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tinyboxxtink · 4 years ago

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“Sharky” *Part 9*

Okay it might end up only being 10 chapters, DEPENDING on what happens in the next chapter-- which guys, you’ll never see coming. Never in a million years. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Also-- I don’t know if you care but the beginning scene/paragraph was written based on the scene in Grey’s Anatomy when Burke leaves Cristina at the altar and she has a panic attack/breakdown in her wedding dress. Just for reference, that’s what it’s supposed to look like. Don’t know who will understand that or not, but if you wanna YouTube it it’s very powerful. [To me.]

TAG LIST:

@wanniiieeee

@gibbs274

@word-scribbless

@dumauier

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@objection-argumentative

@aprildecker-blog

Chapter List Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 10

-----

You made it halfway down the street before you felt your breathing increase, your body temperature rose by the second. In seconds you were hyperventilating, stuck in a damn leather trap of a dress. You were having a full on panic attack and you physically couldn’t breathe in the tight leather bodice. You had no idea what to do, you had literally never felt this panicked and scared and upset in your entire life. You tried desperately to rip off your sleeves at the very least, clawing at them while sobbing like a crazy person. But you were fighting a losing battle, and you felt yourself falling down to your feet.

Your eyesight was blurry through tears but you managed to crawl into a nearby alley, still sobbing loudly and trying to breathe. You really thought you were going to pass out, and some creep would probably come and find your unconscious body in the alley and do sick stuff to it, and you’d be on the news at 11.

You kept gasping for breath, now wrestling with the zipper on the back of your dress. You needed this OFF, and you needed it off NOW. You felt yourself losing consciousness, when a pair of hands caught you from behind.

“What do you need?” The voice asked. You were certain this was a rapist, but why was he asking what you needed?

“I...can’t….I can’t….” You sobbed, flailing your arms towards your back. You felt the hands unzip your dress just far enough that you could pull it off to rip your arms out of the sleeves and just hold it up over your breasts so you weren’t standing there half naked. Finally able to breathe you finally just sobbed while this person held you from behind, their head was pressed into your back and you could hear their words muffled but clear:

“I’m so sorry...I'm so sorry…”

You finally looked down and realized the pair of hands that were holding you, and your panic went straight back to rage. You broke free from their grasp and spun around to see Rafael hunched over, clearly surprised by your sudden turnaround.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” You screamed at him, causing people walking by to look in concern.

“You were having a panic attack! You nearly collapsed in the street! What was I supposed to do just walk back into the party and leave you to die?” He said loudly so people would know he had been trying to help you, not rape you.

“YES!!!”

“Oh come on Y/N---” He tried to help you steady yourself on your heels, but you ripped them off and tossed them at him.

“No!!!” You screamed. “I told you to leave me alone, Rafael for fuck’s sake! Just go back and be with your girlfriend--” You started to walk away.

“I don’t want her, I want you!!!” He yelled, making you stop in your tracks.

“Well you sure have a hell of a way of showing it!” You turned back around and yelled angrily.

“Look, Y/N...God, I don’t know how this got so fucked up…” He shook his head as he paced the alleyway.

“Right because nothing is ever your fault,” You scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“I’m not saying that! I--” He sighed and stopped pacing to look at you. “Look, I was really low, and upset about you, and Liv and I were drinking, and--”

“So your solution to getting over me was to bond with the person who sabotaged us in the first place? Real sound logic there, counselor,” You said in a mocking tone.

“Look I get what she did was wrong, but she’s also been my best friend for a very long time, and I just-- I don’t know, I focused on that part,” He looked down.

“How? How can you just sit there and make excuses for her--”

“I’m not making excuses for her, I fucked up okay? I was drunk, and sad, and I ignored my angry feelings at Liv and one thing led to another…”

“Oh for Christ’s sake Barba really? One thing led to another? You PURPOSEFULLY slept with the ONE person you knew I’d never forgive you for!”

“That’s not true!!!” Rafael argued. “I’m not dismissing my behavior, but I swear to you it was NOT my intention to hurt you--”

“Really? So what did you just think I’d never find out about you and her?”

“No I just-- look the next morning she was just so happy, and I was too much of a coward to tell her that I was just missing you and--”

“For fuck’s sake Barba are we in 10th grade? You ‘accidentally’ sleep with your best friend and then just date her because you can’t tell her the truth? And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” He yelled. “I’m not proud of it, but it is the truth. I will go right back into that party and I will end it with her right now Y/N I swear it--”

“It doesn’t matter!” You cut him off. “I don’t care what you do, or don’t do with Olivia, Barba, I really don’t. Date her, fuck her, break her heart. Because you and I are off the table, permanently” You started to walk away again, but he grabbed your hand.

“No, come on Y/N there has to be a way we get past this, there has to be. I mean, look how upset you are. I know you still care about me--”

“OF COURSE I STILL CARE ABOUT YOU, IDIOT!!!” You screeched. “Yes, I’m having a fucking nervous breakdown over you because yes I do still lo--like you, but it’s irrelevant!”

“But why…?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Do you really think that I can EVER look at you without seeing you and that bitch with her legs in the air?” You asked. “I mean, even right this second that’s ALL I can think about!” You started to cry again as you once again tried walking away from him.

“Y/N, Please...please I am begging you…” He grabbed both of your hands this time and got down on his knees.

“This isn’t a negotiation, counselor. There’s nothing you can do, no penance you can give,” You sniffled. “It’s just...it is what it is,”

“Please, Y/N....,” He clung to your waist like a child as he whimpered into your stomach.

You placed your hands over his back and looked to the sky, pleading to whoever was up there to make this stop. It was absolutely true, everything you said. Even though you could see that this whole situation was just a fucked up series of events and misunderstandings, you really couldn’t look at him without seeing her. You wanted to forgive him, you wanted to pick him up off his knees right now and just kiss him until the pain went away, but you couldn’t.

“No,” You did your best to keep a stern tone as you pried him from your body. “I’m sorry,” You whispered as you put a hand to his cheek; you noticed he had started crying as well.

It took everything you had to pick up your heels and walk out of that alleyway with your sleeves tied around your neck so it kept your dress over your breasts.

------

After several minutes of trying to compose himself, Rafael finally walked back down the street and into the bar where his friends were waiting.

Rafa! Where the hell did you go?” Oliva cried.

“I went after Y/N,” Rafael simply stated.

“A-Are you serious? Why?” Olivia asked in disbelief.

“You know why, Olivia” Rafael replied with a straight face.

“I cannot believe you--”

“Look, Liv. You are my absolute best friend in this entire world, I hope you know that,” He sighed. “But this has gone too far,”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you do everything you did to Y/N, Liv?” Rafael crossed his arms. “ Is it because you’ve known how I’ve felt about her from the start?”

“I...Maybe…” Olivia looked at the ground as Rafael sighed deeply.

“Olivia I have tried so hard, SO hard to be there for you. To care about you, to love you. I have chosen you over and over again, but I won’t do it anymore. What you did was wrong, and you really hurt me,” He said sternly.

“How did I--”

“By hurting Y/N, Liv! By hurting us! Now, it’s so fucked up that I will NEVER be with her, and yeah that’s my fault and I have to deal with it now but--” He took a breath. “I need space, okay? I need to face what I’ve done to someone I cared about very much, and I need to do it on my own, and not with the person who helped me do it. I’m sorry,”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked out of the party, alone.

------

The next Monday you walked into work with your head held high, despite all the whispers and snickers as you passed by each desk.

“Hey there, Cobra,” Your colleague Stacy waved.

“Cobra?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you know like a spitting cobra?” She smirked.

“Oh lovely, is that my new nickname then?”

“Could be worse,” Stacy shrugged. “We could just call you ‘chum bucket’,” she added with a laugh.

“Pithy,” You chuckled mockingly.

“Y/L/N,” Buchanan suddenly walked up to your conversation. “May I see you in my office?”

“Um, Yeah sure…” You muttered uneasily as you followed him back to the office. You could hear Parker humming “The Death March” behind you. Vultures. You finally reached Buchanan’s office, he let you in first as he closed the door behind you.

“Sit, please,” He gestured to a chair. You obeyed as he went around and sat at his desk chair.

“So, I heard you had an interesting Halloween night…” He raised an eyebrow.

“Listen, sir I am so sorry--” You started to beg for forgiveness.

“Y/N, you are one of the best lawyers I have here,” He cut you off. “You’re a Great White among those Tiger Sharks,”

“Thank you…?” You scrunched your face.

“But you’ve been spiraling,” He sighed. “I mean, spitting on a sergeant in the middle of a bar full of NYPD, that’s…” He shook his head with a laugh of disbelief. “That’s ballsy. Do you know how many cops have called here today asking for your head on a stick?”

“I know sir and I--” You started to apologize but he put his hand up.

“But do you know what I love most about being a lawyer?”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t work for the NYPD,” He smirked.

“I’m sorry sir...what are you--”

“That took guts, Y/N. Putting ‘Saint’ Olivia Benson in her place like that,” He went on. “You know those schmucks at the NYPD think they are so high on the moral ground, but just look at what Barba did to you,” He came around and put a hand on your shoulder. “Lying and manipulating you like that, just for that self righteous Siren,”

“Yeah…” You shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

“And I would like to reward you for your courage,” He smiled.

“Sir?” You were sure you heard him wrong.

“I know that those three idiots tried setting you up at that party to tank your career, but unfortunately for them-- it did the very opposite,” He gave you an evil smile. “I’d like to offer you the position of partner,”

“R-Really?” You blinked in disbelief.

“Yes really,” He chuckled. “Is that a yes?”

“Absolutely, John! Thank you!” You went to hug him but he put his hands up.

“Ah...just the thank you is fine, Y/N,”

“Right. Sorry,” You put your arms at your sides. You knew better than to show emotions at work.

“Well then, let me show you to your new office... partner,” He smiled as he led you out of his office. You walked proudly behind him as you raised a high middle finger to the glaring looks of your co-workers.

Maybe things were turning around….

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #sharky #angst

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mdawritings · 4 years ago

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Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12

II.I

Masterlist

Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.

Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift

It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.

You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.

Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.

You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.

“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”

You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?

You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.

You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.

But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.

You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.

You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.

Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.

You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.

You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.

However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?

You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.

Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.

You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.

While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.

You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.

One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.

This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.

You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?

You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.

You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.

Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.

Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?

Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.

Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.

“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.

He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.

Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.

That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.

Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.

His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.

You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.

"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.

"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”

Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.

You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”

Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”

“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”

“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.

“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.

“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”

You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”

“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”

“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”

“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”

You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”

Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.

Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.

“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.

“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.

You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”

“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.

“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.

“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.

“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.

“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.

“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”

“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”

“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.

There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.

You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”

“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.

“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?

Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”

“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”

“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.

“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.

You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”

“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.

“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.

“What?” JJ turns to you.

“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.

He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.

“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.

“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.

You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.

“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.

“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”

He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.

“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.

“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.

When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.

You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...

You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.

You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.

You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.

Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”

Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.

“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.

From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.

“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.

You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”

“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”

“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.

“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”

“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.

“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.

He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.

You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.

The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...

“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.

“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.

He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.

You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.

“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.

“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.

“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.

You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”

Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.

You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”

“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”

“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.

You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.

“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.

“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.

“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.

“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.

“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.

“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”

“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”

“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”

“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.

Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.

“We should deliver the profile.” Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.

The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.

You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.

You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.

It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.

You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.

This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.

Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.

You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.

You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”

The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”

“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”

“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”

You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.

Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.

Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.

It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.

So why would he shield you?

Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.

Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.

“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.

He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”

“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.

Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”

“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”

“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”

“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”

“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.

You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.

You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.

“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”

“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.

“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”

“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.

“Hotch,” He corrects you.

You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”

“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”

“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional. “Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.

You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.

“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.

You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.

Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.

You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.

You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.

You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.

You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.

Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.

You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.

Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.

——

Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.

That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.

The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.

He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?

He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.

Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?

He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.

Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.

Chapter 13: II.II →

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #wanna be yours fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader

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detective-giggles · 4 years ago

Text

Sandwich Dismissed

Up until recently, my friend had the only fic in the Rafael Barba/Sandwich tag on AO3, so I did a thing. Thanks to Sarahcakes613 for the beta, and thanks to @teamsladsandgents for coming up with one of the scenarios!

Warnings: None, just a few swears.

Word count: 2500

Pairing: Rafael Barba/Sandwich. Disclaimer: it is Pre-Barisi, so while there’s no explicit Barisi content, it’s strongly hinted at.

Monday:

Rafael took a quick peek as his phone lit up with a text.

Carmen: Your lunch is on your desk. Thanks for letting me sneak out early today, See you tomorrow!

He glanced at the clock and grinned. They should be breaking for lunch soon and then he could go back to his office and have his sandwich.

Not just any sandwich, but his favorite sandwich from his favorite deli. They closed unusually early for a restaurant in the city, so he was rarely able to make it after work. It had been months-maybe even a year since he had one last. Just the other day the DA had lunch catered for a meeting and, as luck would have it, he hadn’t been able to get his hands on one of the little sandwiches.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about it, however, and quite frankly, it was distracting. Rafael had walked in this morning, handed Carmen a twenty and told her if she could have a sandwich waiting for him when court recessed for lunch, she could have the rest of the day off.

As soon as the judge dismissed them for lunch, he jumped up and grabbed his attaché case and turned around... right into the defense.

“Mr. Barba!”

“Counselor Henderson. You here to take a deal?”

The attorney shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Then I’ll see you in an hour. Excuse me.”

“You’re going to want to hear what we have to say.”

“I don’t think so.” Rafael motioned with his hand. “If we’re talking, we’re walking. Let’s go.”

Counselor Henderson laughed but followed Rafael out of the courtroom. “They won’t run out of coffee downstairs, Mr. Barba, and I have an innocent client. I think you can spend a few minutes hearing what we have to say.”

“I haven’t seen anything that points to your client’s innocence and I’m not interested in any uncorroborated-” Henderson thrust a manila envelope towards Rafael and he grabbed it with a sigh. He could feel photographs inside, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Come on, Mr. Barba, let’s chat. Maybe you can still salvage some of your case against the other two defendants.”

Rafael rolled his eyes and tried to ignore his growling stomach as he allowed himself to be led into a conference room.

Tuesday:

“I don’t know, Liv… I just…” Rafael shrugged. “I’ll think about it,” he promised.

“Don’t think too long. But it’s kind of obvious when you finally notice it. You can’t un-notice it.” Olivia gave him a look and then pulled her phone out of her pocket, firing off a text.

“Lovely,” he muttered. The elevator doors opened, and he filed out, followed closely by Olivia.

“I’ll be over in a second,” Olivia said, nodding towards the bathrooms. Rafael nodded and paused at the vending machine just long enough to grab a bag of pretzels, the perfect side for the sandwich he hoped was waiting for him in his office.

“Mr. Barba, your lunch.” Carmen handed over a small cardboard box in the deli’s signature lavender.

“You’re the best, thank you.”

“Do I get to leave early again?” she asked.

Rafael shook his head. “Not a chance!” Her laughter followed him into his office.

He made his way to his desk, setting the pretzels and sandwich down, and peeled off his jacket, hanging it neatly. Rafael dropped into his chair and stared at the box for a moment, an 8 written in messy handwriting in the corner, and under that, XTRA PICK. His mouth watered at the thought of the sour tang from the house-made pickles and he couldn’t wait any longer, tearing into the box.

A wave of disappointment hit him when, instead of a large Ciabatta roll, he saw rye bread. “Oh no… no no no…” he whined. “Carmen!”

“Rafa? What’s wrong?” Olivia took a seat across from him and watched as he carefully picked the top piece of bread off and groaned. Carmen popped her head into the doorway.

“They gave you the wrong sandwich.”

“No! It’s a number eight! With extra pickles just like you asked for.”

“I know that’s what the box says, but that’s not what’s in the box!”

Carmen and Olivia exchanged glances, “I can go get you another?” Carmen offered, although they all knew she had more important things to do then run around and fetch his lunch.

Rafael sighed with defeat, “No, thanks. We don’t have time; we have to get over to the precinct by one.”

“So you’re not going to eat the sandwich?” Olivia clarified, leaning in to see what was inside the box.

“Nope.”

“Oooh. What kind did they give you?” Carmen asked, walking over.

“A Reuben.”

“Wanna split it?” Olivia offered. Rafael sat back and pouted as he watched the ladies divide the sandwich and they each took a bite.

“Oh Rafa, this is really good,” Olivia murmured, “you sure you don’t want some?”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. That sauerkraut is making my office smell.” He griped, wrinkling his nose.

Carmen headed towards the door, “I’ll get you another one tomorrow,” she assured him. “And I’ll check it before I leave the deli!”

Wednesday:

Rafael made his way across the room and poured a fresh cup of coffee. He paused to take a couple of large gulps, and then topped the cup off again. He set it on the conference table next to the purple box. Carmen assured him it was correct today, but he popped the box open and sniffed; his mouth watered as he inhaled the slightly spicy scent from the meat’s marinade. Rafael pulled the sandwich out and peeled back the paper, flattening it to make a makeshift plate on the table. He carefully pulled a thin slice of meat off the sandwich and popped it in his mouth, moaning softly.

“You okay over there?” Carmen asked, poking her head in.

Rafael scowled at being caught. “Yes, thank you,” he reached into his wallet and pulled out a couple wrinkled bills. “You heading out for lunch?”

“Yes. I’ll be back before your meeting.” Carmen turned to leave, “Oh, and this vending machine hasn’t been filled yet, you’ll have to go to the eighth floor for pretzels,” she called over her shoulder.

“Damn it.” Rafael grabbed another sliver of meat and headed for the elevators.

*** Five minutes later, Rafael was back on his own floor, his little bag of pretzels in hand. The door to his office was opened, which was odd, he could have sworn he had pulled it shut on the way out. As he got closer, he could see movement inside, and he rolled his eyes.

”You’re early,” he grumbled. He entered his office and tossed the pretzels on the table.

John Buchanan looked up, his eyes wide with mock surprise. “Am I? Ooooh, and I interrupted your lunch too! It’s okay. Take your time. I’ll wait.” He smirked, not taking his eyes off Rafael.

“Outside?” Rafael gestured to the row of chairs in the hall. Buchanan was 45 minutes early, obviously a tactic to annoy the ADA. Rafael sat slowly, he didn’t particularly want to eat with an audience, but he also knew they’d be arguing for a while.

“Oh, no. Don’t be silly. Enjoy your lunch, it’s fine.” Buchanan looked around and feigned excitement when he spotted the newspaper with a picture of his client on the front page. “I can occupy myself with this.” He grabbed the paper, shaking it with a flourish. His hand hit the coffee cup and, before Rafael could react, his sandwich, the table, and his pants were covered in the brown liquid.

“Fuck!” Rafael hissed and jumped up. Luckily for him, it wasn’t as hot as it could have been - the drink had cooled considerably in the time since it was poured.

To his credit, Buchanan actually looked mildly embarrassed. “That… was not intentional,” he stated, although he made no effort to actually apologize or attempt to help clean up.

“I’m going to need you to wait outside while I…deal with this.”

“Right. Yeah, I can do that.” He stood and crossed the room slowly, shutting the door behind him.

Rafael grabbed the garbage can and sighed as he shoveled the mess into the trash, mourning his third sandwich of the week.

Thursday:

Rafael tossed his pen on his desk and rubbed his temples. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His head was pounding, and he was no closer to finishing his opening statement than he had been three hours ago. He opened his eyes and realized Sonny was staring at him.

“What?” Rafael snapped. He sighed, muttering an apology.

“Let’s take a break. I can pick up lunch for us? And some coffee, of course. Or just the coffee, if you’d prefer.” Sonny teased, flashing a dimpled smile.

“No, thanks, Carisi. Carmen should be bringing my sandwich in a bit. I didn’t realize you were staying so long. I can text her and have her bring you something too?” Sonny was helping him (on a day off, nonetheless) so the least he could do was be polite. And he definitely didn’t want to look up all this case law on his own tonight. If the extra help only cost him a sandwich, it would be a cheap trade.

They heard a knock on the door and looked up, Rafael motioning for Carmen to come in. “Mr. Barba, your sandwich. Good afternoon, Detective.”

“Thank you, Carmen.” She set the box on the corner of his desk and quickly left the office, shutting the door behind her.

“Look, Barba, so I was thinking…” Sonny started. He crossed the room and was at Rafael’s side in a couple of quick strides.

“Oooh, that’s dangerous.”

“Haha,” Sonny rolled his eyes and perched on the corner of Rafael’s desk, “Seriously. I’ve been thinking and I wanted to ask-” Sonny shifted, suddenly anxious, accidentally nudging the items behind him. As if in slow motion, Rafael watched in horror as the lavender box tumbled to the floor.

“You.”

“I, uh… Oops?” Sonny slid off the desk and stood quickly, walking around to inspect the damage.

“Please tell me my sandwich isn’t all over the floor?”

“I could. Tell you that, I mean. But then I’d be lying and…” Sonny swallowed hard and knelt down to pick up the scattered pieces of Rafael’s lunch. “I’m sorry, Barba. On the plus side, no aioli got on your carpet. That would leave a nasty grease stain...” he paused, “Barba, are you okay?”

Rafael laughed, harder than Sonny expected for someone whose lunch was currently inedible, “That…is just my luck. Do you know how much money I’ve spent this week on lunches I haven’t gotten to eat?”

“Um, no? How many sandwiches are we talking?”

“Four.”

“Oh, shit. Barba. I’m really sorry. I’ll go get you another one right now. It’ll take twenty minutes, tops.” Sonny grabbed his coat.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind. You can get a little hangry and I don’t want that on my conscience when you walk into the precinct later.”

“Carisi, I’m not actually angry, so stop talking while you’re ahead.”

“Yeah, okay. But I really am sorry,” Sonny sat down at the table and grabbed another book, “I promise, your next sandwich is on me.”

Friday:

Rafael sighed, relieved, as he made his way into the deli with fifteen minutes to spare. “Hi, Can I get a number eight, please. Extra pickles and cut in half. To go.”

The teenager behind the counter looked bored as she tapped at the screen. “$12.95.”

Rafael slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his suit and froze briefly when he realized the pocket was empty. He shoved his hands into the front pockets, also coming up empty. “I, uh... sorry, I don’t...” he tapped the front and back pocket of his pants-no wallet.

He felt his inside pocket again and groaned, hoping he hadn’t dropped it somewhere. He could already feel his temple throbbing at the thought of having to go home and cancel all his credit cards and replace his license.

“$12.95.” The girl repeated with an eye roll.

“I heard you the first time. Clearly, I’m having an issue.”

“Apple-pay?” She suggested.

“What?” She tapped the machine in front of Rafael and he shook his head. “No, I don’t Apple-pay.” He closed his eyes. The last time he saw it was earlier today when he had given it to Carmen to purchase some flowers for his abuelita. She always locked it in his top drawer when she was done and in his haste to get out of the building he must have forgotten to grab it.

Rafael dropped his head in defeat. He couldn’t make it to his office and back before they closed for the evening, and even if he could, his key card to get into the building after hours was in his wallet.

“So, do you still want the sandwich or what?”

“Yeah, he’ll take the sandwich.”

Rafael didn’t need to look up to know it was Sonny standing next to him, handing some cash across the counter, telling the girl to keep the change.

“Carisi, you didn’t have to do that.��

Sonny shrugged, “but it was my fault your last sandwich didn’t work out. Luckily, I decided it looked really good while I was picking it up off the floor. My debt to you is now repaid.”

“My hero.” Rafael grinned. The pair stood in silence for a minute. “I guess it would be pretty rude if I didn’t ask you to join me, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah. Rain check?”

Against his better judgement Rafael asked, “you... you don’t want to have dinner with me? Isn’t that what you were going to ask yesterday? In my office?”

Sonny looked surprised. “I would love to,” he admitted. “But I know that you want nothing more than to go home with your sandwich and your obscenely expensive bottle of scotch and forget about this week. If we ever have dinner...together... I want it to be because you want to and not because you feel obligated to. Go home, enjoy your sandwich, and I’ll see you Monday?”

“Thanks, Sonny.” Rafael watched as the detective flashed a quick smile and exited the deli. Maybe, someday soon, he’d be spending some extra time with a blue-eyed detective. But for tonight, it would be just him and his sandwich, and he was just fine with that.

Taglist: @itsjustmyfantasyroom

#Rafael Barba #sandwich #sandwich-blocked #pre-barisi if you squint #just kidding you know me and it's obviously pre-barisi #give the poor koala his sammich #not my gif thank you to the creator i love it!#eccleston made the gif

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flooffybits · 4 years ago

Text

History not Chemistry

Idol: Kim Minji (Dreamcatcher)

Request: Yep

Anon: Hello~ May I request a JiU highschool! au in which the (fem) reader is in need of tutoring for a subject and the teacher assigns JiU as the reader’s tutor. If your inbox is full of requests, I don’t mind you not doing this one because I don’t wanna overload you with any more requests 🥺👉👈

Author’s note: you’re not overloading me! feel free to send requests any time, I won’t mind

Staring at the little note your teacher had given you, you had to refrain from groaning as you entered the library and looked around. She suggested that you get yourself a tutor when she noticed the dip in your grades, so after a quick talk, you found yourself assigned with one of the school’s most popular girls as your tutor.

You just wanted to dig yourself a hole and be buried in it because of your embarrassment. It wasn’t even because you were dumb, you just struggled with finding the motivation to study about all the dead people who really didn’t interest you on how they made the world that it is, now. There was so much that you had to memorize that it only ended up frustrating you until you basically just said fuck it and moved on.

While you wallowed in your misery, you failed to notice three girls walking up to you until a hand was waving right in front of your face. You pulled your head back a bit, flinching before giggles invaded your ears. When you turned to look at the source, you shrank to see the three smiling at you. The one who was waving earlier, grinned at your expression before she decided to speak. “Hey, Y/n, right? Miss Choi told me you needed a tutor for history.” Her voice sounded so nice and you wondered how you never got to talk to her before this very moment.

“Y-Yeah. That’s me.” You said as you stood up and rubbed the back of your neck. “I’m really sorry for the inconvenience.” You apologized and she waved her hands in front of her, smiling more before she patted your arm. “It’s not a problem at all! I get that not everyone likes the subject.” She assured you before she turned to her friends. “This is Gahyeon and Yubin, by the way. They’re a year below us, but they wanted to come with me to the library for a project they’re working on.”

“Call me Dami.” Yubin tells you, a friendly smile on both the younger girls�� faces. “We won’t disturb you guys. I hope your studying goes well!” Gaheyon said before raising her fist. “Fighting!” You couldn’t help but smile back at them before watching as they went to another area in the library.

Minji soon cleared her throat to gain your attention, her smile not once disappearing before she’s taking the seat across from you as you both sat down. She opened a notebook before looking up at you. “Okay, so can you tell me a bit on what you have a problem with in particular?” She asked, much more serious compared to her earlier facade and you blinked at the quick change.

“Oh, uh, I just can’t seem to find myself motivated to read up on corpses.” You say honestly and she pauses. Her head cocked to the side before slowly leaning back, her expression becoming a bit more amused while you shifted awkwardly in your seat. “Are you serious?” She chuckled and you looked away, your cheeks burning.

At least you were honest.

A little laugh fell from her lips before she’s closing her notebook and then putting it aside as she thought of something that could help you with your situation. “Well, this is… new.” She bemused while tapping her finger against the table. “How about we make the tutoring fun? That way, you won’t find it boring and we can both have fun while doing it.” She suggested and you slowly nodded your head as she clapped her hands. “Alright! Let’s get to it.”

Confused, you watch as she begins gathering her things while you stayed on the spot. She looked over at you before waving her hand. “Come on, Y/n, let’s get going.” You weren’t sure what she had planned out, but you grabbed your bag and followed her out of the library, unaware of the pairs of eyes that followed after you.

You and Minji agreed to meet every Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. That way, the topic would still be fresh in your mind and you wouldn’t be taking up too much of Minji’s time. Every Friday, you told her that you didn’t mind having a shorter period so she could have fun with her friends and do everything else she wanted to do, and she was pretty much agreeing to the arrangement without complaint.

The first session, she took you out to the park and began to add in some little facts about it. “I don’t get how this is helping me study.” You told her with the same confused look and she lightly smacked your arm. “I’m trying to tell you why it’s important to know where things started.” She tells you before she cracked open her notebook and began to associate everything from the past and present.

It was a bit bizarre at first, but after a while, Minji would take you to so many different places while talking about the topics that were covered in your class. And it did help with keeping things interesting. You were able to remember the things Minji would explain during your sessions and you found yourself not only learning, but enjoying the older girl’s company to the point you both considered each other as friends.

Minji, on the other hand, was enjoying this new approach. It wasn’t like her typical tutoring where they stayed at a cafe or library, but she was able to be more herself rather than just teaching another student.

And aside from the topics, when you would both take a break from studying, she found herself opening up to you and vice versa. She was able to notice the little quirks you had and how you would crinkle your nose whenever she said something cheesy or just roll your eyes then laugh when she pretended to be funny.

It made her happy that she was able to befriend someone so down to earth.

She took charge of where you would go for your tutoring sessions, just wanting to see how she could surprise you with the random places and seeing the cute confused puppy-like expression on your face when she does.

Your grades were slowly climbing back up and Minji could see the pure joy in your eyes when you excitedly showed her your test paper. She wrapped you in the tightest hug she could muster, squealing in excitement and then congratulating you with a smoothie during your next meeting.

“Okay, okay, so how about this one.” She said when she pointed to one of the stands and you hummed before looking at her. “I mean, it doesn’t look too bad.” You say as you further inspected the things that were being sold.

“It’s cute!” She exclaimed in protest when she grabbed your arm, making you laugh when she shook it. “I have these at home. It’s nothing new.” You tell her and she gasps when her head turns to look at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” But you shrug your shoulders while smiling at her in a teasing manner. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Who knows?”

Like your usual meetings, Minji has taken you to a different place, which so happened to be the fare that you’ve been excited to come to. When she learned that you weren’t able to come due to all the studying with exams coming along, she decided to make it her own personal mission to bring you, hating the sad look that appeared on your face when you told her about it.

“Oh, Jiu, I didn’t know you were coming here.” A voice behind the two of you said and you spotted Gahyeon and Yubin, smiling as you waved at them, then a few other girls that you recognize as her friends.

The redhead beamed at the others before she’s gesturing to you. “I wanted to take Y/n here since she needed something to help her.” She answered and the tallest among them looked confused. “Help her with?”

“She’s the girl Jiu unnie is tutoring.” Yubin told them and realization dawned on their faces before wide smiles spread on their lips. “Ah, so this is the girl you’ve been hanging out with.” The girl you recognize as Siyeon, smirked. “I’m curious how you’re able to teach her when you’re out doing all of this.” Handong, one of your classmates in literature, said with her head cocked to the side.

“It’s to make things more fun. History is a really boring subject so I wanted to make it less boring by hanging out!” Minji explained, her cheeks tinted with a light shade of pink when she felt the incoming teasing her friends were about to deliver.

The girl that spoke earlier, just smirked mischievously while nodding her head. “Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your studying.” She said before throwing her arm around Gahyeon’s neck then pulling her away. “Have fun!” Yubin waved before the rest of their group left the two of you and you looked to Minji, noticing that her face had gone red.

“Are you okay? You look flustered.” You ask worriedly and she quickly shook her head before flashing her signature smile. “Let’s just keep going.” She told you, gripping your arm gently as you both walked around the fare.

A week before the exams, Minji asked you to meet her at the cafe right outside the campus like she usually would when it came to your study session. You didn’t question it. When you got there, she was already sitting by the window with your favorite drink already there.

She looked up at you and waved her hand as you came nearer. “Hey. I know this is a little more mellow compared to the other places I brought you to.” She said while fidgeting her fingers under the table. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it. It’s relaxing.” You assure her before taking a sip of your drink.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” You ask her and she lifts her head up while scratching the back of it. “I, uh…” Her cheeks flushed and she was mentally cursing before the words fell from her lips. “I was thinking… we may not have history together, but we do have chemistry.”

You quietly put your drink down on the table, staring oddly at her as her face grew redder by the second. “I… what?” She groans while burying her face to her hands and shook her head. “God, why did I think Sua’s stupid line would work?” She mumbled to herself while you coughed lightly.

“Is everything alright?” You ask carefully, though you did admit that she was cute with how flustered she was being. “Where did that pickup line come from?” You ask and she takes a quick sip of her drink before clearing her throat, hoping to brush off the embarrassing moment before she looked up at you, but when she saw the light smile on your face, she quickly averted her gaze and whined.

“Stop looking at me and let’s just do this.” She complained, making you giggle before shaking your head. “Okay, okay. But just so we’re clear, we share history class together, which is why you’re the one tutoring me in the first place. But I do agree that we have chemistry between us.”

She was about to interrupt you before you could tease her, but as she heard the half of your sentence, she felt her heart leap in her chest as she looked at you with wide eyes. “You… I…” Hearing you laugh made her start smiling again before she quickly reached over and shoved you. “God, you’re such a jerk.” She laughed along with you.

“Well, judging by that really cringey pickup line, I’m making the assumption that you like this jerk.” She smiled lightly at that and sighed. “Well, you aren’t wrong.” You share a smile before you picked up your bag and drink, gesturing for her to do the same. “Come on, I think I have a place where we can study.”

Grinning, Minji picked her things up as well before she followed you out, her hand slipping into your own as you exited the cafe together.

#girl group #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher imagines #jiu dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher jiu #jiu #kim minji #jiu scenarios #jiu imagines

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ongaku-ato-kakikomi · 5 years ago

Text

1. Freak Accident

Masterlist (Tatum Riley x Fem! Reader, slight!Stu Macher x Reader)

Author’s Note: This story happens a year before the first murders of Woodsboro.

"Come on, (Y/N)!" You can hear how much Tatum is pouting just by listening to her voice on the phone, Stu's party seeming to only get wilder by how loud the music and the talking is in the background. "Just come by for a little hour... Your house is just on the other side of the forest, it won't take you long to walk... and who cares about that little stupid Chem test we have on Monday? You have all weekend to study!"

"I care, Tatum." You give out a giggle, continuing to do your revision homework while speaking with her. "And so does Sidney. So why aren't you harassing her to come, huh?"

"Hum, because there's no way she can sneak out with both her parents at home? It's board game nights, remember?" You can't help but playfully shake your head at that, another voice soon picking up in the background.

"Hey, Tatum! Who you're talking to? You're gonna need to pay part of the phone bill if you don't hang up soon!"

You recognize Stu's voice immediately, your grin stretching out at your childhood friend's next words. "Shut up, Stu! I'm trying to convince (Y/N) to come!"

You seem to be able to hear a gasp despite the party going, Tatum giving out a loud "Hey!" while the phone seems to be shoved around.

"Hey there, (Y/N)." You can't stop the giggle escape your throat when you hear the flirty tone in Stu's voice, the blond seeming a little louder than usual, probably because of all the alcohol in his system. "When are you gonna show your pretty face around here so we can finally start this party?"

"Sounds to me that the party's already started, Stu." You stop writing down your answers on your piece of paper, playing around with your own pen instead. "I wouldn't wanna ruin your fun."

"Eeey, what are you talking about? Everyone wants you here! Hey, Billy! Hey!" You slightly put the phone away from your ear when he starts screaming, having probably seen his best friend walking around his house. "(Y/N) is on the phone! Do you want her to come here...? Okay, you can't see him, but-" He lowers the volume of his voice when he speaks to you, his next words making you giggle. "*-he really wants you here. Like Tatum and I really want you here. Randy probably wants you here too-"

"Okay, you talked enough, Stu!" Tatum's voice comes back on, a groan escaping her throat as you can hear Stu's laugh slowly fading away into the music. "Jesus, that boy's get way too excited whenever I mention you."

Ever since Stu and Casey broke up, the blond has been all over you, always flirting and putting an arm around your shoulders playfully. Tatum always rolls her eyes whenever it happens, but you think the behavior is cute.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Tatum seems a little impatient now, though you can hear her smiling. "Are you coming or not?"

You look towards the clock on the wall to see that it's already nine-thirty PM, which means that if you really wanted, you could go for a quick hour or two before hitting the sheets. "Fine, I'll-" Loud knocks at the entrance door shuts you up, a confused frown appearing on your face. "Hold on, someone's knocking."

"That's weird." Tatum shorts when she says those words, your body standing up from one of the kitchen chairs. "Do you think your mom forgot her keys again?"

"She's doing the night shift tonight, she's not gonna be back until five am." The knocks repeat, more violently this time, soon followed by the ringing of the bell. "Hold on, I'm gonna go check who it is."

"But you're coming to the party after, right?"

"I'll call you back on that." You hang up before she can say anything back, your heart getting heavier with each step you're taking towards the entrance door. You slowly gulp in your saliva when you notice a tall dark figure through the window, not being able to see any features. It's when you're close enough that you recognize your mother's ex-boyfriend, Sam, standing there with what seems to be a frustrated expression. Carefully, you slightly open the door to be able to look at him better, wondering if he's bitter after your mom left him two weeks ago.

"(Y/N), hi." His expression changes to something more friendly when he sees you, but you can't help the bad feeling swirling inside your stomach when you notice the darkness in his eyes. "Is your mom home?"

Your mouth suddenly turns dry, the tension making you nervous. "No... She's working."

"Ah, what a shame." His smile hardens, sending alarms into your head. "I wanted to ask her if I could get some of my things back... Do you mind if I come in and look for them?"

You specifically remember your mom throwing all of his stuff in the front yard when she kicked him out of the house two weeks ago, ending their five months relationship after she learned that he was cheating on her.

"I..." You hesitate, all of your instincts telling you to shut the door. "I'd prefer not."

You remember how miserable your mom was when she was with him, hearing all kinds of bad things about him around town, especially from Tatum's brother. And you're not sure what he's going to do if you let him in.

"Maybe you should come back during the day, it's pretty late-"

"No-" His hand grips the door right when you were about to close it, a scream escaping your mouth as you step back in fear when he suddenly swings it open and gives you one of the most terrifying smiles you've ever seen. "It'll only take a minute."

You continue to step back when he eagerly walks further into the house, the panic in your heart rising. "Please leave the house-"

"Or what?" He chuckles darkly, tilting his head down at you. "You're gonna call the police-"

You dash towards the kitchen just as he says these words, only hoping that you can manage to grab the phone you left on the table before you can make a run for it. You barely hear a "come back here, bitch!" and heavy footsteps following you as the pounding of your heart drowns most of the noise around, your hands shakily picking up the phone. You have to try a few times before you finally manage to do it, about to dash towards the living room exit when a hand suddenly grabs your hair. You scream, letting go of the phone to try and make him let go, but he only tightens his grip and violently tanks you around.

"What do you think you were doing, huh? Huh?!" You let out a painful whimper, a groan of anger escaping his throat. "I just want my fucking things."

You yelp when he suddenly makes you walk towards the couch, roughly sitting you down on it while he still holds onto your head.

"Now, you're gonna stay here and let me roam around in peace... If not, well..." He reveals his teeth in a dark grin. "... Let's be honest, you don't wanna know what's gonna happen to you if you don't listen to me, sweetheart."

Tears fill up your eyes after he gently pats your cheek, watching him walk towards the kitchen behind you before you carefully listen to what he's doing. You slightly jump up when he roughly opens a few cupboards, his hands rummaging inside of then as he seems to be mumbling 'where the fuck is it?' and 'where did this bitch put it?'. It looks like your mom has hidden something of his, and you don't think he's gonna leave unless he finds what he's looking for.

You try to control your loud breathing as your mind finds every single possible outcome of this situation. You can’t run towards the glass door in the living room: it's locked and it'll take you too much time to open it. You can't move quickly enough to pick up the phone and call someone, he'll just yank it away from your hands again, possibly doing something worse. Your only option is to try to run towards the entrance door, still wide open, then run through the woods towards Stu's house to get some help. There's no way he can do anything to you if your hiding in a party full of people, and you certainly don't want to stay here and wait to see if he'll use you to give a message to your mom.

You hear him mumble another 'shit!', slightly louder this time. You slowly breathe out when you hear him walk towards the upper end of the kitchen, counting down the seconds in your head and waiting for him to open one of the drawers.

When he does, you don't hesitate one second to dash.

"Hey!" The fear rise when he suddenly screams, starting to panic when you hear his footsteps catching up faster than you anticipated. "Hey! I told you to stay still!"

He grabs the back of your shirt just as you were about to run out of the door, screaming at him to let you go when he wraps his arms around you to shank you back in the house. You fight to get out of his grip, giving him difficulties to hold onto you, but he's way stronger than you, and he soon manages to make you stand still.

"I never liked you, (Y/N)." You grind your teeth in fear when he says those words in your ear, feeling the tears fall down on your face. "Do you think your mom's gonna miss you after you disappear?"

The thought of him killing you and dropping you somewhere in the woods, only to never be found, terrifies you in your deepest core. He seems to start chuckling when he notices your cries getting louder, your body reacting before you can even tell it what to do. You feel your feet suddenly crashing down against his as hard as you can, the man letting out a yelp of pain. It is soon followed by another when you use your elbow to kick his stomach to release yourself, Sam stepping back when you do it a second time.

"You..." You watch him hold onto his stomach with a growl, his eyes looking at you with a deadly fire in them. "... fucking bitch!"

You grab the entrance door's handle with one hand, thinking of violently closing it behind you once you get outside. He seems to immediately know what you're up to. He’s about to yank it wide open before you get a chance to do it, but you swing the door towards him at full blast, hitting his head. You barely hear him groan as he wumbles backwards, stopping in your tracks once you see him trip and hit his head against the corner of the entrance's table. You watch him fall on the ground without even a yelp coming out of his throat, his body going completely still as silence falls all around. Terrified, you wait to see if he's going to stand up, something stopping you from leaving him there, only to watch him stay still on the floor for a few minutes without moving an inch.

"... Sam...?" You wait for him to respond, carefully taking a step back in when he doesn't. "... Sam-"

You shut up when you notice blood pouring out from the back of his head, slowly staring to form a puddle on the floor as his dead eyes stare at the wall. You can't help but let out a horrified scream, falling into your knees next to him.

"No, no, no, no-" you approach trembling hands towards his neck, fully crying as you try to feel a pulse. "No, no, please... Please, don't be dead, you can't be dead-"

You scream and jump up when the phone suddenly rings, your hands shutting your mouth to try to silence your own loud breathing. Slowly, without even controlling yourself, you stand up, trying to ignore his blood pouring down on your jeans. Using one of your hands to close the door behind you, you feel like the phone's ring is taunting you, your breathing barely coming in and out as you walk towards the living room. You don't notice leaving bloody footsteps all over the wooden floors, feeling like hours have spent when you finally pick up the phone from the living room's ground.

You don't know how you manage to answer it.

"What the heck, (Y/N)!" You grab onto the phone tightly when you hear Tatum's voice, the sound of it alone with the party in the background being the only comforting thing right now. "If you don't wanna come, just say so, don't leave me hanging!"

"Tatum..." Your voice cracks as you say her name, barely being able to talk with your cries interrupting almost every one of your words. "Tatum, something... something bad happened...!"

"Why do you sound so worried?" You can discern slight worry in her tone, though you can tell that she's still annoyed. "What happened?"

"It's... It's Sam, he..."

"Wait..." Her voice ses to get a little louder, though it's not enough to cover the music in the background. "Was that fucker the one knocking at your door?"

"Tatum... I..." You slowly walk back towards the entrance hallway, dreadfully looking at the man's dead body on the floor. "He's... He's dead...!*"

"... What?"

"I killed him...!" You feel like you're gonna stop breathing soon, your chest contracting so much that you fear it's gonna explode. "I killed Sam...!"

#scream #scream imagine #scream imagines #scream x reader #scream series #tatum riley #tatum riley imagine #tatum riley imagines #tatum riley x reader #imagine #imagines #x reader #reader insert #series #masterlist #freak accident

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twoidiotwriters1 · 5 years ago

Text

Starcrossed Losers IV (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: Y/N has trust issues and terrible luck.

Remember to leave feedback!

Words: 2,199

Warnings: Blood, a lot of running, cursing, a lot of gross ig??

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Josh steps inside the store and prepares to put his hand in danger, not without whining and groaning, of course, I can’t blame him, putting your hand down someone’s throat must be disgusting.

The closest thing I’ve seen to this is that time Alex and I were over at Nathan’s and Alex had to pull a plastic cap out of Nathan’s dog’s mouth. The way his hand smelled that day... ugh, totally would not recommend. We had to rush over to the vet to make sure Patty hadn’t swallowed any more plastic items, it’s like a block away from the mall, so we decided to let Nathan take his dog back home and we stayed here.

-Time for another beautiful flashback, sponsored by the terrible image of Josh searching on a ghoulie’s stomach with his bare hand-

“Don’t ever let me put my hand down a dog’s throat ever again.”

“How often do you think it could happen?”

“Dogs are silly, Y/N, I don’t know,” He shrugs, examining his hand with repulsion.

“If you ask me, I think that was pretty heroic,” I offer.

“Shut up,” He whines.

“For real!”

“You’re only saying that so I don’t feel as gross...”

“I say it cause I think it was a brave move. Patty’s a pitbull, she could’ve eaten your arm,” I giggle.

“Nah, she’s an angel”

Alex is the angel, but I won’t admit that to his face.

“Will you ever take a compliment without shrugging it off?” I roll my eyes, “I’m trying to say that I admire you, bitch.” Alex laughs at my outburst.

“I only do it so you keep complimenting me, isn’t it working?” He winks at me, and I feel the urgent need to push him towards the passing cars. Or hold his hand. Whatever.

“Sure. Tell you what, let’s go to the mall, I’ll get you icecream and you can look for a bathroom and wash your hand.”

“Yes, please,” He sighs and takes my hand to practically drag me on the direction of the mall. Alright then, I don’t mind at all.

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

Josh got the keys. His hand is covered in something gross and I can’t hide the smirk that’s growing on my face.

“The things we do for love, am I right?” I grin.

“Don’t start, Y/N,” He complains.

“No I mean, fucking respect. Not everyone would do that for their crush.” He shakes his head at my statement, not flattered at all.

“I just wanna find Sam.”

“And I want to get out of here, so let’s go!” I start walking, a new burst of energy going through my veins now that we have the keys.

“I’ll see you around,” He tells Angelica, and I happily wave goodbye while passing.

“Guys!” She says, following us.

“So what’s your plan, then?” Josh looks at me, “You’re leaving too? What about your skates?”

“There’s a store close to my old neighborhood, I’ll get a new pair from there.”

“You can’t wait to leave, huh?”

“Same as you,” I frown, “I’m sure anywhere’s better than with a bunch of weirdos.”

“Hey! Just because you’re not as cool doesn’t mean I’m weird” He replies playfully.

“I don’t think so, mister,” I hold to my backpack tighter, getting ready to go out, “I just need to leave this place, this mall has brought me nothing but trouble...”

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

And I wasn’t talking about Triumph or the Jocks only, I was also thinking about that day with Alex:

“How’s that hand?”

“Still smelling like crap.”

“Too bad. Here, take it. My treat,” I give him the icecream cone I bought moments ago, hoping it’ll make him feel better.

“Jee, thanks, Vinchi.”

I smile at the stupid nickname; it was the invention of a ten-year-old Alex that saw my drawing of a butterfly and thought I was the next big paintor, “like that guy, ’vinchi”. He meant to say Da Vinci, but the other name was funnier so it’s the one that stuck. You know how you’re supposed to hate silly nicknames? Well, even that was impossible when it came from Alex. I liked him too much.

I liked everything about him, or slightly related to him. Yet, I managed to keep my distance. Why? Cause you don’t get attached to things you cannot have. Alex was dating our friend Stuart.

Unrequited love is not something I personally enjoy, so is better to stay away from it. And just like unrequited love, if a bunch of rowdy misfits is running in your direction, you run faster and hide.

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

Angelica has been insisting on staying and forming our own tribe. Fucking crazy, right? You’d have to be out of your mind to try to form a tribe with these people. There’s no way I’m trying that.

“Angelica, maybe next time okay?” I look at her over my shoulder, “seriously you don’t want us on your tribe, we’re very dumb and slow.”

“You know that’s a lie.”

“Still, it’s better this way, you don’t need us.”

“Bye-bye Angelica,” Says Josh while opening the exit door.

You know when things are bound to end in tragedy? You get this feeling that it’s going to be one shit after the other, and you’re right, cause that’s all that’s been happening so why would it change, right? Yeah, well I was so excited about leaving that I forgot this was the case.

The same ghoulie that had run off with Josh’s sword on her back was outside the door, she jumps on him and throws him to the floor, Angelica and I jump back in surprise.

“Get off me now! Shit!”

“Don’t die!” Angelica runs back to get her molotov bombs (because according to her, fire is the only answer) and I’m left with no weapons to defend us.

“Okay! it’s two against one I can do this!” I try to reach the sword but the ghoulie keeps moving and I don’t wanna hurt Josh by accident, “Hold on, I’m trying to get the sword!”

“Try harder!”

“Shut up, I’m saving your life!” I kick the ghoulie’s hip and she doesn’t budge. Josh seems to be having a hard time and I can’t do much without putting myself in danger as well, the sword is halfway out and is dangerously close to his chest. If I make the wrong move, I’ll kill him.

“Fuck! I need a real weapon, hold on!”

I run like hell until I get to the hardware store and my eyes land on the only thing that I feel capable enough to handle. A sledgehammer. Because judging by my record, I’m pretty good at smashing things. I grab it and run back to where Josh is, lifting the tool at shoulder level.

“Here’s Johnny!”

I swing it hard and hit the ghoulie’s head with full force, she tries to stand up but Eli appears on the other side of the hall exactly where she landed and pulls the sword from her chest only to put it back, this time in her head. She falls like a puppet on the floor.

“Eli?” Josh seems disoriented, I help him stand up.

“You better be worth it,” He replies, handing him the sword and looking at my hammer with a nod of approval.

We run again until we reach the elevator, we find Wesley there, keeping the door closed.

“I can’t hold it!” He screams.

“Let him in!”

Wesley steps back and the door opens harshly, Triumph stepping in like a nightmare. The guys attack but Triumph easily beats them, I swing my hammer but he traps it mid-air and pulls me towards him. I kick his crotch and he barely groans. It’s not enough.

“Hoyles! Man! This does not need to end up in violence!”

Triumph stops and lets go of me, throwing me into the floor. Eli and Josh both pull me far from him, I grab my hammer tightly.

“Wes!” Josh warns him. Triumph is getting close to the boy and I know that he won’t be able to pull it off alone either, Samurai or not, he’s still a kid.

“AHHHHHHHH!” Crumble jumps from the roof of the elevator and attacks Baron Triumph with her bare hands. He easily pushes her away. Crumble stands up slowly, we’re all expectant, not knowing what the hell to do.

And then Crumble raises her hands and starts speaking in what I’m most certain is nonsense in Spanish, but it does the trick: Triumph backs off until he reaches the elevator and closes the gate. Wesley closes the second gate and supports his back against it.

“What the fuck was that?” Asks Josh.

“I wanted to help you,” whispers Crumble.

“How did you get out of the store?”

“I can turn myself into mist,” She explains excitedly, “and then I float through the cracks. Watch!” Then she proceeds to run straight into the elevator’s door and knocks her lights off.

“Outstanding,” I look over to Angelica, “bet you’re really proud of your Ghoulie witch now.” Angelica just smiles back at me.

So... that happened. Thank god it’s over, now I can finally go. But first, I think I’ll take Josh’s word and go shopping one last time.

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

“Thanks again for the icecream.”

“Anytime, Al,” I smile.

“You ‘going home now?”

“I guess, it doesn’t look like anything interesting is about to happen so...”

“Hey, about what you said...” He scratches the back of his neck, “you really think it was heroic?”

“Patty could’ve died. Of course I do,” I answer with full honesty.

“Thanks... I think you’re very heroic too.”

“What?” I laugh, “Dude, I’ve never done anything out of the ordinary.”

“You call out the jocks on their bullshit even if they annoy you afterwards. When Lily got high and was having a bad trip, it was you who took her to the shower and made her threw it up out of her system,” He puts a hand on my shoulder, applying light pressure to it, “You may not be saving the world, but you take care of your people. That’s cool.”

And maybe it’s the sugar rush, maybe it was the way his words sting on my heart or the way the artificial lights inside the mall made his eyes look so shiny. But my feelings for him went through the roof. Exactly like my common sense.

Whatever it was, all I know is that suddenly we were too close, and suddenly we were kissing outside the icecream shop. It lasted only five seconds though, cause then he tried to cup my face with both hands and the smell of dog’s saliva made me step back in disgust.

“Oh my god, what is that dog eating?”

“I’m sorry!” Alex covers his mouth with both hands and regrets it immediately after, grossed out by the smell, “fuck, I need to put on sanitizer.”

“I have to go,” I mumbled in a hurry, walking towards the exit.

“Wait, Y/N!”

“See you on monday, Alex,” I walk faster, almost crashing against a random boy wearing the ugliest reddish pants on earth, seemingly also running for his life.

Don’t. Just don’t. Whatever you have to say, trust me, I already heard it in my head every night for the past six months. I know it was a shitty thing to do, kiss someone else’s boyfriend. My best friend. Who had been dating my other friend for the past four months.

It doesn’t matter that he kept going. It was wrong. “Y/N, you bitch ass liar, you told us none of you ever made a move!”. Joke’s on you, a kiss is not a move if it doesn’t affect on anything after it happens. A kiss is just a kiss. Mine was a huge mistake for sure, but not a love declaration.

Alex and Stuart kept dating and we never mentioned our incident. Not even after he broke up with Stuart two months before the nuke. Not even when he went with me to look for my sister Katie.

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

So how’s that for a move huh? That’s the reason why I’m leaving. Cause it doesn’t matter if you’ve known them for a day, a semester or ten years. I thought that the people I hung with during Highschool would be my tribe during the apocalypse. That we were inseparable. Turns out we weren’t.

Love is weak compared to personal interests and I refuse to be the only idiot that gets attached. No one is worth that much pain. I’m leaving. Best of wishes to Josh and gang of weirdos but I’m out. I’m backing up. Stepping back. I’m-

“Y/N, come here quick! Stupid Josh cut his finger and now I need to get bandages and duct tape! Make sure he doesn’t faint!”

I’m coming into a halt and drop my backpack and weapon to the floor as I’m rushing over to the restrooms.

“He did WHAT?”

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic

#twoidiots writing #daybreak fanfic #josh wheeler #josh wheeler xreader #angelica green #wesley fists #eli cardashyan #crumble #daybreak #netflix #Starcrossed fic

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thescholarlystrumpet · 5 years ago

Text

The One Where Blum Doesn't Exactly Get What He Wants

Rated Explicit

A/N: I’m TRASH and needed Roland Blum porn so I gave him an OC to square off against. Please enjoy!

On AO3 HERE

Blum took a step forward and Madeline took a step back. They repeated this dance until she felt the wall at her back. He grinned triumphantly, raising one arm just past her shoulder, boxing her in on one side.

“Really? This is your big move? Cornering me in an empty office after a couple drinks?”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he shrugged, leaning in toward her.

Madeline turned her head to the side, denying him contact, but she didn’t move away. Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears, pulse thrumming hot and centering between her legs. She’d tried so hard to ignore it, to keep it at bay. Some part of her still hated him, hated everything he stood for. Hated the way he used people and tossed them aside.

Hated the way he could still affect her, even knowing all his demons as she did.

Blum wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “I’m not keeping you here against your will. You came back up with me.”

“I was drunk when I said yes.” Madeline rolled her eyes for emphasis.

“So was I. I'm drunk right now.”

“You’re always drunk, Roland.” She gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Mm, I like it when you say my name, Maddy.” He lifted his other hand to her cheek, trailing his fingertips across her jaw and over her lips. She parted them without thinking and he dipped a single digit inside. “Sweet, beautiful clever little mouth you have,” he crooned.

Maddy flicked her tongue against his finger before catching it with her teeth, smiling around it as Blum’s eyes widened.

“Oh, baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me,” he sang, slightly off key.

She tilted her head away and he withdrew his finger. “You said you had something for me,” she reminded him, trying to regulate her breathing.

Don’t do this, she reminded herself. You’ve outlasted so many others because you’re smart, you’re talented, and you won’t fuck him. Gotta keep him hungry or he’ll lose interest and you could lose the most interesting job you’ve had since graduating law school.

“What did you think I was talking about?” He cupped himself through his pants and waggled both eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’ve always known that.” His eyes searched her face. “Come on, Maddy, I heard what you said at the fundraiser tonight.” His gaze raked a burning path down her body and she felt naked despite the heavy satin of her dress. “Looking like that, hanging on my arm all night…”

She huffed a protest. “We were working. Networking. I was talking you up to a prospective client, like I always do. Like you pay me to do.”

He pursed his lips and dropped his arms back down, fiddling with his cuffs. She tried not to feel it as a loss when the warmth of his body shifted away.

“Who are you trying to fool here, kid?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s been two years. Two… complicated but ultimately successful years, need I remind you? I’ve outlasted three other associates and God knows how many members of your damn entourage. Why now? Why tonight?”

Blum met her question with an inscrutable look. “Why not tonight? We’re riding high, I’m feeling good.” He cha-cha’d toward her, hips gyrating, before leaning in to whisper in her ear. “And I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you all night.”

A shiver ran down her spine as his hot breath tickled her hairline.

“Roland,” she breathed, flushing scarlet in a flood of desire and shame.

He nosed along her neck, one hand shaping her waist. “That’s right, baby, say it again. Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m not your baby,” she grit out through clenched teeth, even as her traitorous body responded to his ministrations.

“Fine, Ma’am. Mistress. Whatever you wanna be called,” he muttered into the crook of her shoulder before nipping at her pulse point.

An exclamation escaped her and she clenched her thighs together as the throb between them grew.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

Not like that.

Exactly like that.

Fuck.

His hands were beginning to roam as his mouth continued to work its magic along her neck and collarbones. She’d have expected him to be sloppy, uncouth and selfish but apparently seduction was the only area outside of creative truth-telling to which Roland Blum could bring any serious focus.

Throwing the last reserve of her willpower into her hands, she grabbed his lapels and pushed his face away from her neck.

He gave her a frank look of surprise. “And here I thought we were starting to enjoy ourselves.” He added an exaggerated pout. “Go on, tell me that pussy’s not a little wet…”

“Jesus… read the room, Blum.” She tried and failed to steady her voice, to sound like her breathing hadn’t gone ragged and shallow.

“I am and you know I am.” A sly smile spread across his face as he sunk to his knees. “In fact, I’d put good money on it. If I lifted this skirt and pulled down your panties right now…” he toyed with her hemline, eyes never leaving her face.

Maybe it was the alcohol still in her veins. Maybe it was the tension that had been building much longer than she cared to acknowledge. Maybe it was just the sight of him on his knees, wild-eyed and wanting.

Whatever the reason, Madeline finally let go.

“Ok. Ok. You know what? Just. Just… oh, fuck it.”

“Music to my ears,” he chuckled.

She glared at him. “You just down there to beg or what?”

His eyes lit with gleeful anticipation. “Oh, I can do so much better than that, Maddy.”

Permission now clearly granted, he didn’t waste another second. His hands wrapped around her calves, kneading the muscles there. As he moved upward, he bunched the fabric of her skirt and ducked his head beneath.

Madeline swore aloud as she felt his breath ghost over her sex, his beard scratching at her upper thighs. He nudged her legs further apart and she grabbed the edge of a nearby table to help stay upright. She could feel him trailing open-mouthed kisses from her knees to the crease of each thigh, just glancing past the place she was neediest. She made an impatient sound and he laughed, muffled by her flesh and the fabric.

Still, he took the hint. The next thing she felt was a hot, wet lapping against her thong. She spread her legs just to the point where she could still stand, inviting him in. The tip of his tongue traced the edges of the skimpy mesh lace before returning to press into the center. He licked a stripe upward, hitting the underside of her clit and her hips bucked involuntarily.

“Oh yes,” he groaned and repeated the motion.

One hand emerged from under her skirt to hold her hips in place as the other hand pulled the sodden undergarment aside. His tongue lashed against her directly and Madeline hissed her pleasure. He slid his tongue the length of her slit, teasing at her entrance and withdrawing. She reached down and found a handful of his wild curls, her nails scratching against his scalp as she directed him forward.

The hand not holding her hip lifted one of her legs and flung it over his shoulder. She flexed her foot and shunted her hips toward him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he muttered before driving his tongue inside her.

Madeline ground against his face, whimpering shamelessly as she sought more sensation. She could feel her climax just beginning to build, a tenseness in her abdomen, fizziness at the base of her spine. But it wasn’t enough.

She pulled his face away from her pussy and he looked up at her, panting.

“What?”

“Use your fingers. I like it rougher than that.”

“Oh fuck baby - sorry, Mistress Maddy - I’m gonna come in my pants, you keep talking like that.”

Madeline shrugged one shoulder. “Not my problem.” She guided the hand that had been holding her hip down between her legs.

Blum fixed her with an expression of unfathomable hunger. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

He watched her face as his fingers played over her heated flesh, one finger sinking in easily to be joined quickly by a second. He pumped them slowly in and out of her, his lips parted and eyes half lidded.

Madeline rolled her hips, urging him deeper, faster. He picked up the pace, setting a brutal rhythm but she met him thrust for thrust, chasing that exquisite friction. He slowed just enough to ease in a third finger, crooking them just so, hitting that most sensitive spot over and over until she was nearly mindless with pure sensation. Her entire focus narrowed to the delicious fullness, the spark that flared higher and higher each moment until it engulfed her. She shouted inarticulately at her peak, inner muscles clenching around his digits.

He pet her gently through the aftershocks, planting little kisses on the insides of her thighs once more.

Madeline adjusted her thong to provide what little coverage it could and lowered her leg from his shoulder. She found herself wanting to giggle but she swallowed the feeling down. There’d been quite enough indulgence for one evening.

Blum got to his feet, rubbing his knees as he did so. His erection was bulging obscenely against his fly. He gave her a smug smile.

She returned it with her best ‘cat that ate the canary’ impression and pushed past him, striding toward the door as best she could on wobbly legs. “Well. Thanks for that.”

“Wait. Wait, Madeline,” he called after her.

She turned halfway, looking back over one shoulder. “Hmm?”

He gestured emphatically to his hard-on. “What about this?”

Madeline smiled, saccharine sweet. “Told you, Roland, not my problem.” She turned back to the door with a tepid wave of one hand. “See you Monday, boss.”

She could still hear him swearing as the elevator doors closed. Oh, there’d be hell to pay but she could weather that storm when she had to. For now, she needed to go home and unwind in the fading afterglow of both orgasm and getting one up on Blum.

#roland blum #the good fight #the good fight fic #roland blum fic #michael sheen #michael sneeb #sneeb #my fic #my gif #roland blum gif #michael sheen gifs #michael sneeb gif #sneeb gif

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flightlogmcu · 5 years ago

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Flight Log Blog #25

Hey Everyone!

I hope all of you are doing well and are healthy during this time. School and work kept me really busy so I couldn’t sit down to do a Blog. However, a lot has changed in the past week. I’ll explain how that will affect fic updates and other stuff.

My fanfic shout out for the end of the week is An Infinite Number Of Monkeys At Typewriters (Or, Steve and Tony Finally Get It Right) by JenTheSweetie

It’s a post CACW Stony fic that’s all about Steve and Tony put into an alternate universe where they’re married. It’s got all the angst and pining and sexual tension that I LOVE and I think you all will too!

100 WAYS

youtube

Jackson released his single “100 Ways” today and GOSH IS IT STUNNING!

I honestly didn’t expect the song to be the way it is; as in singing and the overall tune of it was completely different than what I was expecting, but the song is good! I’m so proud of Jackson and his ability to try different sounds and create his own works that are truly amazing.

BUT THE VISUALS THO?

AND ALL OF THIS?!?!?!

YOU COULD SEE THE LOVE AND THE ANGST! IT’S BEAUTIFUL DAMMIT!

Jackson’s suit design

I also made a post in my excitement about changing Jackson’s superhero suit in the FLMCU series to what he’s wearing in this music video. There’s a few design choices I wanna add to the outfit just in terms of his identity in the fic, but this is definitely the type of cultural and detailed look I wanted to give to Jackson but could never create on my own.

As far as when this will be introduced into the fics will really depend on the narrative. I want this new design to have a meaning instead of me just deciding to change the look outside the story. But I’ll have time to think about it.

Speaking of time, I have more of it due to the fact that I am in quarantine right now. My classes have moved online and I no longer have work, so I’m not moving from place to place like I usually do. I would like to say that this leaves me more time to work on Departure III but I won’t know for sure until my classes start up again next week. However, I know that the timeline I set out in my last blog is still holding strong and I want to keep it that way (and maybe wrap up earlier than intended).

This is really been a hard time for a lot of people. We’ve also lost a lot of people due to this virus and I send my condolences. I hope I’m able to give you all content or just some joy right now either through my fic, blogs, or just memes.

Remember you can send me asks and instead of me waiting for Friday, or Monday I’ll try to respond as soon as I see them.

Make sure to stay safe and stay home if you can.

#the flight log blogs #flight log: mcu #flmcu #fanfic #jackson wang #got7 #fanfiction #ao3

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madamslayyy · 6 years ago

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You Want A What? (Trevante Rhodes x Reader)

Pairing: Dad!Trevante Rhodes x Black!Reader

Warnings: None, lil Angst if you squint

A/N: So I have no clue why I even wrote this but here we go. It’s a continuation of my previous fic Cake which you can read Here. Hope y’all enjoy it, let me know what y’all think!!

Trevante:

Malik:

Diane:

~*~

“Momma, are you sterile?” Your son, Malik asked, at the breakfast table. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and the three of you (your son, your husband, and yourself) were sitting at the dinner table currently eating breakfast as a family for the first time all week due to you all having conflicting schedules.

“Sksksksksks aaaaaaahhh,” Your husband, Trevante, burst into a fit of giggles, sinking down in his chair and clutching his side.

“Lik, you always keep it interesting, I’ll give you that,” he said fist bumping his son. You didn’t share his amusement.

“Keep laughing it up Chuckles and see what happens,” you said rolling your eyes as he continued to laugh at your empty threat.

“Honey, why would you ask me that? Where did you get that from?” You asked turning to your son seriously.

“We learned about it in Sex Ed. They also said statistically African American and Hispanic communities are more likely to have two or more children during their lifetime if given the opportunity plus all my friends have siblings. Look at Diane, her parents just had a baby-“

“Slow down Gregor Mendel, you think just because your girlfriends got a new baby brother then I’m obviously sterile,”

“Well... yeah...”

“Then how did you get here?” You knew you’d got him there.

“I could be adopted...”

“Ha! Not looking like that you not! Face it, lil man, you look just like your pops. Except for that line up maybe. You got ya Mama’s hairline, son, nothing I can do about that,” Tre laughed ruffling Malik’s hair.

“Yeah he also got your big ass head, which I had to push out! Don’t believe me I can show you the video-

“NO!” Malik and Tre called out in unison. No one wanted to see the birthing video. It was not a pretty sight.

“What I thought. Malik, why you suddenly so cursious about this? Somebody tell you that you were adopted? I bet it was yo dumbass uncle, he always-“

“No it wasn’t Uncle Jaime, I just.... thought it’d be nice you know.... to have a little brother. Diane has so much fun with hers, and she loves him, and her and her siblings are so close, and-“

“Since you love their family so much why don’t you let them adopt you, I can send them the legal papers today and have it finalized by Monday morning. You and Diane might have to break up though. Can’t date your sister, Lik, that’s white people mess,” you laughed but your son didn’t seem to share your amusement.

“El. Oh. El.” Your son deadpanned.

“Why now? You do realize if you did have a sibling now, there’d be a 14 year age difference between you two.”

“15 years actually babe, his birthdays in August, that’s less than 9 months away.” You chimed in with your husband.

“Okay, that’s fine with me.” Malik said finishing his pancakes.

“They’ll be a lot of crying. Dirty diapers. Less attention. You’ve been an only child your whole life, you ready to give that up?”

“Yep.” You and your husband looked at each other, quickly realizing he was serious about this.

“Okay well I think that’s enough baby talk for breakfast. Malik go get dressed before you’re late to Soccer practice,” you said picking up your and his finished plates and taking them to the sink.

“Tre you done?” You asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” He said handing you his plate. You could tell by the look in his eyes, he was still thinking about the prior conversation.

Twenty minutes later and your husband was gone to drop off your son at Soccer practice. The two of you had a routine that whoever cooked breakfast, the other one had to drop him off and pick him up from Soccer practice and today it was Tre’s turn at the latter.

You were currently in your study, going over the evidence the DA’s office had supplied for your latest case but your mind was on anything but. You and Tre had never really talked about more kids. As soon as you’d had Malik you went straight back to work for your law firm, and Tre, being a book editor and writer, was able to mostly work from home allowing him to pick up most of the baby rearing slack. The two of you loved Malik to pieces and didn’t feel the need to have another because you both were too busy pouring love into him.

Knock, knock

“Hey, you uh, you busy?” Tre said peaking his head through your study door.

“Nah not really. Can’t concentrate anyway.” You said taking off your readers and massaging your eye.

“You thinking about what I’m thinking about?” Tre sighed as he sank into one of the plush chairs in your study.

“If what you’re thinking about was our son enlisting our reproductive organs in his scheme for a sibling this morning.... then yes.”

“God, why’d you have to word it like that?Makes it sound so...”

“Technical?”

“Yep,”

“Well that’s how I’ve been trying to approach this... don’t wanna get too attached to the idea y’know.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because Tre... look at us. We’re past that stage. Past dirty diapers and kindergarten and... and...”

“Being parents?”

“We’re already parents.”

“You know what I mean. I love Malik but the boy’s mature for his age. Always has been. And he’s got his wits about him. We never really had to go through it with him like most kids.” Tre sighed.

“I know, he’s a great kid. We really hit the jackpot with him, why try to make lightening strike twice?” You said rubbing your temples.

“So you don’t want more kids?”

“Never said that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“What do YOU want? You’ve been pretty stoic about this whole thing.” You countered.

“I want us to be honest with each other for once. We’ve haven’t talked about it since... you know....” You did know but you didn’t want to talk about it.

It had happened when Malik was six years old. You and Tre were finally beginning to get into the groove of parenthood when you’d started missing your period. You felt sick constantly and the likeliness of the symptoms to your first pregnancy were uncanny.

You took the test and it was positive so naturally, you and Tre began to prepare. You were in the midst of one of your biggest cases to that date and wanted the first ultrasound to work for both you and Tre’s schedule all while balancing a second grader as well.

You were three months pregnant and due for your first ultrasound but meetings for your case and Tre’s own workload with a new book deal kept causing the two of you to reschedule. And reschedule. And reschedule. And before you knew it, you were five months pregnant but your belly hadn’t expanded barely an inch. You knew something wasn’t right.

On a haphazard will you went to the doctor without him. Turns our you weren’t pregnant. You never were. But you were sick. You had intestinal problems that were causing the disease to manifest to the rest of your body, causing your fatigue, vomiting, loss of period, everything. You were upset. You cried yourself all the way from the doctors office to your home and then there as well. When Tre finally got home with Malik, you took it out on him. Called him everything you could think of. Screamed, yelled, threw things. Finally when he realized there was no reasoning with you, he took Malik and left you.

You thought it’d be temporary, that he would eventually come home. He didn’t. A couple of days turned into a week and you eventually caught him dropping Malik off at school. You demanded the two of you talk.

“Where have you been staying with my son?!” You asked hastily after Malik was safely in the classroom though it wasn’t without a fight. He clung to you the second he saw you and started to cry, forcing you to stop your potential he’ll storm you’d had planned for your so-called husband and comfort your son.

“We’re not doing this here.” Tre said roughly, walking back to his Silverado. You’d thought he was walking away from you and the conversation when he held the passenger door open, waiting for you to get in. You got in silently.

The two of you rode in silence until he pulled up to the nearest coffee shop he saw. You sat down thinking the two of you were about to start but he headed straight for the front, and began to order. Only when he finally came back with his large black coffee extra expresso and your large (Y/F/D) were you finally able to get a word through to him.

“Where have you and Malik been Tre?”

“My sister’s.”

“Why haven’t you answered my calls? I am his mother.” You demanded.

“You think I don’t know that? You don’t think I haven’t been at my wits end the last few days trying to calm Malik down because he thought his mom had lost his mind. You’re an amazing mother but I won’t let anyone traumatize my son like that.” Tre said heavily and you knew you’d seriously messed up.

“I’m.... sorry. I was wrong. I never should have brought that around Malik. Or treated you li-

“This isn’t about me,”

“Yes it is. I love you Tre. And what I did to you wasn’t love. That’s no way to treat a stranger on the street, let alone my husband. And for that I apologize.” You reached over the table to hold his hand and you could literally feel how tense he was.

His jaw was set and he kept his eyes trained on your hand encasing his own. You felt your heart sink that maybe this really was it for you two until he finally gripped your hand back in acceptance.

“So are you going to finally tell me what’s really wrong with you? Since you’re not...,” Tre trailed off.

“Pregnant?”

“Yeah...”

“My lower intestines are failing and it’s wrecking havoc on the rest of my body. I have to have surgery to correct it or I won’t be here much longer.” You said solemnly.

“Shouldn’t you be in a hospital?”

“They can’t legally detain me there.”

“Damn it Y/N, this isn’t about legality for once, it’s about your health! When is your surgery?”

“.... In four days...” Tre stood up at this, nearly knocking the contents of the table to the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me? All those texts and voicemails and you never once mentioned this?!” He walked out of the cafe and you followed behind him. You watched him from a distance not sure what he might do. You could see tears streaming down his face.

You wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him while he buried his face into your hair and cried. You didn’t notice when the tears started to fall from your eyes as well, soaking his shirt.

“Tre...”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna be the black people crying in the Starbucks parking lot,” you quipped causing him to chuckles.

“C’mon, lets go home,” Tre sniffled, opening the door for you. You got in and waiting while he got in on his side then the two of you pulled off.

“Aye, Y/N,”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t you ever keep something like this from me again. If you’re sick, you gotta tell me. We in this together, right?” Tre took your left hand in his right and intertwined them, kissing the back of your hand.

“Right.”

“I don’t want another,” you said quietly, coming out of your thoughts.

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Yeah I’m sure. I love Malik to death. And you as well. You two are enough for me.” You smiled as Tre walked around behind you, kissing your neck.

“Great because I’ve got the perfect way to get Malik off this whole sibling kick,” Tre mumbled into your pulse.

“Hmmm? And how’s that?”

“We get him a Pitbull,”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”

~*~

So I’m tagging my lol Trevante taglist, one day I’ll make an official one for each person i wrote for but for now here goes

Taglist: @queennanayaa @chaneajoyyy @wawakanda-btch @killmongerthiskoochie @theunsweetenedtruth @blackgirloneshots @blmforeal @erikkillmongerstan @jozigrrl @quietstorm-73 @sailorsenshi420 @wakandamama @mxearth @chefjessypooh @macfizzle @chasingsunlight @dameshaemonique @rubiesandravens @raysunshine78 @melaninmarvel @melanisticroyalty @softnani @vibranium-soul @bartierbakarimobisson @teheeboo @lifelover4u @youreadthatright @doublesidedscoobysnacks @blackpinup22 @darkangelchronicles @thehomierobbstark @cinki-the-black-goddess

#trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes imagine #trevante rhodes x you #trevante rhodes x reader

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