#i spent too long on the right hand and equally as long writing the profile blurb 😭

[pocasu]

2023 profile for Nabi (my Yuu/Prefect OC)

[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[ssahotchhner]

hunter, hunted

i should not be so excited about this but i just discovered that when you copy and paste text into a new post tumblr FINALLY allows italics and bolded fonts to be transferred over so I don't have to remember to go through it and do it myself again i could literally CRY rn. ANYWAY I thought it would be fun to write a oneshot like the Profiler, Profiled where Morgan is accused of murder. i created an oc for this one and I hope you love April I've spent a lot of time with her the last couple of weeks (:

words: 13.4k

pairing: hotch x oc

warnings: detailed descriptions of murder and torture and sexual assault

questions comments concerns

“Where’s the weapon, April?”

It was almost laughable. A federal agent handcuffed in an interrogation room being questioned for murder in her small town while visiting a childhood friend. She shakes her head at the detective, laughing. “I carry a gun on me at all times because, as I said, I’m a federal agent. You have it in your possession already. If you want to test it to see if I’ve fired it recently, be my guest. You won’t find anything.”

“You’re right, we won’t find anything because Brandon Perry died from blunt force trauma to the head. So I’ll ask you again, where is the weapon?”

This time, April does laugh. Of course he wasn’t shot. That would be too easy. “You know what, Detective Barnes, if you hadn’t kicked my hotel door down in the middle of the night, handcuffed me and dragged me in here, I may have cooperated with the investigation, but here we are. So I’ll tell you again: my Unit Chief is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I won’t be answering any more questions until I can speak with him.”

The middle aged man glares at her until finally getting up and leaving her alone in the interrogation room. She rested her head on the table and hoped that maybe that stupid motherfucker would listen to her this time.

***

“Hunter has been detained in Bar Harbor, Maine.” Hotch tells the team in the conference room.

JJ frowns, “Isn’t that her hometown? Why has she been arrested?”

“For murder.” Hotch says. Before the team can react, he pulls up a picture of Brandon Perry’s body, “Brandon Perry was found yesterday by a fisherman just off the docks a week after he was released from prison on parole. He had been bludgeoned to death with some sort of blunt object, the M.E. suggests a baseball bat.”

“And why do they think April did this?�� Spencer asks.

Hotch clicks a button and a picture of a couple brutally murdered in their bed, a little boy who’s throat had been slashed, and a little girl with brown hair and bright green eyes, alive and well filled the screen, “Because he was serving time for the murders of Addison, Jacob, and Timothy Hunter. April’s family.”

Everyone stares at the monitor in shock, “Her whole family was murdered when she was a kid… and she never mentioned it to us?” Penelope asks, her lower lip trembling.

“April was left relatively unharmed, but she had been sexually assaulted by the assailant. She said he was tall, but he had on a ski mask so she was never able to give solid identification.” Hotch finishes.

“So how’d they connect these murders to Brandon Perry?” Rossi asks.

“He was connected to a couple other home invasions and assaults nearby so he entered a plea deal. The local police were under a lot of pressure to close the case.”

“Breaking into homes to murdering almost an entire family is a big escalation.” Morgan says.

Hotch nods, “I thought so too.”

“April was just a kid,” Prentiss says, “And to go through a trauma like that, I’m sure she believed whatever the police fed her. And to see him be released from prison like that… I hate to say it, but it could have been the trigger.”

Penelope’s shaking her head, “No, no, you guys don’t really think April did this, do you?”

Everyone’s silent for a moment and then Morgan speaks, “Baby girl, if she’s innocent, we’ll prove it. But we can’t rule out the possibility that she did this just yet.”

“I know April hasn’t been here that long,” Garcia says, “But she is still a part of this family. You can all treat her like an unsub, but I won’t.” She finishes and marches out of the conference room.

Aaron sighs, “Wheels up in thirty.” He says resolutely before leaving the room.

***

Hotch walked into the police station, the team at his back and was greeted by a man about April’s age who introduced himself as Detective Fielder. “Detective, I’d like to speak to my agent.” Hotch demanded after shaking the man’s hand.

The man shrugged, “Sorry, sir. My partner’s in there with her. She’s stubborn as hell. I went to school with her, you know it’s a shame the way her family died but… must’ve knocked a screw loose or somethin’. She ain’t ever been the same.”

Aaron thought it over, killers had made their way into the bureau before. Not like this, though. Not under the nose of his whole team. April kept to herself, but she had joined this team less than a year ago, it would be overwhelming for anyone. “You misunderstand, detective. It wasn’t a request. Bring me to my agent.”

Reluctantly, the younger detective brought Hotch to the back of the station where he could already hear another man, older by the sounds of it, screaming at April.

She was staring back at him, her posture relaxed, looking more annoyed than anything. Hotch walked in and she relaxed further, only then letting on that she had been putting on a show of being unbothered for the detective, “Thank God.” April sighs, “I thought maybe they didn’t call you.”

“Are you alright?” He asks her first, unable to explain why hearing another man scream at you had made his blood boil.

“I’m fine,” She says and directs her attention back to the older detective, “Detective Barnes won’t even get me a water, though.”

“Detective Fielder, get April some water.” Hotch demands. He can feel the two men exchange a look behind him before the younger detective leaves the room. “Detective Barnes, uncuff my agent.”

“You can’t let her go, you don’t have jurisdiction here.” He growls.

“I’m not suggesting you let her go, but even if you’re right she committed a one off crime of revenge. She’s not a threat to anyone here. Uncuff her.” The detective glared at April who only smirked at him. “Now, detective.” Aaron said, firmer this time.

With a look of disgust on his face, the detective uncuffed a smiling April as detective Fielder came back in the room with a cup of water. “Thank you, Billy.” April said as the detective placed the cup in front of her. He ignored her completely.

“I’d like to speak to her alone.”

“Like Hell.” Detective Barnes spat.

“With all due respect, detective, it doesn’t appear that you’ve gotten much out of her. You’re welcome to watch through the window, but I will be questioning her. Clear the room.” They stared at each other for another few moments before the detectives both left the room. Hotch turned back to April whose entire demeanor changed. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders and slouching over the table as she rubbed at her wrists where the cuffs had been. The antagonizing behavior Hotch had just witnessed her exhibit completely vanished.

“You don’t help when you antagonize them like that.” Hotch says.

She shrugs, “The men in this town don’t like a woman who thinks she’s his equal. They never liked my attitude. They like it even less now that I outrank them. Either I act like the superior I am, even in cuffs, or they force me into submission.”

He sits down at the table across from her, “Why didn’t you tell me about your family? It wasn’t in your file.”

“Strauss knew.” April says, immediately defensive. She hadn’t lied, the bureau knew.

“But you didn’t want me or the team knowing, why?” She doesn’t answer him, just stares at her hands. “April, I can’t help you if I don’t know.” He says gently.

Finally she looks up and sighs, “When I was twelve my entire family was brutalized and murdered in front of me, but not before the unsub raped me in front of my parents. And I didn’t react the way the people of this town wanted me to. I was twelve and I was covered in semen when he left. So I showered before calling 911. I didn’t cry even once in front of anyone and I never spoke about what happened to anyone, not even the police. Only enough to tell them that I had no idea what he looked like, but I thought he was white.” Her eyes water just slightly and she doesn’t meet his eyes, “For the six years after the murders that I stayed in this town, I know a lot of people thought I did it. That I was some kind of psychopath. So no, I didn’t want it in my file.”

“You thought maybe we’d arrive at the same decision the town did.” Hotch opens the case file, “But you were never tried or even considered a real suspect. There was no physical evidence.”

She smiles sadly, “No physical evidence means nothing to a small town who’s rarely ever seen a scandal, and certainly nothing like this.”

He stares at her for a moment, “And so when Brandon Perry was released from jail, you thought he hadn’t suffered nearly enough so you came back up here and killed him.” April laughs and Hotch can see he’s made her feel antagonistic again, “This isn’t funny, April, you’re a suspect in a homicide.”

“No, Hotch, you don’t understand. It’s funny because I don’t even believe Brandon Perry killed my family and I haven’t believed that for a long long time. Which is why it would make no goddamn sense for me to kill him.”

“That’s bullshit!” The door bursts open and detective Barnes walks in.

“Detective--” Hotch stands as if to shield her and April nearly frowns at how protective he seems to be of her right now. She had seen him this way around the rest of the team, but never her.

“You told Detective Fielder when you were fifteen that you would kill that son of bitch yourself if he ever got out of jail.”

Hotch looks at April with a bit of annoyance, he hated when others had more information than him and from the second he walked in here she kept hiding things from him, not telling him the whole truth.

She lazily rolls her eyes and stares at Billy, “I was fifteen. I was angry. He cooperated with the police so he had the opportunity to get parole after fifteen years? Get his life back after I thought he had ruined mine? Yeah, I said some stupid shit, I think any kid would have.”

“When did you start to doubt that Brandon Perry had killed your family?” Hotch asks, but she’s still shooting daggers at the other detectives, “Agent, eyes here.” He says roughly, growing impatient with her.

Her eyes snap to his, “I used to lurk on support pages for people whose loved ones had been murdered and I remember seeing that this girl described… Almost exactly what had happened to my family, but she said it happened while Brandon was on trial here. She lived a couple towns over.”

“So what did you do?”

She shrugs, “Nothing, I was seventeen, I didn’t have any resources there was nothing I could do.”

Hotch sits down across from her again, leaning over the table so he’s closer to her, “You really expect me to believe, with the conviction you just said Brandon is innocent, that you didn’t look into this further?” She stays quiet and won’t meet his eyes, “I can have Garcia search your desk and computer if you’d rather do this that way.”

She leans back in her chair, rolling her eyes, “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not a fucking criminal.”

“Then tell me what you know.” Hotch says, voice raised.

“Fine! I started volunteering at the police station so I could get access to files. I was good with the digital databases, but no one else was so they basically gave me free reign. I was able to find three similar cases, all within a couple years of each other but in different cities. One of them, he crossed into New Hampshire. All of the local police departments either arrested someone like Brandon or dismissed it as a one off crime and let it go cold. The files are in my desk drawer at the BAU.”

“You carried them with you all this time?”

She picks at the cuticles around her thumb, something Hotch noticed weeks ago she does when she’s nervous. “I thought… I thought about asking you guys to just look at the case a million times. See if you saw what I saw. And if you didn’t then maybe I could finally move on.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

Her eyes dart around the room, to the detectives, the one way window, and then back to Hotch, “You guys, the team, you all have… This unbreakable bond and I… I barely just got here and I thought if I’d asked…” She sighs and runs her hands through her hair, “I just… I didn’t think you’d care.”

“The whole team flew out here at the drop of hat for you and you think we wouldn’t care?”

She frowns, “The whole team is here?”

“Yes.”

April sits back in her chair, looking dazed.

“Detectives, you’ll be releasing Agent Hunter from your custody now and since we have reason to believe there’s a serial killer loose and across state lines, we’ll be staying on the case.”

“You don’t really believe anything she’s saying, do you? She’s a psychopath!” Detective Barnes fumed.

Hotch stands and steps to the detective who immediately takes a step back after noticing Hotch’s menacing stance, “She is a federal agent and is no longer a suspect, you have no physical evidence and you just lost motive. You will speak to her with respect and if you don’t think you can handle that I’ll contact your superintendent and have you removed from the case. Is that clear?”

The detective stood back and out of their way, April looking at the ground so Hotch wouldn’t have to yell at her for antagonizing them again.

“What’s the history with you and Billy?” Hotch asks as they walk out of the room.

April rolls her eyes, “He was my high school boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Hotch muses, “You can do better.”

Before she can figure out if he was joking or not, the team realizes she’s walking of her own free will and they seem to all release the tension in their bodies. JJ walks to April first, pulling her into a hug before she can react.

April slowly raises her arms to hug JJ back, “I wish you had told us sooner.” Is all she says.

“I’m sorry you guys came all the way out here.” April addresses the team when JJ moves away from her.

“That’s okay, Hunter, we’re just glad to see you aren’t a murderer.” Morgan teases.

“We might actually be staying here for a while after all.” Hotch says.

Prentiss frowns, “Is there a case here?”

April opens and closes her mouth, “I-- Maybe.”

“Why don’t you call Garcia, ask her to get those files to everyone.” Hotch says to her quietly.

April nods and walks off.

“What’s going on, Hotch?” Rossi asks.

Hotch pushes his hands in his pockets, “The reason we were able to clear Hunter is because she has no motive. She doesn’t believe Brandon Perry killed her family and she hasn’t since she was a teenager.” He pauses, “She thinks the murders may be the work of a serial killer. She found three additional cases nearby, one crosses over to New Hampshire, that she believes are the work of the same unsub.”

Prentiss slowly nods, “And you want us to see if that’s true or not.”

Hotch nods, “I’m sure April would really appreciate our support.”

Everyone on the team is already nodding when April comes back, “So, as Penelope might say… Avengers assemble?” She asks hopefully.

Thankfully, they all laugh and nod, even Hotch cracks a smile, “Great.” April sighs in relief, “Let’s go to the conference room.”

With Garcia on a laptop screen, April tells them everything she knows, which admittedly, isn’t much. However, there are overwhelming similarities between the cases.

“Every family he chose was wife, husband, two kids. The eldest was the daughter all between the ages of 11-13 and in each case the daughter was raped and kept alive.” April was speaking as if she wasn’t speaking about herself and Hotch would be lying if he said it didn’t concern him. “In each case the parents were brutally tortured with a knife, forced to watch the rape and then killed with a fatal gunshot to the head. The boy was always killed first and it was always quick.”

“A mercy kill?” Reid muses.

April sighs, “I’ve never been able to figure that part out. It’s obvious he gets off on the rape and torture of the parents and daughter, but why not leave the boy alive the way he always leaves the daughter if it’s out of mercy?”

“It could be he thinks he’s sparing the boy the pain and trauma of having to go through the after effects of watching his parents and sister tortured.” Prentiss says.

“When all is said and done the daughter suffers the most psychologically.” Hotch says, “She could be the real target, maybe a surrogate for someone he knew.”

At this point, Hotch notices the way April is staring at the table, eyes unfocused, “Hunter,” Her eyes shoot up, “You must be exhausted, let me drive you back to the hotel so you can get some rest.”

“Hotch, I’m fine, I want to help.”

“No,” He says and she frowns, “If the daughter is the true target we’re going to have to dive deeper into victimology. Why he chose you. You don’t want to be here for that.”

Everyone’s quiet and deliberately looks away from April. She sighs, “Fine, but I’m coming back first thing in the morning.” She stands and walks out of the conference room without waiting for Hotch.

“Garcia, see what you can find about April’s childhood as well as the other victims and let us know if there’s any similarities.” Hotch says.

“It feels icky, but I’ll do it.” Garcia responds.

“I’ll be back.” Hotch addresses the rest of the team before heading after April.

They ride in silence for a few minutes, Hotch glancing over to the passenger seat every few seconds. “Whatever you want to say just say it.” April says, growing tired of the constant glances.

“You don’t have to keep working on this case like it’s any other case--”

“It’s not just any other case.”

“I know,” He says gently, “I’m worried about you. I know you bottle things up, showing emotion to other people makes you feel vulnerable, which in turn makes you feel weak. And I worry that the way you’re bottling up your rage is going to lead to you taking it out on--”

“I didn’t kill Brandon.” She says.

“I know you didn’t. But if we do find the real killer, I can’t let you come with us into the field until he’s been taken into custody.”

“Hotch--”

“It’s not up for discussion. I’m sorry.”

She sat back in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest and they continue on in silence for a while longer. “Do you think our unsub is also responsible for Brandon’s death?” Hotch felt guilty about upsetting her and thought maybe getting her brain back into work mode would stop her from giving him the silent treatment.

For a few moments he thinks she might continue to ignore him, but finally, she sighs, “It’s possible. If we think he gets off on the suffering of the daughters, he might be upset that I thought he had been caught. That I felt safe knowing he was behind bars. Killing Brandon after he was released could have been a message to me that he’s still out there and obviously following me.”

“You don’t feel safe anymore.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It was implied.” Hotch pauses, “I can stay at the hotel with you, work with the team remotely from the room next to yours.”

He expects her to refuse, but instead she agrees. “Okay.” She says quietly. This only worries him more as she is typically unlikely to accept help unless he insists upon it.

They walk up to the hotel room in silence and Hotch stands behind her as she unlocks her door, “Hey,” He says softly and she turns, “Anything you need, anything at all, I’ll be right there.” He nods his head to the door next to them.

“Thank you.” She says, giving him a small smile before pushing the hotel door open and then quickly closing it behind her.

He stands there for a moment, staring at the space she was just standing in before sighing and going to his own room.

“How is she doing?” Rossi asks when he calls the team from his room to let them know he’ll be staying there.

“She won’t admit it, but she’s scared. She thinks he might be following her and that Brandon Perry was a message to her that he’s still out there.”

“That would make sense if we think the girls are the real targets.” Prentiss chimes in.

Hotch stays on the phone with them a little while longer before they all decide to head back to the hotel. He stares at the wall that separates him from April and tries to get his mind to quiet enough to rest. He’s right here. Nothing will hurt her if he’s right here. He thought about how just last week Rossi had teased him for catching him staring at April. He had nearly convinced Aaron to ask her out. But she was so distant and hard to read and he didn’t want to chance rejection. Eventually, he closes his eyes and drifts off, an image of you smiling at him on the backs of his eyelids.

***

April was exhausted, but she stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Small noises that she never thought twice about now startled her. Hotch is next door. She reminded herself. She thought about the comment he made about Billy: You could do better. Had he been… Flirting? Aaron Hotchner… Flirting? It felt absurd. Shaking the thought out of her head, she got up and poured herself some water from the Brita in the mini fridge. Finally, after drinking the water, she’s able to fall asleep.

The breeze against her face wakes her. Slowly blinking her eyes into consciousness, she notices the balcony doors are open. Those were closed when I fell asleep, She thinks to herself and shoots up in bed, scrambling for her gun as her heart races. April considers yelling to Hotch, but if he’s still here she doesn’t want to scare him off.

On the wall at the foot of her bed reads “Welcome Home” in what looks like blood. Under it sits her favorite childhood teddy bear, head ripped clean off. She tightens her grip on the gun in order to stop the shaking and then glances around the room, but there’s nothing. Then she slowly opens the bathroom door. Pointing her gun at the shower, the curtain moves. She doesn’t hesitate she fires off four rounds, breathing hard. She doesn’t hear a body fall. Reaching out she pushes the curtain, but no one’s there.

Seconds later, Hotch is calling her name, but he doesn’t wait for a response before kicking down the door. “Hunter?” He calls again and she thinks she might hear fear in his voice. Fear for her?

“I’m in the bathroom. You can put down your gun, it’s clear.” He appears behind her a moment later, still staring at the shower, “I thought he was still in here.”

She walks around him and back out to where he left the message, “He came in through the balcony, I— I thought I locked it…” She trails off, looking at the glass of water on the table and realizing she can’t remember when she fell asleep.

“What is it?” Hotch asks.

“He was in here before. I think he drugged my water.”

He narrows his eyes at her, “We should go to the hospital then, I’ll have the team come here and treat this as a crime scene.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital, I’m fine—“

“We don’t know what he gave you or how much, besides, having you tested will tell us what he used faster than sending a sample of the water to Quantico.”

“Fine.” She agrees begrudgingly, he was right. She walks over to her bag of clothes and it’s only at this moment that she realizes she had worn only an oversized t-shirt to bed and Hotch was making a valiant effort not to stare at her legs.

“I’ll, um, I have to get dressed as well.” He says hurriedly, gesturing to the pajama pants he’s wearing. He leaves before she can say anything else. Under normal circumstances, April’s sure this would have made her laugh, but that teddy bear seems to be staring her down. She gets dressed and leaves the room without another glance.

***

April stares out the window of the SUV in silence while Hotch calls Rossi to fill him in on what happened so the rest of the team can start assessing her hotel room. When he hangs up, she feels his eyes darting between her and the road again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks quietly.

She’s quiet for a moment and then she takes a shaky breath, “That teddy bear went missing from my room a couple weeks before the murders. It was my favorite.” She swipes impatiently at the tears that start falling, “I blamed Timmy for it, we fought about it for hours. He felt so bad that I was mad at him he used his birthday money to buy me another one. I really thought he took it.” She tilts her head back in the headrest, trying desperately to stop the impending sobs.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but he reaches across the car to hold her hand. To her own surprise, she lets him, the calluses on his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on the back of her hand.

***

“What do you have, Garcia?” Hotch steps out of your examination room for a moment to accept the call.

“How is she?” Penelope asks first.

“She’s… shaken up. But, like everyone else on this team does an excellent job of seeming unaffected.”

She sighs, “My poor wonder woman. Anyway, I think I found the connection between all the daughters.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it turns out that our April was a very talented child. Her parents took her to talent shows regularly, she was voted ‘Most Likely To Make It To Hollywood’ in her middle school yearbook.”

Hotch frowns and looks back at April, “We’re talking about the same federal agent, right?”

“I know, sir, not much surprises me anymore, but this did. There’s videos of her singing all over the internet, she was on the local news, quite the young star.”

“And the other victims?”

“All singers, sir. Every last one.”

“Thanks, Garcia.”

He walks back into April’s room, “You used to be a singer.” He says.

She rolls her eyes, “So?”

“So all the other daughters were singers too.” She sets her jaw and won’t meet his eyes. She’s not surprised by this information. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“You didn’t think it was relevant that there was a connection between all of the victims?”

She sighs and she feels shame at his obvious disappointment, “I’m sorry. I’ve worked really hard to block it out, sometimes I honestly forget.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?”

She bites her lip and looks down at her hands, picking at the cuticles around her thumb again, “He made me sing while… While he raped me.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. I swear.”

He stares at her for moment and she knows he’s trying to see if she’s lying. It makes her angry at him, but also at herself. Maybe Hotch had never been as fond of her as the others, but he had never distrusted her. Just another thing the unsub had taken from her. “What song did he make you sing?”

The question is so painful to think about that she visibly flinches, “Do you really need to know that?”

“You know I do.” He says softly.

She looks away from him again, back to the cuticle on her thumb that she’s made bleed, “Like A Virgin by Madonna.”

He places his hand over hers again and she finds it almost alarming the way his touch seems to immediately calm her. “April, we won’t stop until we find him. I promise.”

She gives him a teary smile, “Will you stay with me?”

He smiles back at her, giving her a hand a slight squeeze and his smile takes her breath away, “I’ll be glued to your side until this case is over.”

***

A couple hours later they had found out that there was a classic date rape drug in April’s system: Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, or GHB. The drug is usually prescribed for narcolepsy, but it was most often obtained illegally from Mexican pharmacies which they assumed was how the unsub got it.

“I’m bringing you back to the police station so you can stay with me and the team like I promised, but you don’t have to keep working the case.” Hotch says as he drives.

“Funny that you think you can stop me from working the case.”

He smirks a bit and brings his attention back to the road.

“What do you guys have for a profile so far?” He looks over at her, frowning. “What? I know you guys have been working while I’ve been reliving my trauma so what’ve you got?”

“White male, when he murdered your family he was probably in his twenties so now we’re guessing mid thirties to early forties. The torture is consistent with a sadist. Killing an entire family is an incredibly high risk crime which suggests he’s a narcissist, but also very organized. He’s able to control four people at once without much difficulty and he’s never left a shred of physical evidence behind except on the daughters. This means he’s arrogant and--” Hotch cuts himself off.

“What?”

“You said you showered before calling 911. Why?”

“I… I told you he left… He left his semen all over me, I was just a kid, I wanted a shower--”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. Yes, you were traumatized, but every kid has it hardwired in their brain that as soon as something bad happens the first thing they do is call 911.”

“Okay, well I didn’t.”

He presses some buttons on the console of the car and then Garcia’s voice is coming through the speaker, “At your service, sir.”

“Garcia, in any of the family murders, was there a rape kit done on any of the daughters?”

“Well, surely there must have been-- Oh. No, no rape kits, not on any of them.”

“Does a police report tell you why?”

“I’m checking… and…” There’s a sigh from Penelope.

“What is it, Garcia?”

“All of them showered before calling 911.”

April is already shaking her head, “No, no that can’t be right.”

“Did any of them report why they showered before calling for help?”

“Most of them, like April, just reported that they felt icky and needed to shower, but the first one, the very first victim Katie Yates, she reported that the unsub made her shower. Like, held her at gunpoint, marched her to the bathroom, and watched. Once he was satisfied with how clean she was, he left while she was still in the shower.”

“That’s not what happened,” April says quietly, her eyes closed.

“Thank you, Garcia.” Hotch says and hangs up the phone before she can respond, “April--”

“No.” She says fiercely, “I’m telling you that’s not what happened.”

“Every other aspect of the crime is controlled and calculated, he wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving DNA all over his victims--”

“I would remember that if he did--”

“No,” Hotch says gently. He had pulled into the police station now, putting the car in park, “No, because you didn’t want to remember. Just that one memory, that one you wanted so badly to believe was your own. That he wasn’t there for the shower. But he was, wasn’t he?”

“Please stop.” She said breathlessly.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere and he puts his hand over hers, “Look at me.” She doesn’t obey immediately so he reaches up to grip her chin and gently turn her face to his. Her eyes are shining and her breathing is uneven, but his eyes are soft and she has the absurd urge to rest her forehead against his. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

She nods and swallows. “I need you to walk me through exactly what happened after the rape.” He continues. Her lip trembles, but she nods again. “Okay, close your eyes.”

“Hotch--” She whimpers.

“I’m right here. I’ll be here the whole time. You know how this goes. Close your eyes.” She takes a shaky breath and closes her eyes. “Good. He’s on top of you still. He’s just finished. Tell me what you feel, what you hear.”

“Um. I’m crying. I can hear my parents crying. His weight on me is making it hard to breathe.” She starts panicking, her breathing quickens.

“April, focus. He’s not here. You’re safe. What about your hands, what are you touching?”

“The carpet. I’m on the floor in the basement.”

“Can you see your parents?”

“Yes,” She gulps, “But I’m trying not to look at them. It’s humiliating.”

“Okay. Now what is he doing?”

“He… He kisses my neck and whispers in my ear ‘Thank you for the show’ and then he stands up.” Her breathing quickens, “He’s walking to my parents, I don’t want to watch, he’s going to kill them, Hotch--!”

“Okay, okay, come back. Open your eyes. I’m here.” His hands come up to cradle her face. She should be startled by her boss touching her like this, but she’s oddly comforted.

Her breathing finally slows, “I’m tired.” She says softly.

“I know. We’re almost done. Close your eyes again, you can do this.” His hands stay on her face as she closes her eyes again, “Okay. Your parents are dead. What does he do now?”

“Uh, I’m screaming. He’s looking at me and laughing and then he grabs my arm and pulls me up from the floor. I struggle and he puts the gun to my head and says if I don’t calm down he’ll blow out my brains like he did my parents. And then… He walks me up the stairs to the bathroom…” Her breathing becomes rapid again, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Yes you can.” Hotch’s voice is low and soothing. He believes in you, she thinks to herself, if he thinks you can do this, you can.

“He turns on the shower. I’m already naked and once I’m in the shower he starts undressing.” Silent tears stream down her cheeks and she’s distantly aware of Hotch gently wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. “He comes in the shower. He’s touching me. I’m begging him to stop. Oh, God.”

“April, stay there. He’s undressed, he’s taken the mask off, do you recognize him?”

She’s shaking her head, “I can’t… I can’t look.”

“The water’s hitting your skin, his hands are on you--”

“Stop.”

“Look up, April.”

Despite herself, she listens. She’s in that shower, significantly smaller than she is now, and she looks up to see blue eyes looking down at her. Shaggy brown hair nearly covers them, especially now that it’s wet. He has a smirk on his face and crooked front teeth. There’s a tattoo on his right arm of a cross.

“Okay, okay that’s enough, you did it.” Hotch’s voice pulls her back out and she becomes aware of the car that’s still around them and the fact that she’s sobbing. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You did so good.” She falls forward in his arms and after a moment of hesitation he wraps his arms around her, holding her until her breathing settles. It takes him a moment to realize that anyone could look in the SUV and find him in a seemingly compromising position with his subordinate and he pulls away. To his shock, she seems to look disappointed. “You ready to go inside?”

“Yeah.” She says and without another word, she gets out of the car. Hotch can’t deny that he feels like he’s done something wrong as he watches April walk into the station.

When April walks in the station, her whole team cranes their heads to watch her, but she heads straight for the coffee without looking at anyone. Hotch files in soon after.

“Is she okay?” Reid asks, the rest of the team waits for his answer.

“I just gave her a cognitive interview, I’m sure she’s upset.”

“Did you learn anything?” JJ asks.

“Yeah,” Hotch nods, “She remembers what he looks like and she identified a tattoo on his right arm.”

“We should have Garcia run that, see if we can get an ID.” Morgan says.

“Call a sketch artist as well.” Hotch looks up at where April was standing just a few moments ago to see her gone, “Excuse me.”

***

April’s hands shake so hard as she tries to pour the coffee she ends up putting it down in frustration. “Need some help?” She turns to see Billy, standing there smirking at her.

Sighing, she stands back and gestures for him to go ahead. He steps in to pour the coffee, “Pretty elaborate ruse you got going on, staging a break in at your hotel room with that teddy bear.”

She stares at him in disbelief, “You still think I did this?”

“I think,” He says, handing her a cup of coffee, “That you’re impulsive and you went to confront Brandon and you didn’t mean to kill him, but you did and now this is all to cover everything up.”

“Oh,” She scoffs and starts walking away from him, “You are delusional and a dick.”

He follows April into another room and closes the door behind them, “Open the door.” She says when she realizes she’s shut in.

“You and your stupid FBI team are making this whole police force look bad, you need to drop the investigation.”

“The cases cross state lines, we have jurisdiction.”

“Yeah, you would have jurisdiction if there was a real case, but there isn’t. You’re a pathological liar and you can’t even see it. Brandon Perry murdered your family and raped you and just can’t let it go.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch,” She walks around him to the door, but he turns quickly and places his palm against the door, slamming it shut again. “Let me out.” She says slowly.

“I’ll let you out when you promise me that you’re going to march out there and tell them that you’ve been lying this whole time and then march your pretty ass back to D.C.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll arrest you for the murder of Brandon Perry.”

“You have no evidence.”

“Oh, April, April, April. I know you know what a coerced confession is here. And I also know that you know a jury of your peers here in Maine would send you to prison for less.”

There’s a sharp knock on the door and Billy finally steps away. When she opens it, Hotch is on the other side, “Everything okay in here?”

“Just fine, Agent Hotchner. Isn’t that right April?” Billy says and grabs a strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger and tugging, exactly like he used to when he sat behind her in middle school.

April slaps her hand on his wrist and twists his arm around until he yells. “You lay a hand on me or threaten me again, I will make sure you don’t have a career here anymore. Understood?”

“You can’t--” He starts, but she twists his arm further.

“Am I clear?” She says again.

“Alright, fine!”

She shoves him away and he stumbles, nearly falling to the floor as April storms out, Hotch still standing in the doorway, watching Billy.

“I told you,” Billy says, pushing himself to standing, “She’s a crazy bitch.”

“Detective, let me make myself very clear. If you continue to harass my agent or impede on this investigation in any way, not only will I make sure you never have a career in law enforcement again, I will arrest you for obstructing a federal investigation.”

Billy shakes his head, “She’s got you all wrapped around her finger.”

“And I think your boss has you wrapped around his finger. He’s the one who arrested Brandon Perry. Seems like he would have a lot more to lose if he was wrong than you would.”

“He wasn’t wrong.”

“Then let us conduct the investigation. If it leads back to Brandon Perry, then so be it.”

“You really think she’d accept that?”

“If the evidence led us there, she would. Now stay out of our investigation if you value your job.” Hotch leaves without giving him time to respond and then tries to find April.

“Are you alright?” He asks when he finds her. She’s sitting alone at a conference table.

“I’m fine, Billy’s just an asshole.”

“There’s more to your relationship than you told me to begin with.”

She frowns, “What are you talking about?”

“You said you came up here to visit a friend. Who were you visiting?”

“I’m tired of being interrogated--”

“The reason Billy is so sure you killed Brandon Perry is because you were with him that night and then you left suddenly, isn’t it?”

April sighs and looks down at the table, “Hotch, I appreciate everything you’re doing to help, but who I was with and what I was doing that night doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t kill Brandon so please just drop it.”

He shakes his head and he looks almost frustrated with April, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he care so much about her relationship with Billy? “I don’t understand why you would waste your time on a cop like that, look at what a mess it put you in.”

She frowns, “With all due respect, sir, it’s really not your business who I’m sleeping with.”

“Why did you leave that night if you didn’t kill Brandon?”

She scoffs, “I can’t believe this.”

“Answer the question.”

She was angry with him. Practically bursting at the seams with rage. Just like every other man, thinking he’s entitled to everything about her. They all disappointed her in the end. “Billy and I had a fight and I wanted to be alone.”

“What was the fight about?”

“He wanted to be an official couple again. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

She tilts her head to the side, “Just because I’m a good fuck doesn’t mean he gets to claim me. Like you said, he’s just a stupid cop and I could do better. Now will you leave me alone?”

April recognized that look in his eyes: He was jealous. Aaron Hotchner was jealous that she had a sexual relationship with another man. And suddenly her anger evaporated and was replaced by desire. She supposed she did always have a thing for older men which she was sure a profiler would say had to do with her dead dad. Either way, she sent a smoldering glare his way until he left her alone.

When he left, she rested her head on the table in exhaustion and didn’t notice Emily had approached until she heard the seat in front of her being pulled out. She raises her head and manages a smile, “Hi.”

“How are you doing?” She asks.

“Better now that you’re here, I’m tired of all the men around here.”

She laughs, “Good. Well, the sketch artist is here and I’m sad to report that he is a man.” April groans. “But, I will stay with you if you want and then I think we’re all going to work through the night, but Hotch was talking about bringing you back to the hotel to get some rest. It sounds like you had a rough day.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “Cognitive interviews are the worst.”

As promised, Emily sits with her while she talks to the sketch artist and Hotch walks over not long after. When it’s finished, Emily gives your hand a squeeze and leaves with the sketch to pin to the evidence board.

“You should get some rest, I’ll take you back to the hotel now.” Hotch says, hands in his pockets. It was intriguing to her that he could act like he didn’t just ask about her sex life only an hour ago.

“I can’t sleep in that room again.”

“You can sleep in mine. I’ll sleep on the floor,” He adds quickly upon seeing the look on her face.

She sighs, “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, just don’t touch me.”

“Won’t be a problem.” And with the indifference in his tone, she thought maybe she had actually imagined everything earlier.

“Great.” She murmurs and gets up to walk out first.

Hotch stays behind for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and Rossi comes up behind him, “You picked a terrible time to start giving her hints about the way you feel, Aaron.”

“We’re trying to solve a case about her family’s murder and all I can think about is how pissed off it makes me to know that she’s been sleeping with someone else.”

“You’re human.”

Hotch just shakes his head and walks away.

***

“Daddy driving you home?”

The voice behind April makes her jump, her hand flying automatically to her gun.

“Woah, it’s just me April.” Billy laughs, leaning up against the station building, “You really are on edge, lately, huh? A sign of guilt or genuine fear?”

She could strangle him right here, she thinks. But instead, she reigns in her temper and leans against the wall next to him, “What about your daddy, huh? Haven’t seen him here all day. Is he too busy making wrongful arrests?”

Billy scoffs, “Yeah, and how’s your stupid little profile going? Did you find the real killer yet?”

She sighs, “You cops are all the same, think your old fashioned police work is better than profiling.”

Billy looks like he’s about to respond, but Hotch walks through the door just then, “There’s daddy, you better hurry up and get in the car like a good girl.”

Hotch barely registers what Billy’s said before April launches herself at him, fists flying. He immediately reacts, grabbing her arms, “Hunter, hey, hey! That’s enough! Get in the car.” He says sternly.

She shakes him off, but walks to the car all the same.

“Fucking bitch.” Billy mutters, drawing Hotch’s attention back to him.

“Detective, I thought I made myself clear that you were to stay away from my agent and out of my case.”

Billy steps up, eye to eye with Hotch, “This is my station, agent. Back off.”

Hotch stares him down for a few more moments, “The superintendent will be hearing from me tomorrow, at the very least you’ll be getting suspended. Maybe now’s a good time for you to clean out your desk.” And then he turns and walks back to the SUV, ignoring Billy’s curses behind him.

Once Hotch is in the SUV and starts driving away, he starts talking to April, “When you’re out in the field you represent me, you represent the team, and the whole bureau. You can’t just--”

“I don’t need a lecture right now.”

He’s surprised to hear tears in her voice and it softens him immediately, “April, I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you today.”

“You’ve only done what you need to do to solve the case, you shouldn’t apologize.”

“No, no, I… I shouldn’t have questioned you about Billy earlier. You were right, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine.” She says. First indifference, now an apology. Maybe she really had imagined everything. “I just want to sleep.”

***

Hotch works for a while by the light of the lamp when you get into bed, poring over the case files again and again, trying to figure out if they had missed anything. He’s pretty sure April is actually sleeping and once he’s sure he can’t get any more work done, he turns off the lamp and gets ready for bed.

He slips in the bed as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake her, but there’s the smallest moan that escapes her lips when the mattress shifts. A moment later, she turns over, still in sleep and slings her arm over his chest, sighing contentedly as she rests her head on his chest. Hotch freezes, unsure of how to react before slowly wrapping his arms around her in return. Her shampoo smells like peaches and vanilla and he breathes it in deeply knowing in the morning she’ll pretend this never happened.

***

When April wakes up and finds herself in Hotch’s arms, legs tangled under the sheets, she does her best not to panic. With the way they were positioned, it was clear she had initiated this which was all the more embarrassing. Lucky for her though, she doesn’t have to figure out her next move because his phone rings. She pretends to be asleep as he slowly comes to wakefulness and reaches for his phone.

“Hotchner.” His voice is husky from sleep and it sends a thrill through her and she imagines for a moment what it would be like if Aaron Hotchner was hers. Then she hears Billy’s voice in her head calling him her daddy and the moment sours.

“Okay.” He says after a few moments, “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

He ends the call and sets the phone back on the nightstand, but to her surprise, he doesn’t immediately wake her. “Are you awake?” He whispers after a few moments and she tries not to balk.

“Mmm.” Is all she manages and she keeps her eyes closed, not sure she can meet his eyes like this.

“They’ve, um… Another family was killed last night.” He tries to say it as gently as possible, but she shoots up in bed anyway, “The daughter was killed as well this time.”

She’s shaking her head, “No… No, that can’t be. She has to… She can’t be dead.”

“It’s probably a message to you.” Hotch says calmly.

She scoffs, “That’s great. A whole family’s dead because of me.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Oh, like hell it isn’t.” She says, climbing out of bed and pulling on her jeans. She doesn’t fully realize who she’s getting dressed in front of until Hotch tries to subtly avert his eyes. “I should’ve solved this case years ago. I’ve known it was serial for a while. I could have saved them.”

“You know as well as I do that thinking like that isn’t helpful for anyone.” He says, following her lead and getting dressed in front of her. The fact that they’re both acting like nothing out of the ordinary has taken place between them makes everything somehow even more intimate.

She sighs, “Let’s just get over there.” And she walks into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

***

April can feel the bile rising in her throat as her team mills around the crime scene. She’s crouched next to the girl, Layla, whose throat had been slit. She had also been stabbed too many times to be counted by the naked eye. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, but April could see the fear there. He had left her here, in front of her parents’ bodies, naked. “He went through the entire ritual, even the shower, then brought her back down here and killed her.”

“He’s always been very controlled and organized, but this last kill is full of rage.” Prentiss notices.

April frowns as she looks at Layla’s throat and notices that it almost seems to be bulging, “I think there’s something in her throat.” She pulls on her latex gloves while everyone crowds around her and then gently prys the girl’s jaw open. Reaching in, her fingers brush what feels like crumpled paper at the back of her throat and April pulls it out. Heart racing, she smooths it open.

Welcome home, April. I’d like to see the woman I’ve created. Arrive alone at the place where we first met, 20:00.

Everyone was silent as April read the note over and over after reading it aloud the first time. The word “alone” had been underlined several times. There was no threat attached to it, but April knew it was one all the same.

“We’ll have to call SWAT and let them know, we’ll also have to prepare the local police--”

“No.” April cut off Hotch, “You can’t be serious, he said to come alone.”

“April, his end game is clearly to kill you, if you go there by yourself you won’t come back out. And I already told you you’re not allowed to handle the arrest.”

“This is our one shot to get him,” Her eyes water, “This family died because of me--”

“Hunter--”

“Stop.” The tears fall down her cheeks and he wants to brush them away like he had the day before. “I won’t let this happen again, I’m going to see him by myself.”

“At least go in with a wire, we’ll stay a safe distance away.” Morgan bargained.

She shifts her attention to Morgan, to her team who are all looking at her sadly. Concern dripping heavy from their limbs. “No SWAT.” She insists, “Just this team.”

Hotch sighs and rubs a hand over his face, “You’re sure you can handle this?”

She wasn’t, but she nods anyway.

“Fine.” Is all he says before walking away.

***

Aaron is conscious of her eyes on him as he helps her put the wire on, “You steer the conversation away from yourself when you’re in there. Don’t let your guard down for a second. He’s going to try to get in your head, blame you for what he’s done. Don’t let him, just feed his ego and then call us when you’ve got him. Okay?”

“Yeah.” She says quietly.

He finishes putting the wire on and leans away from her in the surveillance van, “I can go in with you.” He says, giving it one last shot.

“No.”

He nods resolutely, “Promise me you’ll walk out of there alive.” She avoids meeting his eyes, “April.”

Finally she locks her eyes to his, “I’m scared.” She says, and her voice shakes.

It’s the first time he’s heard her admit it. He’d known she felt it, but she’d never admitted it. “Listen to me.” He says firmly, “You are not the twelve year old girl he knew. You’re stronger than him. You can do this.”

She takes a deep breath and nods, moving around him to exit the van.

“Be careful.” He says one last time and he thinks maybe she’s aware of just how worried he is about her, his eyes full of concern.

She gives him a small smile before turning away and walking down the street, rounding the last block to her childhood home, the house she hadn’t entered again since the murders. The town was small and since everyone knew what had happened there, it had never been sold.

April stands just outside the house for a minute, hand hovering just above her gun, trying to get both hands to stop shaking. Hotch believes in you. She reminds herself, recalling his words in the van. She can do this.

She’d been avoiding thinking about all his touches in the last few days. The way his rough, callused fingers felt so gentle on her face when she cried. The way he’d wrapped his arms around her in sleep, almost protectively. The way when he woke to answer his phone this morning he had absently stroked her shoulder. Did they mean anything to him or was he just an overworked, touch starved man, desperate for any sort of attention, even from her.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she headed for the door, raising her gun as she approached. The door was already slightly ajar and she pushed it lightly with the pads of her fingers. Carefully, she cleared each room, heart ricocheting against her rib cage, though she already knew where he’d be waiting for her.

After they had found the last family, Garcia had been able to ID the killer based on the sketch and the tattoo as Allen Grey. He had the usual tough past, abusive father and mother, grew up in poverty. His parents died when he was still young and his older sister was left to take care of him, and she then continued the cycle of abuse, escalating to sexual assault. It explained the mercy for the young boys and torture of the eldest daughters, but April couldn’t bring herself to feel sympathy for him.

She stood at the top of the basement stairs, could already see the lights on down there and could hear Madonna’s Like a Virgin playing on vinyl. April hated the way her body reacted, the way everything in her was telling her to run. She was a federal agent for Christ’s sake, she took down killers like this one all the time. He was no different, she tried to assure herself, he was just like the rest. And then she steeled herself, brought her gun back up in front of her at eye level, and began descending the stairs.

“There you are! Welcome home, April!” Allen says cheerfully as you point the gun at him, “Now, now, come on, I don’t have a weapon,” He raises his hands, “Why don’t you holster that gun, Agent Hunter.” He had an arrogant smirk on his face.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her finger flexed on and off the trigger, wanting so bad to just pull it and be done with it. But she knew her team was listening and this was exactly why Hotch hadn’t wanted her in the field for this. She lowered her weapon and put it back in her holster.

“That’s better. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the worn out table and chairs, “Let’s have a drink. Talk.”

She swallowed thickly, “No thank you.” She managed.

“No, come on now, April. We have to catch up!”

“Why did you bring me here?”

He smiles at her again and comes closer to her. Slowly, he pulls a knife out of his pocket and brings it up for her to see. She balks, but he quickly grabs her from the back of her neck to keep her steady and runs the knife gently over her face. “You were always so clever, April.” She keeps eye contact with him, doing her best not to show any fear. “So pretty and smart. I only followed you, after, you know? You were… number two, I believe. I chased the high I got with you with everyone after, but none of them were the same.”

“Is that why you stopped for a while after the fourth family?”

He nods, “Like I said, you were always so smart. And then I saw how you became obsessed with people like me, went to college to study criminal justice, always thinking about me. Joined the FBI because you were so obsessed with me, weren’t you, little April?”

She wanted to spit in his face, but she remembered what Hotch said about feeding into his ego, “They say you never forget your first.” She says cooly, almost seductively.

It works, an arrogant smile twists its way up his face and he pockets the knife. “All I ever wanted was to find you,” She says, slipping into character, “See those blue eyes again. I dream about them every night.” None of these statements are lies, but the tone she takes when delivering them, the sweetness she adds to it, the act she puts on makes bile rise in her own throat.

“I knew it.” He says, looking at her with newfound desire, “We’re soulmates, you know?” His words are gentle, but he grips her by the hair again and pulls, exposing her neck. “Let’s run away together, baby.”

“Okay.” She says softly, “I’m ready.”

Hotch is already ordering the team to go in, jumping out of the back of the van with Morgan. Through his earpiece, he listens closely to you. He can hear your fear in the way you’re breathing, but he’s not sure Allen is picking it up from you.

When she agrees to go with him, he spins her and shoves her against a wall, her head painfully bouncing off the cement. He laughs as she winces and then leans in to kiss her throat, “Are you going to tell your team to leave us alone?” He reaches under her shirt where the wire is and yanks it off her. “April, April, April. My clever, clever girl. You had to know I would have expected you not to come by yourself.”

He pushes himself off her and walks to the table, reaching under it and pulling out a gun that he had taped there earlier.

April’s jaw tenses as he raises the gun to point it at her head, “You won’t kill me.” She says smoothly, though she’s not sure she believes it herself.

“No,” He cocks the gun and turns slightly to aim towards the doorway, “But if Aaron Hotchner walks through that doorway I’ll kill him.”

She does her best to betray nothing, but a muscle in her jaw jumps involuntarily and he narrows his eyes at her, “Yeah, I thought you liked him.”

“I care about everyone on my team.” She says stiffly.

He shakes his head, “No. Don’t forget April, I’ve been watching you. I know your weaknesses as I’m sure you know mine and the past few days here I’ve noticed the way you look at Agent Hotchner when you think he’s not looking. But he always notices because he’s always aware of you, even when he tries his hardest not to be. So, April, I’ll give you one chance,” He hands the wire back over to her, “Tell Aaron to back off.”

Reluctantly, she takes the wire from him. “Hotch,” She breathes, “Stand down.”

Hotch holds a hand up to the team on the outside, signaling them to stand down, though he can barely hear past the roaring in his ears.

“There,” Her voice comes in his earpiece again, “Are you happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when he hears me kill you and knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”

“I thought we were running away together.”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re playing me?”

“No, I know you can’t tell when I’m playing you.” Something in April had unlocked when Allen threatened Hotch. Threatened her team. And she knew Hotch could hear them and though she had told him to stand down, he was trying to figure out another way to get to her. He wouldn’t stop until she was out of there, whether it ended with both her and Allen in body bags or Allen in cuffs. But she wouldn’t let it come to that.

“Since you’ve been watching me my whole life, you know the entire town thought I killed my own family and that I lied about the whole thing. Do you know why they thought that? Because they saw in me what my team sees in people like you.” She walks up to him, and though every instinct screams to run, she instead places a hand on his chest, “That night… you made me into you. So no, Allen,” It’s the first time she uses his name and she relishes the shock that lights in his eyes, “You can’t tell when I’m playing you.” Capitalizing on his surprise, she disarms him the way Morgan has drilled into her over and over, quickly slamming his wrist into the nearest surface and catching the gun when he releases his grip. Faster, she takes a step back from him and draws her gun as well, now pointing two weapons at him, “And I think you’ve overplayed your hand, babe.”

He raises his hands and now there’s genuine fear in his eyes, “April--”

“I’d like you to very slowly remove the knife from your pocket and toss it to the floor and if you even think about launching it at me, just know that I am a very good shot and I have been dreaming about killing you every day since I was twelve, don’t tempt me.” Her voice shakes, but this time not from fear, but from anger that she’d harbored close to her chest since the man who stood in front of her stole everything from her.

As Allen slowly does as he’s told, April hears footsteps on the stairs and is relieved when she spots another gun trained on Allen in her peripheral. Morgan begins to walk to Allen, but April stops him, “No.” She says, “I want to do it.”

He nods and redraws his gun, backing away. She holsters her own weapon and hands Allen’s gun back to Hotch without looking at him. Drawing cuffs from her pocket, she walks behind Allen who has managed to get a smirk back on his face. The sight breaks something in her and she roughly shoves him against the wall, feeling satisfaction at his grunt of pain when his face collides with the cement. She tightens the cuffs a bit more than necessary and begins stating his rights to him as she marches him up the stairs.

“I’m going to be a legend, you know? They’ll make all these dateline documentaries about me and the families I’ve killed.” He’s smiling still as April shoves him in the backseat of Billy’s police car. She’s trying not to think about the fact that he showed up here.

“Prisoners don’t look too fondly on those among them who kill and rape children, Allen, and I’m going to make sure that whatever cell block you rot in knows exactly what you’ve done. Have a nice life.” And she slams the car door.

Billy’s watching her as she does so, “I’m sorry.” He says simply.

April sighs, “I don’t care.” She says without looking at him and then walks away.

Hotch is watching her, arms crossed and frowning deeply. She stops in front of him, tilting her head to the side and noticing the concern written all over his face as he sizes her up, “Thank you for backing off when I asked you to. I know that was hard for you.”

He simply pushes himself off the car that he was leaning against and pulls her to his chest. She feels surprised for a moment, but then wraps her arms around his waist in return, breathing him in, focusing on his touch rather than Allen’s. And when the sobs begin to wrack her body, he just holds her tighter. He knows the rest of the team is watching and maybe he’ll have to explain this later, the way he rests his head on top of hers to reassure himself as much as her, but he doesn’t much care. He’d been fairly certain she was going to die in there and he’d never have the chance to tell her how he really felt.

Hotch drives back to the hotel with her sleeping in the passenger seat. The medics had checked her out and concluded that she didn’t really have any injuries, but his heart had nearly shattered in his chest when April asked if there was any way they could refill her sleeping medication. They had been unable to, but decided to give her a few doses of ambien anyway, to last her until she could call her prescriber back in DC.

“You can take as much time off as you need when we get back.” He had said as they climbed in the SUV, his too big FBI jacket wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she immediately popped the ambien in her mouth.

“I don’t need to take time off.” Was all she said before she curled herself in a tiny ball, facing the car door, and fell asleep only minutes later.

Now, he pulled into the hotel parking lot, rain falling gently against the windows and debated whether he should wake her. “April.” He said softly, gently shaking her shoulder.

“Mmm.” She murmurs and her eyes flutter. Still straddling the line between sleep and wakefulness, seeing Hotch’s face above hers prompts a small smile. “Aaron.” She says softly and reaches her hand up to touch his face.

Hearing her use his first name so tenderly sends a jolt through him, but he reminds himself that she’s sedated, albeit lightly, from the ambien. “Do you think you can walk up to the hotel room?”

She nods sleepily and he quickly gets out of the car to help her out of the other side, pulling the hood of his jacket over her head to shield her from the rain. She walks slowly because of the drug, but he doesn’t mind. And when she slides her hand down to his to intertwine their fingers, he doesn’t mind that either. When they get to the hotel room she wordlessly strips down to her underwear and climbs into bed.

He stares at her for a while, unsure if she would want him in the bed or not, and decides it’ll be safest to sleep on the couch. He begins taking some cushions off the couch when he hears her voice, “Aaron?” There was his name again. He wasn’t sure why hearing her say it had him coming undone, but he wanted her to repeat it over and over again.

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you come to bed?”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times before responding, “I was going to sleep on the couch.” She’s quiet for too long and he thinks she must’ve fallen asleep so he turns back to the couch.

“I don’t want to sleep alone.” Her voice is so quiet, he wonders if he imagined it. But when he turns back to the bed, she’s watching him, eyes full of sadness and what he thinks might also be desire. He can’t say no to her. She continues watching him as he takes off his clothes, first unbuttoning his shirt. She watches him carefully, no traces of shyness and he tries his best not to let on the way her attention affects him. He undoes his belt buckle and then pulls off his pants before walking to the bed, pushing the sheets aside, and climbing in.

She turns to him and brings their faces close enough that just another inch would have them rubbing noses together. “Why have you been so nice to me this whole case?”

It’s not what he was expecting her to say and he frowns, “It was a tough case for you that brought back a lot of trauma, why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

She shrugs, “I know you’ve never liked me the way you like the rest of the team--”

“That’s not true--”

“Aaron.” He wonders if maybe she’s caught on to the way saying his name affects him as his mouth closes immediately, “I’m not stupid, I haven’t been here nearly as long as the others and I certainly never open myself up in front of them the way the rest of you do. It’s not anyone’s fault, I’m just… Not a part of the family. But this case… You treated me the way you would treat Reid, JJ, Morgan, Prentiss… Any of them. Why?”

“The second you join this team you’re a part of this family and I’m sorry we made you feel otherwise.”

She rolls her eyes and turns her head to look at the ceiling, “Would you have shared a bed with any of them?”

Heat floods his face and he’s glad she’s not looking at him. “No.” He says and he’s sure his voice, thick with desire has betrayed him.

But April only nods, still staring at the ceiling, “Is it just because you’re lonely?”

It’s then that he realizes what she’s getting at. He hears the vulnerability in her voice, the fear there. She thinks she’s not good enough for him and it breaks his heart even further. “April, look at me.” She manages to turn her head to him and her eyes are glassy. “You have shown the last few days how incredibly resilient, intelligent, and just amazing you are. You can’t really think that the only reason I keep reaching for you is because I’m lonely.”

She smiles sadly, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

A lesser man would’ve taken this personally, perhaps groan about how she could think so little of him, but Aaron was different. He understood what she’d been through, that he could have been Superman himself and she’d still have her doubts.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to prove it to you.”

She turns her head back to him and frowns, a trace of amusement on her face, “And how do you plan on doing that?”

Hesitantly, he reaches out and strokes a thumb across her cheek, “I’d like to start by just holding you tonight, if that’s alright.”

She closes her eyes at his touch, nuzzling her face further into his palm and he melts. “I’d like that.” She says softly.

So he gently wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her to him. Her little sigh of contentment as she settles against his chest is almost too much for him to take. “Aaron?” She says after he's spent a few moments just listening to her heartbeat.

“Hm?”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever felt truly safe around.”

He feels her sadness then and he tightens his grip around her to convey that he’s sorry she feels that way, but he’s grateful for her trust. They fall asleep like that and neither attempt to move away from the other the entire night.

***

“So this is a date.” It had been about two months since they had gotten back from Maine and Aaron had been nothing but a gentleman to her. So much so, in fact, that at some points she thought he was no longer interested in her.

He chuckles, “It’s not a date. We’re meeting the team.”

“Yes, but you’re taking me,” April grins, linking her arm through his as they walk towards the bar, “So it’s a date.”

“If it was a date I would’ve done this--” Hotch spins her in front of him and abruptly kisses her. At first, she freezes, but when he gently nips at her bottom lip she moans slightly, kissing him back. As sudden as it began, it ends and Aaron is staring at her with a look of such arrogant satisfaction she wants to slap him.

“Okay, so it is a date.” She murmurs quietly as Aaron steps around her and walks away, “I knew it.”

When Aaron opens the door to the bar for her, he casually slips his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. He notes her questioning look from the corner of his eye, but just squeezes her hand in response. And instead of detaching herself from him when the team notes their arrival, she squeezes his hand in return, even when the relentless teasing from the team commences.

Aaron only slips away from her to go get them drinks and even then she looks back for him. It’s the most unsure of herself he’s ever seen her and it only broadens his grin.

“You finally did it, eh? Attaboy, Aaron.” Rossi’s already at the bar, a whiskey in hand and another on the bar that he slides to Aaron. He takes it and then orders April a gin and tonic.

“It’s just one date, Rossi. She’s still… hesitant.”

“She doesn’t look hesitant,” Rossi says, looking over his shoulder, “She hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked away from her.”

Aaron smirks, “Yes, well, I’ve discovered playing hard to get is very effective with her.” He tips the bartender and clinks his glass with Rossi before walking back over to April. When he hands her the drink, she seems to shrink into his side, taking larger gulps of her drink than he thought she should.

“Slow down,” He plucks the drink from her hand and places it on a nearby table, “Why are you so nervous?”

“Look at all of them just staring at us, I feel pressured.”

“Pressured into what, being with me?”

“Aaron, no,” She places a hand on his arm, sensing the insecurity rising in him, “I want to be with you.”

“Then what?”

She shrugs and reaches for her drink again, but Aaron covers her hand before she can, clearly expecting an answer from her. She sighs and looks up at him, “I feel pressure to be perfect because I can see on their faces how much they love you and I don’t want to fuck this up and then you all hate me because I wasn’t good enough for you.” It all comes out in a rush and she feels breathless after admitting it, her cheeks reddening as he lifts his hand, allowing her to reach for her drink.

“April, they like you just as much as they like me.” She rolls her eyes and he reaches out to tip her chin up gently with his fingers, “You could never mess this up.”

“I messed it up with Billy.”

He drops his hand, unable to hide the annoyance and jealousy on his face at the mention of Billy, “Billy was an immature boy who didn’t know how to treat you anyway.”

She smirks, “And you’re a big strong man who can sweep me off my feet at a moment’s notice?” He manages the smallest of smiles as a slow song starts playing, “Come on, Hotchner. Ask me to dance.”

“You want to dance in front of the team?”

“Well you brought me here to show me off, didn’t you?” He gives her a look like he’s offended she would even think so and she laughs, “Please?” She pouts, “Billy would dance with me if he were here.” She adds teasingly, her eyes glittering with mischief.

Hotch shakes his head at her, but he’s grinning, “You love causing trouble, don’t you?” And she laughs in response as he takes her hand and pulls her to the dance floor, letting his left hand rest gently on the small of her back, his other hand holding hers.

He twirls her around the room and with the whole team watching, he kisses her as the song ends. Their lips worked together to teach each other their own dance and for a moment, it’s just the two of them, until the rest of the team starts jeering and April pulls away, her face flushed. Aaron is still looking at her, smiling and she reaches up with her thumb to swipe at his mouth, “I got some lipstick on you.” She says quietly.

“Can I take you home?” He says finally and his voice is husky and full of want.

She wonders if he’s aware of how alluring the sound of his voice is. “Yeah.” She responds swallowing.

He leads her out of the bar after much protesting from the rest of the team, but all he wants and needs is to get April, April who’s smiling at him from ear to ear, home and in bed with him. They settle into their new relationship with ease, the team noting that they’d never seen either of them smile so much and all of April’s fears and insecurities melted away day by day.

As long as her unit chief quietly placed a coffee on her desk every morning with a sweet note attached to it, she figured she could overcome anything.

[harryimaginedstories]

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times. 

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off. 

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too. 

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day.  Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused. 

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them.  Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted. 

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed, 

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?” 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him. 

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.” 

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace. 

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek. 

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat. 

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough. 

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back. 

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up. 

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning.  Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled.  He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team. 

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.” 

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry. 

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled. 

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently. 

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?” 

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though. 

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him. 

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly. 

 “Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.” 

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment. 

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry. 

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked. 

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well. 

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them. 

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry. 

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted. 

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place.  Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway.  Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter.  Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?” 

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!” 

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.” 

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.” 

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.  

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide. 

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay. 

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together. 

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice. 

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat. 

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips. 

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain. 

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak. 

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.” 

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

*waves awkwardly* ahaha you know why I’m here😂😭 ... yet again... cliffhangers..

You’re keeping this story going singlehandedly! I’m glad for it, I’m loving writing this.

Another cliffhanger? Maybe.

Maybe a little bit.

Continued from here.

CW//None

The truck’s wheels grumbled over the overused and underkept streets of Metropolis. Once in a while, its tires would catch in a particularly jarring pothole, launching the vehicle against the force of its own suspension.

Villain couldn’t remember the last time they’d been in a car. They’d been brought to the HQ in one, certainly, a covered backseat kennel restraining their movements and eye sight in equal measure. After that... after that was the blackness. Then Hero, who was more than content keeping their dog in the facility overnight.

Thus, however long it had been since they were in a vehicle, it was far too long a period. They’d been in the facility so terribly long. There was no reason for them to be brought elsewhere, and therefore they were not.

Staring out the window, they could not help but feel as a slack-jawed child, awed by the sounds and sights of the big city. Regardless of how long Villain had spent in the metropolis beforehand-- their whole life, practically-- viewing it again after such time made them feel to be wandering through a painted memory half-forgotten.

They were free. They supposed that was the most incredible aspect of the whole thing. The door was closed, their seatbelt stretching across their body, but neither were secured. Neither were intended to keep them anywhere they didn’t want to be. If they had the impulse, they could undo the restraint, swing open the door, and be free.

Of course, they’d be swept up in moments, either by their newfound guardian or by their former captors. It was a hollow sort of freedom, but freedom nonetheless.

Better than they’d had in a long, long while.

The truck was new, the inside laden with black leather seats that had already been thoroughly ruined by golden pet hair in short order. A shiny screen replaced where most cars had dashboards, offering enough options to make Villain dizzy.

Not that they had access to it, at the moment. They were seated in the back of the vehicle, holding tight to a pillow that Spouse had sent along with them. Despite their partner’s protests, Civilian had refused to allow them to go along. Something about a low profile, about safety.

Villain missed Spouse.

Yet, this was their choice, and they were well aware of that.

The dilemma their caretakers had presented them with had kept them awake all night. Two options in sharp dichotomy. The first offered freedom, unhindered. Brought to another country and left to roam.

But, it was a conditional freedom. They would be free as long as they could keep running, keep their head down, keep out of their captor’s hands.

The other option offered the opposite. Contained protection. Shuffled around the homes of strangers, kept hidden, yet kept safe.

Even as they debated with themself, they knew that they could never take the first option. They were a pet. They could never be a stray-- they knew that. They knew how quickly they’d be surrendering themself to the closest police station they could find.

Either way, they wouldn’t stay free for long. So, they’d chosen the second. Contained protection.

Civilian turned the truck’s wheel, pulling off a main road to weave through winding residential pathways. The townhomes all seemed to be mirror images of one another, but they supposed that that was perhaps the point.

Thus, there was nothing remarkable about the home that the truck pulled up to and parked in front of. It was the classic staple of suburbia: Pale walls and gabled roof and all. The building was distinguished from its uncountable neighbors only by its number.

“I need to go talk to Friend.” Civilian began-- causing their passenger to jump. They hadn’t addressed them for the entire ride. Instead, their ear had been pressed against their phone. “Stay here, okay? It’ll only take a minute. Make sure you have all your stuff together, yeah?”

“Mhm.” Villain hummed. Outside of the safety of the home, their voice felt to have been sucked dry from their throat.

With that, their caretaker popped open the driver’s side door, hopping out to the asphalt below. On their seat, they left their cellphone-- which Villain noted to still be on. They moved with a paranoid gait to the front door, glancing around every few moments. This behavior only heightened when they rang the doorbell, waiting in silence for a few moments.

When Friend at last emerged, they had just as much nerve about them. Why were they taking all this risk, all for the sake of an enemy of the city? They seemed tense enough to startle at a pin dropping.

The two disappeared within the building.

It was okay. The car was locked, and no one was around, anyways. Everything was going to be okay.

Though, it was difficult to convince their paranoid mind of such a thing. Instead, they attempted another tactic: Distraction.

Villain glanced to the seat beside them, and the bag upon it. They had no need to make sure everything was still in it-- they hadn’t even touched it yet--but it still made them feel better. Pulling the bag close, they fished through its contents. Candies, books, and stim toys filled the thing practically to the brim.

So odd, to be given a gift. Spouse had put it together for them. Cautiously, they took out one of the candies, beginning to peel back its wrapper.

A voice startled them from their distracted state.

“You weren’t followed?”

For a few moments, the vehicle’s passenger scrambled about, scrabbling to find the source of the noise. Yet, the street was as deserted as ever.

“No. It’s not my car, either, it’s my partners. No one was behind us. I made sure of it.”

Civilian’s voice.

Villain’s eyes snapped to the darkened device, laying atop the driver’s seat. Civilian’s phone. With as much care as they could manage, they undid their seatbelt, slowly, slowly creeping towards the device.

With a single finger, they touched the screen, igniting the phone to life.

The call. It was still going. They must have forgotten to hang up.

And Friend’s phone was inside...

They sat with bated breath as the cellphone began, once more, to speak.

“Good.” A relieved exhale. “You have no idea how paranoid I’ve been.”

“Oh, no, I think I have quite a good idea, actually. You should look in a mirror. You look terrified.”

“I do?” A nervous chuckle.

“Mhm.”

“Oops.”

“It’s fine. If everything goes according to plan, it won’t matter. No one will know to look here in the first place. Besides, even if they do, we have backups, remember?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“I think we all are.”

“So... they’re really out there? #4? I didn’t think we’d ever see them again.”

“Neither did I. But some of us have partners who wind up in the wrong places at the wrong times.”

“Yeah. Yeah, who could have ever expected this, huh?”

“No one in their right mind. We should get them in here soon, though. Do you have everything ready?”

“Yep. Room’s all set up, I got curtains to cover the windows.”

“Good. I can’t thank you enough for this, Friend.”

“It’s the least we can do, I guess.” A brief pause sat between the two. “They aren’t... dangerous, right? I mean, I’ve never dealt with a failed attempt like this before...”

“They aren’t.” Civilian reassured. “They don’t remember us. And my partner packed all kinds of stuff to help keep their mind off of it. What matters is keeping them safe.“

“And calm.”

“And calm.” They agreed. “Let’s bring them in, I don’t want them to get any stupid ideas out there.”

The voices began to fade, little by little. Villain’s gaze whipped upwards, just in time to see the front door opening. Biting their tongue, they clicked ‘hang up’ on the phone as quickly as they could manage.

They didn’t remember...

What didn’t they remember?!

[bau-baby]

doctor’s order’s

spencer reid x gn!reader

word count: 1094

warnings: none :)

A/N: This was really fun to write, but Spencer goes a little OOC towards the end. Still really fun to write, hope you enjoy!

You had recently been ordered by a therapist to ‘step away from your desk and do something fun for once.’ That landed you mindlessly driving through D.C., hoping to have something just jump out at you. You had just about given up and were about to call in to see if Emily needed you at the BAU when you saw an infamous mop of curls and a strikingly familiar purple scarf.

All your therapist said was to step away from your desk, she didn’t say anything about doing anything with work friends. But Spencer was always more than a ‘work friend.’ It was clear to the many profilers who saw you interact with each other on a day-to-day basis. If they can see it, why can’t you two? 

You try to catch up with the tall genius, but with your small steps and his long strides, it’s no use. So, you opt for a different tactic to get Spencer’s attention.

“Spence! Spencer!” You call, getting weird looks from passerby’s on the street. 

You know the image of you and Spencer is that of a funny one. You, speed walking and calling for someone who could be mistaken for one of the very light posts that lined the sides of the street.

You look crazy.

Not the point, nor the time.

Spencer finally turns around, a look of recognition and a smile morphing his face into what you know as everlasting comfort and timelessness. You return the smile, finally getting a chance to catch up to him.

“So what’s the boy genius doing away from his desk on a Saturday afternoon?” You ask, stuffing your hands into your front pockets.

“Therapist’s orders. I have to get out and do something outside of work, something fun,” He says, reciting every word of what he was told.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist and she said the same thing! What are the chances?”

You expected Spencer to actually tell you the chances of it, and he almost does. Instead, he opts to just smile and laugh to himself softly, you do the same. 

He eventually tells you the chances of two people getting the same orders from two different medical professionals, and you go ahead and backlog that stat in the back of your brain as you listen intently. 

You had picked up a habit of doing that more recently, just so that you can go and look up more things later, and possibly write it down. You’ve always loved Spencer’s ramblings, and have learned over time how to keep up with everything he talks about. 

It’s one of the many things Spencer loves about you. Instead of cutting him short or tuning him out, you follow his train of thought and have a good conversation with him. The rest of the team doesn’t know how you do it, and is in awe when they see you two continually bounce off one another during conversation.

As you are walking, Spencer rattles off more facts about historical landmarks in D.C., and tells you many interesting things about The Smithsonian. You finally make it back to a park you know to be near Spencer’s apartment, and walk along the sidewalks as you continue talking and rambling with one another.

“Do you want ice cream?” Spencer asks, eyeing the ice cream truck parked at the curb about 20 yards in front of the both of you. You turn to him and nod, identical smiles on your faces. 

As you both order your ice cream, Spencer gets onto the history of ice cream, and you listen with the softest of smiles on your faces. When you both get your ice cream, you continue walking down the sidewalk. 

“Today… is the most normal, fun day I’ve had in a while Spence. It’s been really nice,”

Especially since you spent it with him.

Shut up.

It’s the truth!

“Yeah, it was really nice for me too. I’m glad you found me, otherwise I might’ve just called into work,” Spencer says, a laugh bubbling up at the end of his sentence.

“I was honestly about to do the same thing. Work takes up all of my time, so being away just feels weird. But at least I had a familiar face, right?” You say, looking up at the tall genius as you walk.

What you notice too late is the uneven sidewalk, which causes you to surge forward, falling. You brace for impact, but feel a pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you back upright. You recognize the old wood and book smell to be Spencer.

He smells like cinnamon.

Not the time.

You laugh, looking up at Spencer.

“Uh, I’m really sorry. I know you, uh, aren’t a fan of touch. Thank you, though” You say, taking a small step back, still in Spencer’s embrace.

“It’s really okay. You should be more careful, you know. Wouldn’t want you tripping anywhere else,” He says, a playful smirk making his way to his face. With the implications, you notice it to be a little out of character.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be sure of that, doc,” You say, a tiny smile playing at your lips. 

You see Spencer’s eyes flick to your lips, and you copy the action.

Loving where this is going.

You have terrible timing.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Spencer says, eyes searching for you face for any sign of anything.

“I think I’d enjoy that,” Spencer smiles, rolls his eyes lightly, and leans in.

And you hate the cliché, but when Spencer leans down to kiss you, it feels like the world stops. Spencer had a warmth about him, and that very feeling courses through you, from your head to your toes, and it zings to your fingertips. 

You put your hands on his shoulders, and his fall lower on your waist. Breath is stupid thing, but nevertheless, a necessity. You pull apart, equal smiles on your face.

“Would you want to go to dinner sometime?” Spencer asks you, his eyes trying to read for any sign that you didn’t like what was happening.

“I’d love to, Spence,” You say, moving your hand to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I think, for now at least, I’d like to kiss you again,” Spencer says, and his smile grows on his face.

“Doctor’s orders?” You say coyly, the little smile pulling at your lips.

Spencer rolls his eyes, leaning in again as you two stand on the sidewalk.

You could get used to this.

[hotchscotchh]

We Are Definitely on a Date Right Now

Hey y’all! @peachpitfics​ gave me the idea to do this and I needed an excuse to write something other than angst :)

If you would like to be asked to my tag list, send a reply/ask/dm!

Summary: Sequel to “Are We on a Date Right Now?”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Aaron Hotchner

Warnings: lots and lots and lots of smut

Word Count: 1.3k

Tagging: @peachpitfics​ @wheelsup​ @cloudy-reid​ 

Read on AO3

The original

 Aaron and Spencer had waited six months to tell everyone about their relationship. They had wanted to keep it quiet so they wouldn’t have to deal with Strauss and the fraternization rules until they were ready to. When their relationship was stable and they decided they were ready to tell the team, they were shocked (though they shouldn’t have been, it’s a team of profilers for god’s sake) that the team already knew (except for Rossi, he had found out months ago and helped them hide it ever since). In fact, there had been a bet going as to how long they’d been dating. JJ won. They all shared the story of how each and every one of them had found out.

Rossi

David Rossi was the first to find out, obviously. They’d had a weekend off about four months ago. Rossi had decided he would treat himself to a nice dinner out at his favorite Italian restaurant. He also may have recommended Aaron take his date there, and he was curious who it was. Aaron had asked him for the recommendation anxiously, which was out of character from him. It wasn’t like Aaron to be nervous about going on a date unless it was someone he really cared about. David had tried his hardest to get information on who it was, but his attempts were futile.

He was utterly shocked when he arrived at the restaurant and saw Spencer Reid basically sitting in Aaron’s lap. Instead of sitting at his own table and watching from afar, he made his way over to the table the pair were at to question them.

“Aaron,” Rossi made his presence known as he sat down across from them.

The two men jumped apart, Reid bumping his legs on the underside of the tabletop and spilling some of their drinks. Reid turned and looked to see who had interrupted them. When he realized it was Dave, he jumped again and slid off Aaron’s lap, sitting next to him, blushing, and smoothing down his shirt. The pair were panting.

“Dave,” Aaron acknowledged. “Did you need something or are you just here to spy on me?”

“A little of both, actually I first came to spy on you, but now I have questions.”

“Proceed,” Aaron sighed, waving his had.

“How long has this been going on?”

Spencer answered this time. “About two months. Don’t worry, he’s not holding anything over my head.”

Rossi chuckled. “I wouldn’t think so lowly of him.”

“Anything else, Dave? I’d like to get back to my date,” Aaron replied, obviously trying to usher Rossi along.

“Of course, I just be… over in that direction somewhere,” Rossi said standing and waving his hand vaguely. He spent a long time thinking that night.

JJ

JJ didn’t mean to find out. She had walked into Hotch’s office one day to find the two men sharing a brief and intimate kiss. She was momentarily stunned but they hadn’t noticed her, and she was unwilling to make her presence known. So, she backed out of the doorway and around the corner and waited a few moments before stepping back in to find both men seated in the chairs on either side of the desk discussing files.

“Hotch,” JJ said with hesitance. “We have a case.”

Aaron nodded. “Have everyone meet us in the round table room.”

She nodded back and walked off to let everyone know there was a case. Once everyone was seated in the conference room except for Hotch and Reid, JJ allowed herself to think. She was a little upset that her best friend, her little brother, the godfather of her son, didn’t tell her about his relationship. She reasoned with herself though. The relationship was probably new. There were fraternization policies. The stigma around gay couples in this FBI is high enough, forget about it being with your superior. So, when the pair finally found their way to the briefing, she pushed the encounter to the back of her mind and cleared her face of emotion, forgetting about it for the time being.

Prentiss and Morgan

They were on a case in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania when they noticed. Derek had noticed that the two men had grown closer over the past few months, and he had pointed it out to Emily. There were shared looks and Reid had begun allowing Hotch a casual hand on the shoulder, or a ruffle of his air which was something usually only himself and JJ could get away with. On this case though, it was different. On the plane, he noticed the pair sitting on their couch together, their thighs pressed into each other’s when there was a lot of room left on the couch. They had no reason to be that close.

“Prentiss,” Derek whispered, pointing at Hotch and Reid, “are you seeing this?”

Emily looked over and Derek looked back, but the pair had moved apart.

“Seeing what, Morgan? Hotch and Reid sitting on a couch?”

“I swear to god they were just- you know what? Never mind. It was nothing.”

Later, in the police station, Morgan began paying closer attention to his boss and best friend. He noticed longing glances between the two, Hotch’s hand lingering on the small of Reid’s back for longer than would be socially acceptable for two friends. Every time he noticed it, he tried to point it out to Emily, but every time, by the time she looked over, they were acting normal, like nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until they case was solved and they were spending their last night in the hotel that their suspicions were confirmed. Derek and Emily were sharing a room. They’d had to pair up again. JJ was back in Quantico helping Garcia, Rossi claimed a single room because “I’m the oldest,” (none of them objected, Rossi snores) and Reid had gone with Hotch, claiming he wanted to talk about the newest paper he was writing.

This particular hotel had balconies. Morgan and Prentiss had raided the mini bar in their room and taken their findings to enjoy on the balcony in the warm summer evening. They didn’t realize, though, that Hotch and Reid were doing the same a few rooms over, just without the alcohol. Derek and Emily’s conversation had come to an end and they were enjoying the relative silence of the night when two familiar voiced wafted over to them.

“I love you, Aaron.”

“I love you too, baby. I can’t wait to go home and see Jack.”

Derek shot straight up and whispered, “Emily, you can’t tell me you didn’t hear that.”

Emily looked over at him, equally as shocked. “I guess you’re not going completely crazy, Derek.”

Garcia

Penelope found out in a completely unexpected way. She had been nestled in the corner of a quiet café, reading a racy romance novel she had found in a thrift store and drinking a piping hot cappuccino when in walked Aaron and Jack Hotchner and Spencer Reid. She didn’t notice them until Aaron’s loud, assertive voice floated out into the room when he ordered for the three of them.

She “hid” behind her book, hoping to spy on the trio, curious about what they were doing together. She was excited when they had sat at a table close enough to her that she would be able to hear some of their conversation, but they were facing away from her so she could stay hidden.

She was surprised when Aaron and Spencer sat very close to each other with Jack across from them. She heard Spencer ask Jack about how his week was at school and almost spit out her coffee when Aaron slid his arm around Spencer’s waist. She was even more surprised when Spencer didn’t pull away but leaned into Aaron’s shoulder and turned to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Garcia spent the rest of that day lost in a world of slashy fantasies (that were definitely not appropriate, especially considering who they were about).

[azure-bliss]

shinran oneshot

Fandom: DC

Pairing: Shinran

Excerpt: 

“Shinichi,” she whispered, warm blue orbs losing focus as she looked at him, though her smile remained. She rose her hand to caress his cheek (she’s so, so cold). “You found us.”

Her chapped lips met his, and then, “Arigato.”

A/N: I swear that this was supposed to be fluffy but brain said nope, angst-infused it is. Also, I’m no expert in medicine nor the Japanese police system, even criminology for that matter. Spare me. Enjoy!

Day 9

“I should write a book.”

Shinichi’s first instinct was to snort, as he was reminded of Kogoro-ojisan’s—who he should really be calling otousan nowadays—intention of becoming a mystery novelist, much like his actual father. Kudo Yusaku had made millions writing his thrillers, and today, years after the older Kudo patriarch decided to publish his final novel, he was still adding money to the Kudo fortune.

Perhaps his mother playing the titular character in one of Night Baron’s spinoff adaptations, Lady Baron, played a huge factor too. His parents were weird that way, almost like a tag-team, because the moment Kudo Yusaku announced his writing retirement, Kudo Yukiko came out of hers.

It was as if they thought that the world could not handle more than three (he was pretty sure his popularity was on par with his parents, despite his lack of big screen appearances) famous Kudos at a time.

“Finally jumping on the full Kudo experience?” he teased, adjusting himself on the hospital bed where his wife sat, left arm wrapped around her whole frame, right palm covering hers.

Eyes focused on the little bundle in her arms, she hummed before answering, “A best-seller for sure.”

As if on cue, their newborn squirmed before revealing twin orbs that matched his mother’s, unfocused eyes looking up to the woman who went through hell and back prior to his birth.

“Anata,” she called, her tired voice laced with a hint of excitement. “He’s beautiful.”

 Day 1

He stood in an abandoned room of an equally abandoned motel located just 50 km on the outskirts of Tokyo, the very location that had him and nearly the whole Tokyo Metropolitan Police Taskforce wrecking their brains and exhausting their resources to find. The identified suspect was one Seisaku Miyazaki, a serial rapist and killer with a tendency for flairs. The 27 crime scenes he left always had distinct blood splatter to them, resulting from either gunshot wounds straight to the temple, or intraoral ones.

Shinichi had never seen a crime scene so gruesome in his life.

As soon as Shinichi stepped into the room, the first thing he should have registered was the blood-spattered left wall and Seisaku’s limp and lifeless body on a chair in the same left corner, his riffle trapped in between his legs.

Instead, Shinichi’s frantic eyes zeroed on the figure on the bed in the middle of the room, merely 10 feet away from Seisaku’s body. The woman had her back against the headboard with an ungodly amount of blood running down her bottom half, arms cocooning a small bundle wrapped with a violet-colored cardigan—the same one she was last saw wearing before her disappearance.

She had her eyes on her baby, as if the newborn was the only person who mattered, seemingly unbothered by the chaos unfolding before her. It took the lead detective a full five seconds to notice that the newborn—oh God, their newborn—was not crying.

He was beside her in her flash, holding her tighter than he should. His wife was again, unbothered, but he noticed that she closed their baby more to her semi-naked chest. The cuts and bruises on her face and torso did not go unnoticed by him. All of Seisaku’s victims had the same markings, but unlike those women who bled from their heads, she was bleeding from bottom down.

Kudo Shinichi screamed for the medic.

It was only then did he hear a soft cry, and he released a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Anata,” she called, finally removing her gaze from their son to look at him “He’s beautiful.”

Her face was pale and hollow, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her eyes and the gentleness of her smile.

His heart both bloomed and broke for her.

“Ran,” he choked out the name he’d been desperately calling for the past few hours. “You’re going to be okay.”

When the medic team finally appeared, his wife first handed the closest medic the baby, “Take care of him, onegai,” she requested, sounding too much like a plea. “He’s a good boy.”

Releasing her son’s warmth, the brunette fell back onto her husband, who caught her naked shoulders, throwing her full weight onto his.

“Shinichi,” she whispered, warm blue orbs losing focus as she looked at him, though her smile remained. She rose her hand to caress his cheek (she’s so, so cold). “You found us.”

Her chapped lips meet his, and then, “Arigato.”

With a sigh of relief, she shut her eyes, and rolled limp further into her husband’s embrace.

Shinichi’s world stood still, the only things registering in his mind were his wife’s cold body, and their newborn’s loud cries in the distant.

 Day 8

She was in pure fight mode, forcing her body to function and conscious to stay awake. Once she knew that her child was safe, all the injuries and agony finally caught up to her, and she welcomed the numbing darkness.

The last thing Ran remembered was Shinichi’s rapid heartbeat drumming her ears.

The new mother woke up a week later, on an unfamiliar bed, to the familiar but tormented eyes of her husband.

“Baby,” she mustered breathily, and her husband’s eyes all but softened.

She knew that they were safe.

   Day 10

It was another two whole days before she was deemed fit enough to hold her newborn.

“Anata,” she beams, “He’s beautiful.”

“He is,” the Heisei-Reiwa Holmes agreed. “The brat gave the doctors and nurses a fright with his fever, would not stop crying too.”

If his wife was worried, she did not show it. “Is that true?” she cooed, “But you’re okay now, aren’t you sweetheart? Your Papa found us after all.”

Day 0

Kudo Ran did not fit Seisaku Miyazaki’s victim profiles by the slightest. The females he preyed on were usually late teens to early twenties, lived alone, physically petite, and had questionable practices in their private lives.

Or, in the words of Seisaku himself, whores.

Catching the serial killer had been the detective’s top priority, with the death count at 27 and the most recent killings at the heart of Tokyo, it was one of the most challenging cases for him to date.

With half of the murders in Tokyo and the other half in Osaka, it was a no brainer for both Detective of the East and West to join hands, special taskforces from Tokyo and Osaka rallying under their (unofficial) command. The investigation had been ongoing for more than four months before special unit finally made a definite progress, being able to identify a potential victim, shadowing her day and night, coming in to save her just in time from being abducted, and arresting Seisaku’s paid minion.

Genzo Okubo was no Seisaku, the two detectives figured. The latter was confident, methodical, a true psychopathic mastermind, yet the man they caught fumbled with his words, sweated profusely, and most importantly, had little loyalty as he quickly confessed to everything.

The unit rejoiced, but Shinichi and Heiji knew that it was too simple, as if Seisaku wanted Gento to be caught.

By the time they were finished with the guy, it was already 2 a.m.

The lack of miscalls from him wife caught him off guard.

He tried not to panic, reasoning to himself that Ran was probably at her parents’, fell asleep, and his in-laws forgot to inform him. After all, it would not be the first time this had happened. If anything, the Mouris had not stopped fussing over their daughter, and with this case constantly on his mind, Shinichi had not really been the doting husband and father-to-be that he ought to be. Their six-year-old twins were away with his parents somewhere in New York, the elder Kudo couple wanting to give the once-again new parents space to get ready for the youngest Kudo’s arrival.

Halfway through dialing Eri’s number (because his mother-in-law was a light sleeper), Heiji burst into the break room with a suspicious package in his hands.

“Kudo,” the dark-skinned detective panted, as if he just ran up flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator, “that bastard’s got Nee-chan.”

Inside the package were two things: a picture of a very pregnant Kudo Ran, blindfolded and gagged, and a lone platinum wedding band.

  Day 10

“He panicked.”

“Hmm?”

“Seisaku-san, he panicked.” His wife stated, the name of her kidnapper rolling of her tongue like she was mentioning a student of hers. “I started having contractions, started bleeding too. He mumbled something about ‘not following his plan’.”

Shinichi rose his brows, puzzled by Ran’s statement, but he let her continue.

“I think,” she paused, readjusting her hold on their son when they boy started to writhe, “that he was halfway out when Seisaku-san decided to shoot himself.”

Her voice was cool, too indifferent, and deep down, Shinichi knew that his wife may be scarred for life.

“Three sounds,” she gulped then snickered. “Me screaming during the final push, the baby’s cries, and the riffle going off.”

Shinichi held her tighter.

“His blood was everywhere, Shinichi. On the walls, the carpet, the bed, my face,” There are now cracks in her voice, the memories flooding her overwhelmed mind as she remembers it all again, “On our baby boy.”

“Ran…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. His wife and son were alive, but the trauma she went through was something he wished on no one, not even Seisaku himself.

“I didn’t want him to get cold, so I wrapped him with my cardigan. Not the most hygienic, I know, but I didn’t exactly have many choices,” a chuckle. “He locked the door, so I couldn’t escape, and I couldn’t exactly kick the door open, my energy was spent on giving birth. So, I started breastfeeding the baby, burping him…making sure he was alive long enough for you to find us.”

Something in him shattered even more.

Ran averted her eyes away from their son to look at her husband, their faces only a few centimeters apart.  There were no tears in their eyes, the pain and regret that remained in their hearts too crushing to be expressed by mere crying. “I’m safe, our boy is safe, because you found us. None of this is your fault, so please, Anata,” she kisses him before continuing, “don’t blame yourself.”

Shinichi could not imagine what life would be without her. She was his wife, partner, lover, best friend, soulmate, the mother of his children, his world, his everything.

“Okay,” he promised simply, capturing her lips for a second time before kissing her forehead. “I love you.”

He felt her smiling into his neck, and at that moment, nothing was wrong; they were whole.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, savoring the peaceful yet short time they had with their baby boy before one of the nurses took him away for the night.

    Day 11

 “Your book,” Shinichi remembered far into the night. “What are you going to write about?”

A mischievous look twinkled in Ran’s eyes, and the man knows that his wife will heal just fine. “Kidnapped 101.”

- end

A/N: Nope, not their firstborn. And I also imagine that Ran has had her fair share of getting kidnapped so might as well write a book on it lmao. 

[yyparkq]

meraki 

([may-rah-kee] GREEK 

(n.) to do something with your soul. Creativity, or love; to put something of yourself into your work)

word count: 8,706

pairing: jaebeom x reader

a/n: part of got7 alive fest on twitter. you may also view this on ao3! :)

“Can I buy you a drink?” you offered enthusiastically as you slide beside the man who doesn’t pay any attention to the girl on his other side. The woman glared at your boldness and stomped away when her subject instantly tilted his head to your direction. Trying to hide your own thumping heart, you smiled at his incredulous expression.

After living as a hermit for a few years and squeezing all the creative juices out of your brains onto literary masterpieces, you finally decide to venture out again to your old world. When asked for a recommendation, your agent/best friend didn’t miss a beat telling you about the upcoming party being thrown by your common friends in college—an unusual bachelor party and bridal shower in one. Hearing all the possible details from her made it sound twice more interesting and fun. Before you even knew it, you were nodding your head in excitement and confirming your attendance at the upcoming event. The timing was perfect. You had your scheduled flight earlier on the day of the party, so you could go straight there. The thought of finally seeing your college friends after five years excited you, but above all, you were yearning to see one specific person you dearly missed—Lim Jaebeom.

You had been studying his profile—one you’d recognize anywhere—ever since you entered the party. It’s almost as if he never changed except for his seemingly wider shoulders and longer hair. You smiled at the thought of him still being so fond of casually donning the most basic clothes that otherwise fit the occasion. That, and yet he still managed to pull it off and stand out from the rest of the crowd. Like how he’s wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and slacks that looked way too stiff for a guy to wear at a party. His now long hair slightly unkempt and falling on one side of his cheek.

To say he was surprised is a huge understatement. The last thing he could have expected from Mark’s party is the presence of a woman who dropped him like a hot potato without a single word five years ago, now materializing in front of him and striking up a conversation as if it was yesterday. A tinge of betrayal crept into him as he realized his best friend didn’t bother giving him a heads up about your attendance. He could have prepared a more controlled reaction than a pair of wide eyes and mouth agape with astonishment. Pulling himself together, he looked back at you with a more reserved gaze.

Unconsciously, you bit your lip and broke the eye contact, feeling your cheeks warm but thankful for the dimness of the place at the same time. You never expected his gaze to still have the same overwhelming effect on you even after almost a decade of knowing him.

You cut the eye contact and turned your attention to the bartender in front of you instead, requesting for your usual drink to keep from further making a fool of yourself in front of Jaebeom.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to try that phrase at least once,” you laughed after the bartender slides you your glass. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”

Jaebeom clicked his tongue and took a sip from the half-empty glass in his hand. His sheer annoyance was evident in the way he twisted his wrist and set down the glass abruptly on the counter. As if trying to say something, he looked at you and opened his mouth but was cut short when your friend Wheein screamed your name on the top of her lungs and made her way to your seat.

“Mark is looking for you!” she shouted after putting an arm on your shoulders in an attempt to sweep you to the direction where she came from. You rolled your eyes at her and stood firm in your seat, refusing to be dragged by her strong arms. She tilted her head in question before looking over to the guy seated beside you and instantly grasped the situation. “Oh,” she gasped softly when she recognized Jaebeom. “Look for Mark after you’re done here, he’s in one of the tables at the corner, making out with his bride. Seriously, doesn’t this completely defy the very reason for bachelor’s parties and bridal showers?” she added to which you only answer with a sarcastic smile and a nod. She looked back at the guy beside you and winked before disappearing back into the sea of dancing people.

Despite the blaring music at the party, you and Jaebeom sat in complete silence. Neither of you attempted to start an empty conversation. The situation reminded you of one of the hundred things you used to like about being with him—for you, words and silence both held equal meaning. Though, sometimes words can betray someone twice more than a short silence can.

Growing up, you witness your parents spend most of their downtime doing their individual hobbies while still being together at the same time. Your mom solving her crossword puzzles while your dad watches his favorite crime and murder documentaries on cable tv. The comfortable silence between them has always been a pleasant memory and has been an important factor in most of your relationships.

A walking paradox. That’s what you are. For someone who believes in the power of silence, you also find comfort in expressing yourself through words. Your eloquence never dimmed as you grew up. The delicious combination of you being able to speak your heart out and listen attentively to the other party at the same time built a character that everybody around you loved to be with.

As an only child of a wealthy family, you grew up getting all the love and attention you needed from your humble parents. You were a vivacious child who was ready to face everything and chase her own dreams, thanks to your family who would always tell you to go after whatever made you happy. And even if it turned out to be something that wasn’t for you in the end, at least you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering how things could have been if only you tried when you had the chance to. So when you first laid your eyes on an unfamiliar guy sitting in one of your elective classes in college, you knew you were in for a long ride.

Jaebeom’s presence always demanded attention no matter which room he was in. When he sat in front of you for the first time in one of your boring classes after spring break, you are quick to notice the curious stares and discreet glances from your own classmates. Recognizing the possibility of the competition being high, you wasted no time trying to get to know him and introduced yourself right after your class ended.

“Ah, the attentive girl,” he said when you followed him to the hallway and made your existence be known to him.

You smiled brightly, glad that your efforts in answering the professor’s questions correctly during class left a good first impression on him. He offered you a small smile, one that hardly reached his eyes but still made your heart flutter for the very first time. You were expecting to learn his name in exchange but instead, he only walked past you.

At the party, Jaebeom briefly glanced at the approaching guy behind you and sighed.

“This is nuts! Y/N, you really are here! I thought Wheein was just fucking around when she said she brought your ass to our party!” Mark exclaimed, wrapping you in an enormous embrace and ruffling your hair in the process. “Where the hell have you been to? We didn’t hear a single word from you since college. Are you married yet?”

Your eyes rolled at his accusing tone and giggled, briefly glancing back at Jaebeom who was also waiting for your response. “I’m not answering that, Tuan.”

Mark slapped the other guy’s back and whispered something in his ear which he responded with a creased forehead and confused eyes back. Mark laughed and turned his attention to you, showing you the way to the bigger table where everyone else from your common circle had gathered. One last look at Jaebeom’s unamused expression and you let the former guy lead your body, unaware of the latter trailing behind you to join the table.

Five long years you spent living away from your family and friends, justifying the need importance of exercising your independence and trying to hone your skills and interests by taking a literary degree overseas. At some point, you did want to pursue a career in writing. It was your childhood dream, after all. But it wasn’t the only reason you endured half a decade away from the closest people of your life and stepped out of your comfort zone. The moment you decided you wanted to start again, you knew the main reason is to run away from the guy who repeatedly broke your heart. And now that you’re back, you are determined to show a different version of yourself to everyone. One that is no longer naive when it comes to love and to life. You’re fairly confident you’re more than ready to play your part in this new beginning.

Some say we don’t get to choose who we love, but you beg to differ. When you’re stubborn and you love to prove people wrong, it doesn’t come as a surprise when you have chosen to give your all to Lim Jaebeom the moment you laid your eyes on him. Chasing someone for years in this time and day should qualify for modern martyrdom. Jaebeom is one tough nut to crack especially when romantic relationships and commitments don’t exist in his world. That much is known to you but you did not give up, relentlessly bugging him every time you got a chance just to be together—even if it meant only hanging out as good friends. You were vocal with your intentions and your actions spoke so much to your words. Guys wanted to be Lim Jaebeom in a way a girl, as deemed perfect as you are, was always by his side supporting him in his endeavors.

All of your friends used to excessively warn you about Jaebeom being a bad idea, but you must have been blinded by your love that you failed to recognize the red flags that practically waved at you before.

How Jaebeom was able to turn you down twice could be considered a mystery unsolved for everyone, even for his own self. There is no doubt about your intelligence, you’re highly responsible and driven, you’re empathetic and humble and the majority loves to be around you. On top of that, your beauty fits the current societal standards that you don’t even have to try hard. Everyone sees no reason for any man to reject you except that you could be close to an epitome of perfection, setting the bar far too high for anyone.

Mark’s table was filled with laughter and yells from your friends when you reached it. Most of his guests were from the wealthiest families who have been specializing in throwing parties since college. Fortunately, the majority of your closest circle of friends managed to group themselves for that night when you joined them. Stories and questions about the time you spent away from everyone else rained on you. How you spent the last five years—stories about your campus life, your travels, the one of a kind experiences you had—were mostly shared that night. Somehow, Jaebeom was thankful for Mark’s presence for he knew he wouldn’t be able to hear so much from you if you were left alone with him.

Jaebeom and Mark took pride in your highly improved alcohol tolerance. Both expected you slurring on your words after a couple of cocktail drinks like you used to in college but there you were, looking as sober as you could as you briefly played poker with the other guests and even after downing innumerable glasses of cocktails and beers in the last four hours at the party.

Somehow you managed to genuinely enjoy the time at the party, playing games, dancing, and laughing with your friends, all the while thinking about the fact that Jaebeom had been talking to a girl he’s involved himself with—the last straw from five years ago.  It would have been a lie if you said you never played all the possible scenarios in your head to prepare yourself when you once again meet the two people who have caused you your heartache before.

It took Jaebeom a couple more hours before mustering the courage to actually strike a conversation with you. Just when you were about to call it a night and head back home did he find himself quicker on his heels. All you wanted at that moment was to go home, plop yourself into your bed, and sleep the night away—exhaustion finally dawning into you.

It almost drove him crazy when he realized that you almost left again that night without bidding him goodbye. He hated how you made it look so easy to leave him every time.

You stopped dead in your tracks after hearing Jaebeom shout your name.

He rushed to you and gently reached out for your arm, his cheeks and nose were burning and you’re not sure if it’s because of the liquor or the crisp night air of the nearing autumn season. “Y/N. Let’s talk,” he said.

The corners of your mouth slightly twitched upwards after clearly hearing his voice for the first time that night.

A talk would’ve been a nice idea if your mind was not so clouded with the thoughts and memories with him right now. You already promised yourself to not give in to his ill intentions. You could only hope to make sound and logical judgments for yourself this time especially when he seems to know so well when and how to talk you out to serve his best interest.

You opened your mouth for a second before shaking your head and looking briefly at the ground. “I can’t—I can’t talk, Jae,” you sighed, feeling the night air nip on your bare skin. “Not right now. I’m exhausted. Maybe next time?” you whispered weakly and your forehead creased when you felt a ringing inside your head. Why did you even think a night of partying after a five-hour flight was a good idea?

Jaebeom stared at you for a good minute and noticed your utter discomfort unrelated to his presence “Then just let me drive you home. You look like you’ll pass out any second from now.”

Even after all the years that passed, he’s still able to look right through you and read you like an open book—one that had bothered you the most before and the very reason that kept you from coming back. You knew you wouldn’t be fooling anyone if you said you’re over him, and yet you’re in this situation.

You could have just called Wheein to drop you off your apartment. But your head started getting heavy and the thought of heading back to the party to fetch her didn’t sound like a good idea; you’re certain she wouldn’t be able to check her phone right away if you call her.

As if reading your mind, he proceeded to tug on your arm and guide you to his car. “I’ll tell Mark to send your car tomorrow.”

You muttered a quick thanks and typed your new apartment’s address to his car’s navigation before helplessly falling asleep during the ride.

Jaebeom stared at your face for a while after parking in front of your building. He wanted so much to hold you close to him and feel your body against him again but he knew better than to chase you away for the second time. It had been so long since he saw you this close. And though he spent a number of times visiting you incognito, he couldn’t help but feel a much stronger sense of regret for all the things that he has done to hurt you.

The clicking sound of your seatbelts being unfastened pulled you from the slumber. Jaebeom’s face was inches away from yours and you had to push him away due to shock. The brief nap you had made you feel so much better, your head feeling much lighter.

“Thanks for the ride,” you muttered sheepishly and immediately turned to open your side of the door to get off his car.

He stayed inside his car until he saw you made your way up into the elevator and remained seated in the dark for at least half an hour more before leaving the building.

Maybe hate is not the opposite of love, but indifference. Even in both spectrums, you couldn’t quite put a finger where you stood in your relationship with Lim Jaebeom. He’s like an opaque glass, extremely unpredictable and distant. There might have been times when you thought he’s finally letting his guard down and you inside his invisible shell, but now you’re not sure if or any of those times were even real. Despite being erratic, you stayed by his side, continuously cheering him on with his major life decisions as an unwanted friend and supporter.

It was your last semester break in college—one that didn’t really look like a break since graduation requirements were starting to pile up in addition to your internships and remaining academic classes—when Jaebeom stopped explicitly flirting with girls and started to constantly hang around you. He had a knack of fooling other people to believe he liked them more than he truly did, and you were in no way an exception in one of his schemes then. He made you feel you were important to him, made you think that he actually loved you and you never dared question it for once, finally seeing the end of your own chase.

Your friends thought he was finally coming to his senses and was getting ready to establish a serious relationship with you. Despite your conflicting schedules, every night he’d wait for your shift and classes to end to simply grab dinner together and then drive you back home. Even after he dropped you off, he’d call you’ll talk about the most random things over the phone until you both fell asleep. On his lunch breaks, he’d occasionally text you the lamest jokes he’s learned. His efforts never failed to make you smile.

But his sweet gestures lasted only for almost half a year. Right when you’ve finally garnered the courage to formalize taking your relationship to the next level, he had decided to put a stop to the little game he thought was going on between you. You didn’t mind having to lead the relationship with him at all. Putting a label on your relationship seemed like the last step in accomplishing your goal, considering all your efforts in trying to make him fall in love with you. But the end doesn’t always justify the means. One thing you have learned the hard way. Relationships are supposed to be two-way. Both parties need to practice give and take. And throughout the course of loving Jaebeom, you failed to realize how you’ve excessively poured yourself to him that you almost left little to nothing for yourself.

After finding out that he had slept with one of your closest friends, the only thing you could think of was to run away. Away from everyone even for a short period of time. That was the last straw. If he happened to sleep around before showing you his gentle and caring side and promising you a future with him, you could easily will yourself to not get hurt. But how could he go around sleeping with another girl when he made it clear to you that he wanted you to stay in his life?

Desperate for an escape, you negotiated with your father to buy yourself time to heal and move on. When he gave you his blessing to move across the country and spend some time alone for a couple of years, you took it as an opportunity to run away.

With your love for literature, you decided to pursue a degree related to it. You spent most of your time traveling, looking for inspiration to start your piece. You traveled across countries, visiting the most romantic places on earth alone, casually reminiscing the relationship you had with Jaebeom and thinking of all the other possibilities that could have happened if only you knew better than to chase a guy away. If there was one thing you could be grateful for the most, despite your situation, it’s having a chance to prepare yourself to write your very first book. You’ve always pictured yourself publishing a novel in the science fiction/fantasy category. A couple of unfinished novels sat on your computer since high school, somehow you couldn’t find the will to finish any of them and end each story. Little did you know the first one you will author close to actual completion is inspired by your own encounter with the love of your life. You planned for an open-ended story, wanting to finish the novel but not brave enough to put an absolute end to the story yet.

Finally, it was time for you to keep your end of the bargain with your father. You needed to come back to assume a position in your family business. You thought five years was enough to get over Lim Jaebeom, but then it seemed as if you were always wrong when it comes to him.

Your new office was luxurious. It had an enormous space elegantly decorated with black and gold pieces of furniture and minimalist ornaments. The floor to ceiling glass windows was overlooking the bustling city and gave you a stunning view of the sunset. The secretary assigned to help you with your new role in the company looked a few years younger than you but was always quick to pick things up and anticipate your needs, which is exactly what you need for.

The idea of working with your family members never really pleased you, but you couldn’t go back on your word, not when your father had been constantly at your disposal, attending to most of your whims your whole life. You didn’t want to disappoint him in any way. With your attitude towards work, it had been easy for you to focus on the upcoming big projects you will soon be supervising for the company. You almost became the first and the last person to leave the building sooner than everybody expected. You didn’t mind spending hours of meeting with the board or the investors, presenting the most innovative projects.

A bouquet of flowers, which you paid almost no attention to, sat on the far end of your desk. You were rarely the kind of person who appreciated such notions until you noticed a small note—congratulating you on your first day—before going out of your office to attend a meeting. There was no implication of who the sender was but you already have an idea.

Every single day in the next two weeks, different kinds of flowers greeted you in the office. You had to tell your secretary to get rid of every single one of it after plucking out each note and stashing it in one of your desk drawers. At one point, your secretary asked if you’d rather have the lobby not accept the deliveries to save you both the effort in getting rid of it but you refused, not entirely sure why.

It’s Saturday morning but you decided to go to your office much earlier than you usually do, wanting to go over some reports that had bugged you all night. The sun had barely risen when you arrived, a steaming cup of coffee on your hand. You gripped the hot drink tightly when you noticed Jaebeom’s tall frame inside your office. Sometimes it just makes you question the security of the place, really.

“Ah, I find it easier to get rid of flowers than of a human,” you spat. “What are you doing here?”

Jaebeom turned around to watch your guarded expression as you circled around your desk and settled in your chair. He wondered how come you have changed so much. “You never spoke to me after that night.”

You scoffed. Did he really think you were back in the city to continue chasing a man? “I don’t think there’s anything we need to talk about, Mr. Lim,” you smiled tightly and briefly remembered yourself instigating a talk after Mark’s party. “Besides, you’re not the reason I came back.”

Jaebeom closed the distance between you two. “You’ve changed. A lot.”

You wanted to scream at his face but you knew better than to openly show your feelings around him again. Trying your best to act nonchalant, you tilted your head to the side. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. It’s easier for you to assume that I have because this is not the Y/N you used to mess around with, right?” you said with a smile and stood up, planning to open the door and kick him out of your office. “I really hope you did change too, Beomie.”

It only took Jaebeom a couple of strides to stop you midstep. He turned you to face him and dipped his head slightly, lifting your chin in one swift motion to briefly press his lips on yours. His other hand lightly grazed your cheek. It was a light peck on the lips but it felt and tasted exactly how he did years ago. How you managed to preserve such memories of him surprised you.

You were stunned. Stunned by the fact that he kissed you ever so gently like you were a fragile little thing.

He paused and looked at you and you couldn’t stand another moment so close to him without his lips on yours. Soon, you started returning his kisses until you were both gasping for air. Just like that, the last five years you spent trying to move on from Jaebeom went down the drain.

“I fucking missed you,” he whispered and lightly kissed the sides of your mouth, arms circling around your waist. “So much.”

You tried so hard to not push him away as soon as those words left his mouth. For years you craved hearing it from him but why now? You were ready to go on with your life. Tears started to prick at the corner of your eyes. You never wanted to admit it to yourself but you missed him, too, dearly.

Only when you replied with nothing but a complete silence did Jaebeom stop his ministrations and took a good look at you. The conflict going on in your head evident on your face and he blanched.

“You selfish prick,” you muttered, blinking away the moisture in your eyes. “I don’t want to play your games anymore. I already spent number of years hating myself because of you. Please don’t make me feel that way again.”

Jaebeom pulled you in for a proper hug and shook his head lightly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cooed. “Let me make this right, please?” he begged. “Let’s have dinner later. I’ll pick you up, okay?” he searched your eyes for approval but you shook your head and peeled yourself away from him.

Fuck dinner.

The moment Jaebeom vanished from your office, you freely let your tears fall. All the walls you’d built around yourself for years came crumbling down all with just a fucking kiss. You let yourself weep for a few more minutes before pulling yourself together again and trying your best to focus on your work. It’s a good thing that all that happened on a Saturday morning when you barely had an employee around to see you on your most vulnerable state. After a few hours, you couldn’t seem to properly do what you intended to do that day so you just brought the papers you’re supposed to review, hoping you could finally take a look with a clear mind by the time you reach your apartment.

It was around 7 P.M. when your doorbell rang. Jaebeom’s face flashed on the little screen of your doorbell intercom. Did he take your response earlier as an approval to take you to a fucking dinner?

There is no way you will be going out with him again. And yet Jaebeom stood silently at the other side of the door for almost two hours. He couldn’t forget how soft you could get for other people—even for a cruel man like himself who didn’t deserve you. And you? How could you forget how stubborn he could be when he wants something?

You dressed in a simple white shirt and pants and put on a light coat before exiting your apartment. Jaebeom’s eyes lit up at the sound of the doors unlocking. He smiled despite you pulling an annoyed expression on him. You briefly argued about bringing your own cars to the diner. Insisting you should share a ride to the restaurant, Jaebeom ended up in your passenger seat.

The dinner went unexpectedly smooth and you appreciated how he tried to make the mood light. You started talking like old friends over dinner, reminiscing some of the most memorable experiences you shared from years ago yet careful to not touch sensitive topics that would otherwise ruin the evening.

The night ended with him insisting to drive back. He knew how you used to hate driving when it was dark due to your bad eyesight back in college. Though you already underwent LASIK surgery and found no problem driving now, somehow the unpleasant memory was still at the back of your mind whenever you got behind the wheel at night so you opted not to protest.

The short drive to your apartment had been filled with comfortable silence except for Jaebeom’s occasional snide remarks directed to other drivers on the road.

It was a spur of the moment decision when you invited him to your home for a cup of tea—something you used to both enjoy after a long day.

You knew very well where this was going but you didn’t care, too tired to worry about things that hadn’t happened yet. Once again you wanted to just yield with fate.

The first night with Jaebeom after five awfully long years was spent snuggling close to each other while watching a movie. The old Jaebeom you knew wouldn’t have stayed for the night unless you begged him to, but now it seemed the tables had completely turned as he practically begged you to allow him to stay with you, promising he’d keep his hands to himself.

“What’s the point of staying here, then?” you teased him.

He blushed at your words and muttered something inaudible before you both settled comfortably under your sheets, the movie playing in the background as you felt each other’s warm body.

Every weekday after work, you would grab dinner together—in restaurants, takeouts, sometimes you alternate making home-cooked meals. Weekends were spent still hanging out together. He’d often invite himself over your house and show up at your doorstep uninvited. Soon he learned your passcode but never really used it to let himself inside until you tried to ignore his calls and refuse to open the door for him.

He was like a piece of gum that’s hard to get rid of and you’d be lying if you said you had no idea what’s coming. 

Jaebeom and you both silently came to the conclusion of not wasting time playing stupid games anymore. Five years worth of time had just been wasted and you didn’t have the luxury of time chasing each other around instead of actually making up for the time that you lost.

Your current setup extended for two more months and you were starting to think that your history repeated itself. The situation felt all too familiar—constant hanging out, occasional making out sessions, endless arguments, and banter over the smallest of things. One thing that has changed though is how Jaebeom had become undeniably soft for you each time. He smiled and joked a lot around you and showered you with physical affection more every time he got the chance. At the back of your mind, you were thinking of the possibility of him doing all these little cute things just to get into your pants, but seeing him not even try his hardest to get it on with you makes you doubt yourself for even thinking about it. He could have jumped into bed with you and used your body for all he wanted but he never did, always asking for your consent even for a mere kiss on the lips every time. The way he would pause less than an inch away from your face before kissing you or the way he would hold you loose so you can easily get out of his grasp whenever he held you.

Wheein gave up trying to help you open your eyes and avoid making the same mistakes after the first month you constantly spent with Jaebeom. She knew you too well to try and waste energy to convince you that you were just gonna end up hurting yourself more this time. That and the fact that she hadn’t seen you this euphoric for the longest time. All she can do now was hope that your man was not stupid enough to let you go again.

The last two months had gone so smoothly. And you know sooner or later you would have to actually talk like real adults in a relationship. So far, Jaebeom still hadn’t made any move in identifying what kind of relationship you were having and you were afraid that you would fall more deeply in love with a guy who hadn’t changed one bit for you.

The following weekend, Jaebeom invited you over to his place. He entered an expensive neighborhood on the outskirts of town and pulled up to an elegant-looking residence. It had stunning glass walls and warm lights that illuminated the vicinity of the house.

You bit back your tongue to stop yourself from asking incredulous questions. You wanted so bad to ask him if he’s married. There’s no way he’s living in that house alone and without a family.

He opened your door and led you inside the house. It smelled so much of fresh sandalwood like his old apartment. You looked around the house and smiled at the grand piano that sat in the living room. You’d always pictured your kids with him taking after his musical talents.

You flinched when Jaebeom hugged you from behind. Instantly blushing at your own playful thoughts of building a family with him.

He chuckled and lightly took your hand, entwining your fingers together before grazing his lips against it. “Are you thinking about it?”

Your brows knit together. “About what?”

“The piano at your parents’ house?” he smiled. “We almost did it.”

Your eyes shut at the memory of making out with Jaebeom at one of the parties your cousin threw in your house. That was the first time you kissed Jaebeom and since then you never had enough of him. You took a deep breath and tried to focus on your agenda for tonight. You had to make sure you cleared things up between you two before cruising towards yet another possible road to heartbreak.

Sighing, you turned around and marched away from him but stopped when you saw the dinner he had prepared. He led you to the table and pulled out a chair for you. Your heart is throbbing so loud, you were worried he might be able to hear it.

“Jae—”

Before you could even begin, he shushed you. “I know what you’re trying to say. We can talk about it later. Let’s eat first. Please?”

Did he know, really? Maybe he did but he just didn’t care. It’s not that impossible. Maybe he did not change at all. He was still the selfish bastard who only knew how to take from you and never gave even the smallest piece of himself in return.

You couldn’t stand to let the questions live in your mind rent-free. It should be now or never. If he were to say he didn’t want a relationship, then so be it. You weren’t looking for another reason to cry, you’ve had enough of that. I’m ready, you told yourself inside your head. Ready to face the worst again tonight.

“No. We have to talk about this now. Otherwise, we’ll go around in circles again. And I’m tired, Jaebeom.” It took you a great amount of willpower to display a straight face in front of him. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. The last few months have been great but that’s it. That’s all we could ever be. I don’t want to go any further.”

You’re a terrible liar.

“You say I’m selfish. And I know very well the game you are playing.” He reached for your hands but you stepped away. “But you can’t win, Y/N,” he said, confident in his own words. “Because you already want me. And you don’t stop chasing what you want until you get your hands on it.”

Maybe he was right. You were terrified thinking he did not change after all these years and yet you never realized you took little to no step in changing yourself when it came to him.

You shook your head, tears attempting to escape the corner of your eyes.

“I don’t want to be hurt again,” your voice trembled. “Every second I spend with you, I’m on my toes. Ready to protect myself from being hurt again. But—but right now, I want to make an exception. I will let myself be hurt again if it means I will finally be able to completely let you go.

“Please tell me you never really loved me. I might have been in love but I wasn’t that stupid. I swear we were almost there. I believed it. I believed every time. And yet you made it look so easy to turn your back at me. For years I have questioned my worth to be treated like that. Was I not enough?”

Jaebeom’s cheeks flushed. His eyes are burning.

“I wasn’t ready for you to leave me then!” he shouted as he walked away from you and collapsed onto the couch, his hands roughly brushing his face in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “Everyone I love does,” a short silence and then he got up again. “I didn’t want you to leave me then or now,” he whispered quietly.

You laughed and stood in front of him. “So you slept around after telling me you want me to stay in your life? You thought that would make me stay?”

“I never slept with anyone then.”

If not for the sincere gaze he held with you, you’d definitely think he’s lying. But Jaebeom rarely lied. He’s a cold-hearted asshole who hurt people with the truth, no matter how hard it was.

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“At first I thought you got tired of me because I finally confessed to you. I thought you were done and that you were ready to leave me. I talked to your parents—”

“You talked to my parents?”

He nodded. “They told me you were moving across the country to get away from me. How could I stop you when your father almost wanted to kill me when he told me how you cried every night thinking your parents didn’t hear you?”

Jaebeom quietly stood up and faced you. He cupped your face and muttered “I’m sorry” repeatedly, kissing your tears as they continued to stream down your cheeks. “I love you so damn much. I will never forgive myself if I lose you again. Please trust me again. For the last time?”

He pulled you with him and settled back down to the couch. You stayed in his arms silently for the rest of the night.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. Your swollen eyes hurt the moment you tried to look for the loud device. How you ended up in one of the beds in an unfamiliar house after a night of crying is a question easily thrown out the window.

An arm tightened around your waist when you attempted to get up. You whipped your head at the man beside you. He was sporting a deep frown beneath his long strands that partially covered his face. His wide shoulders on full display as he slept shirtless.

Your heart thumped loudly at the sight of Lim Jaebeom’s face so early in the morning. You wanted to kiss him. But you still owed yourself time to think through everything before jumping on your feelings again, aiming for a sound and logical justification of your next actions hoping to save yourself from any regrets in the near future.

You asked for space. A clear space to do your thinking and evaluation of your current status with Jaebeom. He promised to give it to you but with a condition—he will get to talk to you even on the phone every morning. The hell was this man actually thinking? How were you supposed to do your thinking when he’s continuously trying to fill your system with himself? Knowing he wouldn’t back down from any argument, you never objected but never promised anything either.

Every morning, a husky voice greeted you on the other line. This continued for a week and a half until he can no longer bear not seeing you in flesh.

“Come on, we already let five years pass. That’s more than enough time of suffering for me, baby,” he told you when he barged in your office carrying a baked salmon takeout for lunch. He knew that kind of food will work its magic on you. And sure, it did. When he was available during lunch, he’d come by your office to grab a meal with you. He’d also wait for you to finish your work to drive you back home. A lot of times you had to ask your secretary to take your car home.

You wanted to take all the time that you needed to establish your relationship with him. But when your friend Wheein played cupid for the both of you and hoisted an incredibly hot guy as your suitor to serve as ‘threat’, Jaebeom wasted no second in claiming you as his girlfriend, despite the fact that you both have been definitely acting like one already. “Seriously, Y/N? Do you ever learn? You need the commitment to make this shit work! Let me do the work for you.” Wheein scolded you when you told him you’re not yet in a conventional “official relationship”.

Mark’s wedding came. The ceremony had been elegant and extremely intimate. A slight contradiction to his past relationship with his now-wife.

Throughout the ceremony, Jaebeom stared at you from the altar. He watched as your eyes shone with tears when the bride walked the aisle and the couple shared their handwritten vows. He watched as you tried to look away when he was caught intently staring at you from across the church, trying to shy away from the evident desire to be in the same shoes as the bride.

If he could, he would have given you the world. He was ready to give you anything you asked for just for you to be happy. Marriage, he thought, is something that never really crossed his mind until you came back. Considering all the shit he put you through, he wouldn’t be surprised if you turn him down at least once. Maybe he deserves it but he will never give up on you again.

Thoughts cloud his mind but Jaebeom managed to keep his hands on you the whole course of the afterparty when he wasn’t aiding the groom. You didn’t mind, noticing the clouded expression plastered on his face. He didn’t have any liquor so he should be just tired, you assume.

That night, you decided to sleep over at his apartment. Wanting to save your boyfriend some extra time from driving back and forth from your house to his. Plus, his building was relatively closer to the reception compared to yours. Fortunately, Jaebeom lit up at your decision, excited to spend another weekend with you.

As soon as the door to his apartment closed, his lips found yours. It took you a second before returning his frantic kisses, your head lightly bumping into the wooden door as he pressed his own body against yours. He kissed you as if his life depended on it. His hands skimmed your curves and bunched up a fistful of your gown to caress your thigh.

Desperately gasping for air, you pushed him. Jaebeom must have noticed your legs almost turning into a jelly so he hoisted your hips upward, your legs automatically straddling his as he walked into the bedroom while supporting your body with a hand on your ass.

The way he gently placed you on the bed almost shocked you, like you were somewhat made of glass that could be broken with the slightest pressure. He propped himself on one elbow and stared at your eyes. You can tell something’s bothering him.

“A penny for your thoughts?” you whispered as you lightly touched his face, worried.

He shook his head and nuzzled your head instead of answering. Silently, he continued to stroke your sides and thigh lightly.

You didn’t want to force him to tell you what was bothering him, so you exerted an effort to flip your positions, determined to help your boyfriend relax.

Straddling his waist, you perched on top of him and started kissing him passionately. Slowly, you undid each button of his shirt.

He moved to help you discard his shirt and then reached around you to unzip your dress. He pulled the garment over your head and threw it on the floor. Now you’re completely bare in front of him, except for your underwear.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered on your lips before kissing you again. The way you ground your hips on his crotch driving him mad.

You stopped him when he attempted to go south, remembering your desire to help him ease the tension.

Jaebeom looked at you with confusion when you captured both his wrists and pinned them on either side of him.

“Let me take care of you,” you said, kissing the corner of his lips. The look on his eyes was replaced with amusement. You took your time concentrating on his upper body first, alternately kissing and sucking on his neck down to his abs while your hands massaged his member through his pants.

Jaebeom bit his lip. The mere sight of you naked and working on his jeans, barely even touching him, is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants. Each second you spent teasing him by slowing your movements was pure torture.

He immediately lifted his hips to help you pull his pants enough to free his cock.

Your hands instantly held the swollen tip and spread the precum around his head. You barely even touched him and the fact that he was hard as a rock for you sent delicious heat to your core. Your hands went up and down his shaft a few times, applying just the right pressure you came to learn lately with him.

Jaebeom had his eyes closed, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, trying his best not to moan.

Seeing Jaebeom unravel under your touch had become your addiction.

Your mouth soon replaced the greater portion where your hands used to touch a second earlier. And that was all it took for Jaebeom to finally moan loud, followed by a string of curses as his hips uncontrollably jerked at the warm feeling of your mouth. His hands found purchase on your hair. His moans motivated you to take him deeper down your throat in each thrust until you were almost gagging, eyes moist with tears.

He tried to keep himself from thrusting hard on your mouth when he noticed a tear escape your eye. “Shit. Baby, are you okay?”

You lightly shook your head and continued bobbing your head up and down his shaft until you could feel his cock twitch uncontrollably inside your mouth, signaling his release.

Jaebeom immediately pulled out and laid you on the bed, kissing you hard. He moved your panties to one side, dipping a finger to test your wetness. His other hand fondled your breast, twisting and pinching your nipples. You moaned to the kiss and arched your back, his ministrations throwing all of your senses into overdrive.

He peeled the last piece of clothing off of you and licked a strip between your folds before working his wet muscle inside your walls. You screamed and almost crushed his skull between your legs if not for his arms that massaged your mounds.

“Beom-ah,” you panted.

Jaebeom hummed in return, the vibrations causing your opening to clench around his tongue. He used his fingers to open you up and suck on your clit then proceeded to thrust fingers into your core.

You shook uncontrollably as the orgasm hit you and Jaebeom didn’t cease his fingers’ movements. He got back up and kissed your lips again. Aligning the tip of his cock to your opening.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much. You drive me crazy.” he panted as he sheathed himself inside of you.

You wanted to say it back but your body was aching. After all the sex with your boyfriend, your core still doesn’t seem to have adjusted to his girth.

Jaebeom waited a few minutes before moving his hips, letting you adjust around him. He peppered kisses on your face and behind your ear. “Still so fucking tight.”

“I love you too, Lim Jaebeom,” you whispered and moved your hips after adjusting.

Jaebeom started thrusting, slow but hard. All the while he was intently looking at your face, contorted with pleasure. He kept saying he loves you and you kept ignoring it, unable to make out words in your current position.

“Y/N shit,” he breathed. “I love you so much. Please marry me and have kids with me.”

You opened your eyes to see the sincerity in his eyes. Fuck, he meant it.

“What?”

Jaebeom slowed down his thrusts even if it hurt. “I love you so much. Please marry me, Y/N.”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes at the sudden marriage proposal. Never in your whole life had you imagined someone proposing marriage in the middle of the sex. If it wasn’t Jaebeom, you would have laughed. But it was him asking you. The guy you loved the most in your life. And even if he turned out to be just joking, you very well knew that there was a part of yourself wishing he actually meant it.

“Are you serious?”

“I’d do it the normal way some other time, baby. But I’ve said what I’ve been thinking about lately.” He tucked some loose hair behind your ear as he looked down at you. “I want to be yours forever. If you’d let me, I would marry you in every place you like.”

The cock twitched inside of you twitched as if urging you for affirmation.

Jaebeom searched your eyes for an answer. Only when you nodded and muttered a barely audible ‘yes’ did he continued to move in and out of you.

[whirlybirbs]

                                          (   gif, again, by @barissoffee​ !    )

     —   STARJOCKEY & CO.   ;   2 of ?

summary: the bad batch gets a pilot, and they get a mission. acid rain happens. hunter & zip still don’t get along. no one is surprised. pairing: twi’lek!reader (zip nickname) x hunter word count: 3.2k a/n: pumping this out so i can write some hunter/reader content tonight to follow this character arc! we love some good ol’ action adventure acid rain! also, don’t try and neutralize acid with water, kids. that’s not how that works. but this is star wars, and it works here.

previous chapter   |   next (coming soon!)

It’s too early for this. 

Despite having a steaming thermos of caf in your hands, you still have to pull your eyes open wide and try not to sway on your feel as you remind yourself this debrief is important. Very important. 

Very early, but very important

Sleep, too, especially after the amount of hours you poured into repairs on the Havoc Marauder last night, is equally as important — but the debrief takes priority. For now. 

Maybe you can bribe D-M1 to pilot for a bit once you take off. Just so you can plant your head on the dash and doze for a minute. A loth-cat nap. 

Ugh -- a nap sounds good right about now. 

You take a long sip of caf and rub your face as Cody continues to speak, gesturing to the glowing blue holomap that casts a glow across the entire room.

Through the thick of the swirling mission debrief, Hunter is staring.

Well, more glaring, really.

(Can you blame him? His senses have been cranked to 12 since he was made, and still, he can’t ignore the smell of your morning beverage of choice. All he can smell is your caf and the elaborator creamer you’d put in it. It smells like cocoa and star-cherries and caf and it’s all Hunter can smell. It’s giving him a damn headache.)

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s all his stupid -- albeit handsome -- face does. The scowl there digs in deep, and you have to try your hardest not to roll your eyes as you take another sip of your caf. 

He’d walked in here, hauled the helmet off, and you’d realized Cody was right when he said they didn’t look like the other clones you knew. They were all different -- higher cheekbones on Crosshair and a sharper profile on Hunter. Tech was small and boggly-eyed, while Wrecker towered over everyone in the room with his round ol’ dome.

They were nothing like the others from the 212th. 

Your lekku twitch, swatting a bit, as your attention moves from challenging Hunter’s glare back to the debrief at hand. 

Hunter, as he pries his eyes away from your cock-hipped posture, wonders how  in hell a civvie like you managed to land this job. He’d much rather have a reg flying him and his brothers around than a ex-criminal and her junkyard droid.

... He heaves an inward sigh. 

Maybe he’s being a dick. 

Cody trusts you. Hunter can at least try... 

... Right?

Hunter diverts his attention back to Cody’s words, ignoring the unsettling idea of being civil with you. “What’s the status of Yanibar’s alliance?”

“None,” Cody drops a hand to his hip, resting it on his holster, “Neutral -- but it lays between the Outer Rim and Unknown Regions. The inhabitants tend to be those running from things like the war. But, I’m sure the Separatists will have their eye on the space ports for GAR officials. It’ll be basic recon. You fly in under the radar, scope out the manufacturing lab on Yanibar, and get out.”

Cody pauses, takes in the affirmative nods of the room, then continues:

“And lucky for all of you -- that ship in the hangar has no Republic tags. You’re gonna be a ghost.”

“No Republic tags?” Hunter asks, dark brow lifting. 

“We’ll be off the books -- Seps will think we’re probably just smugglers,” you shrug, explaining as Tech hums quietly at the realization, “Knowing them, they won’t wanna start anything with locals. Especially if they’re break neutrality laws and mining a planet in the grey zone.”

“Exactly.”

You cop a smirk Cody’s way. “Now I know why you kept that bucket of bolts.”

“Repo’s have their uses,” the Commander shirks, “And civvie pilots, too.”

Now this is all starting to make sense. They wanted you to play the part -- and with any luck, the boys in the back cargo hold will go unnoticed as you carry on on Yanibar. 

D-M1 pipes up from her spot below the holo-map. “Zip plays a wonderful smuggler. Four varying counts of weapons, drug and wildlife trade have made her --”

“Alright, alright,” we swat at the droid’s bobbing head, “I swear, who ever programmed you should be shot.”

The droid makes a sound akin to a laugh. Cody snorts.

Hunter ignores the distrust settling under his skin. 

“Everyone got the plan?” Cody asks, looking around the command center. When he’s met with silence, he nods to dismiss the Bad Batch and their new pilot, “Alright. Head out. Comm in if there’s any trouble.”

“You got it, Commander.”

“Hunter?” Cody calls, “Zip?”

You both linger in the doorway. 

“Play nice, yea?” he grins, “And good luck.”

--   ↯   --

You realize, six hours later, as you hang yourself out of the landing ramp mid-flight, trying desperately to get a hold on Crosshair who’s trying to get a hold on Hunter, that Cody jinxed you.

He most definitely jinxed you.

--   ↯   --

The mission had started just fine, after all -- the ride was fast, the travel checkpoints passed with no trouble, and you’d entered Yanibar’s airspace on a pretty mild day. No questions were asked when you dropped the Havoc Marauder down fifteen klicks outside of the nearest space port. The boys off-loaded and headed for the manufacturing plant. 

The landscape gave enough cover as if it. 

Large, sweeping stone outcroppings punctured the dunes and climbed high towards the sky, casting long jagged shadows in the golden sand. Creatures moved with the shade, relaxing along the cooling surfaces as the suns moved high in the sky. 

Parked in a ravine and hidden from sight, you’d spent the first two hours monitoring the location of the Batch; every half hour, Tech would radio in giving an update on their location. By hour four, they were close. By hour five, the line had gone silent.

And you were starting to get nervous. 

Their geo-coordinates marked them about 30 klicks East -- in the estimated area of the manufacturing lab they were slotted to recon. 

By hour five and a half, the sun was disappearing. Slowly, with clouds shrouding the sky, but... the spaces between the brown clouds were turning a muddied color. You leaned, squinting over the dashboard with a confused look, before moving to the back of the ship and punching open the landing ramp. 

When you stepped into the hot, mid-day heat, you realized exactly what was happening. You kicked yourself for not realizing sooner.

D-M1′s the one that made a panicked sound. 

“We’ve got a problem!”

You were fast, bounding up the ramp and skidding inside as you slam the lock for the door on your way to the cockpit -- in a flash, you’d started up the engine and flicked alive the comms.

“Boys,” you yelped, pulling the headset on over your lekku, “We’ve gotta get a move on, now.” 

Hunter, elbows deep in a dune with his eyes plastered to a pair of specs, cursed. Your voice crackled from his helmet, resting between him and Crosshair, and Hunter was almost inclined to ignore it.

But, the sniper tapped his wrist without looking from his scope and spoke. 

“Go ahead, Zip.”

“Acid rain storm,” you blurted out, leaning as D-M1 points at the meteorological gauge in her little hands in a panic. The radar swept across the map once and showed the brewing storms, “About five klicks South of me.”

You knew acid rain storms. The planet you’d grown up on had them enough -- and even Coruscant had them. But, the color of these clouds...

Your father always used to say, the dirtier the cloud, the quicker the shroud. 

Y’know, like death shrouds? 

“-- Shit.”

Hunter was hoping that feeling in his gut was nothing. He should have listened to it.

“She couldn’t a’ told us sooner?” Hunter gritted out, pushing up from his elbows in a flash. Not entirely fair, but damn. This was not going according to plan. First the patrol droids and now --

A deep bellow of thunder rolled in the distance, then.

And now this. 

Crosshair inhaled sharply and proceeded to silently snap the attached scope from his rifle in one swift, practiced move. He’s not gettin’ in the middle of this.

“Unless you boys wanna melt your pretty armor,” came your voice, crackling alive in Hunter’s helmet as he pulled it over his head, “I’d say we hurry this little play date up --”

And that’s the precise moment Wrecker snapped one of three patrol droids over his thigh, much to Tech’s despair, and sent the entire op down the shitter. 

You found the squadron, then, pinned in a rain of blaster-fire, trading shots with the handful of B1′s -- their shots lit up the kicked up sand from the winds, beginning to howl as the dark brown clouds to the South began to loom over the once sunny dunes. 

“Bring it down low, Deemi!” you hollered, throwing your headset as you moved to the back of the ship, “Get ready to go when they’re loaded on!”

“Got it!”

You punched the ramp, pulling your green tinted goggles down over the slop of your nose as the door opened. Taking a braced step out, you were fast to spy the boys as the Havoc Marauder began to lower itself slowly. 

Then, a blaster bolt skimmed your head -- it leaves a charred sizzzzle against the matte black paint job of the repo’d ship.

You leaned back, tugging your pistol from you hip and firing a quick volley back at the droid who’d aimed for your head. After three shots, you nailed the B1 unit down, and turned your attention back to the Bad Batch. 

You’re about to wave Deemi down, to tell her to plant the ramp on a rising dune then, when an entire squadron’s worth of battle droids lumbered from the back entrance of the manufacturing plant and began laying down fire on you and the ship. 

“SWING IT AROUND!” Hunter screamed, waving you off.

Deemi listened, and you fell back through the door as the ship pulls away fast from the oncoming fire. Your back hit the navicomputer’s paneling hard as the ship banked left, and your breath flew from your lungs as you did, gritting your teeth tightly at the impact. 

You scrambled, quickly, to watch from the open side-ramp as the entirety of the plant came into view. 

It’s huge. 

A main control tower rises high in the sky, above the three conveyor bays that spark through the small slitted windows three stories up. The walls are encroached by dunes, and the desert threatens to swallow it up. 

As Deemi banked wide, you planted your boot on the doorway as you watched the firefight disappear around the edge of the massive building. 

And that’s when it started to rain.

You hissed loudly then, immediately drawing a hand back when a fat droplet of brownish water hits your skin. Cursing as you swiped away the acidic liquid, you scowled at the welt it left behind. 

And if the from the drop in temperature was any indication, it was about to pour.

“Deemi,” you screamed, “I’m gonna need you to speed it up!” 

You were fast to stagger back from the doorway, moving to haul the bottom of your flight suit up -- the sleeves, tied neatly over your belt, are yanked onto your arms and over the black compression top. You zipped the collar up tight and moved to the storage built into the bunk atop the navi-console.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, digging around. You knew you saw a poncho somewhere and -- “Aha!”

It’s not much, but it at least covered your lekku. If anything it will keep the sensitive skin of the head-tails safe enough for a few minutes. You hauled the black, weatherproof poncho over your head and ignore the musty smell coming from it -- just in time, too, as Deemi had propelled the engines into a kick for the banking maneuver and the Bad Batch was in sight again. 

The moment you and Deemi get in range, the skies opened up. 

It starts raining so hard you could hardly see -- and the headlamps of the boys illuminated the muddied downpour a few feet ahead of them. Deemi bought the ship down low enough that the ramp connects with the tip of a dune, and you staggered a bit on the impact.

The ship’s lights cast bright cones of light into the acid rain storm, and Tech is the first one through the doors. You curse, ignoring the tingling sting of the rain splashing on your face, and call out to the others. 

“GET ON!” 

Wrecker is next, passing you and launching himself through the doors with a curse -- the droids have seemed to back off, leaving the squadron to book it as the acidity begins to gnaw at their armor. You can hear a commotion behind you, and assume it’s Tech snagging the gallon of filtered water stored under the refresher sink to dowse himself and the heavy artillery man. 

Next is Crosshairs, who you reached out to as he planted a boot on the edge of the ramp -- without warning and rather suddenly, the ship gave a terrible moan. Then, unceremoniously, the dune the ramp had been perched upon tumbled downwards into a slip of mud.

The landscape was melting, and so was your poncho.

In a panic, you grabbed Crosshair’s vambrace and barely managed to snag the ramp’s guard rail; in a flash, Crosshair had Hunter’s hand secured in his own. Good thing, too, since the Sergeant’s boots now hung thirty feet in the air where the tip of the towering dune used to be. 

And that’s where you find yourself now.

Cursing, you strain to readjust your grip on the railing as rain runs down your chin. It stings like a bitch -- but you can’t help but think the pull of your arm is a little worse. 

You curse sharply in Ryl, and scream Wrecker’s name so harshly the trooper’s heart nearly stops. His helmeted head whips around.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE!” 

Your knuckles, beneath the thick flight gloves have gone from a warm peach to a pale yellow -- the strain there is only relieved when Wrecker finally moves to the other side of the ramp and grabs Crosshair’s upper arm; together you both haul the two troopers up onto the ramp as Deemi’s banks backwards -- a few moments too late -- and sends a pile of acid rain soaked bodies tumbling back into the belly of the ship. 

The droid closes the ramp as she banks away from the manufacturing plant.

You don’t even have time to celebrate the sheer survival of the stunt -- you’re instead stripping off the poncho that’s now got Republic credit sized holes eaten into it. You whip off your goggles, and curse again -- your flight suit is starting to sizzle and the acid on your face hurts and --

Suddenly, you take a whole bucket of water to the face and it all stops.

Tech, standing there clutching the now empty bucket, looks rather sheepish. 

Your shoulders immediately sag in relief, and the troopers behind you are the next victims of Tech’s hose-down. Deemi, from the front of the ship, asks if she should drop into hyperspace and the entire cabin gives a dejected chorus of yes at the same time. 

You wipe the neutral water, running over your nose and chin, from your face as you sit down in one of the chairs by the navicomputer. 

Hunter drops his hands to his waist, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, and opens his mouth to speak.

You, instead, cut him off with a single raised finger and a pointed look.

“You,” you snap, “Don’t get to say a word to me until my face is not swollen and Tech can confirm I don’t have acid rain poisoning. Understood?”

Hunter just snaps his mouth shut. You have welts down your cheeks from where your goggles met your skin. Your lekku, too, don the same blistered orange marks. Guilt suddenly washes over him, only for a second. He’d gotten off easy. The acid rain had only eaten through the first layer of his composite armor.

The whole cabin, suddenly incredibly uncomfortable, decides to go their separate ways. Hunter, though, doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you stand and inspect the now shredded flight suit that hangs off of you. You move across the cabin quickly, not bothering to avoid him. 

You slam your shoulder into his and keep moving.

--   ↯   --

You don’t have acid rain poisoning.

Which is good, you guess.

But, the residuals still hurt -- bad. 

You throw yourself into the far-too-small ship refresher for a rinse off -- Wrecker was nice enough to insist you get to go first (“For savin’ our skins an’ all, Zippy!”) and you can’t help but snort at Tech’s face when you emerge in a clean flight suit. He looks worried.

You’ve got welts all over your face. 

“I think it’s a cute look,” you jab playfully, leaning to inspect your reflection in the polished chrome door, “Don’t you, Tech?”

“Looks painful.”

Crosshairs laughs. 

The welts on your lekku are. You’d had to smother the startled yelps with your hand when the hot water made contact. You hope the boys hadn’t heard.

(Hunter certainly had, and he wasn’t even in the lower level of the ship. He was up top, ignoring the dull ache in his arm and pretending he didn’t need to rinse off. It had sparked a little worry in him, though, and he’d casually muscled his helmet on to do some digging on the holo-net about potential complications from injured lekku. The results were... not ideal.)

You massage the point on the back of your neck where your headwrap normally clasps together, keeping the animated little appendages under control and out of the way. You’ve forgone it now, and Crosshair watches as you sigh quietly as you rub the tension point. 

You look different without it. A bit softer.

“It doesn’t feel great, but,” you shrug, shoulders a bit more relaxed than before, “I’ll be fine. Definitely the worst acid bath I’ve had in a while.”

“You’ve been caught in those storms before?” Tech asks, surprised. He’s placing his helmet down, stripping his armor as he speaks. 

“I grew up in the South Tann Province,” you explain, “The jetstreams would carry polluted air through during the summer months, and sometimes the rain would be bad -- tarkona taka, my dad used to call it. But, that, back on Yanibar? That was worse than anything I’d ever experienced when I was a little girl.”

“Tarkona taka,” Tech sounds out, “What does it mean?”

“Brown weather -- or, storm, actually,” you grin, “Tak is brown, and tarkona is storm.”

“Yeah, well,” Wrecker supplies, muscling around through the barely stocked fridge in the far corners of the meager living quarters. Behind the microscopic kitchenette lay a hall of four bunks. Wrecker closes the door looking dejected, “I can’t wait to be back on Coruscant. No brown rain there.”

“On the lower levels there is!” you call out, spurring Wrecker’s shoulders to sag.

You move towards the ladder, planting a boot on the bottom rung when Crosshair’s calls out.

“Careful, Zip.”

“He still pissy?” you ask, loud enough that you know Hunter can hear, “Shame.”

The three members of the Bad Batch snort quietly as you move up the ladder anyway.

They like you.

And Hunter, still, doesn’t. 

[lokidrabbles]

Both Sides of the Coin (Lady Loki x fem!Reader)

A/N: I’ve always wanted to write some cute fluff with genderfluid/Lady Loki and so, here it be!

Warnings: Suggested Smut

Reader has a desire to braid Loki’s long beautiful hair, leading to an unexpected encounter with his alternate form.

Whether he noticed it or not, you had a knack for being observant over Loki and whatever small changes he would make with his appearance and attire. It was a privileged to witness Loki’s transition from regal Asgardian wear to, Midgard business casual, and then to true casual, often sporting a comfy combo of a dark hoodie and a pair of sinfully tight jeans you noted as his favorite. The black suit was indeed one of your preferred choices but you had grown very fond of his casual attire, greedily taking in whatever sight you caught of his thick thighs and buttocks.

Throughout this transition, Loki’s dark locks began to grown long and thick, beginning to surpass his shoulders. His current hair, finally meeting the exceptional standard hair quality for Asgardian men, presented another devilish opportunity for you to engage in. Good ol’ fashioned hair braiding.

Your twitching fingers and interest took you into conducting small research on Nordic/Viking hairstyles, shock full of intricate braids, symbolizing specific and special milestones warriors were to meet. When the opportunity presented itself, you made the suggestion to Loki, claiming it to be a way for humans to bond closer together through the use of soft, intimate touch. You were pleasantly surprised when he agreed to the ruse.

He sat in between your legs dangling from the couch, sitting upright to ensure you had a good view of the back of his head. You almost delivered a childish squeal in anticipation, prepping up combs, brushes and an assortment of hair bands and bobby pins. “I must say, there’s something absurd about someone taking this much interest in something as trifling as my hair.” He commented, feeling your fingers begin to separate his hair into sections. A wave of tingles traveled from his scalp all the way down to his spine, releasing a pleasant, relaxed hum from him.

“Your hair is so lovely Loki.” You mentioned, letting his dark locks slips through your fingers, gently falling back onto his back. You took a wide tooth comb and gently began to tease out any knots or tangles he might have had.

There was an assumption his hair would be a bit difficult to tame. While it wasn’t completely out of control, his wavy looks would at times spiral and intertwine with themselves suggested otherwise. To your astonishment, his hair was soft and easy to manage and manipulate.

“I’d kill for hair like this. It’s thick and full of life. Mine unfortunately as become a bit brittle with all the product I use.” You mentioned, continuing to comb accordingly.

“I don’t think your hair is brittle. I like your hair.” He replied softly, sending a wave of butterflies in your chest.

“Thanks, but women can only dream of having hair like this.”

His ears perked a bit. “Women, hmm?” There was a noted mischief hinted in his voice, one you had trained yourself to catch onto early on. “Should we have a sneak peek at how it would look?”

You chuckled. “I can’t really stop you once you got something up your sleeve like that.”

You set the comb to the side briefly and began to use your fingers to massage his scalp, combing out any tangles and knots to ensure the braiding process would not be difficult. Your focused heavily on your digits, ensuring the motion to begin braiding was correct while also continuing to provide a sense of relaxation for Loki. You hear a playful hum come from him, a sound affirming his pleasure at your fingertips. Your heart thumped, and an uncontrollable smiled formed upon your fame.

Loki glowed in a flash, the same golden flash you had come to recognize when he would project clones of himself or when he would transform into someone else. Your eyes darted around the room to catch any glimpse of projections, but were still met with an empty living room.

“Loki? What did you do?”

He didn’t answer, however, you began to notice the texture of his hair slightly changed. It was still pitch black, only now it had become straighter, much more softer, and a pleasant floral smell began to fill your nostrils. Loki’s back, once broad and large, had now appeared smaller, slimmer.

“Loki?”

You heard a playful chuckle coming from him. But this time it didn’t sound like him. In fact, it didn’t sound like a him at all. This voice was much more high pitched, smoother and a tad more flirty than before. Your mouth slightly became agape once Loki turned around to have a good peek at your reaction.

“Well? It’s been a while since I’ve been like this. I admit, it’s a bit fun to use since it causes everyone to choke.”

Her lips were full and pouty, contrasting in pink against her pale skin. Her eyelashes were to die for, full and fluttering naturally, hypnotizing emerald eyes behind them. Her skin, while still Loki’s skin, was much more flushed and clearer, almost porcelain to the touch. You were speechless, blinking in utter confusion. “Darling, it’s still me, you know this right?” She pondered, turning and adjusting her body to face you. “Did I startle you?“ You felt an uncomfortable heat rise up into your face, cheeks unavoidably red now. You figured Loki turned into a woman now, but you were unprepared to face the workmanship that was Lady Loki. She was stunningly beautiful, in contrast to his equally handsome and beautiful profile. The God, er, Goddess of Mischief and Chaos presented herself to you, not as a force to reckon with but as a masterpiece of unobtainable other worldly beauty.

But then you looked down at her chest and you attitude became much less eager. There, in plain sight, the world’s most perkiest and roundest breasts you had ever witnessed, ones only mortal women could ever dream of having.

You hesitantly brought your hands to your own smaller breasts, looking down and then back up at Loki’s own,  groaning at the apparent size difference.

“Are you serious? Even as a woman, your tits need to be bigger than mine?” You commented with indignation. “Oh?” There was a dumbfounded look on her face which upset you even further. “I didn’t realize this was considered large among human women.” She then pushed herself to stand upwards, cupped both breast in her hands, pondering and weighting them in each to attest whether they were too big or not. “I always aimed for the average size, honest.” “Please stop.” You intervened immediately.

She chuckled, reaching down to hold your hands securely in hers. Her gaze was unavoidable, looking deep into your own eyes, she inched in close to your ear, sending a trail of goosebumps at the back of your neck. “I like your breasts just the way they are, they are absolutely delicious.”

There was no doubt about it, Loki remained inside of her, and whether it was a she or a he, they would always find a way to absolutely seduce you in all shapes and forms.

“We should go out together more often while you look like this.” You mentioned softly, a playful smile on your face. “I think we’d have a kick at your brother’s and Tony’s reactions.”

Loki took advantage of the moment, plopping down next you on the couch, sliding a slim arm around your waist. You pulled yourself closer to her, resting your legs upon her thighs. She smiled, landing an endearing kiss upon your temple.

“Would you be comfortable with me in this form?” She asked, continuing to trail her kisses down to your cheek. You sighed with much content, scooting even closer to her.

“Of course, it’s still you. It’s always you.”

She grinned. “I’m rather curious. Which do you prefer more?”

“W-well,” You began, stuttering. It was quite the unexpected question, but what else would you expect from Loki. “I mean I like both, I can’t really chose.”

“Don’t be shy.” She jested, squeezing your side. “I won’t be bothered by whatever you chose.”

“I mean, I’ve spent more time with guy Loki than anything, but I don’t really have a basis of comparison, I didn’t even know you could change genders like this.”

“Very true. Then I should probably even out the playing field, don’t you agree?” And there again, was the indisputable glint of mischief in Loki’s eye. You knew exactly what that look meant.

“Wait, does that mean even, like, in the bed...” Your voice trailed off and the risk of sounding stupid and lewd. 

A rather suggestive smirk appeared on her face. “Don’t try to hide the fact that you haven’t thought about it since the moment I changed.”

You gulped, and accepted the fact you wouldn’t be engaging in any hair braiding for the remainder of the evening.

---

[angelicspaceprince]

i love lysander! can you please write us a character profile thing so we can know more about her?

You most certainly can! Thanks to @blueberry-9-pancakes and @sapphic-florals for your help with this!

Please note our lore for the conglomerate is slightly different from others.

Ly, first and foremost, travels. A lot. She never stays in one place for too long. For her, it’s a protection method. You can’t hurt her if she is always on the move

She is a don, but not in the same way the other dons are. She works in a little bit of everything, just like her magic, but its always to help others. She’s into loan sharking, but if you are desperately in need and it’s clear you’ll never be able to pay her back, she will just grant you the money. If you’re a rich guy who didn’t need the money and could pay her back, but refuse to, that’s when you are punished.

Dabbles in sex work but its more to provide sex workers a safe place to actually, ya know. Work. You want to go down this line of work? She won’t judge, she will just make sure you’re not going to get hurt because of it.

Born in 1348 in London, kidnapped from her parents by Juno and raised by her

In a fit of rage, she attacked Ly and sliced her vocal cords. She now can’t speak. She spent years in silence, writing out what she wanted to say, before learning how to sign and used that as her way to communicate. She died about a decade after, having run away from Juno at that moment and never looked back.

Her clones can speak, but it hurts and is awfully gravelly. They tend to sign as a result and only talk when they need to.

Speaking of clones, they have different names! Mostly so she can tell the difference between her clones and the boys.

Bee: Bre, Chamie: CamCam, Cici: KeKe, Jay: Phoebe, Jazz: Jasey, Lex: Lulu, Ren: Renée, Wasp: Tilly

Keke, however, changes their name on the reg. Mostly to fuck with Zhuk, he never gets their name right and that’s intentional.

Additionally, more on communication - they are all touch-telepathic! 

Ly, in particular, uses it to determine whether or not she trusts you and it becomes a means to easily communicate with you. But only if she really trusts you or if she has to

When she’s angry, she always resorts back to sign because her voice becomes so loud it can damage your mind, so she pulls back and signs instead.

On that, holding her hand? Rarely. Only if she trusts you and has spent a lot of time with you. If you’re the sort to hold her hands in an attempt to calm her down when angry? She will never hold your hand again

Effectively, you’re silencing her when you do this. And, again, holding her hand, in general, is silencing her because, as much as she loves to communicate telepathically, she prefers to sign. So if she holds your hand, know that you’re special.

As for when she met the dons - a fic is coming with this to explain her hatred of the young Zhukary, but for the time being:

She met Bajo first, in the 20s. Right after he died, he was partying in the same place she happened to be. At first she wasn’t keen when he tried to pull her into the dance floor, but once he realised she was mute and didn’t treat her awfully as a result, they became fast friends.

She met Cia next, through Bajo (who kept in contact with her through letters as she travelled). The two hit it off right away, Cia and her enjoying teasing Bajo and talking about things that happened in the UK in their lifetime, basically ranting about how shitty the English were in different eras.

Scarabee was next. She came to the manor to visit Cia and Bajo when Bee found her and the pair hit it off right away, both talking about magic and him helping her out with a spell she had been stuck on for quite some time.

When she officially ‘moved’ into the manor in the 60′s - as in, she set up base there after having been a part of the Conglomerate for nearly a decade -  Scarabee tried to take Ly under his wing, them being the only two Black people there. He was shocked when Lysander was, in fact, much older than him.

Zhuk and Gio were next, fast-forwarding to 1954. Ly decided to visit the boys again, only this time, everyone was there.

Zhuk instantly assumed that she was just a fuck buddy of Bajo’s and was free for anyone to woo.

Lysander did a scan of his brain and found it repulsive. He was overly traditional, even by the 50s standards, and saw women as things, as he desperately tried to find someone to dote on but to the point that they were more doll than person and equal.

He also talked over her, dismissed her ideas, and attempted to take over her mafia in an attempt to ‘help her relax and take care of herself’.

Lysander, a raging feminist and as stubborn as anything, decided there and then that he was beyond saving and was not worth her time.

Zhuk changed over the years and now has a giant crush on the woman, but the damage was done. It’s unknown if they will ever end up together, as much as Zhuk would want it, he also knows he royally fucked up. And has reserved to a life of possibly never winning her favour back.

That being said, she is still civil and is able to spend time with him alone. She works with him and helps him where needed. It will be a miracle for her to form a romantic attraction to Zhuk.

Demipansexual and demipanromantic, but poly. She rarely feels sexually attracted to people until she’s known them for a while and they have already formed some kind of bond. Still has a sex drive, obviously, but it takes a while for her to trust someone enough to actually have sex with.

She’s six foot even

Highly competitive

As I stated before, she is a magic-user, but she takes knowledge from different practices to form her own form of magic, having blended it with the magic all demons are granted.

I haven’t done an official face claim but I’ve always been torn between Lupita Nyong'o and Janelle Monáe for face claims.

Dom-leaning switch, but soft dom. Only goes hard ass on the other guys, never on breathers.

Has pegged Zhuk on more than one occasion. Bajo asked for tips because how? Especially when she hates him? but he gets nowhere. It’s mostly hate fucking, when things go wrong and she just needs the physical release? Pegs and tops the fuck outta Zhuk, who allows it because he enjoys letting go and the aftercare that follows.

Has done some modelling for Gio, and sometimes he will call her to come and be his muse for his next collection of outfits and dresses that he wants to make.

Favourite colour is bright yellow or dark gold.

Ambidextrous.

[moonchildsaurora]

The Doctor who’s not really a Doctor

»»—— Crew Member #4 of Space Pirates ATEEZ ——««

all aboard The Perihelion, welcome to the co-pilot’s log system! here you’ll be able to access the crew’s profiles should you wish to read about their journeys:

[CAPTAIN] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

“look I’m a doctor but not that kind of doctor, please don’t bleed all over me”

often described as having celestial-level beauty, with a demon’s fiery soul (and mouth)

get on his bad side and he’ll start a solar flare magnitude of a roast that you wished you weren’t invited to 

“HE’S MY BEST FRIEND, WE’VE BEEN FRIENDS FO-“, “yes OK WE GET IT WOOYOUNG” 

grew up in the upper district of Liyutania where it’s renowned for its rich architecture, scholarly institutions and affluent demography. The lower district consists of merchant markets, working-class citizens and where the nationally popular activity of podracing would take place in Drifters Arena 

Yeosang is half human, half Suva [database file: rumoured to be descendants from the stars] hence the etherealness he’s inherited from his mother. His hair and skin has a soft glow whenever he’s in direct sun light, has limited ability to self-heal (although it takes up quite a bit of energy to do so) and precognition – both of which are common among Suvas. However Yeosang has yet to gain control over his visions; majority of the time it comes randomly and only shows for the next instant/near-future rather than far future 

the days Yeosang wasn’t cooped up reading encyclopaedias on the major comets and constellations of Planet Aipotu, he’d tag along with the family’s cook to the lower districts to help with ingredients shopping 

on the contrary to stereotypes for people of his class, Yeosang was brought up in a family who taught about equality rather than status, compassion over ignorance. So mingling with the lower district community was something he actually enjoyed, often finding the residents to be more genuine despite their rustic nature 

Old Brax from the local bakery would often treat Yeosang to a hot oshiadilla bun [database file: steamed buns that comes with various floral-infused custard filling] ever since he offered to help the baker package and display the food around the shop 

a simple smile, greeting and/or subtle kind gestures were what made Yeosang loveable 

the day 10 year old Yeosang experienced his first vision was the same day Wooyoung came stumbling into his life. A confused little Yeo managed to smoothly side-step and grab onto the stranger with lilac hair to stop a potentially painful crash thanks to his foresight 

“I like your hair! It’s the colour of clouds at sunset….I’m Yeosang by the way. Kang Yeosang! What’s your name?” 

immediately Wooyoung knew this kid was different from the rest of the uppers (slang for the rich ones) and dropped his defences a little more, “name’s Wooyoung and thanks for…” 

“just Wooyoung?” 

Yeosang learnt at a young age just how privileged he really is, and his brows furrowed at thought of how lonely it must’ve been for Wooyoung – what youngling would want to return to an empty house at each day’s end? 

first he split half his oshiadilla bun to share, before changing up young Wooyoung’s routine in a more pleasant way by making sure he’s surrounded by laughter and good company that night 

the Kangs pretty much find themselves having a new addition to the family, the first time Yeosang saw Wooyoung drop his tough exterior was when his mother fitted Woo in his new school uniform and embraced him as if he was her own child 

where Yeosang excelled in, was his studies (because the boy genuinely enjoyed learning) whilst Wooyoung gave it his best, though his intelligence comes in a different form   

has always loved astronomy and reading since young, which his parents were supportive of and provided the means for him to continue studying at the top institutes for his doctorate 

is well versed with 8 different languages and specialised in deciphering scripts as well as star charts/maps by the time he graduated 

being a model student Yeo has a sophisticated disposition with underlying quick-wittedness. He once broke character to deck a classmate with a book and even went as far to throw hands for verbally humiliating and splashing dirty water on Wooyoung in the eating hall. Wooyoung had to hold him back before the Headmistress came storming in to break up the fight 

his parents gave him a stern talking but they understood his intentions, Yeosang’s mother in particular was just as protective of her adopted son

nowadays if Yeosang had to attack it’d be through his colourful vocabulary because, “my jawline isn’t the only thing that can cut a bitch”

he did learn some hand-to-hand combat from San and Wooyoung had taught the basics of shooting a beam pistol – for extra precaution of course 

became The Perihelion’s official navigator after the crew met him at one of Wooyoung’s racing days

long story short: miscommunication occurred with a local merchant so cue Yeosang to the rescue – majority of the crew gawking at this angel – fluently translating to the correct dialect and civilly explaining to the hot-headed merchant that what they meant was “how much?” and not “shit fraud” 

he knew exactly the item they were after (thanks to an impromptu vision again) which caused Hongjoong to be shook, San was mildly impressed and the rest of the crew were just confused

“do you think he can read minds?”, “hush! He’s right there…..though that’d be cool if he could”

“no offence but you might want to work on your intergalactic translations first before trying to translate charts,” and here they all thought that San’s gaze was piercing, Yeosang might as well have shot arrows through them

Yeosang was totally lowkey judging

as thanks Hongjoong invited Yeo along for lunch, classic enthusiastic Mingi picked the boy up before anyone else could say anything and started to walk off in search of food

Seonghwa tried to get him to put Yeosang down because he was 90% sure that the half-Suva was close to using the good ol’ knee-them-in-the-balls, plus the rest of the public were starting to stare           

“HEY! What in Andromeda’s name are you doing with my best friend?!” a wild sweaty, sleeves already rolled up Wooyoung appeared 

thankfully with space dad’s & mum’s intervention, things didn’t get too out of hand (save for Wooyoung nearly butting heads with both San & Mingi) and by the time the twin suns were setting everyone was sharing drinks at the local Tav 

after Yeosang casually enquired Hongjoong’s crew about their intentions for needing the map to Parilles [database file: a minor planet long forgotten in the current’s solar system], there was a moment of silence before a barrage of “HOW DO- YOU CAN READ THIS SCRIPT???”

later on Yeosang would break the news to his family that both him and Wooyoung got invited to ‘an expedition’ which they accepted, “just so I can finally make use of this piece of parchment that I only spent a quarter of my life studying for.” Both of them promising their parents to write whenever they can and visit annually at least 

grew to become Seonghwa’s favourite child, sometimes helping the actual doctor with his work (or care for plant children). Refused to leave his side when the newly-awoken cyborg was in recovery, “there’s just something in my eyes and no I DON’T need tissues” followed by not so subtle sniffles

the navigator’s office is nothing less than regal (contrasting the rest of the ship’s organised mess) with shelves of books, pin boards, dangling starcatchers and a solid cherry oak desk in the middle where Yeosang would be busily scribbling notes with ink & quill on the array of charts he’s got splayed out as his little Yunhogizer flits around. Somewhere in there is also a secret compartment filled with emergency sweet treats too 

currently is dealing with sulky Wooyoung and Mingi because he blocked them on the companion bot’s messenger after that whole spicy photos fiasco that he’s so sure has permanently scarred his otherwise perfect eyesight; “be gone you ferals, and repent for your sins! By the way, I’m revoking bro privileges Wooyoung”

(moodboard made with love, by @s1ardusk​ ♡)

[hphm-tanaka-chung]

HPHM Profile~ Rose Tanaka

I took most of the revised template that @hogwartsmysterystory​ created, but made a few changes to get right to the gist of everything. If anything needs clarifying, let me know and I’ll fix things up.

(image created by hufflepuffmystery on Instagram!)

Identity:

Name: Rose Tanaka

Gender: Female

Birth date: October 27, 1972

Age: 17 as of June 1, 1989

Blood Status: Half-Blood (mother was Muggleborn, father was a wizard)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Alignment: Neutral Good

Ethnicity: Japanese

Nationality: Japanese

Residence: Osaka, Japan

MBTI: INFP

Magic capability:

Wand: Poplar with unicorn hair, 12 inches, quite bendy

Animagus?: In the canon game, Rose is a falcon animagus.

Magical Abilities: In the canon game, Rose is a legilimens. 

Boggart/Riddikulus: Rose’s Boggart is not instantly visible, but she’s scared of the cold. She’s scared of the feeling of numbness within, and she’s scared of seeing even a little bit of frost spread over matter. In the Riddikulus form, the ice had dissolved into a swirling sparkling wind that gently lifted her hair and clothes, which, of course, made her laugh.

Mirror of Erised: The image that stares back at her is intriguing. She sees herself as an older woman with a broomstick in hand, wearing one of the Japanese Quidditch team uniforms--but at the same time she has a few books in her other hands that depicted titles that had nothing to do with Quiddtch...

Patronus: Rose’s Patronus in the game is a lop-eared bunny.

Patronus memory: Her Patronus memory would be of the time her grandmother took her to see the cherry blossoms when she was still very young--the time she spent with her grandmother was near and dear to her. 

Amortentia: Rose smells chrysanthemum tea, parchment, fresh mown grass, and something minty. Anyone who smells her scent would smell cherry blossoms, fresh parchment, hot chocolate, and something like...hair dye.

Appearance:

Faceclaim: Satomi Ishihara

Voiceclaim: Lea Salonga (may subject to change)

Game Appearance: 

Height: 5’6”

Weight: …?

Physique: Slim and fit, not a lot of muscle

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Black (dyed dark blue in year 5)

Skin Tone: Pale

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: N/A

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?)

-a hair comb

-a few spare quills

-a plain black headband

-a photo of her as a baby and her family

Fashion: Rose tends to wear shirts with collars, so don’t expect her to be out of her school uniform for too long. On occasion she’d wear a hoodie and jeans, or anything traditionally worn by English girls of the time. Hey, just because she’s Japanese doesn’t mean she can’t learn about the English culture. 

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent

Affiliations/Organizations: 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Ravenclaw)

Toyohashi Tengu -> Japanese National Quidditch team (Japan)

Professions: Quidditch player; Hogwarts Flying Instructor/Quidditch Referee

Hogwarts info:

Class proficiencies: Astronomy (A), Charms (O), Defence Against the dark Arts (E), Flying (E), Herbology (O), History of Magic (E), Potions (E), Transfiguration (E)

Electives: Care of Magical Creatures (E), Divination (A), Muggle Studies (E)

Quidditch: Ravenclaw Seeker (4th-7th year)

Extracurricular: N/A

Favourite professors: Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick

Least favourite professors: Professor Binns

Relationships

Best friends (canon): Rowan Khanna, Badeea Ali, Charlie Weasley, Ben Copper, Chiara Lobosca, Talbott Winger, Andre Egwu

Rivals: Merula Snyde

Enemy: R

Dormmates: Rowan Khanna, Badeea Ali, Tulip Karasu

Pets: Cat (Arisu)--a half-breed of cat and Kneazle

Love Interest: Torn between Ben Copper and Talbott Winger. Despite having gone out on 2 dates with Talbott, she still thinks of Ben Copper a lot, and reminisces back to their time at the Celestial Ball. 

Closest canon friends: listed above

Closest MC friends: Emmett Chung

Familial relations:

Mother: Melissa Tanaka (nee Feng)

Melissa was born and raised in China by strict parents Rose never got to see. A hard worker at school and in her family home, she eventually got herself a job as a bank manager. She moved to Japan in hopes of settling trade issues between China and Japan--it was there where she met Rose’s father. She is now working as a representative of the Chinese national bank, and her consistent travelling between the two countries resulted in a lack of bonding between her children.

Father: Ashina Tanaka

Before Ryotaro Tanaka stepped foot into Mahoutokoro, Ashina went first. He was a good student at Mahoutokoro, but not a face everyone remembered so well; he constantly kept to himself and buried himself in his work all the time. The few friends he did have, he rarely kept connections with after graduating. Still, he took delicate care in everything he did, and eventually opened a shop where he made crafts and learned the old Japanese arts upon graduating. 

Brother: Kyoru Tanaka

Kyoru Tanaka was Rose’s older brother who was first considered for Mahoutokoro but eventually chose to go to Hogwarts when his letter of acceptance arrived from that school. Despite the geographical distance he made the trips to and from King’s Cross work. Just like his father, Kyoru kept to himself a lot, and he made very few friends in his time there. Upon his imprisonment in the buried vault he thought nothing of the impact he left on the rest of his family.

Cousin: Cho Chang

Cho Chang is six years younger than Rose and aspires to be a good flier like her cousin. Though they never really met much she heard of her older cousin’s stories and eventually got sorted into Ravenclaw in her first year, when Rose was then made Head Girl.

Grandmother: Fei-Ying Tanaka

Rose was very close with her paternal grandmother who was just equally proud of her son and his achievements. When she was younger they would spend a lot of time together while Kyoru was in school, and from her grandmother she would learn how to read and write in Japanese, communicate and read and write in English, and understand more of her culture and her family history. 

Background/History:

Rose lived a rather detached sort of life within her family when she was younger. The one person she had a firm relationship with at the time was her grandmother, who always took her out on trips to the park while teaching her many different things. Her father was busy manning the shop soon after Kyoru started to attend school, and as for her mother she barely saw her around a lot either. During this time, though, Rose did learn a few useful things from her father as well as her grandmother--she soon mastered the ancient art of origami and ink drawings.

Eventually, Kyoru went missing in the summer of 1982, and two years later Rose began to attend Hogwarts. Before September 1 every year, she would move to her aunt’s place and live with her cousin, Cho.

Hogwarts Mystery unfolded.

Upon graduation, Rose went back to Japan and at first contemplated on using her talents to teach at Mahoutokoro, but the memories she had of the wizard in white robes ambushing her on R’s orders were enough to make her refuse her placement. Instead, she sought a position on one of the Japanese Quidditch teams. She eventually was placed in the substitute roster on the Toyohashi Tengu as Seeker, but her exceptional talents on the pitch eventually bumped her up to the starting roster. She was eventually admitted to the Japanese National Quidditch team, and represented her country in the 1994 Quidditch Cup. Although the team did not make it into the final, she still revelled in her glory.

Well, that was, until Talbott reached out to her while she was recovering from minor injuries from the matches. She was hesitant to reach out to him in return, but remembering her promise to him she eventually started a correspondence with him.

Rose fought along with her peers at the Battle of Hogwarts and survived. After Hogwarts was fully rebuilt, she took over as the Flying Coach at Hogwarts, and then the Quidditch referee certified by the British Ministry of Magic, when Madam Hooch eventually retired.

Rose did not consider marriage throughout this time, but eventually she reconnected with Talbott and the flame reignited. They got married in early 1999. Current legacies undetermined.

Personality: 

Rose is not at all like the rest of her family--much like her grandmother, she is understanding and patient with everyone she meets. Rowan was actually the first one to break through that shell the rest of her family had cast upon her, and she became much more open and friendly. She’s not afraid to get a little competitive at times with her peers, but it was all for fun in the end. Still, she knows well where her loyalties lie. She would snap shut if something upsets her, and break down if the situation bore too much pressure. Her way of venting involved making a lot of origami and writing in a small notebook--almost like a journal--or furiously writing essays that didn’t pertain to academics. 

Misc: 

Rose’s favourite colour is pink, but perhaps that came from the fact that she was literally named after a flower.

Rose and Tulip actually share a close kinship based on the fact that they were named after flowers. Admittedly, Rose was about to be named Blossom when she was born, but her father once surprised her mother with an elegantly painted origami rose which spurred the change of name before her birth.

Rose could make origami. She trained her patience through it.

Despite Rose not warming up to flying at first, she eventually became really good at it and so continued to foster her talents in that subject area.

More to come…?

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Sixty-Four

I bobbed my head to and fro. Then I decided to practice my speech in front of the designated villain:

“So you have me in your sights. Nowhere for me to run. You can complete your goal, become all-powerful, and more than anything, be satisfied.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” he muttered as if he were in a Tom Waits song. “I’m supposed to work for this. You’re just giving in.”

“Are you mad that I haven’t experienced the full extent of despair and hopelessness? But you should have known that me having Euphoria within me, that it would be impossible for me to feel anything other than happy.”

“That’s not it. I need to earn it.”

He spoke with such clarity as if all of his jumbled thoughts had been formed because during every moment of his existence, he longed for the one he found himself in.

“You have! You’ve worked very hard and your efforts should go rewarded! You should know, vore isn’t one of my fetishes, but I’m open to try new things.”

“Heh,” his smile once again rest plastered on his face, and I could make out a faint whiff of a chuckle. “It’s as if our personalities have reversed.”

“Not at all! I am, after all, the blank slate!”

“I don’t get it. I must have won. I already know you won’t try to resist. I’ve done everything up until this point and once I devour you and take your power, I can finally rest. But then...why does it feel like I’ve lost?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I almost wanted to shout with glee, but it wasn’t quite time yet.

“I’d say ‘sometimes you just gotta take that L’, but...it’s not really like that. As we speak, The Flashbulb is dissolving. They were an enemy of yours, weren’t they? And if not for the events which you orchestrated, their plans for this world wouldn’t have been foiled. So you won.”

In fact, seeing as things were about to end, I was more than a little curious how things were going back there now that I wasn’t able to support Velvet or any of the other friends I might have made along the way.

That was it, huh? Blanc was gone once again, and in their place was the reality of the situation: that things weren’t quite over yet. No, I already knew that. I was a fool to believe that things would be so easy. As soon as Blanc left, the fight was back on, with a glint of smugness in the eyes of the Flashbulb members. I knew I had to act, but I was still trying to process everything. My friend, gone once more. How many times has it been? Hell, it didn’t even matter. The impact was the same each time.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s go ahead and turn back time,” Dr. Humble declared, and that was the moment when I was broken from my trance. I jumped in front of the two Flashbulb members, and whether they were in charge of the whole operation or not didn’t matter much to me. In its own twisted way, it seemed like every member was equal measure all powerful and powerless against the other members. Less a check and balance and more two magnets in the same direction, unable to connect.

Look, the metaphor was better in my head.

Either way, I snatched it out from Dr. Humble’s grasp, and while Dr. Asparagus (or Modest. Potato, tomato. Same difference) tried to fight back and restrain me, I fought back and shoved my elbow into his stomach and stomped on his shoe. Both of them gasped now as I held their device in my hands, and I retreated back toward Coriander.

“What’s the deal?” Dr. Humble protested. How ironic, considering the position of power they held.

“You said yourself that you couldn’t turn back time until the ‘celestial’ or whatever you wanna call it this time is dies along with Earth!” I fired back at them. I didn’t know how to use their time travel device, nor did I care to. Perhaps if my endeavor proved fruitful, however eventual, Coriander and I could work together to find a new purpose for the device. As much as I didn’t want to fixate on it, there was a certain air that things were much less certain ever since Blanc departed.

“Please, that world of yours will come to an end whether we create a new timeline or not, so why not just start now?” Dr. Asparagus argued, his voice with the same smugness one would expect from a moldy piece of asparagus.

“I’ll be the one to decide that!” I declared, and maybe I didn’t have a reason to and maybe he was right, but damn it, this wasn’t just a battle over time preferences, but a battle over power.

When Coriander finally spoke, having been in the background the whole time, motionless, just as dazed as I was sure that I was, she sounded the least confident of all.

“What are we supposed to do now?” She asked. “I wanted to be able to return to the world.” She sounded like she was about to get choked up.

Now’s not the time to lose confidence, I wanted to tell her, but it wasn’t like I was any more hopeful.

“Velvet?” Her voice came in once more.

As soon as Coriander said that name, a screen popped up in the air with my likeness, as well as a series of writing.

“Ah, so that’s who you are,” Dr. Humble was now the one to sound smug. Quite a big deal of humblebragging, I’d say. “You’ve been a nuisance throughout your adult life, haven’t you? Governments have embellished stories of you, making you out to be some larger than life threat, when really, you’ve just spent much of your time with reckless impulses. All of your feats seem to be nothing more than lucky breaks. So insignificant to us, that when figured into the dangers of humanity, you’re not even a thought.”

Sheesh. You get your own Wikipedia page and all of a sudden everyone thinks they got you figured it out. Much of what that profile says about me could be applied to The Flashbulb themselves. Embellished? Check. Larger than life? Check. Nothing but lucky breaks? Also check.

“Is any of that wrong?” He asked me, as if he already thought himself correct.

“I mean, sure, I’ve definitely thought that way about myself,” I shrugged. Maybe it was the whole “nothing left to lose” attitude, but hearing such an amusing report gave me quite the ego boost. “People thinking I was some badass secret agent, when really, I just got where I was through a series of fuck ups. It could be that everything that has brought me here was due to countless lucky breaks, as well.”

They both laughed. I didn’t dare look through the corner of my eye, but I suspected there was a great fear and apprehension from my dear lover.

“I can’t believe this! We were scared over nothing! Nothing!” Both of the two men began to cackle, less like witches and more like they just discovered fire. An ever-widening crooked smile crept on Dr. Humble’s face as he spoke: “I’ll tell you two, hell, if Dr. Katsushika can hear us, I’ll tell that damned wild card as well! We as an organization are eternal! Countless others before you have tried to defeat us, all ending in utter failure to the point where we started to view having enemies as routine! And with that in mind, you thought you had a chance?”

True, they had an impressive track record against their opposition, but something about their speech of villainy just irked me.

“You’re right on that count, too,” I conceded. “We may not survive, either. Hell, I’m willing to bet our chances are slim to none.”

“Velvet!” Coriander scolded. Or maybe that’s what I interpreted from her tone. My head could be a real mess sometimes. But I knew why she would have scolded me, if that was the case. I mean, she didn’t want to die. Nor did I. Plus, it probably sounded to her like I was giving up or admitting defeat. Easy mistake to make, especially when I was less focused on communication and more focused on what should come next.

“That said, even with low chances like those, I’m still going to try and I’ll keep trying so long as I live. You’re probably thinking that all my luck has run out, but I have to ask: are you willing to test yours?”

Without so much as a reaction, Dr. Mumble (err...not Humble, but the other one) reached for one of the buttons on their console and spoke into it.

“Guards, dispose of these two intruders at the front.”

“Loud and clear,” a guard at the other end responded. At once, my heart both ceased to beat, for even just a second, and then it beat way too fast.

“It shouldn’t take them more than a few minutes to get here,” Dr. Microbe (like hell I was going to dignify that Flashbulb goon with their name) explained. “Especially with their numbers. You made a valiant effort, but when all is said and done, it won’t be so much as a footnote in a small section of our history.”

“How?” I balled my fists. They shook and I had to be careful not to crush the time travel device I held in my hand. It wasn’t like I knew how to use it, nor would I turn back time. As lucky as I may have been at times, I still preferred to do things on my own terms. “Popsigirl should have disabled all communications!”

“You’ll find that much like the code to Dr. Etna, much of our system constantly rewrites itself and corrects any errors along the way. Even if communication was temporarily cut off, it was never going to last long.”

Tenser than before, Coriander once again asked, “what do we do now, Velvet?”

I turned to her. As I did, I noticed something else. Call it keen eyesight, or potential for yet another lucky break, but I had to take any chance I could.

“I’m not going to ask you to trust me,” my words were just as shaky as hers had been. “Not when things are looking the way they are. But I will ask for you to check that wall next to you. If you find a panel, well, you know what to do.”

At first she gave me a baffled look, like “English, motherfucker!” But then she nodded.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“You’re as capable a hacker as I.” While I knew her specialty was more hardware than software, there was a certain amount of blind faith that I had to employ. Not to say I doubted her abilities, but that I had my doubts that anything could have helped us at that point.

While Coriander got to work with visible frustration, it appeared that Humble and Modest (screw it, just this once) weren’t living up to their names.

“Even if you two manage to figure a way out of here, what then? Like always, the predator becomes the prey, and here you are, on the defensive,” one of them spoke. Did it matter which one? I sure as hell didn’t think so. “Even if we were to lose all of our members, we could just recruit new versions of those same people in another timeline! You could kill us right now, in fact, and so long as one of us lives to bring new members in, what can you do? You’re fighting a losing battle!”

Talk it up. Every second you guys waste running your mouths gives me that much more time.

“Got it!” Coriander declared. I turned to see an opening beside us. Hell, as soon as I saw that, I couldn’t help but show off a sly grin.

“Well, not to be as cliché as you guys have been, but as they say, ‘we’ll deal with you later!’”

I shoved the time travel device into my pocket and ran into the opening along with Coriander. As we did so, the wall closed behind us and the two of us were surrounded in darkness. I’ve spent many nights by her side with the lights off, so that moment seemed like nothing to me.

“Good job, bae,” I put my thumbs up. Being as dark as it was, I had to be careful not to stick my thumb up her nose on accident.

“I’m surprised I managed to figure out something, I mean, it was tricky and even then, if we hesitated even just a second more, it might have closed on us.”

“Ugh,” I felt nauseous with what I was about to say next.

“What?”

“It really is the case that every second counts,” I said, just as I knew I would. Oh, the cliché. Oh, the disgust that was mediocre dialogue.

“Oh yeah. Gross,” she dismissed. “I think we’ve got more on our plate than rhetoric.”

We continued to move forward as we spoke. Any second, those guards would enter the room, and I was sure that both her and I knew that it would only take an instant on their end for that same wall to open up for them. We had to be on the move and figure out a strategy. I was aware of the real possibility that they could hear and catch every word we said, but I think our greatest asset was that we didn’t really know what we were going to do next. Really kept them on their toes.

“We can’t return to the world we knew,” her worries spilled forth. “It will still end, regardless of what we do. We can’t even get rid of the angel without having the world be destroyed in the process. I can’t stop thinking about this. How there’s nothing we could do. Bitterly, I already knew that, but I wanted so bad to believe there was a solution where we could reverse course and come out victorious. So what now?”

I gulped. My, how easy it was to give in to despair. I didn’t think she was quite there yet, but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she was.

“It’s easy,” I spoke up, at last thinking that I had an answer. “I know we didn’t get the most satisfying outcome, so now we try for the next best thing.”

I couldn’t tell whether she nodded in agreement, or if my words didn’t inspire much confidence, as with the total darkness, there was any number of ways one could interpret silence. Regardless, we continued to move forward.

We were on our way to bear the bad news when we both heard the announcement. It meant nothing to me, but it shook Dr. Hepburn to her core. She did a little jig, then turned to me and began poking my shoulders with such intensity and I was left wondering why I kept letting her.

“Hey. Psst! Hey.”

“Yes, HR lady?” I smiled. I couldn’t help but imagine that if I were in her position, I’d act the same way.

“You know that feeling when you go around giving people false hope but then you find out that hope is even more false than you realized?”

I shook my head.

“That’s how you’re feeling right now, huh?” I replied.

“Yeah!” She pumped her fists. “Everyone wants to be Grandmaster Flash, but there is no Grandmaster Flash, so everyone’s been vying for a false position at a false top!”

“Right, and I only like true tops,” I joked.

“Sorry,” she looked down and shook her head. “I’m not a fan of hierarchy. In fact, in some ways, this is quite a relief to me.”

“How so?”

“Because now everyone’s morale will be shifted from super low to super high...in your guys’ favor! They’re probably all pissed right now, like they’ve been cheated! Well, the ones who weren’t driven to despair, anyway.”

“Hmm...that’s one way to look at it, I suppose,” I wasn’t sure if that’s how things worked with people, but it seemed like a possibility.

“You know, I was always rooting for you guys,” she snapped her fingers.

“You were?”

“Well, once it turned out you guys were winning, anyway. If you guys were on the losing end of things, I’d be like ‘I wish they’d protest in a way that didn’t affect us’.”

“Gee, thanks,” I scoffed.

“Don’t mention it!” She held her thumb up and grinned.

Soon we entered a room and Dr. Hepburn had me sit next to her as she addressed a group.

“Greetings, I hope all of you in the Design Department are well,” she began. “I regret to inform you that going forward, your department will be laid off. The Flashbulb wishes you all the best in your future endeavors.”

All around the room were blank stares. I’m pretty sure I could be counted as one of those blank stares.

“All right, Hepburn. Cut the bullshit,” one member finally spoke up. Some gruff guy with a gray pompadour haircut.

“No, no, she’s serious,” I waved my hands out. That proved to be a mistake as the guy turned his attention toward me.

“First of all, no she isn’t. Everyone knows none of us get fired or laid off here. We’re stuck here ‘til the day we die, which usually entails us getting killed by someone. Second, who are you?”

Before I could answer, Dr. Hepburn tapped her pen away at her clipboard until his attention turned toward her instead, to which she took over.

“She is my auntie assistant,” she explained.

“What kind of sick roleplay…” I heard him muttered. I wanted to defend myself and go, “It’s not sick! It’s perfectly healthy!” But why would I when it wasn’t even roleplay?

“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with such an excuse when we already know the big secret. Hell, now that the cat’s out of the bag, a big lot of us are asking ourselves, ‘what was ever the point?’ I mean, the obvious point should have been, ‘to help each other improve one another’, but with this sham of a competition, it’s clear we’ve not really been a help to anyone, let alone ourselves.”

Hepburn’s tapping continued with such a frenzied intensity that I imagined she would make a great drummer, if she wasn’t already one to begin with. Maybe if I got the chance, I could convince her to take up the drums. But then maybe she wouldn’t be into that sort of thing. It’s the thought that counts, anyway, right?

Then the tapping stopped and she smiled a big smile.

“Good! Now you know why you’re being laid off!”

“Oh for crying out loud!” He got up from his chair and flew into a rage.

“Anyway, now that you’re no longer with the company, wanna burn it down?” Dr. Hepburn suggested.

He froze in place.

“You know what? Yeah. I do. I’m sick of all the micromanaging and the way every department can’t seem to help but do more harm than good. Worse, I’m sick of hearing ‘Grandmaster Flash told you to’ when no, no they didn’t. That’s just an excuse to make me do something you didn’t want to do.”

I was glad he seemed to be on our side. Now there was just the matter of the rest of the Design Department…

I shot my hand up.

“Hey, is there someone here named Dr. Oz?” I looked around and asked. One of the members, a sheepish looking young man with mutton chops and a wool sweater turned to me.

“That me,” he bleated. I couldn’t help myself, I was beaming at the prospect that I could be a matchmaker.

“I met Dr. Phil!”

His eyes widened, like he had just seen a wolf. Jeez, I didn’t mean to put him on the spot like he was some sacrificial lamb.

“Did he say anything abaa-t me?”

“Yeah! He said that he thinks it would be great if you two worked together to rally up more departments! He said his department’s sick of this shithole and he bet he isn’t the only one!

“Did he really say that?” The pompadour guy interrupted, ever the skeptic.

He said some of those things. Look, I’m improvising here.

“Sure did! Who are you, anyway?”

He grunted. “I’m Dr. Toto. What about you? No more games, either.”

I bless the rains down the yellow brick road – no, now’s not the time for that. I have to think of how to answer. Probably not a good idea to make something up, but what else can I say?

“Dr. Hepburn, go ahead and tell them the truth. I’m still a little shy,” I tugged on her sleeve.

She looked down and smiled. She must have known just what to say.

“The truth is, Juniper is best girl.”

I just about fell back in my chair. I was rooting for you, Dr. Hepburn! We were all rooting for you! “Back in her original timeline, there was a contest all around the vote all around the world, and it was decided at the end that she was best girl. The company caught wind of this and just had to find out what all the hype was about, and so she was brought here. There was a raffle in the cafeteria with the grand prize being to meet her. Needless to say, I won.”

That had to be the among the top ten most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah, okay. Seems legit,” Dr. Toto grunted as he nodded.

There were two other members of the Design department, one of which had long, flowing fuchsia hair, and the other had short, iridescent indigo hair. Both of them were pretty, but if I had to choose one over the other...no. That wasn’t what I was there for.

The one with fuchsia hair turned to me.

“How did you do it? Become best girl?” Fuchsia’s voice was soft and soothing.

Way to put me on the spot, Hepburn.

“By starting a revolution!” I declared. Hey, if Dr. Hepburn was going to make a bold claim, so was I.

“Cheers, sis, I’ll fucking drink to that,” Indigo added, and if Fuchsia’s voice was beautiful, then Indigo’s voice was hot, with the way it was husky and self-assured. Still, I didn’t mean to compare the two.

“Anyway, we gotta get a move on and lay more people off. If you guys can work on getting the word out, we should at least have a few more departments on our side,” I explained. Dr. Hepburn gave me a pat on the head.

“You did well as an auntie assistant,” she told me.

“Thanks,” I blushed, though really I didn’t want my hair messed with.

As we left the room, we heard the siren call of an alarm.

“The guards…” I heard her mutter, and before I could react, she took me by the hand and we ran.

Well, wasn’t that just swell?

I mean, I should have expected it, really. If it happened just as planned, then I wouldn’t have found it to be such a masterpiece, just a simple work of art, instead. So revise, improvise. After all, you couldn’t spell painting without ‘pain’ and you couldn’t spell drawing without ‘aw’ and without a doubt, you couldn’t spell revolution without ‘vore’.

Once the alarms outside of my head went off, the alarms inside my head did as well.

Soon, I could hear the click-clack approaching the door to the command room I was in. Which command room? Did it matter? Why did we have so many command rooms? Beats me, but I was sure going to miss this place once it was all over. Which, ‘over’ was just an anagram of ‘vore’. I felt that was worth pointing out.

“Wah! Ha! Ha!” I let out a proud laughter as the door to was busted down and fine chiseled armored specimen stormed in with their suits of shiny metal and their heavy weapons. Each of them fell before they could even pull their itty bitty triggers. Turns out I was right to hold on to Cilantro’s laser backpack. That thing could pack a PUNCH with a capital ‘UNCH’.

As the three guards lay on the ground, I stood over them in triumph and announced:

“It’s just like the tools of the ruling class to be anti-creator. Well I’m here to tell you that I’m pro-creator, and I plan to procreate for as long as I live!”

I couldn’t just stand there over them, as much as that would have made for a fine work of art, as I wasn’t quite sure if they were dead. Yes, I could have fired another shot or three, just to make sure, but there was a beauty in the uncertainty of it all that I just had to relish in. I sniffed the air, which mostly smelled of the smoke produced from that laser blast.

“I was really hoping to catch the whiff of a charred corpse,” I sighed with disappointment. That mood didn’t last, and soon I was back on the drawing board. “Anyway! As they say in Spain, Seeyanara!”

If my calculations were correct (and while some may have thought calculus not to be my strong suit, they would be wrong, as not only was I not good at calculus, but calculating was an art, so being good or not was irrelevant) then Velvet and Lil C should be close. Good! I could return the cute backpack to its rightful owner.

We were still alive, but at a disadvantage. Sure, I could hack into stuff as well, although if someone were to ask me, Velvet was still better in that department. She could roll with the punches and think fast on her feet. Me? I needed total concentration.

At the moment, as we moved forward in pure darkness, concentration was the one thing I did NOT have. It’s not like I wanted to admit it, but it was the reality we were in: at any moment, the walls we found ourselves between would be blasted open and the two of us, shot down. It got me thinking about what our impact would have been. The “close, but not cigar” in terms of success stories of those who went against The Flashbulb? The little clone that could, until she didn’t? It’s not like I cared how I was remembered, if I was remembered at all, I just expected a little more.

Well, my worst fear came true: in front of us, a blast tore through the walls and we both jumped back.

We’re gonna get raided and we’re gonna get shot down without so much as a fight and we aren’t going to have any romantic last words between us it’s just going to be violent and bloody and –

Instead of an army of guards, only one figure entered, one who I wished I didn’t have to see again so soon: that mad artist.

“Smart thinking, you two! Making out while the enemy’s looking for you!” Were her first words upon us meeting, and I was not amused. In fact, I’m pretty sure I growled without so much as a word.

“Ha. I wish,” Velvet joked back, though by now I could tell that was just how Velvet acted when she was tense.

“Anyway, you two should get out of there. Don’t worry, I took care of the guards that were after you. Though there’s going to be a buttload more.”

“Is that the scientific term or…?” Velvet shot back.

Disregarding the useless small talk, we walked forward, through the new hole that was formed. Velvet first, me just behind her. There was no way I was going to trust that popsicle stick lover. Then again, she hurt Velvet before, too. Ugh. Just the thought of either of our wounds was enough to send shivers.

Light illuminated us (get it? Because...oh, who gives a shit?) as we stepped out. I still wanted to keep as much distance from that...you know. I selfishly wished that Velvet would do the same.

“Jeez, I can’t believe you guys didn’t defeat the bad guys yet? How hard could it be?” You-know-who (or you don’t, and if you don’t, lucky you) began questioning. Although not quite accusatory and more playful in tone.

“Gee, I don’t know. Army of guards, code that self-corrects, time travel devices, the list goes on,” Velvet was incensed, no longer playing around.

I didn’t look that artsy fartsy helper in the eye, but I was still compelled to speak up.

“I-It’s not just that!” My fists were balled. We didn’t have time to stand around and argue, but dammit, someone had to set the record straight gay. “So long as one Flashbulb members wishes to stay in power, then we may as well consider the whole thing a loss! They can always go back in time! This is the problem with the organization as a whole! Those guards may as well be members too, because even if they aren’t official members, they have a vested interest in killing anyone who threatens their power! What’s to stop them from forming a new Flashbulb? We can’t just go 75%!”

I began to huff and puff. Hyperventilate. Even though I didn’t see her face, as I refused to, I could just tell that she smiled in return.

“I see your point, and that’s why I’m saying, it’s easy to beat them! You just gotta send them back to their own time and leave them nothing in their possession! I don’t see what’s so hard about that!”

I didn’t give her a reply. I never wanted to speak to her, or around her again in the first place. But I spoke once and that was already too much.

“Now, this is a big organization, so there’s bound to be plenty of departments that don’t care about the lack of a Grandmaster Flash. In fact, they might have been elated when they heard that! You guys will probably have to deal with them. Well, you guys, or the ones who defect. I suspect there’s been a few departments who have been unhappy with this company for a while now, and probably want to tear the whole thing down. So you got that going for you.”

I heard every word, but none of them meant anything to me. Maybe they held significance, but I just let them flow in and out.

“I’ll be real with you guys, you’ll probably still need to kill some guards, unless you can strip them naked and send them flying to some deserted island. Either way, their bodies will have to go somewhere. I’m going to go help out these other departments who are on your side! I’ll be sending plenty of doctorates flying home!”

I looked down and noticed Velvet reach into her pocket and pull out the time travel device that she stole from Dr. Humble.

“I see what you’re saying, but I don’t even know how to use this thing,” she must have pointed to said device as she told Dr. Popsicle.

“Well gee, I’d help you figure it out, but I can already tell there’s more guards approaching.”

That was weird. I didn’t hear any. But then, I heard a little tap-tap sound in the back of my mind, and that could have been them in the distance.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re good at figuring things out under pressure. In fact, you should go back in that room you were in and kick those two men out.”

“Really? After we just left with our lives?” Velvet interrupted.

“What better way to practice a craft? As for you, Coriander…” Popsigirl spoke, and I felt like screaming for her not to say my name, but instead I said nothing. “I’ve come to return your backpack.”

I didn’t take it. Instead, Velvet took it and handed it to me. For what seemed like an eternity, I stood in place. Then, arms wrapped around me, the familiar arms that I’ve felt many times before, and I looked up.

“I get it,” Velvet whispered while still in her arms. “She’s gone now. You’re safe.”

“Right,” I nodded. “Let’s just go back there and show those two what’s what.”

At least if Twee-humble and Twee-modest wanted to put up a fight, I could fire my lasers. So for their sake, they should have played nice if they knew what was good for them.

In all my years, I never understood the hype with Audrey. Katharine, however, she was worth all the hype and then some. Really, where was the Katharine fandom when you needed them? If they wouldn’t show up, I would just have to be Special K.

Okay? Okay. Focus. OK? Right. Rikki-tikki...tic-tactile.

My auntie (no relation) assistant, Dr. Not-a-Doctor Juniper was right beside me as someone who just happened to be right beside me. Where were we? I think we were in hiding. In a closet or a broom room. Something about guns and guards and not wanting to die. That sounded about right.

“You look scared!” Junie B. Jones commented. Really, I heard that name somewhere before. Probably in a newspaper somewhere during some time period.

“I’m more than scared,” I assured her. “They probably don’t like traitors, just like they don’t like intruders.

“Well...that makes sense, I guess,” she gave it some thought. “I’ll be honest, I wish I had some kind of plan. I thought things were going pretty well back there with the Design Department, but now I’m losing hope again.”

“I know what you mean. It’s like a civil war here. Flashbulb vs. Flashbulb. It’s like we’re trying to pin each other down, but neither of us wants to be underneath the other.”

“...Did you have to phrase it that way?” She sounded concerned. I didn’t understand, and more than that, I didn’t think there was any other way to phrase it. It was just the reality of the situation.

Even in the darkened room, I could tell Juniper was sullen.

“The truth is...it seems like everyone’s doing their part, but I feel like I haven’t really done anything.”

“Don’t think of it that way! You came up with suggestions that probably wouldn’t have been implemented! I can tell you have a desire to help others, and sometimes that desire is good enough!”

“Gee, that’s real nice of you to say, but…” she looked away. “Is that really enough?”

I shrugged. “Who knows, but sometimes it is, so maybe one of these days, it will be!”

I pressed my ear against the door. From the sound of things, it seemed like all the commotion died down. Though the alarm kept sounding, there was nary a threatening aura to be heard.

I opened the door.

“I think we’re safe for now,” I told her.

Then, as if I just tempted fate (which hey, if I did, that’s pretty cool, I mean, it would have been bad for us, but it would also be just like one of those ironic lines in a movie), other faces met ours.

“Dr. Phil?” Juniper noticed one such face. Some chubbyish guy who looked ready to hit the hay. That was, until he smiled a big smile and right next to a human-shaped hay pile was Dr. Oz.

“Hey! Dr. Juniper! Look! Dr. Oz and I are a couple now!”

Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz shared a passionate kiss and everyone in the Marketing and Design department cheered.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Dr. Oz reassured us. “In fact, Dr. Phil and I have been spreading the word, just like you suggested, Juniper! We’ve got the Agriculture, the Housing, and the Clothing Department coming over to help us with possibly others on the way!”

Juniper smiled and I thought I saw a tear roll down her cheek, but she wiped it away, whatever it was she wiped away.

“I’m glad for you guys. I’m glad to have made some friends, even when I thought I’d make enemies and be scared for my life.”

I watched as those two departments and Juniper shared a hug with one another. Meanwhile, I had a No. 1 pencil in my mouth (a rarity. Most of them had been eked out of existence in favor of the inferior No. 2).

“Yeah, yeah, soak it in,” Dr. Toto cut the heartwarming moment short with a cross of his arms. “But we still gotta deal with those guards, as well as the departments that don’t want to defect.”

“Right. Good thing Dr. Glinda and I have constructed a shield to block any artillery,” Dr. Ozma declared.

“Dr. Glinda?” Juniper asked.

I pointed my tender pencil at the member of the design department with fuchsia hair.

“Oh! Fuchsia! So who is indigo?”

I wanted to burst into laughter. I never thought to call Dr. Ozma ‘Indigo’ before. I couldn’t help but think, “my name is Indigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to –” but I didn’t know where I was going with that.

“That’s Dr. ozma, Junebug.”

“Oh! Junebug! That’s a cute nickname!” Juniper grinned. With much brighter spirits, we charged on. I thought to let everyone know that it seemed like none of us had a clue where we were going, but I kept my mouth shut because nobody liked a buzzkill.

Anyway, things seemed to be going pretty fine and dandy. Some guards rushed in and after warning us to go back to our departments. Dr. Glinda and Dr. Ozma raised the protective barrier around the two groups. The next logical thing was the guards opening fire, but after their artillery was depleted, Juniper seemed to gain a new set of confidence and declared:

“We have gay and anime on our side!”

Those same guards ran up to us and tried to break the shield down by bashing their weapons against the shield. It seemed like that was actually working as I noticed our shield start to break. But before it broke fully, each of the guards fell to the ground. Dr. Toto looked confused, but once everyone saw who had taken the guards down, we all froze in fear: the dreaded Dr. Katsushika stood, with several giant marionette dolls beside her.

“Who let her out of her cage?” Dr. Glinda asked as she trembled.

“Coming out of my cage and I’ve been...doing...just…” Juniper muttered, her teeth chattered. Must have been a nervous tick of hers. Cute.

“Nice revolution you have there. Shame if something were to happen to it,” Dr. Katsushika grinned. We all got ready to scream and run, until that same artist laughed. “I’m just messing with you guys! I’m on your side! Let’s go!”

Relieved, we followed behind her. I recall Juniper asked Dr. Katsushika something like, “why’s everyone so scared of you?”

To which Dr. Katsushika replied, “People tend to think I’m evil, that’s all.”

“Aw, I’m sure you’re not that bad. You’re probably just misunderstood.”

“Right!” Dr. Katsushika agreed. “Just give me five, no, ten years, and I’ll be a full-fledged artist!”

It was really nice to see everyone come together, even if it was for the purpose of making us all break apart. Would our organization really be no more? And if so, what would that make me, then? That thought was fraught with a frailty I couldn’t fathom. Some eternal entity, falling. I hoped at least one of us could see the end, if not me, but for the moment, I chose to close my eyes and wait for whatever outcome.

Two figures sitting. Both of us humanoid. Both of us eager for it all to end. Neither of us human. Well, one may be, but at times I knew better. Then at times I knew worse. Even to the bitter end, I couldn’t keep myself consistent.

“I never really cared whether The Flashbulb was defeated or not,” I said once I managed a split hair of clarity. “I always considered them too easy a target. Anger was fine, but anger wouldn’t last me. My true frustration was finding something that would.”

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, or none of the above, looked down on me. Not with pity, not in contempt, but just because they sat on a rock while I sat on a flat surface.

“Is it frustrating?”

“I can’t...be happy...if I don’t find something...that will last me...until death...but...being immortal...makes things...all that more...difficult.”

I didn’t need to space out all of those words. I think I just wanted to for dramatic effect.

“I see, then!” That bright light beamed.

I couldn’t help but smile, even after everything that happened. All that I caused, and all that I didn’t. What I let happen and what I perpetuated. I still never found what I thought to be happiness. Soon, even the dissatisfaction would be gone.

[iwbfinterviews]

Jake Brown Interview

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer? Is there a particular reason you chose to write about music, singers, etc?

I didn’t actually, lol.  I’m a songwriter/producer first, I grew up playing and writing music but always wrote as a way to kind of get through school because I was terrible at math, sciences, tests, etc.  I think there’s alot of people in the music business who started out like that.  It kind of happened accidentally, I was working for a record label right out of college and started writing copy for their catalog titles, press releases, etc and it just expanded from there.   I met a literary agent through that who suggested I try to write a book, and we sold the Suge Knight memoir to Amber Books, who gave me my start.  Another big early foot in the door moment was when I had the opportunity to write books with Ann and Nancy Wilson & Heart in 2007 and in 2009 with Lemmy Kilmister and Motorhead.  Then the book nearly 10 years into my career that really kind of made me appreciate this career was the opportunity to work with legendary guitar player Joe Satriani on Strange Beautiful Music: A Musical Memoir.  I’d also started specializing in anthology-style books that feature LOTS of exclusive interviews in one book in chapter profiles so you could tell a bunch of people’s live stories at once, including the BEHIND THE BOARDS series, which began 10 years ago as a Rock & Roll producers’ series, the aforementioned In the Studio series with Heart, Motorhead, and others, and then finally about 10 years into living in Nashville I began working on the NASHVILLE SONGWRITER book series and most recently the BEHIND THE BOARDS: NASHVILLE book.  SO: the long answer to that question is, because I love telling the behind-the-scenes stories of both the hits and those who make them, be it songwriters or producers or drummers in the case of the BEYOND THE BEATS rock drummers series, or Hip Hop producers with the DOCTORS OF RHYTHM audiobook and upcoming physical version in 2021.  I’ve also been fortunate to write memoirs with some interesting characters like Kenny Aronoff, country rapper Big Smo and upcoming Freddy Powers The Spree of ’83 book which features Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson.  So it's been an interesting run.

How long does it take you to write a book?

I work on several at once usually, that’s kind of my process, half day on one, a day on another, but for BEHIND THE BOARDS: NASHVILLE, I spent 4 straight months day in and out writing this book exclusively as it was over 600 pages.  I was reading the audiobook for Blackstone as I was writing it too, which was the first time I’ve ever done that.  Usually the audiobook is read after the book is completed.  Then it’s about a month of editing before its handed into the publisher.  So this was a real push, but it was worth it because of the feedback I’m getting first from the producers I worked quite extensively in many cases with on their individual chapters, and collectively in the book being a first of its kind for country music fans where they can read about how their favorite hits by country’s biggest stars were made while listening along on Spotify, iTunes, Tidal, etc.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Oh, I don’t know... I write every book thinking from the outset before I’ve even started putting words down to paper thinking about how that book will be marketed and promoted upon release.  There’s no point in writing something no one is going to read because when you get to the finish line you don’t have a gameplan on how to make readers aware of it.  Publishers, to be honest, can only do so much in that arena, every publisher’s publicist is usually like a social worker with 30 cases on their desk, so yours can only get so much attention.  So for instance, I always recommend to a writer to hire a great publicist and know that while that’s a considerable expense, it may be the best money you spend in getting the word out about your book because that publicist is working for YOU, not for 30 authors at once.  It's just a fact of the business that I think should get more light shed on it because you’re competing with that number I  mentioned above of 60,000+ books a YEAR coming out.  I also negotiate the right to press my own promo runs of 100 if needed because if not, you’ll wind up with a paltry 10 copies from the publisher, who for their own budgetary reasons, might not for instance be able to service all the physical review copies you’ll have to give away during the book’s promotion, whether to a disc jockey interviewing you on the air or the listener he or she is giving away a free copy to during that broadcast, as just one example.  If you don’t plan ahead for that, you’ll wind up paying that publisher $6 or $7 per promotional copy, which is something I’m SURE some of my own publishers would hate for me to pull the curtain back on, but its true.  Writers are paid LAST usually in the royalty chain, especially early on, but you move up in that order as you build a value into your name as a writer, which only comes with people hearing about you and your book.  So again, HIRE A PUBLICIST, HIRE A PUBLICIST, HIRE A PUBLICIST!  Your agent can be helpful too, but its typically up to you as an author to maintain your own social media presence and look for every available avenue to spread the word about your book so it has a chance to be read.  This is equally important for newer or more established writers, because there’s always a new generation of equally-as-talented new wordsmiths knocking on those publishers’ same doors... 

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

In a studio making music or writing books for the various publishers I work for, or recording audiobooks for Blackstone Audio, so it’s pretty time-consuming.  I did just sign a worldwide music publishing deal for my songwriting catalog with Streets Music and David Gresham Company.  So I’m lucky to stay busy, to be honest, you have to too make a living in the entertainment business.  I have a wife and a dog too, so I spend what time I have left with them. ☺ 

Your 50th book is coming out June 23rd, “Behind The Boards: Nashville”. Can you give us insight on what it will be about? 

First, I exhale deeply every time I get asked that because it's finally DONE!  I spent 2 years collecting extensive, first-hand – many for the first time in a book – interviews with 30 of country music’s biggest producers, and in some cases, that meant waiting for a break in their busy studio schedules to talk, in others it meant multiple conversations over a couple years as we wanted to make sure we had all their current hits as they kept banging them out, and in other cases, because of the sheer volume of their catalog – some of these guys have been in the business since the early 70s – it took that long to chronicle it all.  That’s just the interview process too, then I had to write it and I write everything in one shot vs. a chapter here and there.  Its to me like staying in character as an actor throughout an entire performance, and when you’re writing a book like this, you’re in a headspace that never lets you sleep because creative narrative is CONSTANTLY hitting you about specific hits, and there’s over 300 # 1s in this book.  Additionally, there’s an EXHAUSTIVE amount of research I do to source out certain critical quotes of praise, for instance, from way back in the 80s, 90s, early 00s, etc from magazines that aren’t even in print anymore, as well as supporting quotes from the actual superstars these producers work with in the studio, which also takes a great deal of time.  So after all of that prep, once you begin writing, there’s another 3-4 months before the manuscript comes to life as a finished product.

As a result of that, country music fans here are given arguably the MOST definitive to date book chronicling the stories behind the making of their favorite hits in the studio, again how those artists specifically and uniquely work at their craft – i.e. does George Strait sing each hit over 3 or 4 vocals or 25 or 30 takes, etc – as well as how specific # 1s within those individual catalogs of Greatest Hits were created in the studio.  Then from the other side of the boards, so to speak, you get the producer’s first-hand recollections of their own personal journeys from the time they could first crawl and walk and started discovering music to their teenage bands and first tape-recorder or 2-inch reel to reel or 4-track or laptop home recording sessions all the way up through their rise to become the biggest names in the business working in country music today.  

Collectively, BEHIND THE BOARDS: NASHVILLE features Dann Huff, James Stroud, Jim Ed Norman, Dave Cobb, Justin Neibank, Ross Copperman, Zach Crowell, Chris Destefano, Jesse Frasure, Norbert Putnam, Josh Osborne, Luke Laird, Clint Black, Frank Liddell, Shane McAnally, Jimmy Robbins, Josh Leo, Nathan Chapman, Paul Worley, Jeff Stevens, Jody Stevens, Bobby Braddock, Michael Knox, Don Cook, Frank Rogers, Joey Moi, Ray Baker, and Buddy Cannon, who did the Foreword, which was a TRUE honor.  Frankly, it was an honor to have every one of these legends speak to fans so candidly and openly about both their personal and professional lives in the music business.  Their stories are inspiring, ear-and-eye-opening, exciting, insightful, and hopefully educational for those kids growing up on their records now hoping to break into the same business.  So hopefully, there’s something for everyone who opens the book.

What were the methods you used to get ‘the’ interview with all the big names you’ve written about?

When you’ve been around this long, fortunately you can get in touch with just about anybody, whether they say yes or not to the interview is another story! (laughs)  But I’ve been pretty lucky, especially for instance with my NASHVILLE SONGWRITER book series, which has TWO volumes and 50 of the biggest songwriters in country music in the first two volumes, and a THIRD volume with another 30 legendary songwriters coming out at the end of 2021, and especially with BEHIND THE BOARDS: NASHVILLE, which has 30 of the most legendary record producers in country over the past 50 years, guys like Norbert Putnam, who ran Quad and produced Jimmy Buffet’s “Margaritaville,” Jim Ed Norman, who produced Hank Williams Jr’s Born to Boogie album, Ray Baker, who produced that whole 70s Honkytonk soundtrack including Moe Bandy, Whitey Shafer, and Merle Haggard and Freddy Powers among others.  Then you have the Millennial generation’s biggest names like Joey Moi, Dave Cobb, Dann Huff, Jesse Frasure, Ross Copperman, Shane McAnally and Josh Osborne, Ray Riddle, and on and on.  

What do you think makes a good story?

Well, for this book, the most common thread woven throughout many of the chapters/live stories of these producers were the long-term working relationships they’ve  maintained with many of country music’s biggest stars throughout their entire careers or the majority, for instance, Jeff Stevens and Luke Bryan, Byron Gallimore and Tim McGraw, Buddy Cannon and Kenny Chesney, Michael Knox and Tony Brown, Frank Rogers and Brad Paisley, Miranda Lambert and Frank Liddell, the list goes on and on as long as the Greatest Hits track listings do.  Equally as importantly for a book like this, is the fact it takes the reader quite literally inside the studio and pulls back the curtain on how their favorite country music stars record their biggest hits, and almost literally re-creates their recording from behind the boards by the producers interviewed.  Then on a totally separate front, from the academic side, its a 600-page book full of tips about how the recording process works from all sides, points of views, approaches, ages, and technologies, old and new, from analog to digital and the hybrid of both in the “in the box” generation of record making.  Hopefully, we’ve covered all sides of the process, that was the aim anyway so readers get a 3-D look, so to speak, at how the recording business really works.  

How did publishing your first book change your process of writing?

I sold my first book to my first publisher, Amber Books, in 2001 and Tony Rose gave me my start in the business and I wrote for them almost exclusively for the first 5 years and 10 books of my career from 2002 to 2007.  So having a stable and still exciting publisher willing to take chances on you and equally-as-importantly, the kinds of books you might approach them with, is KEY for any new writer because writers must remember EVERY time a publisher takes a chance on their book, they’re putting real money behind it before they ever see a dime back.  It's a big leap of faith, and carries with it alot of obligations for the author, where it doesn’t just end with handing the book in, but also helping promote it and building a brand for your name so it can become more and more reliable for both readers and new publishers, as any writer’s goal should be to eventually build a catalog where they write for as many publishers as possible throughout their career.  But be prepared to start out writing for one, or anyone for that matter, who you can verify has a good track record as a publisher, or if they’re new to the game, doesn’t just want to put out an e-book, which anyone can do without a publisher, and is willing to commit to a physical pressing, and promotion of that pressing.  I wouldn’t go looking for advances on your first or even necessarily second book out, but start asking for them as soon as possible as its an important piece of the income stream for any working author, as much as royalties are later on down the road.  An advance lets an author know a publisher first can afford to put money into their book, and values them, vs. Alot of these starter deals that promise big back-end but nothing up front.  You have to be able to afford to take that hit once or twice out of the gate, but its not a career model any writer should plan on if they want to make a living as a working author.  The other reason I mention all this is because being a working writer is not just about the creative side of the process, but the entrepreneurial one too, because you have to be a self-promoter, and not be shy to doing interviews or promotion on social media, etc, as you’re competing with a THOUSAND new titles a week minimum these days between all the digital e-books and print books out there. I think the statistic was to be something like 60,000 books published in 2018 alone, so that tells you the competition you’re up against to even get a book sold to a publisher, let alone compete on bookstore shelves for the reader dollar.

What’s your favorite under-appreciated novel?

Of my own books, I wouldn’t say any are underappreciated, I’m grateful for the fact that people still read my books after 20 years and 2 or 3 generations of teenagers (which are a primary part of my reading audience) still buy my stuff.  I try to give them consistently interesting reading subjects, either in the personalities I co-write with – like country rapper SMO, whose memoir My Life in a Jar: The Book of Smo, was released in 2019, or the Freddy Powers Spree of ’83 memoir, which is presently in film development and that I co-wrote a screenplay for with Catherine Powers last year, that was also something different, and say something like legendary R&B producer/artist Teddy Riley’s forthcoming memoir Remember the Times, which we’ve been working on for the past 6 years off and on and is looking like it might be heading to Teddy’s fans’ hands in the next year.  One key thing I tell new writers when asked for input into starting a career in the current climate for our business is be prepared to commit as much time to a book as the artist needs, its similar to an album – if the publisher wants it on a deadline, be prepare to deliver, but getting an artist to open up in depth about their life takes time, both to build trust and to physically take the time to do the interviews not only with them in principle but also with the huge list of supporting cast members between peers in the band and business and family members and friends, record executives, peers, etc that usually wind up on those lists.  It's a process you should NEVER RUSH yourself, only move at the rhythm of the people you work with and for, and you’ll wind up working alot longer in the business than those who are in a hurry.  

How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?

Haha, I actually have a folder called “Projects That Probably Won’t Happen” and its filled with all kinds of “famous” bands/musicians books that just never got off the ground for one reason or another, but they’re all under contractual deals where I can’t talk about them in case they want to put a book out in the future, and I hope they all do.  Sometimes you encounter someone who is thinking about writing a book but is really 10 years before they’re ready to, or they aren’t really committed yet past the concept, so you do some sample chapter interviews but it never gets past that starting line.  I’ve thankfully left on good terms with the majority of those names, but with 50 published books in my catalog, most of what I have committed my time to has thankfully made it to store shelves.  That’s important for any new writer to remember, because with every new book project you take on, you’re committing a year to two years of their life to that process from the start of interviews through the completion, handing it into the publisher, editing, etc.  Anyone in a rush usually isn’t going to get anywhere is what I’ve found, it takes time, even if your mind is moving a million miles a minute, and your ambition even faster, pace yourself and you’ll last a lot longer in the race I’ve found anyway (cheesy sports metaphor aside ☺).  

Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

Haha, I’ve had some good and bad experiences there over the years.  I have NO problem with a consumer buying my book and then reviewing it one way or the other on say Amazon or Audible, etc, because that’s part of the business, but as far as book reviews from other writers, I just have to hope they like it and write fairly about it as it does matter impressionistically what readers then think of it as a potential product to buy and read themselves.  Sometimes, in walking the fine line I have to be between the technical and the creative in a series like this or Nashville Songwriter or say my In the Studio series, which has over 10 books in it alone, so you never know.  Its something I don’t pay alot of attention to as well because by the time a review comes out, the book has been out a couple months usually and we’re on the back-end of a promotional push, so if its a good review, it's a nice 4th quarter boost of coverage, and if it's not, then it's pretty buried vs. hurting the book’s launch on the front end.  I’m just being honest, sorry, but book reviews play a very MINIMAL role in most books’ launches if they’re properly promoted via author interviews, premier placements as we’ve done with American Songwriter, CMT, SoundsLikeNashville.com and others coming up, and for any newer writer, accept ahead of time that you’re GOING to get a bad review here or there, it's just part of the subjective review process, and doesn’t speak for your larger reading audience.  

Do you believe in writer’s block?

Not when you write for a living.  It's not a luxury I think any of the writers I know who work professionally writing books can afford, that’s why you have to follow the simple rule of A.B.W. (Always Be Writing) ☺.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Probably doing the same thing, writing is how I make a living, so it's will be with me until arthiritis set’s in, but I’ve got 2 screenplays in development and hope to have at had at least one of them produced into a film.  I’m not unrealistic to think that it will go to theatres, but I’d be happy to see a streaming service selection with my name on it as a screenwriter, there’s 3 or 4 of my books fortunately in that cycle right now so we’ll hope one or two of them make it that far.  Beyond that, I’m in the studio every week as I have been the past 20 years making music and will continue doing that, hopefully to a greater degree with these new publishing deals I’ve signed as I have over 200 released songs in my own catalog, none in Country lol, but I just try to keep putting out new creative product across multiple mediums at as prolific a pace as the muse allows without the quality of the end-product being compromised.  That’s the point at which I’d stop I guess, if the quality of the writing lessens to where people don’t want to read my stuff anymore.  Thankfully, I have built up a pretty loyal reading and retail-buying audience over the past 2 decades, and hope to keep putting out books that help music listeners understand how hard and still rewarding a business the record business is.  It's an amazing world to wake up working in every day, and I love helping musicians tell their stories on paper, so we’ll just have to see.  I hope to have hit 60 books by then, although my ultimate goal is another 50 over the next 10 years! (laughs)  Thanks again for your time and support of this latest project!