think Guy wouldn’t understand the concept or the appeal of dancing under the rain until he sees you and is dancing with you and just goes “oh” yknow 😔✊🏼 if you don’t do Guy or aren’t comfortable enough yet you could replace him with Juza/Tasuku

THIS REQUEST WAS EVERYTHING. I've wanted to write Guy for a while so this was absolutely wholesome to do, thank you Ever!

Hope you all enjoy it 💕

One soulful moment it's all it takes (Guy x Reader)

People say monotony kills the heart. Ironically, monotony is what also keeps the heart working.

It wasn’t that Guy enjoyed it per se, it's just that it was proven things got done quicker when you set up a system. It was more productive. More efficient. Waking up early every morning to practice karate was good to improve his health. Making and drinking tea also helped. Going fishing or taking care of Tsukioka’s garden had also become part of what he got used to when he started living in Mankai among other activities.

The only variant he could never seem to grasp was you.

“You should go out more!”

"I believe we are already outside."

"No- I mean, to play around, you know? Enjoy life! Nothing like a good bruise on your leg to remind you that you have a leg."

You always picked on him based on the consistency of his routines, on the rigidness of his answers. And while sometimes Guy had to admit he didn’t quite grasp the full meaning of what you said, he found you captivating, intriguing even.

Everyone around always seemed to have a smile next to you after all, and as you two got closer, Guy found himself wishing he could be half as carefree and adventurous as you.

“Come on!” You made him eat some of the food you had ordered- even though his own plate was more than enough for one person’s fill. “I can’t believe this is not making you smile. If you are not excited when you eat, you are doing something wrong.”

You always loved to try new things, which was why whenever you would suddenly appear at Mankai you would try and drag him all over Veludo. Openminded experiences, you liked to call them. It was also how Guy had gotten used to asking for places others recommended, such as the cat’s café, Veludo main acting street, or this new curry restaurant director and Usui had seemed to enjoy so much lately.

As you finished your meals and paid, you both stepped outside while making light talk. “Ah… that was spicy but delicious! Not Omi’s level though. I’ve only eaten snacks from him but I bet all his food tastes just as good. You guys are lucky.”

“Yes. He is one skilled young man even among other Zahran’s royal court's chefs I know. I have no doubt anyone that would try his cooking would think so as well.”

“Right? Anyway, I didn’t know you could handle spices so well,” you patted his arm happily. Those plates had been no joke, Chikage and Izumi were monsters. “I mean, you finished it all! I believed this was the time I was gonna see you making weird faces."

"Do you want me to?"

"No! I was joking Guy. You always take me too seriously I swear," you laughed as you both left the shopping district.

The winter member nodded, taking a mental note once again. From his early childhood memories he had always been told to be careful about everything, and was made to follow the path everyone told him to. And though there were times when he wanted to step out of the beaten path, he hadn't been much of a rebel- until Citronia left, that is. He would easily put those thoughts aside and go on doing whatever he was supposed to do.

All of a sudden a few drops fell, snapping him back in the present and made him blink surprised at the sky at the unexpected wet contact. He had seen the weathercast that morning over breakfast and it hadn’t said anything about raining.

“We should look for shelter before it becomes heavier.”

“Uh? What are you talking about?”

Guy stopped walking and met your questioning eyes, as if you truly didn’t understand what he had said. People around you both began passing by jogging with jackets, briefcases, or whatever object they might have in hand acting as umbrellas, and for a second he didn’t know how to explain it more clear. “The rain. We will get wet otherwise.”

There was a sound of thunder in the distance, which made people speed up their walking pace. Not you though.

“I know." you shrugged. "Still can’t see the problem.”

As the raindrops started to make their way through you, causing you to get wet, you stepped away from him, welcoming the cool drink from the clouds.

“Y/N? Where are you going?” he called out to you when you started moving around in circles.

The unaware worry tinted in his expression resonated in your mind. In time, you were able to control yourself enough to let out a snort of a laugh. "Nowhere. I'm dancing silly!" you replied, your voice high with joy and arms open up in the sky. "The rain feels good. I love to walk and dance in it. Don’t tell me you’ve never done this."

“But you will get sick.”

“Oh come on, healing rain is real!”

“Is that so.”

“Yeah! It can be physical healing or emotional or whatever you want it to.” You smiled. Your movements were rusty under the slow and endless drizzle, making jumpings and turns here and there. “It washes your sins away.”

Guy kept staring not entirely convinced. As much as he saw you enjoying yourself moving around in the rain, he had seen Tsukioka and a few other members from Mankai get sick just from running under in the rain on their way back home and all in all, he still didn't fully understand the point of what you were doing.

“It doesn’t seem very conclusive.” He looked around, trying to look for any shop that might sell umbrellas. Without any result he turned to you once again, rain getting heavier as you two talked. “If you wish to feel water running under you a shower could work as well, although I admit the space is considerably different if you decided to dance.”

“Oh for the love of-" you ran up to him, grabbing his elbow and forcing him to come out of the somewhat safe roof he had been guarding himself against since you had left him laughing. “Just come here. Now close your eyes and enjoy the music!”

He followed your instructions and stayed in silence for a few seconds, then he opened them. “There’s no music Y/N.”

“Of course there is! Try closing them again and pay attention.”

He followed your suggestion once again.

All was silent as before- All silent save the dripping rain. Then, as the breathful afternoon melted slowly and the cold caress of fresh air lapped up, Guy started to feel the drops around him. And while they were not synchronized, they created a sound worth listening to.

As you had indicated, he tried to let go of his inhibitions, allowing the rain to wash away the thoughts that had been roaming on his mind After a while he opened his eyes slightly, confused at the sudden feeling emerging within him. It was also when he found you still there, not having moved yet, smiling brightly -as the now hidden sun in front of him.

Ah. He didn’t know exactly why or how it had happened, but the connection between you was different from anything he had felt before.

“…I believe I am now listening to the music you spoke of.”

Sometimes one finds joy in the small and simple things. It could be the scent of the rain, the taste of your favorite food... others, it was the sound of a loved one's voice.

“What do you think Guy?”

He never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and feel the rain, however his eyes trailer over you, before silently stepping back instead. The sudden action made you tilt your head confused. You knew Zahfra wasn't that much of a humid place so it would make sense he might not be as comfortable as it was for other people to stand in the middle of the rain.

“Guy-”

“Y/N-"

You chuckled at how you both said each other names so suddenly. Just like in the movies. “You go first.”

He stared gaze at your figure for a second, before offering his right hand. Rain kept falling under you, no one else in sight. Just you, Guy, and the sound of rain.

“May I have this dance?”

As if it was possible, your eyes lighted up brighter than they had on the whole day, which surprised Guy to an extent. With a beaming smile you nodded, and so he took a step towards you. He wrapped his hands around you and pulled you slightly closer. The thunderbolts made your body shiver while you wrapped your arms around his neck. He could feel your every breath, and with every breath, your own heartbeats pumped faster.

A good lead should be soft yet subtle, stating their intentions by moving themselves, inviting their partners to follow along. Guy was alert, eyes scanning the surroundings ahead of him, watching traffic, other people, but also aware of what was happening right in his arms.

He treated your follow with respect, never forcing any movement. If he led a step or a pattern and you interpreted the movement differently than he had intended, he adapted to you rather than forcing change. He wanted to give you a sense of security, knowing you could fully depend on his lead the way he had learned to dance, however after a few clumsy fails followed by your laugh, he soon discovered it didn't matter how you both danced, just that you did.

“I think you know me better than I know myself.” He broke the silence after a while. You smiled.

“I’m not going to deny that.”

“I wish I could repay you for that, somehow.”

Laughing again you adjusted yourself so you could look up at him. His astonishingly beautiful green orbs finding yours once again, filled with overwhelming love and safety. “You are doing it right now.”

The corner of his eyes softened.

There were many things he had tried to chase away. Things he couldn’t remember, and others he didn’t let himself think about. Right now he was living, and nothing else seemed to matter anymore. He allowed you to take him anywhere you pleased on that made-up dance floor under the rain. You went right, he went right. You sped up, he sped up. Having you there, next to him like this, made him think about just how lucky he had become.

“…You are beautiful,” he whispered, touching your cheek with care, clearing the strands of wet hair that had gotten in the way.

You held on to him tighter.

“You are beautiful too.” You smiled, noses touching. Rain still falling over you both. “Didn't I tell you? That dancing in the rain deserved getting a cold.”

______________________________________________________

Wishing you all a wonderful day! 💕

#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 act addict actors #a3 actor training game #a3!#a3 #a3! guy #a3 guy #guy x reader

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the-modernmary · 4 years ago

Text

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 6)

Chapter summary: Your weekend at Aaron’s place continues, and he reflects on your relationship and what it all means. The team finds out.

Warnings: morning sex, thigh riding, little bit of dirty talk? allusions to office sex. pretty tame tbh. minors DNI

A/N: Posting these on tumblr is so much fun because I forgot that this is one of my favorite chapters in this whole story. This chapter is pretty long, but it has Hotch’s pov and team shenanigans, and pining!! Thank you all so much for your likes and reblogs and just all of the sweet things everybody has said so far about this story!!! As always, my ask box is always open if anybody wants to talk about this story or CM/hotch in general, or just wants somebody to talk to!!

masterlist || read on ao3

“You call the shots babe

I just wanna be yours

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours”

- Arctic Monkeys, “I Wanna Be Yours”

~~~~~~~

If there was one thing you liked more than sleeping with Aaron, you decided, it was waking up next to him. That was probably in part because it just didn’t happen very often. Most mornings were a frantic rush to get to work or school, and too often Aaron was up, showered, and dressed before you even got out of bed. It worked, though, and you didn’t have to worry about your respective morning routines being thrown off.

It was also the same reason the two of you kept clothes at each other’s places. One of the first times Aaron had spent the night at your apartment, he got called into the BAU early for a case and couldn’t go home to change, which meant he had spent an entire week in some tiny Montana town avoiding the questioning stares of everybody on his team, trying to figure out where he had spent the night.

Or there was the time when you decided to tease Aaron a little too much and he ended up tearing the buttons off your blouse, meaning you had to find a way to style one of his oversized button ups to wear to court. Having a drawer at each other’s places wasn’t some big declaration of feelings or taking things to the next step, it was just being smart and proactive.

And as a bonus, the efficiency of the morning routines plus already having clothes meant plenty of time for morning sex.

Aaron’s arm was draped lazily over your waist, not exactly pulling you in towards him, and keeping you at a distance. But it was comforting all the same knowing that, even in his sleep, he still wanted you. At the beginning of your fling, you had teased Aaron for being a cuddler, and he had just said it was because he liked knowing that you were safe and with him and that it grounded him. It didn’t take much longer for you to realize that Aaron Hotchner was a lot lonelier than he let on.

You could feel Aaron’s breath on the back of your neck as you stretched languidly, every muscle in your body happily sore. It would be so easy to just fall back asleep and let the morning pass both of you by. You had all weekend, and you were sure that you and Aaron would need your rest whenever you could get it. You pulled the covers closer to your frame and curled up even more, savoring the warmth of the bed and letting out a content sigh.

“If you keep stealing the covers,” came Aaron’s raspy mumble, “We’re going to have to start using two separate blankets.”

A small smile tugged on the corners of your lips as you turned around so you could face Aaron. He must have been up for a while if he was already using full sentences, which meant that he had made the somewhat conscious decision to stay in bed with you. Those stupid butterflies from the night before came back in full force. His eyes were still closed, but he had a smug smirk gracing his face as he pulled you closer to him, your legs quickly tangling with his.

Another good thing about waking up next to Aaron was that he looked downright sinful in the mornings, especially when he had just the faintest hint of stubble on his chin like he did then. The lines of his perpetually furrowed brows all but disappeared and his hair was much messier than usual, although you were more than likely the cause of that last night. You could see the faint scratches on his shoulders and bruises on his collarbone, also your doing.

You were sure you had just as many marks on your body, if not more. Aaron was patient and he knew how to read every little reaction you gave him in order to make you a whimpering mess. You probably would have been annoyed at how easily he could read you if it didn’t feel so good.

You let out a soft “humph” as you buried your face into his bare chest, breathing him in. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on making your house an icebox…”

Your words trailed off as Aaron slipped his hand that was on your back under your - his - shirt so that he could run his fingers up and down your spine. He propped his head up on his other hand, finally letting his eyes open to look at you. The sunlight filtering through the window brought out the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes.

“Wanted to make sure you stayed in bed,” he admitted, his eyes shamelessly tracing you up and down and you could feel his growing morning wood pressed against you.

You squeezed your thighs together as you traced small patterns over his bare chest with your fingertips. “By making it too cold for me to even grab a jacket?” you teased.

Aaron just shrugged, still mindlessly rubbing the bare skin of your back. “It worked, didn’t it? Besides…” His hand moved to rest on your waist, his thumb teasing the underside of your breast. “I can think of a few ways to warm up.”

You smirked and lifted your head to bring a kiss up to his neck, leaving a small bruise in its wake. “Oh?” you asked with a lifted eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mind going for round two.”

A giggle slipped past your lips as Aaron rolled over, pulling you on top of him so that you were straddling his hips. “By the end of this weekend, we’ll definitely get to round two,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Or round three..” Another kiss. “Maybe four…” Another kiss. “Five if we’re feeling especially ambitious.” His fingers hooked on the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down swiftly.

You smiled into the kisses and you let your fingers run through Aaron’s hair, your nails lightly scratching at his scalp. You could feel his erection pressing against you and you grinded down on him. Aaron rewarded you with one of his delicious moans. His hands slid up your sides and pulled off the shirt you were wearing in one fluid motion, his mouth immediately attaching to your nipple, his tongue moving in circles as his lips pulled and tugged until you cried out his name.

His hands moved back down to grip your hips, slowly rocking your hips back and forth on him. “Aaron,” you breathed out, your senses completely overwhelmed. He was sitting up now and kissing his way up to your neck, determined to leave you with as many marks as possible.

“Do you wanna cum like this?” he practically growled, his scruff brushing against your sensitive skin. “Grinding on my thigh, greedy and desperate? Was three orgasms not enough last night?”

You gripped his shoulders, moving your hips faster now, dizzy with want. “Yes, fuck ,” you moaned, pressing down with as much force as you could muster, only the thin fabric of his pajamas pants keeping you from what you wanted. Nothing would be close enough to him, but you could certainly try. Aaron lifted his thigh and his grip on your hips got tighter, already forming bruises.

Aaron watched you intently as you felt your orgasm build up, his lips parted ever so slightly. He loved to watch you fall apart, loved the power it gave him. And you loved to watch him watch you come apart, because the open-mouth smile he gave you made it look like he worshiped the ground you walked on. You were all too willing to give him a show.

You threw your head back as you panted, desperate for your release. “Please, I’m so close,” you begged, speeding up your hips even more.

He released one hand from your hips and dragged his nails up your body, leaving little pink lines in his wake, until his hand could rest comfortably on your throat. Aaron didn’t put any pressure, but you were wound so tightly that any touch would have set you off.

“Cum for me ,” Aaron demanded, and your body immediately listened

Your whole body shook as your orgasm slammed into you, but you managed to keep your eyes locked with his, giving him a primal smile, which only made his eyes darken even more with lust. Aaron took the hand on your throat and moved it up to cup your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. It was needy and desperate, maybe even a little clumsy as you lifted off his lap just enough to finally pull his pajama pants down.

You reached your hand down to pump him lazily a few times, your thumb swiping over the tip of his cock teasingly. Part of you wanted to tease Aaron, to see if you could make him whine and beg for you to fuck him. A larger, needier part of you just wanted to ride Aaron so that you could hear more praises from him.

Aaron made that decision for you. “Do you think you’re going to ride me?” he asked condescendingly, as if to say you’re cute if you think you’re in charge.

You continued to stroke Aaron’s erection, twisting your wrist in just the right way to get Aaron to moan for you. “I will if you ask nicely,” you mused, your voice even, but even as you said it, you were already slowly sinking down on his cock, moaning at the feeling of him stretching you. You were still a little sore from last night, but it quickly turned into pleasure.

Before you could fully take all of him into you, Aaron snapped his hips up, hitting you in all the right places. You gasped out, your pussy clenching involuntarily around him.

That just made Aaron smirk and thrust up into you again. “I don’t need to ask to take what’s mine,” he hissed, but his voice was strained, like it was taking all of his energy to keep a steady tone. “And you, my dear, are mine.”

Every word was just encouragement for you to ride him faster, wanting to hear him moan some more. “I’m yours,” you agreed, burying your face in his neck.

He took one of your hands that was clinging onto his shoulder for dear life and guided it down to your clit. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, leaning back just enough so that he could get a good look at you. “I want to watch you.”

You immediately started to circle your swollen clit, and the stimulation was almost too much. Almost. But the look on Aaron’s face as he watched you work yourself over, so full of lust and want, was more than enough encouragement for you.

“Like this?” you asked innocently, and you could feel his dick throb inside you.

Aaron let your name fall from his lips, coming out as a sigh. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned before capturing your lips in a kiss.

It didn’t take long for you to cum again, moaning his name into his lips as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t dare stop kissing him, though, and you especially didn’t dare stop riding Aaron. You wanted to feel him deeper in you. Your legs were shaking and a thin sheen of sweat covered you, but you wanted him to come apart, lose control.

When he came, he held you in place and pressed his forehead against yours, wanting to watch every little reaction you made. You whimpered as he filled you, his dick twitching inside of you. You were exhausted in the best way and your skin was warm to the touch. The two of you stayed like that for a few appreciative moments, heavy breathing being the only sound in the room.

It really was easy to imagine that this was your life, to pretend that you would be able to wake up next to Aaron and have two orgasms before breakfast as much as you wanted. But reality came back all too harshly in the form of Aaron’s phone ringing. Both of you let out groans of annoyance as you pulled yourself off of him. Aaron technically had weekends off, but he was always on call, which meant no phone call could go unanswered.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, reaching over to the nightstand to grab his cell.

You chuckled and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “So much for round two, hm?” you teased. “You answer that. I’m going to go shower.” You winced as you climbed out of bed, feeling the soreness spread across your body. You were going to get absolutely wrecked this weekend, and you honestly couldn’t wait. You looked back at Aaron as he answered the phone, and you were surprised to see him staring right at you, looking at you with a softness that nobody had ever looked at you with before. It terrified you.

~~~~~~~

Sometimes, Aaron wondered what Y/N was getting out of this… whatever this was. Companionship, maybe, but he couldn’t imagine she had any problems in that area. She was young, pretty, and charming, and he had seen her turn down a handful of numbers that were thrown her way by men much more suitable for her.

At the very beginning, he thought that maybe she was just trying to get an extra foot in the door of her career. He wondered if she was just overly ambitious and calculating, and used his lust for her to get exactly what she wanted. But that theory was tossed to the side almost as quickly as he thought about it when she had announced proudly that she was doing her project in her Torts class on a case that he had overseen at the beginning of his prosecuting career.

“The other cases were more interesting,” she had told him teasingly, “But it’s going to be so much fun to see your face when I rip your argument to shreds.”

Yeah, she didn’t need him to succeed in her career. She was going to do just fine.

So the only other reason he could think of was that she just genuinely enjoyed his company and wanted to be around him. That would certainly explain why she snuck around with him for almost an entire year, rendezvousing at unpredictable times and keeping their knowledge of each other a secret. It would also explain why she was so willing to let him back into her life as if nothing had changed. She was smart enough to know that Aaron was a changed man and that there would be a lot more baggage this time around, but none of that seemed to bother her.

Although he couldn’t quite figure out why she stuck around, he couldn’t deny that it made him happy. He liked having somebody around who genuinely wanted to spend time with him, instead of just being around because they worked together, like an obligation. Aaron liked to think that he had gotten pretty good at predicting the things she might ask for, and he was more than happy to keep giving them to her if it meant she would stick around for a while longer.

After the phone call that was entirely too long and completely unnecessary, Aaron grabbed some clothes and went to rinse off in the shower quickly. He heard Y/N get out of the shower and start to raid his kitchen minutes before, which he had already planned for. On a whim during his bi-weekly grocery store run, he grabbed a few things for when she inevitably stayed over - caramel syrup for coffee, an extra toothbrush, a pack of hair ties to keep in his bathroom, and a bag of her favorite salt-and-vinegar chips.

Once he got dressed and ready for the day, he walked out into the kitchen, where she was talking on her phone, leaning on the counter and laughing, a cup of iced coffee right next to her. “Yeah, no,” he heard her say. “I think it’s going really well and- I know. I learned my lesson about the melatonin thing.”

At the sound of his footsteps, she turned her head and smiled at Aaron, noticing his presence. She kept her eyes locked with his as she continued her phone conversation. “Hey, I have to go, but I’ll-” she paused, obviously cut off by the person on the other side of the line. A blush spread across her cheeks and she laughed again. “Oh my god, shut the fuck up. I will talk to you later. Goodbye, my love.”

Aaron watched the interaction with curiosity. Every once in awhile, he would catch glimpses of the college student version of her that he rarely saw. She always held herself with such an air of confidence and intelligence around him, and she was so quick-witted that it was easy to forget that she was still just a law student, still finding her way in the world. She seemed to carefully plan the version of herself that she would be in front of Aaron, and even more carefully hid the versions of herself that she didn’t want to be.

It had intrigued him when she was helping with the case, hearing her in a professional setting. He knew she was smart and good at what she did, but seeing it in practice was an entirely different thing.

However, the case also brought another facet of who Y/N was. Hearing her conversations with her friends, listening to her gossip and being more carefree, was different. There was a girlish quality to her that he had never really seen, and it confused him. He wanted to fuck her until she was screaming out his name, crying and begging for him. He wanted to see her smile up at him while she was on her knees. Hell, he even wanted to just lay on the couch and listen to her talk about her classes, let her tell him all about the weird guy who wears a full three-piece suit to class, and share take out with her.

But now, he also wanted to protect her, but he wasn’t quite sure from what. The reality of the profession she was going into? The many corporate men who were bound to just see her as a pretty thing? The world? Himself, maybe?

She slipped the phone into her back pocket, blissfully unaware of the thoughts swirling in Aaron’s brains. “Sorry, that was Aly, my friend,” she explained before he even had a chance to ask.

Aaron gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. “Aly... That’s the one you lived with in high school after your mom-”

“Yeah,” she cut him off firmly, signifying the end of that conversation. “That’s her. Do you have to go to work?”

Aaron could have sworn he heard the slightest bit of disappointment in her question, and it tugged at his heart, because he had heard that exact question with that exact hidden disappointment too many times.

It was unfair to compare her to Haley, and he knew that. She didn’t want to be his “New Haley” something she had made very clear two years ago. Neither of them expected this to lead to wedding bells, a white picket fence, and a dog, and they weren’t going to make major sacrifices to be with each other, especially in regards to their respective careers. The disappointment was more than likely him projecting.

That didn’t stop the twinge of guilt that threatened to consume him.

“No, I don’t,” he finally said. “Metro PD had a question about some of the files that were sent over about the case, which could and should have been handled by the agents actually working today instead of going straight to me.” Aaron had a hard time hiding the growing annoyance in his words. It wasn’t the officers’ fault they got shit training.

She shot an amused smirk Aaron’s way, bringing her coffee up to her lips. “Aw, that’s cute,” she teased. “Maybe they just wanted answers from the big boss man?”

Aaron scoffed as he made his way towards his Keurig, which was already loaded with his brew of choice and a mug readily placed, no doubt Y/N’s doing. All he needed to do was press a button. She was pretty good at anticipating his wants, too, and even better at knowing what he needed before he even knew.

“Yeah, well, arresting a group of prolific lawyers isn’t going to be anything short of a pain in the ass.”

Once his coffee was poured, he turned back to face Y/N, whose eyes were now unfocused and deep in thought. “Right, yeah,” she murmured, more to herself than to Aaron. “They’re all going to jail…”

Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched her mouth to herself. She did that when she was trying to work out a problem, like she was presenting the arguments and counter-arguments to herself. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

Her eyes snapped back up to Aaron, as if she just remembered he was there. “I just- You can’t have a law firm without the partners and I just realized that I don’t have an internship anymore, which I’m going to have to try and explain to my professors because I need those credits to graduate. And I don’t have a job offer either, which means I am back at the bottom.”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, unable to think of anything better to say. Truth be told, he hadn’t considered the collateral damage to the rest of the employees who had no clue what was going on behind closed doors.

She shrugged, but her eyes were still distant. “Oh, it’s fine. I didn’t even want to work in the private sector long term. Prosecutors all work for the government, anyway. The private sector only has the specialized training programs, flexible hours, ability to choose your own clients, and the crazy high salaries…” She trailed off almost dreamily before taking an audible breath.

“Well…” Aaron started, choosing every word carefully. He knew that he was walking a tightrope and that his next offer could very easily come back and bite him in the ass, but it wasn’t the first time Aaron had bent the rules, and it wasn’t going to be his last. “I can’t do much in the way of a job offer, but the FBI does hire interns for our in house legal team. It’s not exactly prosecuting, but it would be closer to your career goals. You would still need to apply, but I know the head of the division and I’m sure we could expedite your application.”

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her coffee cup so tight that Aaron was sure it was going to shatter. “I don’t need to sleep my way to an internship,” she said sharply.

Aaron nodded in agreement. “I know that, and you’re not,” he promised. “This is an offer from the BAU Unit chief as an official thank you from the FBI for your help in the investigation.” Noticing her hesitation, he decided to continue. “My reputation is on the line, too. I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I didn’t think you deserved it. You’re top of your class and the head of law review. I can show them the audio files of the work you’ve done this past week at the other internship. It’s still merit based, and you would still have to beat out other candidates, but I would ensure your application gets looked at immediately. Can you get me a copy of your transcript and resume?”

The tension from her shoulders released slightly, but she was still staring at Aaron cautiously, weighing her options. “Yes,” she whispered finally, before repeating it louder and with more confidence. “I can email them to you right now. Thank you, Aaron. Really.”

Aaron smiled down at her. “It’s no problem. The FBI would be lucky to have you. And Y/N…” he added, making a lighthearted attempt at breaking through the tension. “I have a direct line to the director. If you wanted to sleep your way to the top, I would hope you would be more ambitious to shoot for something a little more prestigious than a temporary internship.”

Y/N laughed, her entire demeanor switching back to the more playful version of herself. “So does this mean I don’t get to give you a thank you?” she asked, bringing her bottom lip in between her teeth.

Aaron raised his eyebrows and smirked, using one of his fingers to lift her chin up to him. “What did you have in mind?”

She raised herself on her toes just high enough to give him a quick peck on the lips before bouncing away from him. It would be cute if he didn’t see the smug grin that erupted across her face. “I make the best breakfast burritos you’ll ever have,” she told him matter-of-factly, throwing a cheeky smile his way.

Aaron chuckled, ignoring the way his chest tightened. “Do you make a habit of making breakfast for all the people who offer you jobs?”

She clicked her tongue as she rifled through his fridge, pulling out all the ingredients she would need. “Only the ones I really like,” she mused. “And I figure we’re both going to need the nutrition if we’re going to get to those five rounds this weekend that you promised.”

Aaron’s chest tightened even more, and for the first time since he met Y/N, he wondered if he was in way over his head.

~~~~~~~

It had become almost a tradition of sorts in the BAU, guessing why Hotch had his office door closed. It started as nervous chatter - Was somebody after them? Was Strauss making another plan to rip apart the team? - but the team realized that the more ridiculous the guess, the easier it was to wait for an actual answer. So the BAU team, minus Rossi and Hotch, all sat around their desks, only half paying attention to their work as they talked amongst themselves.

This morning, the prevailing theory was that, since Hotch got into work early, he decided to fall back asleep. His office was completely closed off to the rest of the bullpen, even going as far as shutting the blinds. They couldn’t blame him - he probably wasn’t getting much sleep at home being a single dad, and they knew that the brass gave him way more paperwork than one man should ever have to handle. Him taking a quick power nap in his offer was, in their eyes, completely deserved.

Which is why they were surprised when a familiar figure emerged from his office, shaking his hand quickly before making her way towards the glass doors, combing her fingers through her hair.

“Why was Y/N Y/L/N talking to Hotch?” Reid asked, sitting up slightly in his chair.

Garcia, who was sitting on the edge of Morgan’s desk, had a confused look on her face. “Who?” she asked, pouting only slightly. She didn’t like to be out of the loop.

Emily repeated the name back to her. “She’s the one who helped us on that hitman case, but I thought we closed that two weeks ago?”

Garcia’s confusion only increased. “If she’s talking to Hotch, does that mean it’s not closed? Why wouldn’t he tell all of us?”

Morgan shrugged, watching Y/N as she made her way across the bullpen. “I guess we’ll find out now, won’t we?” Morgan waved her over, and if she was surprised by it, she hid it well.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ greeted, and the younger woman waved at the group. “It’s good to see you again. Is everything okay? You were in there for a while.”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, a small blush rising onto her cheeks. “Yeah, everything’s great! That internship was required for me to be able to graduate this year, and since I helped with the investigation, the FBI was kind enough to offer me an intern position here. Unfortunately, the legal team director got swept up in meetings this morning, so Agent Hotchner went over the intake paperwork with me,” she explained, almost too casually. The words rolled off her tongue like they had been rehearsed.

“Well then, congrats and welcome to the FBI,” Emily said. “If you ever need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I am always looking for a lunch buddy,” Garcia interjected, “Especially when the rest of them are off on a case. Oh, and you should come out to drinks with us one night!”

Y/N chuckled and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Thank you, that sounds like fun. Oh, Dr. Reid, maybe I can take you up on that offer of a tour?” Spencer nodded, a little shocked that she had remembered that conversation. “Well, I should head down to the 3rd floor. Don’t want to be late on my first day. I’ll see you all around though.”

The team watched Y/N walk out the glass doors to the elevator, and as soon as she was out of earshot, the girls erupted in a fit of giggles.

Morgan and Reid shared a look of confusion. “Okay, Babygirl,” Morgan groaned. “What was that about? Inviting her out with us? You just met her.”

That only served to make Garcia laugh harder. “Some profiler you are,” she teased, before turning her attention back to Emily and JJ. “Okay, don’t worry, I will not do any sort of unethical digging, just normal social media snooping. I promise.” With that, Garcia made her way quickly back to her Bat Cave, an extra pep in her step.

Morgan shot the remaining two girls a questioning look. “Why is she snooping on some random intern?” he pressed.

Emily chuckled in disbelief. “Seriously? You couldn’t see it?”

“See what?” Morgan asked, frustration evident in his voice.

JJ looked back up at Hotch’s office, a knowing smile on her face. “Because that random intern, who, remember, spent an entire interrogation flirting with Hotch, just left his office with smudged lipstick and a missing button on her shirt.”

Recognition flashed in Morgan’s eyes as he chuckled to himself, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Huh. Who knew Hotch still had it in him? My man, good for him.”

Reid looked at the rest of the profilers, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Wait, what happened?” he asked, still unable to put the pieces together. “Did I miss something?”

Morgan smirked and ruffled Reid’s hair. “We’ll explain it later, Pretty Boy. I promise.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #my best habit #my writing #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years ago

Note

Hello love, I was wondering for the ask meme if you could do a 'wei ying is adopted by the wens and eventually kills wen ruohan and becomes sect leader thing' Please include lan zhan in some way and also please no angst, or very very little angst, (I have a very weak heart) ((one night stands, prostitution, accidental mpreg etc are no go as well, sorry again))

Wen Wuxian was a good lieutenant. He was efficient and effective, a brilliant cultivator, a talent in all six arts that routinely won merit for his sect – his sect leader, Wen Ruohan, would often award him the highest honors, even allowing him to serve as an independent leader alongside his own sons.

It was a real pity how all of that was about to go flying out the window because he couldn’t stop himself from continuously stalking Lan Wangji.

It was ridiculous.

He was supposed to be guarding the sect heirs, all of them: if Wen Chao was the leader of the indoctrination camp, then he was its watchdog (not a literal dog, thankfully, he hated dogs). It was his job to make sure they didn’t conspire against the sect, that they didn’t make plans to escape, that they didn’t rebel – to act as both authority and spy, whichever was necessary.

And instead he was spending all his time mooning over a pretty boy with face carved out of an ice block.

Who didn’t. even. like. him.

Wen Wuxian – it had once been Wei, but of course he had long ago won the right to change it to Wen, and it wasn’t like that was an honor that could be refused – could do so much better. He was a Wen now: there were dozens of small sect leaders who would be happy to hand their virgin daughters over to him if it got them some more influence with Wen Ruohan, or even to convince their sons to cut their sleeves for him if that was what he (apparently!) liked.

But no.

Stone-faced, no-humor, quiet-as-a-rock Lan Wangji.

Whose posture was as straight as a ruler, whose fighting forms were as graceful as a crane, whose ears turned the most adorable shade of red when Wen Wuxian teased him, who got drunk on a single cup of wine, who rivaled the sun and moon in the rare moments when he smiled –

Wen Wuxian buried his face in his hands.

He was an idiot.

He almost wished he could back five years to before Wen Qing had told him, quite frankly, that the only way to survive being talented in the Wen sect was to learn to understand people, and that the first person he needed to learn to understand was himself – he would much rather have been happy and ignorant of why he was so repeatedly neglecting his duties in favor of fluttering around Lan Wangji like a moth irrevocable summoned towards the flame, like a butterfly unable to resist visiting its favorite flower.

It wasn’t as though this crush could go anywhere.

After all, Lan Wangji was a Lan – he had just lost his home, broken his leg, and the culprit for all that was Wen Xu. Why would he ever agree to even consider another Wen romantically?

Sure, Wen Wuxian had a long-simmering plan designed to eliminate the main family and seize control of the Wen sect, preferably a considerably slimmed-down version that didn’t have pretensions of ruling the entire cultivation world, and, yes, the burning of the Cloud Recesses had suddenly climbed up remarkably high on his list of ‘reasons to get rid of Wen Xu’, but it wasn’t like Lan Wangji knew that.

The only people that knew that were his allies: Wen Qing and her family, the subordinates he’d trained, the sect members he’d recruited through bribery and promises of power, and a scarce handful of outsiders, only the ones he trusted, like the Nie sect leader whose father, like Wen Wuxian’s father, had died at the hands of Wen Ruohan.

No, Lan Wangji was far too righteous to ever associate with someone like Wen Wuxian.

In fact, the only reason he spent time with him at all was probably to hide the fact that the other sect heirs were totally conspiring about something. Something that Wen Wuxian should be tracking down, figuring out, because the only way his little coup was going to work was if he lived long enough to make it work. He should go get on that, instead of going to meet Lan Wangji out in a field under the light of the moon –

Wow. Lan Wangji looked even prettier under moonlight.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, even though Lan Wangji had definitely never given him permission to use that name. He’d had to look it up in the sect records. “You asked me to meet you?”

Here? At night? Alone? Do you have no care for the state of my heart?

Lan Wangji looked at him for a long moment.

“…Brother is good friends with Sect Leader Nie,” he finally said.

Wen Wuxian blinked. “Is that…relevant?”

“He told me.”

“Told you about…?” Wen Wuxian’s brain finally kicked in. “He told you about that?!”

How could he? Nie Mingjue knew what a secret it was! He couldn’t go around trusting people with the lives of Wen Wuxian and everyone he cared about –

Lan Wangji slipped his hand into Wen Wuxian’s, and suddenly all his thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“You’re a good man,” Lan Wangji said. “I want to help you.”

“I want to kiss you,” Wen Wuxian blurted out.

Lan Wangji paused, and Wen Wuxian cursed himself for a fool. Why did he always do this –

“That would be fine.”

“…fine?”

“Mn.”

“Fine as in me wanting to is fine, you’re not going to hold it against me, or fine as in –”

Lan Wangji shut Wen Wuxian’s mouth with his own.

“I take it all back,” Wen Wuxian said the second he was released. “Nie Mingjue is a genius, and I don’t care what your friends are scheming about. Can we do this some more?”

Lan Wangji’s lips curved up, and it was even more beautiful when he was sober.

Wen Wuxian would burn down the Wen empire to marry this man.

To be fair, he’d do it anyway, but the intention was still there.

#mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #100percentthatbiss

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lost-in-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x reader (Part 3)

A/N: Here is part 3 guys, I hope you enjoy it. It’s a little shorter, but I am sure part 4 is going to make up for it! Thank you everyone for your kind comments and messages on my last couple of posts. If you would like to be added to the taglist please comment or message me. Not my GIF and please don’t post my work on any other websites.

Warnings: not sure there are any.....

A brief summary: Tommy and Y/N both try to work out what to do following their meeting.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Word Count: 1546

Y/N sat in the small room she was renting for the week, her head in her hands, reliving each moment she had spent alone with Tommy Shelby. Her whole adult life she had felt so sure of each decision she had made, even the ones that turned out to be a mistake had justifiable reasons behind them. Still, sat here now she couldn’t find a single logical reason as to why she had told him her name or why she wanted nothing more than to be alone with him again.

“No.” she said to herself out loud, standing up and grabbing her suitcase. There was nothing else for it, she would leave immediately and get the next train back to London, she simply would not allow everything she had worked so hard to build to be undone by a man. Y/N packed her things quickly, forcing all unwanted thoughts of Tommy Shelby out of her head just as efficiently. When everything was collected, she pulled out a couple of sheets of paper, sitting down to write one letter to the Ricci brothers who had hired her and a second to Tommy. She put on her coat, slipping both letters in the pocket, and examined herself in the mirror. Deciding it was best to stay dressed in black to blend in she removed the wig and stuffed it in her bag, it wouldn’t do for Mrs Bathurst to question her sudden change of hair colour when she said goodbye. Today had already been a day of mistakes and rash decisions, looking herself sternly in the eye she silently swore there would be no more. She would leave Birmingham as quickly and quietly as she could.

With a hurried explanation to Mrs Bathurst about an ailing relative back home Y/N left the boarding house and made her way unseen through the busy morning streets. She had a plan in her head and was determined that nothing should distract her from it, she had two letters to deliver and a train to catch before lunch time. First, she went to a small cafe that had been agreed with the Ricci brothers as the drop off point for any correspondence. Y/n waited for the owner to walk into the storeroom before silently entering, placing an envelope on the counter and slipping out of the café. The envelope contained the money she had already accepted and the letter explaining that she had decided not to carry out the hit on Thomas Shelby. The reason she gave was that Tommy was already aware that they had put a hit out on him and therefore it was too dangerous to try and get close enough to kill him at this time. This wasn’t entirely true, after all Tommy had been totally oblivious to the kill ordered on him until she had told him, but she had a reputation to protect. Clients would be unlikely to hire her if they knew she had a record of prewarning her targets. It also warned that Thomas likely knew it was them that had ordered the hit. Y/N knew Tommy was intelligent enough to work out who had hired her without being told directly.

Next, she crossed over the canal bridge and back into the heart of the Peaky Blinder territory. This was a risk, but a necessary one if she were to ensure that the second letter would reach Tommy. As she entered Charlie Strong’s yard, she couldn’t help but nervously begin to chew on her bottom lip, it was highly possible that word would have reached him about her meeting with Tommy that morning, and even more likely still that Tommy would have warned every Peaky in Birmingham to be on the look out for her. Then she spotted Curly, she had seen him last night in The Garrison and thought she stood better odds of a quick interaction with him then with Charlie. “Hello, Curly isn’t it?” Y/N called out as she walked towards him with a warm smile which he gladly returned. “Yes, that’s me.” He said proudly “Who are you?” Curly walked over to meet her. “I’m a friend of Tommy’s. He said to meet him here this morning, is he here?” Y/N was good at acting, and naïve innocence was a routine she had perfected. “Tommy isn’t here, sorry.” Curly replied, still smiling. Y/N let out a little sigh of relief, she would have had to have run very quickly if Tommy were here, which wouldn’t have been easy in these heels. “Would you like to wait here?” Curly motioned towards the main building. “No, it’s ok. Tommy said if he wasn’t here to give you this letter to take to him. He told me he trusts you with this, as it is particularly important he gets it.” Y/N held out the letter for Curly to take, which he gladly did his chest swelling with pride at her words. “Curly!” Charlie’s voice called out “Who are you out there with?” Curly turned towards his voice, “A lady Charlie.” He called back, but when he turned back to Y/N she was gone.

Tommy was sat in his office at Watery Lane, Polly stoically sitting opposite him. Arthur and John had already been to tell him that they hadn’t found any sign of her, so he had sent them back out to spread the word for everyone to be on the look out for a woman matching Y/N’s description. How had she just vanished? He gripped her note from last night in his hand, it was the only physical proof he had that he hadn’t imagined her entirely. Polly hadn’t said a word since Tommy had recounted the meeting to her, she simply sat there silently worrying. Thomas still wasn’t back to himself after Grace and Polly knew just by the look in his eye, this new woman had affected him far quicker than the last. “It must be the Ricci brothers.” Polly said finally, stubbing out her cigarette, Tommy simply nodded and sat back in his chair. “Well, what are we going to do about it?” Polly stood up as she spoke, moving to look out the window as if expecting an attack at any second. “When Arthur and John get back, we will go and pay the Ricci brothers a visit.” Tommy’s voice was deep and clear as he spoke, the intention of his visit clear, his eyes never leaving the note he still clutched tightly.

Both of them looked up at the office door and at Curly who stood knocking on the other side. Tommy stood waving him in, “What brings you here then Curly?” he asked as he took out a cigarette to light. “Hello Tommy, hello Polly” Curly said as he shuffled in smiling. “Hello Curly” Polly answered smiling back, despite her hard exterior she couldn’t help but hold a soft spot for him. “I’ve got a letter for you Tommy; your friend gave it to me when she came to the yard.” Curly held out the letter, but the speed at which Tommy moved around the desk to take it took him by surprise. Tommy ripped the letter open in anticipation; he knew it was from Y/N instantly.

Mr Shelby,

I have made the decision not to kill you and have returned the money to my client, telling them that you were already aware that someone had been hired to kill you and therefore it was too risky for me to make a move.

I am sure you have worked out who hired me and are planning on paying them a visit, but I ask you not to reveal that we met, the fact I am a woman or my name. It would be bad for business.

The letter was shorter and more formal than he had wanted, rereading it several times hoping for some secret message to appear. How could this be all it said? What Tommy didn’t know was that this letter had been rewritten over and over until Y/N had managed to remove as much emotion as possible, he was business after all. “When did she give you this Curly?” Tommy folded the letter and put it in his pocket, ignoring Polly’s hand reaching out to see it herself. “Just now Tommy, I came straight here from the yard.” Curly answered while twisting his hat in his hands. “She disappeared though” he said quickly as Tommy moved past him towards the door. “People don’t disappear Curly.” Polly cut in. “This one does.” Tommy answered putting his coat back onto the chair, he knew it was pointless to go and look for her right now. At that moment Arthur and John walked in, “We’ve put the word out Tom, got people looking everywhere, but there isn’t much to go on.” Arthur said taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair. “What now?” asked John who was leaning against the door, chewing a toothpick. “Now brother, we go and settle this with the Ricci’s once and for all” Tommy answered, he was full of frustration and anger, and he knew just what he wanted to do with it. Arthur and John smiled, letting him lead the way out of the betting shop.

@comebackjessica @nemesis729 @spacenijntje

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fic #Peaky Blinders #by order of the peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Cilian Murphy

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thisaliennerd · 4 years ago

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so true blaine, sam and britt are autistic!! but post about it i wanna know why u think that

I literally only needed one person to ask me this, so thank you for being that person, anon! Britt is very self-explanatory, and Sam is also pretty obvious imo (although I do have lots of notes on him too), but since I think Blaine needs a little bit more explaining, here is my evidence as to why I think he’s autistic.

First of all, let’s look at some of the common symptoms of autism in adults:

Difficulty interpreting what others are thinking or feeling

Trouble interpreting facial expressions, body language, or social cues

Difficulty regulating emotion

Trouble keeping up a conversation

Inflection that does not reflect feelings

Difficulty maintaining the natural give-and-take of a conversation; prone to monologues on a favorite subject

Tendency to engage in repetitive or routine behaviors

Only participates in a restricted range of activities

Strict consistency to daily routines; outbursts when changes occur

Exhibiting strong, special interests

I think Blaine exhibits all or almost all of these things throughout the show, so let’s go through the list, point by point (with examples):

First, difficulty interpreting what others are thinking or feeling. Blaine is very bad at this, especially romantic feelings. He doesn’t catch on to Kurt or Tina having crushes on him for way too long even though neither of them are subtle about it. He also doesn’t seem to pick up on most of Sebastian’s stuff. He seems to be aware that he’s hitting on him, but he doesn’t seem to be aware of his rivalry with Kurt or any of his malicious intent. Every time he and Kurt get into a fight he needs Kurt to explicitly tell him what’s wrong.

Second, trouble interpreting facial expressions, body language, or social cues. Blaine is TERRIBLE at this. He doesn’t understand sarcasm, he can never tell when people are lying to him, he often doesn’t understand how to talk to his peers, and he has no idea when people are uncomfortable. I have so many examples for this and the first point, but here’s just a small sample: s2e12 (22:15) - not getting that Jeremiah was very uncomfortable with the song, s5e9 (37:20) - when he’s named valedictorian instead of Artie or Tina, he apologizes to them and says that he thinks that things get handed to him, they sarcastically say they haven’t noticed, and Blaine believes them, s5e14 (15:10) - when he asks Kurt if he’s smothering him, and Kurt lies and says no, he believes him even though Kurt is a terrible liar, and (my favorite example of this) in s6e5 (40:15) - saying that he should thank Sue for trapping them in that elevator because now he and Kurt are just friends, and she says, “So thank me” and he actually says thank you (followed by Kurt saying, “Don’t actually thank her!” - amazing).

Third, difficulty regulating emotion. Blaine is very bad at regulating his emotions, especially negative ones. Most notably, anger. Blaine has intense angry outbursts, which will tie in later. Examples of this: season 3 episode 8 (13:50) - getting into a fight with Sam, season 5 episode 14 (26:50 and 27:20) - yelling at Elliot, and season 3 episode 15 (22:35) - outburst at Cooper.

Fourth, trouble keeping up a conversation. Blaine frequently talks about how he’s bad at communication and talking to people, especially about feelings, outside of song. He often has to sing to say bad news or confess things. Examples of this: Singing to tell Kurt about him cheating (s4e4 - 14:30), singing to confess his feelings to Sam (s4e17 - 21:15), singing to tell Kurt he’s not in June’s showcase (s5e20 - 10:40). When he is confronted by a conversation that makes him uncomfortable or that he wasn’t prepared for, he often has to shut down to think about it. Examples of this are when Kurt confesses his crush in season 2 episode 12 (30:40), Sam telling him he knew about Blaine’s crush in season 4 episode 17 (37:10), and the Frat Boy Physicals incident in season 5 episode 16 (21:05).

Fifth, inflection that does not reflect feelings. Generally, Blaine seems to be pretty good at this, especially in comparison to Brittany, but when he gets upset, he does sometimes get weirdly monotoned or just puts on a strange tone of voice. The best example of this I have is in season six, episode four (9:40 and 10:10).

Sixth, difficulty maintaining the natural give-and-take of a conversation; prone to monologues on a favorite subject. This is definitely true, especially when he gets upset about things. Season 5 episode 7 has the best examples of this, he starts by trying to lead the glee club in Mr. Shue’s absence, but he ends up coming on too strong and speaking over his peers (00:40). Next, when Kurt implies that he’s being a puppet master, he gets very upset, and keeps focusing on and coming back to that, even when Kurt tries to change the subject (6:45), and finally, he starts ranting to Brad, and cuts him off when Brad tries to chime in with his problems (11:40).

Seventh, tendency to engage in repetitive or routine behaviors. Blaine has the most consistent clothing and presentation out of anyone in the show, and as seen in season 3 episode 15 (17:15 and 38:10) and in season 5 episode 6 (28:15), Blaine has been dressing like this and doing his hair the same way since he was a kid. He even owns the same shirt in multiple colors (season 5 episode 6: 27:25). In season 4 episode 17, he talks to Sam about how his daily routine and how he walks the exact same way from class every day (00:45). This is also the first time Blaine mentions efficiency, he measures his routine down to the second, and it being efficient is really important to him. This comes back in season 5 episode 14 when he’s trying to make the loft more efficient (23:05). He also reveals in season 5 episode 20 that he needs to measure the stage before performing in order to improv (7:30).

Eighth, only participates in a restricted range of activities. Now you may be thinking, but Miriam, this doesn’t apply, wasn’t he president of like every club his senior year? Yes, he was, but this actually doesn’t disprove this one. He still really is focused on a few activities like glee club, student council, and school in general. He only signs up for the other clubs in a time of crisis, and he’s never seen doing anything outside of school in college or in seasons 2 or 3 (except for his special interests). And as these are all school clubs, that meet on school grounds, they’re still in his comfort zone.

Ninth, strict consistency to daily routines, and outbursts when changes occur. So we’ve talked about his routines, what happens when they’re broken? In season 5 episode 14, Blaine attempts to set routines with Kurt, making him breakfast every day, scheduling their days rigorously, etc., which leads Kurt to feeling smothered, but Blaine tells Elliot that he feels like he doesn’t know how to communicate. He feels very uncomfortable with the change of living in New York and the shift in the power dynamic between them. This is reinforced a few episodes later in episode 16, when these issues come back. In addition, episode 16 has an example of Blaine having an outburst when a short-term plan is disrupted. He and Kurt had planned to walk to class together, and Kurt had bailed without telling him, and Blaine gets very upset (23:05). Another example of this is when he finds Tina and Sam making out in season 5 episode 10 (24:45, 29:30). Their plans were disrupted, and he has an outburst/meltdown. Another example of long-term routines being disrupted is in season 3 episode 8. Sam has just come back to McKinley, and immediately, Sam and Blaine dislike each other. They’re both trying to choreograph and don’t like each other’s ideas, and they get into a fight that gets physical. Both of them are having an outburst due to the other invading the other’s space and routines (13:50). This then becomes an example of point three, as Blaine is seen boxing (physical reaction) to regulate his emotions (effectively stimming), which he also does in season 3 episode 15 when he’s angry at Cooper (26:40).

Finally, exhibiting strong, special interests. This one is probably the easiest to prove. Blaine’s special interests include show choir (he knows everything about it, he even reads the show choir blogs - s5e11: 6:50), boxing (he started a fight club at Dalton - s3e8: 14:00), Broadway (when he coaches the Warblers, Karofsky mentions that it’s pulling teeth to get Blaine to use any music that’s not Broadway - s6e3: 00:25), piano, and even music in general. To give some specific examples, Blaine is also known for having some shorter-term interests that he gets just as invested in, the best examples of this are puppet making (I know, I know, but it applies, he gets so into it for that week) from season 5 episode 7, dressing up as a superhero (no neurotypical person could do Nightbird, please) from season 4 episode 7 and season 5 episode 10 (16:45), and star wars fanfiction (he and Sam have a whole conversation about how ewoks are obviously polygamists) from season 5 episode 15 (5:20 and 26:35).

Blaine also has some other general traits. If you’ve ever watched him sing, he is constantly bouncing on his toes. He’s prone to incredibly intense eye contact, and is very sensitive to criticism, rejection, and public embarrassment (Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria - I have too many examples of this to name). Little things that could be interpreted as sensory overload: season 5 episode 7 - hating loud chaotic environments, and lashing out because of it (00:35 and 00:55) and season 6 episode 5 - where he’s the first to say that they should just kiss to get out of Sue’s elevator because he’s getting very hot (29:00). In season 6 episode 1 during the break up scene, Kurt says that Blaine initiated a 3 hour fight about Kurt getting toothpaste on a towel (21:30), which is not neurotypical behavior, and Blaine responds in a way that indicates that it really bothered him. He’s an actor seemingly a very talented one, something that would make sense if he’d been masking his whole life. Finally, he has a very deep connection with Sam, who is clearly neurodivergent. He and Britt are the only people who understand Sam, and there are multiple times where Blaine knows how to calm Sam down when no one else can.

Now there’s also a case to be made about him having a terrible childhood and having some trauma from that, (I strongly believe that he feels like he has to be doing things for people in order for them to love him because of Cooper) but I also think that this is pretty compelling evidence.

The episodes that I found the most evidence in if you want to look for yourself are season 2 episode 12, season 4 episode 11 (this one’s also good for Sam), season 5 episodes 7, 14, 16, and 20, and season 6 episodes 1 and 5.

#blaine anderson #glee #sam evans #brittany pierce #glee headcanon #kurt hummel #klaine #autism #headcanon #gleeposting 😔

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lils-writes-stuff · 5 years ago

Text

The Good Earth

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part two | part one | season one

summary: while in oregon, reader suspects somethings up with spencer

warning: normal criminal minds things, minor angst

A/N: based on season 8 episode 5; there’s some JJ x reader moments in here that I love

Y/N walked into the kitchen of her and Spencer’s apartment. Her boots clicked against the hardwood floor as she moved swiftly to make sure she had everything in her go-bag. Spencer had already left to head into work early that morning to work on some paperwork he hadn’t finished that was due.

This was a frequent thing he had been doing lately, and at first, Y/N wasn’t concerned, but he had been doing it for about two weeks now. As a girl would do, her first thoughts as to what he could be doing were anything but good, but then she thought about who Spencer was.

She was muttering under her breath items she had, “Keys, wallet, go-bag, laptop…”

Her routine check she had going was interrupted when her phone pinged.

An email from Strauss.

With an eye roll, she picked up her phone to open it. Strauss had been sending her emails with different options for moves or details about cases they had. It was annoying, really, she was baiting her.

Y/N quickly closed the email and put her phone in her pocket. She grabbed her go-bag and headed into the office.

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

“What do you mean, he’s not going? Every kid loves trick-or-treating,” Penelope exclaimed to JJ about Henry.

“Henry’s scared,” JJ replied. “One of his little buddies told him Halloween was the only time when all the real monsters come out because they can blend in.”

“Never thought about that,” Rossi shrugged.

“Good monster strategy,” Y/N sang as she walked over to them, hearing the tail of the conversation.

Penelope chuckled, “You did tell him it wasn’t true, right?”

“Of course I did, but he’s convinced,” JJ shook her head as she replied.

“Childhood fears are resistant to adult logic, sometimes you just have to wait it out,” Rossi told JJ in the hope to reassure her.

“For how long?” She asked, leaning on her knees.

“Well, if he’s twenty-three and this still worries you, you may have a problem,” Rossi answered.

JJ, Y/n, and Penelope let out a light laugh.

“Well, see, the thing is, I think I am partly to blame,” JJ confessed as she stood up from her chair.

“How so?” Y/N asked as the four of them began to walk to the round table room.

“Well, the other night Will and I were up late, we were having some wine, talking about some of the cases we’ve worked on-” JJ let out a sigh as she continued her confession- “And at one point, I said I felt like there was no end to all the monsters walking around, and…”

“Henry sneaked into the room to listen to the grownups,” Rossi said, finishing the predictable end to her story.

“Yeah, we need a cone of silence for our house,” JJ said which made Penelope and Y/N chuckle.

They walked into the round table room and took their seat. Y/N took hers in her usual spot next to Spencer.

“Good morning,” He said, for the first time being able to talk to her this morning.

“Morning,” she smiled as she sat in her seat.

“Those of you who like a good mystery, please unleash your inner Agatha Christie, ‘cause this one’s a real humdinger,” Penelope opened before she grabbed her remote and brought up the case.

“Gary Ellard, Barry Deaver, Paul Hicks, Terry Rodgers. Over the course of the last month and a half, these four men have gotten in their cars in La Grande, Oregon, and drove into the never-to-be-seen-agains-Ville. Poof, gone. The latest victim Terry Rodgers disappeared twenty-four hours ago.”

“Forensic evidence points us anywhere?” Y/N asked.

“Uh, point would imply there is evidence, and there is no evidence, at least for the first three victims,” Penelope answered.

“No forensics, no witnesses, no ransom demands, maybe these guys just voluntarily decided to hit the road,” Derek pondered.

“Four sudden disappearances in a community this small-- this isn’t about seeking greener pastures,” Rossi argued.

“And based on last known sightings, we’re dealing with a sizable geographic area,” Hotch added to Rossi’s argument.

“He’s efficient and well organized, not easy to make four people vanish and stay vanished,” Y/N commented as she leaned onto her arms on the table.

“It has been done before, though,” Spencer spoke. “Political kidnappings frequently require holding multiple adults simultaneously.”

“Or they’re already dead,” Rossi countered. “Nothing says ‘can’t be found’ like a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere.”

“Assuming they are alive, how is the unsub controlling them?” Blake asked.

“And for what purpose?” JJ posed her own question to Blakes.

“The time between abductions is shortening with each victim, wheels up in 30.”

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

“Garcia, anything on the last victim, Terry Rodgers?” Hotch asked as she answered the video call.

“Only that he’s unemployed and lives in a cabin in the woods, but primitive, like no flush toilet primitive,” Penelope answered.

“That doesn’t fit the victimology of the other three. Ellard coached track and field at a local college, Deaver's small business owner, and Hicks is an attorney.” Derek read off the file in his hand.

“All married with young families,” JJ added.

“Another difference-- the first three victims were all born and raised in La Grande,” Rossi added another difference.

“Yeah, Terry Rodgers only moved to town a couple of months ago,” Y/N added as she looked at her file.

“Do we know where from, Garcia?” Spencer asked.

“Rhode Island, though there’s a five-month gap between Terry being in Rhode Island and then arriving in Oregon,” Penelope answered as she looked at the timeline. “Where he was and what he was doing is a big fat blank.”

“It says here that vomit was found in the vicinity of his abduction,” Derek noted as he looked at the crime scene report.

“Mm, thank you for reminding me of that disgusting detail, Dreamy D. Yes, that vomit has been collected and is being analyzed as we speak, and I am very grateful that I have this job and someone else has that one,” Penelope answered with disgust for the topic.

“Rodgers is the obvious anomaly of the four, but there’s no apparent overlap between any of the victims,” Spencer said after he finished an in the head analysis.

“It’s almost like the unsub was selecting his targets at random,” Blake said as she agreed with Spencer.

“Blake, you and Morgan go talk to the families of the victims. See if there’s something that links them that’s not on paper,” Hotch ordered and the two agents nodded.

“Dave, Reid, and I will go to the abduction site. Y/N, you and JJ go to Terry Rodgers’ cabin,” Hotch gave his final orders as the plane was just about to land.

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

The cabin was dark and smelt damp. Truely, it was very off the grid style.

“Besides the outhouse, this cabin isn’t really so primitive like Garcia let on,” Y/N said as she began to look through some of Terry Rodgers’ things.

“Okay,” JJ sighed from her squatted position in front of Terry’s books. “Economics, Philosophy...political theory, not exactly breezy, take to the beach reading.”

“Hm, sounds like something Spence would take if he liked the beach,” Y/N laughed as she thought about Spencer at the beach. Looking like a fish out of water.

“He doesn’t like the beach? Why’s that?” JJ laughed as she opened a book.

“Something about sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, you know, Spencer Reid reasons for not going to the beach,” Y/N said as she remembered the reasons Spencer told her.

JJ let out a laugh as she continued to look through the books.

“Speaking of Spencer, do you know why he’s been getting to work so early lately? He says it’s paperwork, but you know,” Y/N pried, hoping JJ might know since she’s his best friend.

Without looking back, she could feel JJ stiffen at her question. Clearing her throat, JJ quickly changed the subject, “You know, there’s a lot of material here about global warming, overcrowding, evils of technology.”

“Did you just change the subject?” Y/N asked, turning to look at JJ.

“No, I just found something interesting related to the case.”

Y/N looked at her with a challenging gaze. “You totally just changed the subject. What do you know?”

“There’s no phone, no TV, I wonder what this guy does for fun.” JJ turned away from Y/N to look around at all the different items around the room.

“JJ.” Y/N said trying to go back to the question she was avoiding.

JJ turned back to Y/N with a innocent smile on her face. A smile that showed she was hiding something.

“It’s nothing, Y/N, you don’t have to be worried about it.” She was hiding something, but Y/N decided not to push it too far...yet.

“JJ, come on, he has to tell me soon-” Y/N turned back to a cabinet and began to look through it- “I mean he can’t keep doing this forever, so you might as well just-”

She cut herself off as she smelt a familiar smell. She reached her hand into the cabinet and pulled out a ziplock bag. Holding about ten grams of Marijuana.

“Found what he does for fun,” Y/N said, showing JJ the bag.

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

JJ and Y/N walked into the police station about an hour after they left Terry Rodger’s cabin. Y/N tried to pull what JJ was hiding out of her, but ended up having no success and gave up for the time being.

“So did you learn anything?” Rossi asked from a small coffee station as he saw JJ and Y/N walk in.

“Yeah, Y/N tells me Spence doesn’t like the beach,” JJ responded as they walked over to the table in the middle of the room.

“I don’t,” Spencer said, confirming Y/N’s tell.

“Yeah, so Terry Rodgers definitely wanted to live off the grid, he had a small generator for some small electrical needs. Other than that no phones, TV, or Radio,” Y/N answered Rossi’s question with its actual intent.

“And lots of material about the evils of technology, living healthy off the lang, that sort of stuff,” JJ added to their findings.

“Sounds like the Unabomber,” Rossi commented.

“We did find a small stash of weed he had hidden away,” Y/N mentioned the only really significant finding.

“Did you find any evidence that a baby lived there or visited there?” Hotch asked.

“Uh, no, why?” JJ asked, turning to Y/N to see if she had found something. She shook her head.

“We just got the list of the items he purchased at the supermarket,” Spencer said and handed the list to Y/N when she reached for it.

“Four jars of baby food,” JJ read as she looked at the list with Y/N.

The two looked at each other confused. They both racked through their findings in the cabin again to see if there was any sign of a baby.

“A body matching Rodgers’ description was found ten miles out of town,” the Sheriff said as she entered the room with a sigh.

Y/N, Hotch, and Derek rolled up to the scene just as the body was being pulled out of the water.

“A fisherman found him washed up on a bank,” the Sheriff sighed as the body was set down by the crane on the ground.

“Well, other than the ligature marks on the wrists and ankles, there’s no sign of violence and torture,” Derek said as he examined the body.

“There is so much care taken with the killing and disposing of the body,” Y/N commented.

“Sedation and drowning,” Derek agreed.

“We may have to dramatically change who the unsub is,” Y/N said with a surprise of her own words.

“What do you mean?” The Sheriff asked.

“We might be looking for a woman,” Hotch answered.

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

“We believe the unsub that we’re looking for is a woman, who is highly organized, she’s thorough, and she’s patient,” Hotch said as he began the profile.

“Based on the complexity and the sophistication of the abductions, we think she is most likely between the ages of thirty and forty,” Spencer said.

“She’s familiar with the rural area surrounding La Grande. Either a native or someone who’s lived there for a while,” Rossi continued on about who the unsub was.

“We think she’s keeping her victims in isolation in the countryside, which means she has access to land or a structure. That is remote, hidden, and private,” Derek added.

“She’s abducting exceptionally health-conscious men, ideal specimens if you will,” Blake said.

“Specimens, for what?” The sheriff asked, shocked by Blake’s terminology.

“Possible breeding,” JJ answered.

“The ability to father children is something we think she’s looking for in her victims,” Hotch said.

“They’re all age-appropriate, and they are all fathers,” Y/N added.

“But why kill the last victim?” The sheriff asked.

“She may have seen him as being flawed,” Spencer answered. “He was the least physically fit of the four, and neglected to pay child support.”

“Making him undesirable,” Blake clarified.

“The victims may be surrogates for a man that she wants but she can not have,” Derek said.

“Because she killed the last victim, we have to consider the possibility that the unsub is engaged in some sort of elimination process,” Rossi said.

“Preselecting a handful of prime candidates and then whittling them down one by one, until she has her ideal breeding partner,” Y/N added on to the elimination theory.

“And if this is the case, then the killing’s just begun,” Hotch said.

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

“I’m still waiting on the full M.E. report on Terry Rodgers,” the Sheriff said as she entered the room the team was working in. “They say they want to retest some of the findings.”

“Did they say why?” JJ asked, curious as to why they would do that.

“No,” the Sheriff shook her head.

“I recognize that scowl Aaron,” Rossi stated to Hotch, who indeed did have a familiar scowl on his face. “What are you thinking?”

“Something Garcia said earlier about not being able to sit on a park bench in this country without leaving a paper trail,” Hotch admitted.

“And…” Y/N said, moving her hand in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“So what if Rodgers wasn’t in the country for those five months?” Hotch proposed the thought.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone crossed borders to get away from troubles,” Rossi said as he agreed with Hotch’s thought.

“Guys there’s something interesting about this grocery list,” Spencer said as he walked across the room to the five at the table.

“What?” The Sheriff asked.

“Look at the items he bought in bulk; garlic, green tea, vitamin D, ginger. All these items are specifically known to boost the immune system,” Spencer said, then set the list down on the table for those sitting to see. “What if Terry Rodgers was seriously ill?”

“What about the baby food?” JJ asked, not knowing how that would fit on the list.

“A side effect of radiation treatment is sores inside the mouth. In fact, doctors advise you to eat the way an infant would eat,” Spencer replied, showing how it fit.

“Chemotherapy?” Rossi questioned.

Spencer nodded, silently saying ‘more than likely’.

“The marijuana in the cabin could have been medicinal,” Y/N said as she thought more into the theory of Rodgers being sick.

“I’ll have Garcia check medical facilities outside the country,” Hotch said and pulled out his phone. “Reid, you and JJ got to the medical examiner to look for a pre-existing condition with Rodgers.”

Y/N watched as the two walked out of the room together, wondering what they were hiding from her.

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

“It was Hodgkin's Lymphoma,” the M.E. said as he gave the final report to Spencer.

“Did you find any sedatives in his system?” JJ asked.

“The question is, what sedatives didn’t we find?” The M.E. replied. “Melatonin, Valerian, Marijuana, hops, catnip, kava-kava…”

“Bone meal and kelp,” Spencer finished as he read the report.

“In the victim’s stomach, along with some materials that we’re retesting,” the M.E. said, then stood up as he got excited to show Spencer something. “Take a look at the bottom.”

“Sawdust residue caked in the nostrils?” Spencer read with questions at the finding.

“Not just any sawdust, pure pinewood pellet sawdust,” the M.E. told them.

“It’s usually imported from China. Was it a 0.5% mixture?” Spencer’s question took the M.E. back.

“I don’t know, all I know is it’s not your every day, spread-on-the-floor sawdust.”

The two agents thanked the M.E. and began to walk out of the small office they were in. Spencer called Rossi to inform them of their findings before they got back.

“You know, Y/N asked me today about why you’ve been leaving early for work,” JJ said as the two walked to their car. “To do paperwork?”

Spencer sucked in a nervous breath. “You didn’t tell her anything did you?”

“Of course not, only that she doesn’t need to worry,” JJ replied in a reassuring tone. “But ‘paperwork’ was the best excuse you could come up with?”

Spencer let out a breathy chuckle, “It was a spur of the moment excuse.”

They were quiet for a second as they both buckled their seat belts and JJ started the car.

“But she’s onto something now, and she’s going to dig if you don’t do it anytime soon.”

Spencer sighed, “I know, I just don’t know when yet.”

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

“Yeah,” Rossi said as he hung up his phone then walked into the sheriff’s office where Derek, Hotch, and Y/N stood. “That was Reid, they found half a dozen natural sedatives in Rogders' system.”

“I don’t get it, the unsub’s drugging victims and trusting that they’ll conk out at the right place at the right time.” Derek’s confusion was reciprocated as Y/N nodded.

“Yeah, why not use a pharmaceutical Drug? Or Poison?” Y/N asked.

“Which would be quicker and a lot more reliable,” Rossi nodded.

“Natural holistic elements must be important to her,” Y/N said as she thought more about it.

“She may have health issues of her own,” Hotch agreed.

As Hotch finished his speculation, he pulled his phone out as Penelope called.

“Go ahead, Garcia.”

“I just hit the trifecta, but with two things instead of three,” Penelope said excitedly. “What is that, a bifecta?”

“Exacta, what you got?” Rossi pushed her to get to the point.

“Well, that-- anyway, two missing vehicles, not missing anymore. Paul Hicks’ car was found by some utility workers an hour ago, it rolled off into a ravine. And Gary Ellard’s car was picked up on a speeding violation in Coeur D’Alene, Idaho.”

“Idaho?” Derek said, confused.

“Stolen by some local kids ten days ago in La Grande,” Penelope cleared up the confusion. “Car was just sitting by the side of the road, keys in the ignition. They made a typical sound teenage decision, decided to take it on a cross-state joyride.”

“Garcia, I need to know the exact spot where the vehicles were originally found,” Hotch said as he moved out of the office into the conference room.

“On it.”

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

“All right, based on what we just got, this is the revised best guess route of the victims the days they were abducted,” Y/N said as she pointed to the map for Blake and JJ. Her and Hotch devised this new route together in an impressive thirty minutes.

“Two intersect here-” Blake pointed to an intersection of two of the victims- “the other two here.”

JJ then pointed to a spot on the map. “And this is where Terry Rodgers bought his groceries.”

“Looks like Paul Hicks might have gone there after his doctor’s appointment,” Blake said.

“Now what was at the intersection where Deavor and Ellard crossed?” JJ asked.

“That’s a shopping center with a dozen or so businesses,” Hotch answered as he pointed it out on the map.

“We’re getting a list right now,” Y/N added.

“One of the deputies sighted an abandoned car on the outskirts of town. There was a second set of tire tracks behind it that matched those found at the Terry Rodgers’ abduction site,” the Sheriff said, rushed as she peered into the room.

---------

Y/N stood next to Hotch as he inspected the inside of the car. Looking over all the beautifully wrapped gifts that were tucked into the back seat.

“Vehicle’s registered to Cheryl Winslow, 4801 Davenport Avenue,” the deputy on site told the two agents.

“These are all from a baby shower,” Hotch said as he finished looking at the gifts in the back seat.

“We contacted her husband, she’s due in three weeks,” the deputy confirmed.

“If this is our unsub, taking a pregnant woman is a huge change in her victimology,” Y/N said as Hotch turned to her.

“We profiled she was abducting the men as breeders,” Hotch reminded her.

“But why take someone else’s baby if you’re planning on having your own?” Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Maybe she can’t have one or she lost one.”

“So this-” she moved her hands in a circular motion- “this isn’t about fertility, but the experience these men would bring as fathers.”

Y/N paused as she thought more and Hotch gave her a look, telling her they were now thinking the same thing.

“Is she trying to build a family?”

---------

“That was Hotch,” Rossi said as he hung up his phone. It was the next day now, Cheryl Winslow had been left in the parking lot of the hospital in the early morning, along with her delivered baby. “The doctor told him the placenta was scrapped completely out of the victim’s uterus.”

Y/N and JJ grimaced at the thought.

“Every bit of it.”

“You know the placenta does carry special significance in many cultures. In ancient Egypt, it had its own hieroglyph. And the Ibo tribe in Nigeria considered it to be the child’s dead twin,” Spencer said. His facts were insightful but not helpful here.

“Well, that would be helpful, if our unsub was an ancient Egyptian or Ibo tribe woman, but...” JJ sassed.

Even though JJ’s comment was full of sarcasm and sass, it gave Spencer a thought. He began to mumble to himself as he went through his unlimited knowledge in his brain.

“I can hear the high-pitched whine from your IQ all the way over here, what is it?” Rossi asked. The humor-filled question made Y/N and JJ chuckle.

“It could be placentophagy,” Spencer said as if everyone knew what that was.

“What?” JJ asked.

“Consuming it. In the wild, it’s common for animals to eat their own afterbirth. It’s super-rich in nutrients,” Spencer explained.

“Oh god, I’m going to be sick,” Y/N said as she leaned her lead on her hands at the thought.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait-” Rossi held his hand up to Spencer to stop him before he continued- “so the unsub might have harvested this last victim...for food?”

Spencer lightly nodded his head, grossed out also at the thought.

----------

“It’s about food,” Rossi said as he began to explain what they had deciphered as the motive. “Herbal sedatives, gruel, and now the placenta.”

“Ugh,” Penelope’s sigh was heard through the phone. “And FYI, there’s no record of anyone in La Grande buying that weird kind of sawdust the M.E. found. I’ll widen the search.”

“We still need to figure out how this unsub was able to drug all these men,” JJ reminded everyone.

“The southeast intersect doesn’t get us much,” Spencer nodded to the map. “Laundromat, video rental store.”

“The other intersect is the supermarket, yet none of the employees recognized Paul Hicks, he never shopped there,” Y/N said as she pointed to the spot on the map.

“Garcia, what day of the week were each of the victims abducted?” Hotch asked Penelope on the phone.

“Let me see. Gary Ellard on a Monday, Barry Deaver on a Saturday, Terry Rodgers and Paul Hicks both on a Thursday.”

“Is there anything special that happens in the vicinity of the markets on Thursdays?”Hotch asked.

“Uh...wow, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? Yeah, there’s a farmers market across the street from the supermarket every Thursday morning,” Penelope answered when she got a hit.

“And where is it today?” Hotch continued.

“Pendleton, about forty miles north on Interstate 84.”

“I’m sending Blake and Morgan,” Hotch replied then hung up the phone.

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

Y/N threw the paper towel she used to dry her hands away as she pushed the door to the bathroom open. She pressed across the room as she saw Spencer receive something off of the fax machine.

“What do you have?” She nodded to the paper he held in his hand.

He turned back and watched as she stopped in the spot next to him. “Full toxicology report.”

His eyes went down to the paper as he quickly read over it.

“And?”

“Unlike any tox panel I’ve ever seen before,” he turned the page so she could read what he had seen.

“They found gypsum?” She asked after she read the finding.

“Yeah, gypsum’s rich in sulfur, a vital plant nutrient,” Spencer explained.

“I’m sorry, so she’s feeding her captives soil additives?” Y/N asked, slightly grossed out.

“Seed meals, too. Look-” he pointed to a finding further down the page- “cotton, flax.”

“That’s animal feed, right?” Y/N asked Spencer for confirmation.

He nodded.

“Why would you treat a human being like livestock? People raise cattle to eat.” Y/N was so confused now. This unsub’s motives were all over the place.

“The unsub might be using the placenta as food, but nothing in the profile suggested cannibalism,” Spencer agreed with her confusion. “I mean...unless the sawdust they found in Terry Rodgers’ nose…”

“What about it?” Y/N asked when he paused.

“When livestock die, animal carcasses turn into a useful soil amendment through the aerobic biodegradation process--”

“Like compost?”

“Exactly, you need to add a substrate high in carbon to balance the nitrogen. And one of the most efficient substances on earth is pure sawdust,” Spencer explained as he started to piece things together.

“She’s using her victims as human fertilizer,” Y/N muttered as she caught on to what Spencer was saying.

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

“Sheriff the surgeon who operated on Cheryl Winslow said that whoever did the c-section might have done one before,” Hotch said as the Sheriff walked into the room.

“If she did, we never heard about it,” the Sheriff responded with wide eyes. “Nothing like this has ever happened in La Grande.”

“Well, we can keep looking, expand the search radius to nearby towns,” Derek suggested.

“What about farms?” JJ’s question made everyone in the room look at her. “My grandparents had a farm in Pennsylvania. Once my grandmother had to deliver a calf by c-section to a cow that was in distress.”

As JJ finished, Hotch’s phone rang.

“Go ahead, Garcia.”

“I have got something, Emma Kerrigan. She runs a small juice and vegetable stand at the farmers market, and she works part-time giving out free samples at the health food co-op. I’m sending you her picture now,” Penelope said as she sent the picture.

“That sounds like our unsub,” Y/N said as she walked into the room, only hearing what Penelope said.

“Where does she live?” Hotch asked quickly.

“Piping Rock Farms west of town, like a hundred acres, belonged to her husband’s family-”

“Wait, she has a husband?” Derek asked, cutting Penelope off.

“Had. Died in a car accident a year and a half ago, leaving her and a ten-year-old daughter,” Penelope clarified.

“Let’s go.” Hotch hung up the phone and rushed out of the room to suit up.

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

The team rolled up to the farm. The sky darkened as it had rolled into the night.

Y/N jogged behind Rossi, JJ, and Spencer into a barn. After making sure the barn was cleared, they lowered their guns and looked around.

Rossi walked up to the one machine that was covered by a green tarp.

“What’s that?” JJ nodded to the tarp.

Rossi grabbed the green plastic-fabric and pulled it back, revealing a grinder.

“Oh my…” Y/N muttered as she looked at the inside that was covered in blood.

They heard through their earpieces that Hotch, Derek, and Blake were heading to another barn on the property next to a garden.

By the time they made their way to the garden, Derek said he found Emma.

They watched as Blake handed her a bag of what looked to be ashes.

“It’s a miracle,” Emma said and kept repeating as she poured the bag on her daughter she had buried under soil next to one of her victims.

Hotch grabbed her as she poured the last bit on top of her daughter and pulled her away. The Sheriff took her away from Hotch and placed cuffs on her to lead her away.

That next day, the team was back in the office finishing up reports from the case and having a day in the office.

Y/N had her feet resting on the corner of her desk, her last report of the day in her lap as she read over it to make sure everything was all good.

It was all hallows eve, and all Y/N wanted to do was get home, watch a stupid scary movie with Spencer and hand candy out to the kids who lived in their apartment building.

She looked up from her work to see Spencer already looking at her.

“Hey, Spence, did we remember the candy for tonight?” She asked, taking her feet off the desk and stood up to walk to his desk.

“We should have a lot if you didn’t eat it all,” Spencer smiled, pointing his pen at her.

“I wouldn’t ever do such a thing,” she laughed.

“That’s a lie straight from the pits of hell Y/N Y/L/N,” Derek said walking up behind her. “You keep a stash of skittles in your desk year-round.”

“And never share, need I remind you,” Rossi added as he remembered all the time he asked for some.

She gasped dramatically and placed a hand on her chest, faking offense to their comments. “Gentlemen, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The three men laughed at her claim with an eye roll.

“Uh, excuse me, everybody. I have an announcement to make,” JJ said as she walked into the bullpen, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

Once she knew she had everyone on the team’s attention, she continued.

“As I’m sure some of you were aware, Henry was a little nervous about going trick-or-treating this year, but he’ decided to go anyway,” JJ said excitedly.

“Great, what changed his mind?” Rossi asked.

“The BAU did,” she responded sheepishly. “I told him that he should go out on Halloween and try to figure out which monsters are real and which ones are not.”

“So he wants to be a profiler?” Y/N asked with a smile.

“Ah-” JJ held up a finger- “he wants to be his favorite profiler.”

On cue, Penelope led in a small Henry, dressed up as their very own, Spencer Reid. Little converse, a sweater vest, a tie, and even his own satchel bag adorned his body to make the perfect Spencer.

“Wow! Yeah!” Spencer said excitedly as he stood up from his chair to meet Henry in the walkway between desks.

“Oh my gosh, JJ this is too cute,” Y/N gushed as she stood next to Spencer.

“Oh, wow!” Spencer squatted in front of Henry who ran up to him. “You look great, Henry.” Spencer fumbled with his I.D. badge and clipped it onto Henry’s sweater.

“Oh, he’s official!” Derek laughed.

“Tell him,” Penelope whispered into Henry’s ear.

“E equals MC squared!” Henry exclaimed his new knowledge excitedly.

The smile on Spencer’s face was unbeatable.

“The monsters don’t stand a chance,” Blake gushed as she looked at JJ who nodded.

Y/N kneeled in front of Henry. “Here Henry let me do for you what I have to do for Uncle Spencer every morning.”

She gently grabbed his tie and pretended to straighten it for him. Everyone laughed at the action, knowing full well that’s what she did every time his tie was crooked.

“He’s gotta have the full effect,” Y/N looked up at JJ.

“Oh, I know, should we go get you some candy?” JJ said as she leaned down to Henry. He nodded his head excitedly.

He took her hand as she led him out of the office and to the candy with Penelope.

“Watch your back, Pretty Boy,” Derek said to Spencer, clapping his hand on his shoulder as he and Rossi walked past.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome @word-scribbless @nintendumbfuck @confused-and-really-hungry @justine-en @andiebeaword @itsarayofsunshine @baby-i-am-fireproof @abitofeverythinggg @nanocoool @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal @fancyfaucet @im-a-raging-gay @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny @bandsandjill @mbowles23-blog @sarcasm-n-insomnia @citrussirus @nerual222 @april-14-blog @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland @justawildmarebae @sana-li @thesailbells @l0ve-0f-my-life @spencer101reid @spencersdolore @delicateprunecashpony @sader12345678 @dashlilymark @mysticalmagicmoon @onebigfangirlworld @saturn-mp4 @hurricanejjareau @thatweirdo466 @angryknightstatesmantrash @nograciass @danandphilfan6 @la-vie-en-amour1 @squirrellover1967 @reidswords @skyirates @spideyspencer

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds meme #criminal minds imagine #criminal mids fic #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #Penelope Garcia #emily prentiss

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rune-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Rekindled Hope

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

@aerith-week » Day 7: Cherish the Memories

Word count: 2482

Rating: G

Summary: A brief look into the times Kunsel visited Aerith at her church after Zack went missing. Two people in grief. Two people seek company in each other.

Note: A little late entry for Day 7′s prompt, featuring Kunsel!^^ (because ever since I saw his mail to Zack where he spoke about Aerith’s broken wagon and her refusal to accept his help because she’s still waiting for Zack, I just need to see their interactions).

Part 3 of Follow the Yellow Flowers: Aerith Week 2021

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

He came again—the friend—sauntering over to the flowerbed, then lounging on one of the wooden benches. He sat with his arms resting over his thighs as he folded his fingers loosely together. “How are you?” he’d ask. “How’s the garden? How are the flowers? How about your mother?” How, how, how, as if it was genuine interest and not some kind of obligation he’d felt toward his missing friend. He always kept his helmet on, ever since that day he’d taken it off and introduced himself.

The man—boy?—was around her age. He had come knocking on the church’s door before pushing it open enough for him to slip through. Aerith had looked up then, fighting against the urge to jump and grin and say, Welcome home, Zack, because she’d gone through that scenario in more times than she could count, and not once had it been her SOLDIER with the sky-blue eyes. Reno had come one time with that swagger in his gait, grumbling at what a pain Tseng had been for putting him under babysitting duties; Aerith had frowned at him and said, “Well, go, if you don’t wanna babysit me.” Another time had been Rude, who had entered the church with a small basket in his hand. He had apparently visited her house, and her mother had told him to bring her something to eat. He’d said nothing much, just stood in the corner with that unperturbed coolness. And when Tseng came to visit a few days after that, Aerith had been prepared, rising to her feet just as the door slid open.

“What now?” she’d said, arms folded over her chest.

Tseng had crossed the large hall with a small smile playing across his features. “Have Reno and Rude bothered you so much that you won’t give me a simple ‘hello’?”

“Even if they hadn’t, why should I?”

Her voice had been testy, but Tseng had only scoffed, soft and amused. He’d remained silent, facing her with that impeccable smile.

Aerith’s lips had pulled into a taut line. It had been a struggle to maintain her anger, if only because she’d had no energy left to stay angry. Not after she’d spent months waiting for someone who never came. She’d dropped her gaze, the tension leaving her shoulders in a quiet sigh. Wordlessly, she’d turned around, then crouched before her flowerbed. The yellow lilies had gazed at her, offering what little comfort flowers could give. It had been a moment before Tseng moved to her side and helped her tend her flowers.

So when, some time later, the church’s heavy doors creaked open once more, a part of her had expected it would be one of the Turks, checking up on her as part of their daily routine. But it hadn’t been those men in black striding toward her. The person had worn none other than the SOLDIER garb she’d come to miss. A different color, she’d noted—a dark, muted purple. But it had been still a SOLDIER garb, with a SOLDIER helmet, and the person had paused mid-step on his tracks, gave a slight tilt of his head followed by a small nod, before resuming his walk and stopping in front of her.

“Are you Aerith?” he’d asked.

Aerith had blinked, surprised. How had this person known her name? Had the Turks sent a SOLDIER instead to watch over her? She’d given him a quiet nod, then seen a smile blossoming on his face.

“Good, I was afraid I got the wrong person.” His voice had been light, sweet. He’d reached up and lifted the helmet off his face. A sharp, strong jawline; sculpted cheekbones; and dark brown hair that fell over his forehead; but it was the eyes that caught her attention—bright blue like the sky, rimmed with a Mako glow.

Just like him.

With the smile still plastered across his face, he’d held out his hand and said, “My name’s Kunsel, Zack’s friend.”

Somehow, Aerith had always evaded hearing that name. A conscious decision, perhaps, or maybe a subconscious one—the way her mind shut off any mention of it. Her mother had never spoken it, and neither had the Turks whenever they visited her. The slum residents had barely known him. Even when the so-called fan club had approached her, her mind had been ready. But when this friend introduced himself, Aerith hadn’t had the chance to prepare herself.

Zack’s friend.

Unbidden, a lump had formed at the back of her throat. Aerith had fought back against the choke as tears sprang to her eyes.

***

The first month Zack hadn’t returned, Aerith had believed when people said he was busy, caught up in whatever assignment the Company had given him. But then three months rolled by, six months, and now it had been well over a year, and there was still no news of his return or whereabouts.

Kunsel rose from his seat and strode over to her, crouching before the flowerbed and reaching to stroke the yellow petals. With his helmet settled over his head, Aerith felt his glance more than she saw it, but he said nothing, then went to pull the weeds sprouting from the ground.

Why exactly was he here? She had figured SOLDIERs would have their plates full, with how many times a phonecall or mission had interrupted her date with Zack. But here Kunsel was, months after he’d introduced himself and seen her cry, months of helping her tend her flowerbed as though he had all the time in the world. He’d offered to fix her cart one time, broken after using it so many times to sell flowers around the slums, but she’d refused and said she’d wait for Zack. Because Zack would come. He had promised her he would.

Kunsel deftly pulled at the weeds, reaching deep into the roots so as not to let them grow again. He moved quietly, scouring her flowerbed for the parasitic plants that would kill her flowers. The pile on his side grew higher with each passing moment. When he was about to go to her side, Aerith spoke up.

“No, I’ll—I’ll take care of this side.”

The SOLDIER looked at her. Even through his visor, Aerith could still see those familiar Mako-rimmed eyes. Her heart clenched. She only spared him a glance before dropping her gaze back to her chore.

“Alright,” she heard him say. She watched him from the corner of her eye, at the efficient way he moved as he cleaned his side of the flowerbed. Silent, but still a reassuring presence.

When had it started—when she’d started looking forward to his visits more than she would admit? She’d told him one time he hadn’t needed to help with the flowers, but Kunsel had only given her a sideways glance and said, “You let Tseng help.” No, she hadn’t. She’d told Tseng the same, but true to his character, Tseng had never listened to her. Not once. But maybe that’s not true, now that Aerith thought about it. Tseng never brought her back to the lab, and he had lent his phone that time she had wanted to call Zack. The man had known her since she was little, and despite whatever true intention he and his men had behind their visits, Aerith was grateful for the Turks’ company—as grateful as she had grown to accept Kunsel’s too. Because having someone else beside her… it helped keep the sadness at bay.

With that thought in mind, her next words rolled out of her tongue instinctively: “I started writing letters.” She felt his glance, felt the quiet surprise, but Aerith only focused her attention on the rhythmic way her hands pulled at the weeds.

Her admission made it true—those nights she’d spent staring at her ceiling. Worry had gnawed at her heart, wondering what had happened to Zack, wondering where he was and what he was doing and if he was okay. Everyone said he might have moved on. Her mother had said to forget about him. And Aerith wanted to, if only she could.

She was never a stranger to loneliness. She had spent her days alone in Shinra’s lab, then spent more days alone in the slums. None of the kids had played with her. The only friends she’d had were the flowers. Yet when Zack crashed through her church’s roof and fell onto her flowerbed, everything had changed. The church that had once offered her solace became a source of joy. She’d started playing a game of when-would-Zack-visit-again, and sometimes, when Aerith opened the massive double doors, she would find him already waiting for her with a grin radiant like the sun.

Across the flowerbed, Kunsel still stared at her. Aerith gave a little shrug as she said, “For a few months now, I think? Mom told me to. She hated seeing me so… down for so long, so this one night, she came up to me and asked me what I wanted to do. That if I can’t reach him by phone, I could try writing to him. Who knows? Maybe he’d read it, no matter how busy he gets…”

Busy… As though being “busy” was the one thing that had kept Zack away. As though nothing bad could have prevented him from coming home. Every time Aerith voiced her concerns to Tseng, he had always been quick to say that Zack was fine. That the company was keeping him busy for longer than anyone had expected. But Tseng had always been a trained liar, and there had been no doubt he was lying to her.

Aerith sneaked a glance at Kunsel, gauging his reaction. Would he lie to her too? But Kunsel had his eyes fixed on the weeds at his clutch, his jaws set as his gaze took on a hard glint.

“Busy, huh…” His grip tightened, his knuckles going white. “If only that’s all there is.” He pulled the weeds with all his might. Dirt burst out in a sprinkle of dark brownish matter, showering his lap, his hands, his boots. Kunsel stared at the now-lifeless plant on his palm. “That’s what we wish, isn’t it? That he’s just too busy to check his phone or that he’s stuck somewhere with a low signal. But… is that all there is?”

“What do you mean?”

“The news, that Zack might’ve been—” His breath catching on the word, Kunsel pursed his lips. But Aerith knew what he meant. Killed in action. She’d heard. When those fan club people had approached her—they might not have realized, but she’d heard snippets of their conversation. Her fingers twitched, a muscle fluttering along her jawline. Aerith didn’t believe it.

Across from her, Kunsel cleared his throat. “I never believed it. Not one bit of it. I know he’s out there somewhere, and the Company is hell bent on keeping it a secret.”

Aerith blinked in surprise. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I tried looking for him, and they cut my search short.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Aerith stared at Kunsel, trying to make sense of his words. Was Kunsel insinuating that Shinra was the reason Zack went missing?

Kunsel’s face was hard as he returned to his chore, his movement swift and efficient. Before long, he’d cleaned the entire flowerbed, even the section Aerith had meant to clean herself. He gathered all the weeds, then rose, bringing them to the trash can outside the church. When he returned, the hard glint was gone. In its place was a brilliant beam.

“Have faith, Aerith. He’ll come back. One way or another, he’ll come back for sure. He promised, didn’t he?”

Aerith stared at him, at that conviction that was so strong, so bright, so contagious. It made her own hope flickered back to life. She had not yet felt his soul pass her by—the way Elmyra’s husband’s had after he died in Wutai. Zack was still out there. She was sure of it.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked then. “To give me hope?”

Her question had taken Kunsel off guard. It showed in the widening of his eyes and the slight slackening of his jaws. Her mouth quirked into a little smirk, Aerith snorted, turning away to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“Hey,” he said, and she heard the amused chuckle in his voice. Kunsel snorted, then scoffed. “For your information, I’m Zack’s best friend. You ask every SOLDIER, grunt, or even the Turks who Zack’s friend is and they’re gonna say me. I know everything about your boyfriend, including how head-over-heels in love he is with you. So, if you ask me why I’m here…”

His voice trailed off. The way Kunsel had nonchalantly bragged about being Zack’s friend had made her want to laugh, but seeing his face now, seeing his melancholic smile… Aerith pursed her lips.

Kunsel lifted his face and stared at the hole in the roof. In a voice so low that Aerith had almost missed it, he said, “I promised I’d look after you, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

A shift in the clouds outside gave way to sunlight slanting in through the hole. It shone on Kunsel’s helmet, making the metal sparkle. In another timeline, had she met Kunsel when Zack was still here, would they have become fast friends without this sorrow hanging over them? Laughing and joking around as the boys visited her at the church.

Kunsel shielded his eyes at the blinding sun. “It’s sunny outside. Wanna have a walk?” Those sky-blue eyes were bright and clear, Aerith found the sight of them didn’t hurt her anymore. Still a twinge of pain, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

Aerith rose to her feet. She brushed her hands against her dress, then stretched her arms over her head. Holding her hands behind her back, she followed Kunsel’s gaze and, for the first time in a long time, looked at the sliver of blue between two metal plates. She held her gaze, even as her heart constricted at the sight of it.

When you come back from your assignment, let’s go sell flowers under the sky together. I won’t be afraid if you’re with me.

A lump formed at the back of her throat, Aerith pressed her lips in a thin line. The flowers on her feet swayed in a nonexistent wind, as if trying to comfort her. As if trying to say, he’ll come back.

Aerith threw Kunsel a sideways glance. The SOLDIER was looking at her with an inviting tilt of his head. “Sure,” she said, and felt her lips parting into a small, genuine smile, one that came from her heart. “Let’s go. And you can take your helmet off if you want. Isn’t it stuffy?” She met his look of surprise with a grin, before heading off to exit the church.

~ END ~

#aerithweek #aerithweek2021 #aerith gainsborough #kunsel #zack fair #zerith #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #ffvii #ff7 #ff7r #fanfiction #ff fanfic #ff7 fanfic

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aintguiltyy · 5 years ago

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Consider: Eddie seeing comedian Richie Tozier on TV during the 27 years and immediately being gripped by a visceral need to see his dick ~ Cristina

I wrote this on the way to and from a supermarket in under 20 minutes. pls don’t judge me or i will eat all three chocolate bars and a bag of nachos I bought in one go

—————————

Eddie usually doesn’t watch TV, only briefly glancing at the screen every now and then when Myra is watching some kind of reality show she’s been talking about non-stop every time they have dinner. He just doesn’t, sees little to no point in it really, besides he can spend his free time much more efficiently, like reading the news or working out at his top-class gym.

That’s exactly where Eddie sees him for the first time.

He’s just finished his usual work out routine and decides to run a few miles on a treadmill before going home, but because Eddie is really tired after his work out, he decides to save some time and watch the news instead of looking through it at home.

Turning the treadmill on, Eddie plugs his headphones in and stretches before stepping on the track and turning it on while simultaneously flipping through channels. The previous user must have watched the installed TV too, because the first channel that shows up is NBC, and Eddie intends on switching to CNN or something, but a second later someone’s throaty laughter hits him with the full sound from his headphones and he almost falls face down on the already running treadmill.

In the back of his mind he vaguely remembers that SNL, the comedy show some of his coworkers practically worship, airs on this channel, but all of Eddie’s attention zones in on the man that appears on the screen a second later with the same boisterous laugh that almost made him trip.

He’s sitting behind a table, his highlighted hair slicked and hands on his face, trying to hide his laughter while the other man next to him, dressed in a suit with a red tie, smiles at him, saying “Stefon, please calm down.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh once, even though the audience seems to have a hysterical breakdown every time the man in the green shirt breaks his character, too busy staring at the screen and forgetting all about his intention to run at least three miles.

It’s not until someone behind him clears their throat that Eddie realizes he just spend five minutes standing on a treadmill watching the TV without actually exercising. So, he hurriedly unplugs his headphones and smiles apologetically at the man who seems to have been waiting for Eddie to step off the track, heading to the locker room after taking the water bottle he left in the cup holder in his shaking hands. When and why the hell did they start shaking?

He’s so sweaty and out of breath, and his face is definitely a deep shade of red, if not maroon, judging by the way a few people in the gym glance in his direction when Eddie makes a beeline for the changing room, but it’s for sure because of the work out and not because of what he’s just seen on TV.

Hurriedly getting his gym clothes off and taking his shower bag, Eddie gets in the farthest stall and intends to turn the shower on, but his gaze accidentally falls down on his cock before he can reach for the faucet and Eddie notices that he’s hard.

His mouth is desert dry, too, despite the fact that he’s just gulped down a whole bottle of water. Eddie has no idea what the fuck is going on, but then an image of that man hiding his face in his large hands, his broad shoulders - who the hell needs shoulders that broad - shaking with barely suppressed laughter, flashes before his eyes, and his dick twitches so violently Eddie almost yelps, and oh. Oh.

He turns the water on as cold as it goes and tries not to think about what the hell is happening, but it only helps a little because every time Eddie closes his eyes, he sees the same man he doesn’t recognize, but can’t shake off this feeling of frustrating familiarity, that he has no reasonable explanation for.

Myra is asleep by the time Eddie gets home, just like she usually is after 10 p.m., so he takes off his clothes and goes to his bed (yes, he and his wife sleep in separate beds, and what about it? Lots of couples are the same, it’s absolutely normal), but the iPad on the bedside table is far too tempting to let him go to sleep.

That’s how Eddie ends up watching four more SNL episodes with the same man, whose name he quickly finds out is Richie Tozier, and that familiar feeling is back, scratching in the back of his mind, but Eddie is far too exhausted and confused to look into it. That’s why he puts his iPad aside and goes to sleep, ignoring the hardness in his shorts that seems to have come back to life the moment he saw Richie on the screen again and deciding that he’s not going to waste another second on this nonsense.

Unfortunately for Eddie, his brain works in strange ways and no matter how hard he tries to suppress the urge to see this Richie Tozier again, he still ends up typing his name into Youtube’s search bar a week later.

The moment that annoying, handsome face appears on the screen, Eddie remembers why he almost tripped on a treadmill and was seconds away from jerking off in a gym’s shower. It’s ridiculous, the way his body reacts to this man and his irritating, loud voice and shitty jokes that have no business being this funny, but his cock grows harder and his mouth becomes drier the more Eddie looks at his long fingers, the sharp line of his jaw and these fucking shoulders.

It’s so unfair and hot at the same time, and Eddie’s never felt the need to touch his cock more than he feels now while watching a Netflix special despite the fact that he has never, ever watched a comedy special in his life. For fuck’s sake, he almost drools on the screen every time Richie throws his head back and laughs at his own joke, and Eddie wants to lick his throat so badly he almost comes at the mere thought.

It takes all of his willpower not to sneak his hand into his boxers, but Eddie’s will finally breaks when he googles Richie for the umpteenth time and suddenly comes across a pic of him at some trashy party. It’s dated five years ago, and he’s only wearing dark red boxers that are soaked, probably from the pool in the background, and Eddie almost drops his phone when his gaze falls from the man’s broad chest that’s covered in dark hair which shouldn’t make Eddie feel as flustered as it does, and he notices the clear outline of the man’s cock under the wet fabric.

That night, the second he frantically gets in the shower, brushing Myra off when she asks is he’s feeling alright, alarmed at the flush on Eddie’s face and his heavy, uneven breathing, Eddie gives up and takes a hold of his hard, pulsing cock, closing his eyes and remembering the picture, imagining it’s Richie’s large hand on him, or maybe Richie watching him get himself off while lazily stroking his own cock that Eddie now knows - although he never really doubted it - is thick and long. Seriously, why does everything about this asshole have to be so fucking big?

Mere minutes later Eddie comes harder that he has in years and makes a promise to himself that that’s where it stops, but finds himself sneaking under the covers with lube and headphones just two nights later, convincing himself that it’s the last time.

That’s what Eddie tells himself for almost two years. It comes to the point that he almost automatically gets hard every time he sees Richie on screen or even hears his voice. Eddie learns to live with it, though, falling into a routine of going on Youtube and getting himself off to simultaneously the most hideous and hot man he’s ever seen in his life almost every night which is ridiculous because he’s almost forty, where the hell are this teenage horniness and libido coming from?

That’s before he crashes his car because of the call from a childhood friend Mike he completely forgot about and shows up at the chinese restaurant in Derry the next day only to find out that the man Eddie’s been imagining railing him into oblivion every time he jerked off for the past two years is his childhood best friend, crush and teenage wet dream, and prays that no one, especially Richie himself, notices Eddie getting hard the second his gaze falls on Richie.

He’s so fucking screwed.

#thank you my homegirl for the ask!!😌❤️❤️❤️❤️#my writing #reddie #my homegirl #minors dni #it #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #richie x eddie

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kotosnoozy · 4 years ago

Text

「witness me, old man」

chp 1 - recollections of dinners in eden

1st in a series of yuraven oneshots for my favourite aus, both canon to the tales series and of my own creation. ao3 link in the replies.

1. tales of asteria | recollections of eden 2. modern/coffee shop au 3. tales of the rays | 'it's new years! brave vesperia' event 4. schwann brigade yuri au 5. zestiria setting au 6. modern/band au. ao3 link in the replies.

Claw truly is a fantastic cook.

It’s rare, in honesty, that he gets a chance to taste his food. It’s an offer rarely made - only on those seldom occasions where he comes to seek Raven’s information-gathering expertise, and even then only when he deems his work to have gone above and beyond his expectations. He’s a harsh critic, for a man who clearly knows he wouldn’t personally be able to do the job, though the quality of his food is certainly worth the extra effort Raven has to put in to pass the grade.

He has to chase Norma away from the office on nights like these. At times, that feels harder than the information gathering he has to do to get to this point - she’s stubborn as a mule, and has a good nose for his lies. She doesn’t know about his… side-job, so to speak, and he has no intention of telling her any time soon if he can help it. She’d only nag for a free meal herself anyway, and there’s something special about these evenings he gets to spend with Claw, just the two of them. The addition of a spunky teenager would kill the vibe - even if the teenager in question is technically mature enough to be his business partner.

The only consistent method he’s found is to send her off to the next town over on some errand he swears that only she can handle, that he couldn’t possibly join her and get in the way of her work. Of course, it’s tricky to convince her that there’s anything she could do that he couldn’t - the bulk of their work is, after all, odd jobs and chores for the elderly, but if he bitches and whines enough (“Oh Norma , you know how my back gets, ancient as I am!”) then she’ll finally give in and head off with little fuss.

He gets to put the ol’ bad back excuse to good work when Claw arrives too - he couldn’t possibly help out in the kitchen, he’s so old and slow that he’ll only get in the way, or else mess up the recipe.

Claw, unsurprisingly, is far more skeptical of his tall tales than Norma. But for whatever reason, he’s never once complained at Raven sitting on his lazy ass and watching instead of helping. If anything, he almost seems a little happy about it.

After he does his little dance around the kitchen - finely dicing onions with nary a tear, pulverising potatoes efficiently, mixing it all together with a meat Raven’s tastebuds can never quite place, and frying the little balls of the concoction after coating them in breadcrumbs - there’s a plate of perfectly crisp croquettes placed in the middle of the table. It feels almost criminal to allow them to sit in the same spot that they usually just throw cheap takeout and sloppily-made sandwiches, mouth-wateringly good as they look.

“I really don’t know how ya do it, Cap’n.” he says, polishing off his first and skewering a second with his fork. “Makin’ something as tasty as this with just a couple of ingredients… Y’ ever think ya might be in the wrong line of work?”

Claw snorts in amusement, simply resting his head in his hand with a roll of his eyes.

It’s always like this. He’ll cook enough for both of them (or maybe three, or even four people - Raven can’t deny that he’s a real glutton when it comes to Claw’s cooking), but never eats himself. He simply watches Raven from over his collar, expression indecipherable from just his eyes alone. If it wasn’t something of a routine by now, then he’s sure he’d find the constant dark-eyed gaze unnerving, to say the least.

Instead he just feels guilty - it feels unfair to be the only one eating.

“...why is it that ya never eat yerself while yer here?” he asks tentatively. He really can’t imagine such a high ranking member of Her Highness’s guard suffering from eating-related stage fright, but it certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s ever heard of.

Claw quirks an eyebrow.

“You know as well as I do that Her Excellency forbids my face to be seen.”

Ah.

How did he let that slip his mind?

“That must be a hell of a pain when you’re on the road with your platoon, huh.” he quips instead to cover his lapse in memory.

There’s a slight change to Claw’s breathing that he doubts he’d notice if he wasn’t so good at his job - the tiniest of sighs. He remains otherwise silent.

G r o o o o w l

...Although the same cannot be said for his stomach, it seems, as it heartily voices its protests. Raven simply cannot stop the wide grin that rises to his face.

Claw’s eyes narrow, no doubt already anticipating what will come next.

“C’mon, Cap’n, you should try some yerself!”

He scoffs.

“It’s fine. I’ll just eat whatever’s leftover when I get back to the barracks later.”

“You know as well as I do that’s a hell of a waste - why let it go cold when you could just eat it right here and now?”

Claw’s gaze narrows further.

“Raven…” he drawls, warningly.

“C’monnnn, it’ll be our little secret! I promise, I won’t tell a soul!” he says, leaning over the table to wave a skewered croquette in his face. Claw’s eyes tick back and forth like a metronome as he watches the morsel, and he thinks he’s almost got him- and then he furrows his brows, eyes clenched shut like a baby rejecting a snack it doesn’t like the look of.

Raven sighs.

“Spoilsport. No one would’ve ever needed to know,” he whines. “‘m just thinkin’ about yer health, Cap’n. Nothin’ more, I swear.”

It happens as he goes to sit up straight - quick as lightning.

He snatches the hand Raven’s waving in front of his face, like a cat pouncing its prey, and hooks a finger over his high, wide collar. Scoops the bite Raven had thought was now destined for him into his own mouth. Replaces the collar as quickly as it left.

It’s maybe 3 seconds at the most. An absolutely miniscule amount of time. But more than enough for a man in Raven’s line of work to get a good look at his permanently-obscured face.

To take in his delicate features - nose long and beak-like, but cheeks far more rounded than he’d expected, pink lips thin yet surprisingly plump, a proud chin despite his round jaw - to be absolutely enraptured by how beautiful he is.

‘Do they hafta keep their faces covered,’ he wonders idly, ‘because they’re all this distractingly beautiful? Or is Claw just a special case?’

He can’t break his eyes away, even after Claw finishes his mouthful, looks up at him expectantly, once more quirks an eyebrow in confusion. His heart is pounding , stirring in a way that feels almost like nostalgia for some reason. He’s hot and cold all at once, cheeks burning but blood like ice, and he longs to reach out and touch him, pull the collar down for a better look, truly commit his face to memory. But then there’s a pain in his heart like a knife, pure grief , and it twists, makes him feel sick to the stomach, and his brain is fuzzy, he doesn’t understand-

“What’re you staring at, old man?”

It feels like being clocked around the head. He scrambles up straight, trying to put as much space between them as he can even as he yearns to be closer.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!”

Claw’s eyebrow climbs ever higher. Raven scrambles for something to say - whatever that was is definitely something to unpack later , if ever at all.

“Anyway, my darlin’ Claw,”

(‘Wait, darlin’??? Where the hell did that come from???’)

“How does it feel to get a taste of yer own food pipin’ hot for once?”

He swears he can see a gentle flush of red to his cheekbones where they peek above the collar.

“...I guess it’s better than when it’s cold.” he mumbles, gaze never meeting Raven’s.

He smiles, satisfied, and does his best to squash down the rest of that strange sensation as he tucks back into his meal.

Later, when Claw is gone and he’s alone with his thoughts, he’ll make a decision. That next time Claw cooks for him, he’ll persuade him to remove the collar again. And maybe he’ll figure out exactly what the lurching of his heart means. Who knows? He might even cook for Claw for a change.

(Something tells him he’s got a sweet tooth. Maybe he likes crepes?)

Little does he know that though certainly, he will receive the offer of Claw’s cooking in exchange for hard work at least once more, never again will he have the opportunity to actually sample it.

((it’s that night that the dreams start))

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years ago

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Ok, I have a prompt for you. Can you do a one-shot of Jake and Amy's first morning together (preceded by the shot of them in bed in 3×01). Things like breakfast in bed, cuddling etc, even sexy talk of the previous night's events is all requested. Thanks♥️

HI @obsessiveperaltiagofangirl! I had every intention of finishing this in time for their anniversary but time ran away from me a little 😅 Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 💖

(G rated, for anyone who may be wondering! 😇)

in the light of day

There’s barely any light creeping across the floorboards when an only slightly hungover Amy Santiago opens her eyes, the dull lighting working in her favour as the effects of last night’s shots rush straight to her head. Despite the miniature hammers that seem to be tap, tap, tapping along the inside of her skull, a tiny part of her mind (the part that isn’t still trying to piece together exactly what happened last night) knows it’s a Thursday; and on Thursdays the routine is an early wakeup, followed by a seven mile run before work. She forces her eyes close for a second, cursing the efficiency of her body clock, and as her nose burrows into an unfamiliar pillow her eyes flutter open again.

She takes a deep breath as her blurry eyes take in her surroundings, recognising the exposed brick walls and proximity of the kitchen to the bedroom as the familiar trappings of Jake Peralta’s apartment. To her right she makes out the draped red fabric of a dress thrown onto an armchair - her dress, the one that she may or may not have purchased only yesterday afternoon - and as she stretches ever so slightly the sensation of cotton sheets rubbing against her skin confirms her suspicion that she is, in fact, completely naked.

There is one other detail that Amy picks up on (something so important that, once registered, does in fact outweigh all the others), and that is the proximity of said Jake Peralta’s warm arm against her skin. An arm connected to a body that, if their tangled legs are anything to go by, is just as naked as hers.

Naked, because despite both of their best intentions, stuff had definitely happened last night.

Jake’s arm feels surprisingly light as it lays stretched along the edge of her ribcage, his elbow bending faintly to bring his hand to rest on her chest. It’s an embrace that keeps their bodies close, but in no way feels possessive, and as her brain begins to catch up to the events of the night before Amy realises that not once, in their ten months together, did waking up with Teddy ever feel like this.

From his position behind her, Jake stretches - most likely a reaction to Amy’s own elongation mere seconds ago - fingertips scraping against her skin and remaining splayed across her upper chest as the bridge of his nose presses against her shoulder blade. She listens as his breathing returns to a regular rate, smiling at the feeling of his breath against her skin, and hovers her free hand ever so slightly above his.

She’s dying to touch him. To run her fingertips along the raised edges of his knuckles, the tiny bumps that can hold such power when aimed at those who dare to harm others. Circle the lopsided scar down by his thumb, the one he insisted was from an undercover gang initiation for years until Gina finally rolled her eyes and told everyone it was from her oven when he cooked her pizza once.

Trace the length of his fingers, and remember how they made her feel last night.

These were the hands that had occupied her thoughts frequently - admittedly a lot more in the past six months or so - and the reality of them pressing against her very bare skin this morning was turning out to be even better than anything Amy could have imagined.

She keeps her breath even, denying her heart the chance to race despite the memories that have begun playing in her mind. Tries not to think about all the times she’s watched these same hands cuff a criminal, or type furiously at the keyboard across from hers … run through his hair when the frustrations of the day began to be too much.

Speeding hearts wake up sleeping partners after all, and right now, Amy wants the uninhibited chance to explore.

Slowly, her fingertips skim against the soft, barely distinguishable hairs that run along his hands; movements growing bolder as Jake’s breath remains steady on her skin.

They were larger than she realised (a discovery that was not specific to just his hands), slightly calloused and entirely welcoming. She runs the pad of her fingertips against his, his fingers flexing instinctively to her touch, and with a blink Amy remembers it all.

The feel of him; the tentative brush of the outside of his hand grazing hers as they left the restaurant, remembers how right it felt when he finally took the plunge and pressed his palm against hers. The smile stretched across her face that had been ridiculously big - only one glance out of the corner of her eye had shown her that Jake’s was exactly the same - and then she was pulling him in the direction of her favourite frozen yoghurt store: a building they never got a chance to enter because suddenly, she was being pressed against a brick wall and suddenly, Jake’s lips were crushed against her own.

He towers over her in almost every way, and even now as she lay bare in his bed and carefully links their fingers together, Amy notices just how tiny her hand is compared to his - a curse of her tiny stature that she’s ignored most of her life. But with Jake, Amy realises, she’s never felt small or drowned out. With Jake, she was equal - even if she did stand a few inches shorter than him at the best of times.

Jake’s grip around her tightens, the steady breath in her ear changing rhythm as he slowly begins to wake. She feels his arms stop midway into a squeeze around her middle, frozen in place as the recognition of who they’re wrapped around begins to flood his mind, and already Amy knows that he doesn’t want to be seen as some kind of gross, regrettable one night stand that cannot keep his hands to himself the morning after. But she wants him to touch her - her suddenly fluttering heartbeat was proof of that if nothing else - needs to feel the warmth that only seems to come from being around him. And maybe (okay, definitely) they’re barreling towards that gooey can’t-get-enough-of-you stage, but there’s nobody that she’d rather be in that stage with; and so she strengthens her grip on his fingers, pulling his arms close to her body as she turns her head towards his.

His voice is gruff, but his breath feels warm against her skin. “Mmmf. Early.”

Amy nods, hoping that he can pick up her response from his position behind her. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Taking in a deep breath, she wills the ache in her head to go away. “Body clock.”

“S’okay.” The room falls silent, save for the soft breaths between them, and gently Jake’s fingers stroke a circular pattern along her chest. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a loaded question, one that Amy knows he’s chosen out of the several options she’s certain are running through his head, purely for its ability to be answered in multiple ways. And honestly, she could take his lead and give him a polite but vague answer, find a way to excuse herself and head home … get dressed for another normal day at work while they continued to dance around their feelings for each other.

But she was tired of hiding - tired of pretending to be nothing when they were clearly something. Last night had been a culmination of months of yearning - all of the furtive glances across desks and tension filled silences bubbling together into a table for two at a restaurant that really did make an excellent Kamikaze - and she’s never been one to break the rules (especially the ones that she herself had created), but sometimes you just have to let go of the responsibility and just enjoy the ride. And she didn’t regret it for a second.

Letting go of Jake’s hand, Amy turns slowly on the mattress, brow furrowing slightly as an unfamiliar lump in the mattress digs into her thigh. From beside her Jake shuffles slightly back, obviously already preparing for the worst, and before he can say anything she wriggles her body closer to his, gripping the top of the sheet as she closes the gap between them. “I’m feeling good. Pretty great, actually.”

HIs smile is so sweet in response, one hand bashfully sneaking out of the sheet to scratch the stubble on his cheek in what Amy guesses is an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his neck. Briefly, she thinks of the selfie they took last night on her phone - the same steady arm wrapped around her waist as he pulled his chest close to her back, the same smile on his face enticingly bright as he rests his chin against her shoulder. It was a great photo, even if the intended purpose of having her phone out was actually to order them an Uber, and she wonders if it’s too soon to make it his contact photo.

“Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

(Frankly, she could use some coffee … perhaps a little breakfast. A paracetamol or two wouldn’t hurt, either. But none of that held a candle to the sheer joy that was bubbling under her surface - the mixture of elation and trepidation that had joined forces to release a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach the very second Jake smiled at her. So yeah, she was feeling pretty great.)

As one warm hand tentatively wraps itself around her waist again Amy moves just that little bit closer, watching as his eyes soften at her proximity. His hair is messy, poking up in various directions, and even though Amy knows it’s entirely her fault from running her fingers through it multiple times the night before, she’s itching to do it all over again. “Me, too. I mean, I did wake up to a naked Amy Santiago in my bed, so that’s naturally going to make anybody feel pretty great, but …” he laughs as her fist pushes against his chest in mock annoyance, grabbing her wrist before she can pull away and leaving a kiss against her palm. “Best reason to break a rule, ever.”

The free hand around her waist tugs her forwards, and as she feels the rush of blood hit the tip of her ears Amy leans into her partner, revelling in the still-new sensation of Jake’s lips pressed against hers, morning breath be damned.

They linger together for a moment, the lazy morning kiss of two people who are both still in a little bit of awe that this is actually happening, and the look of pure contentment on Jake’s face when Amy finally pulls away makes her heart skip just a little. He tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear - last night’s perfect blow wave long gone - and blinks a few times as though finally taking in the rest of his apartment. “Wait. Just how early is it?”

Wincing, Amy chews the bottom of her lip slightly before pulling the sheet up until only her eyes are showing. “I mean, I haven’t checked my phone yet but .. I’m pretty sure it’s about five.”

“Five? As in A.M?!”

“I told you, body clock!”

“Honestly, Santiago. You are the only person I know whose body clock would wake them up at five.”

His clear indignation was adorable (and surprisingly - a little bit sexy), and Amy drops the sheet and shuffles herself closer to Jake, just as intent on seeking his warmth as she is on fulfilling her growing urge for more. “It’s not so bad, you know …” she whispers, wrapping her left leg around his waist and pushing him towards the mattress, a silent request that Jake follows willingly. Pressing her knees down into the sheets on either side of him, Amy straddles his lower abdomen, smiling as Jake’s breath hitches obviously in his chest. “After all, being awake early means extra time for … other stuff.”

She plants her hands on his chest, grinning in satisfaction as a visible line of shivers begin to run over his skin. Jake’s hands slide over her legs, moving up to cup her butt before sliding up her waist reverently, and this time it’s her turn to tremble. Truthfully, if someone had told her three days ago that something like this would be happening so soon, she would have laughed in their faces (before immediately disappearing somewhere private to fantasise about such an impossible moment, naturally). Things were moving quickly, and she should probably feel way more exposed, resting the weight of her naked body on her partner’s waist, but his touch on her skin felt more right than anything Amy can remember.

Jake’s upper body lifts slightly off the mattress, craning his neck to meet her lips in another kiss; and she knows why it took them so long, and why they were both so hesitant to take that first leap, but oh, this feels like coming home. She grinds her hips into the new angle their bodies are making, sighing into Jake’s mouth as she feels him begin to respond, and as Amy wraps her arms around his neck Jake flips them gently, covering her body with his own as his lips press harder against hers.

“I’m a big fan of the other stuff,” he mumbles into her neck, peppering the statement with kisses and gentle nips as Amy chuckles softly, carding her fingers into the short hairs on the back of his head and holding him close. His hands roam the dips and curves of her carefully - the practised gentleness of a man who knows how easily great things can slip away from him - and with a satisfied sigh Amy closes her eyes to take it all in.

It had only taken them one night to grow from a jumble of nerves to something far greater (okay - one night, months of pining and a couple of years pretending it was all nothing), and even in the light of day, it was turning out to be better than she could have ever imagined.

It takes another few hours, lightly burnt toast in bed and a quick stop past Amy’s apartment before they’re both sitting in the respective desks, doing their absolute best to keep up the illusion that everything is exactly the same as the day before. It’s an appearance than barely lasts more than half a day - because clearly, everything has changed, and only for the better - and despite her tiny and slightly disruptive meltdown, Amy has the strongest instinct that this time she and Jake just might have managed to capture lighting in a bottle.

(And six years later, when Amy wakes up on their third wedding anniversary to the sound of her husband singing off-key to their son through the monitor on her nightstand, she cannot help but think that while that first morning together was pretty great, this one just might be her most favourite yet.)

#bit of a throwback for anniversary time!#jake x amy #ask prompts #the early days were so sweet and bubbly I could read about it forever #hope this is what you were looking for!#b99 fic #b99fic #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #peraltiago fluff #my writing

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