#opened the file again and went “huh it's not as bad as i remembered���

[sweetgaleria]

Aaaw, you thought she was being cute <3

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

waiting for a girl like you [s.h.]

an: hiiii so this is a lil something based off this ask!!! i hope this is kinda what you meant bc this is what came to mind and i just ran with it!! but lmk!! and feel free to send suggestions and i hope you enjoy

summary: steve thinks you’re made for him and that everything has led to you, and thank god for that.

no warnings just fluff and a little cursing!! steve being so horribly terribly down bad

wc: 1.8k

masterlist here!!!

Steve fell in love with you the way they do in the movies. 

One day it was just him and his friends, taking each day as they came and trying to make it to the next. He’d go to work, drive everyone around—mindless shit that kept him occupied. 

And then one day you were there. He remembers when he saw you for the first time vividly, probably because he played that moment on a loop inside his head for weeks. He still does sometimes. Compared to all the crazy shit he did it was something so mundane it made him laugh. He’d been walking to his mailbox when he saw a moving truck across the street and 2 houses down, movers filing in and out and he remembers how he’d turn to go back in, not at all interested in being the neighborhood welcoming committee when he saw you. 

Well it was a flash of pink that caught his eye and had him walking briskly back to his mailbox, letters and bills shoved behind his back so no one saw he’d already gotten his mail. There you were, a pink t-shirt that hugged your body just right, a sliver of skin showing between where the shirt ended and your jean shorts began. You were stunning and if Steve thought you were pretty, he wasn’t prepared for the wide smile you gave him when you noticed him staring, hand going up in a friendly wave before you lifted a box from the back of the truck and went inside. 

He thinks a little part of him fell in love with you right there, your bright smile and soft looking thighs enough to make his heart race and palms sweat. 

But he had no idea what was coming for him with you. 

It was a few days later that he saw you again, this time at the movie theater where you just so happened to work. Steve didn’t know this, he swears. And everything would have been fine if he didn’t have such a big mouth on him. The whole group had decided to go to a late night showing of some movie he hadn't heard of you and what gave him away was the way he stopped and gasped when he saw you behind the snack counter. 

See, Steve had spent the last few days going on and on and on about you to his friends. Granted most of them were kids a few years younger than him, but regardless he still droned on. So when they walk in and see Steve staring slack jawed at a pretty girl, it doesn’t take much to piece two and two together. 

The lot of you are only a few feet away from his new neighbor when one of the kids—Dustin he thinks—opened his mouth and had Steve smacking the back of his head a little too hard to be a joke. 

“So that’s the pretty neighbor girl you’ve been talking about for days?” 

“Henderson, I swear to god.” 

Steve cursed loud enough for you to hear, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath so he didn’t do something stupid. Dustin’s voice carried, unfortunately, and they all heard the way you’d snickered after he spoke. 

He’d basically had to drag his feet up to the counter, a blush working its way from his neck up to the tips of his ears as he tried to avoid eye contact. Everyone else stayed a few feet back, knowing that they’d pushed Steve enough for one night and would hang back and watch him suffer his way through buying snacks. 

“Pretty neighbor girl, huh?” Your voice held a teasing note that had Steve scratching at the back of his neck and sending you an awkward smile. He couldn’t do more than shrug, seeing how pretty you were up close for the first time was doing little to help with the embarrassment he was feeling. 

His brain was begging him to say something, anything! He wasn’t a stranger to girls, to charming them, but with you standing in front of him it was like his vocabulary had been wiped clean. 

He opened his mouth but nothing was coming out, brain on overdrive and yet, nothing! 

Even though he wasn’t saying anything, just kind of going back and forth between staring at you and staring at the popcorn machine behind your head, he watched the way your face stayed amused, intrigued by him almost. Your smile never faltered and your eyes seemed to be light as you looked at him. 

“I love a good staring contest but did you wanna order anything?” 

His jaw clenched at the laughs coming from behind him, smile grim as he ordered way too much junk, spent even more, and practically threw the candy at their heads behind him. 

Once he’d turned around he didn’t look back, embarrassment washing over him from head to toe. He felt nauseous for many reasons. One, you were fucking gorgeous. The type of pretty that he felt in his fingertips and that made his chest hurt. Two, he’d just made a complete and utter ass of himself in front of you and he wouldn’t be surprised if you never looked his way again. And three, he’d al—

“See you around, pretty neighbor boy.” 

His feet froze, body turning slightly to meet your gaze and he thanked god everyone else was far enough ahead that they hadn’t heard you. When he looked back you were perched behind the counter, leaning forward with your chin in your palm and a twizzler in your mouth, showing your teeth to him when you bit down and threw him a wink. 

Looking back he thinks—no he knows that he was fully in love with you then. And he had a sudden craving for twizzlers. 

———

It’s been almost a year and a half since that day at the movie theater—the best year and half— and as Steve watches you now, his chest feels warm and light. You’re laying on his bed in his favorite blue t-shirt and a pair of ankle socks, on your stomach with your legs bent at the knees, feet crossed and swaying in the air while you write in your journal. You’ve been going at it for almost an hour now and Steve is in his desk chair a few feet away, everything else forgotten as he watches you. 

He smiles to himself at the way you frown in concentration, staring down the words in front of you hard as if you’re writing the nation’s top secrets, and maybe you are. He sees the way you pause every few minutes to shake out your wrist where it’s getting sore from scribbling away furiously and he wants to come over and kiss it gently, kissing away the furrow between your brows too. 

The both of you kind of just fell together after that night at the movies. You’d see each other outside—Steve took to getting the mail every day now—passing each other in the mall or sending each other small smiles when Steve would come in for a movie, alone. And he’d be there once or twice a week after he found out you worked there. 

It went from seeing each other every few days to somehow being in the same places at the same time. He’s not sure if it was fate or coincidence or just pure luck, but he was grateful all the same. 

Bumping into each other turned into a date and one date turned into two and now you didn’t go without seeing each other for more than 24 hours. Always on the other's hip or you in his lap or him climbing through your window late at night. You’d become almost obsessed with each other and the group had welcomed you with open arms. You fit in beautifully and that mattered to Steve more than he’d ever admit to those little assholes. 

You must have felt him staring because he notices when you’re peeking at him through the corner of your eyes, pen tucked between your lips as you turn your head to look at him. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something productive over there?” 

“Oh, I think I am.” He’s smug when you roll your eyes at him, amusement written all over your face. You always pretend like he gets on your nerves but he knows better, sees the way your lips quirk and your cheeks tint. He knows you love it, knows you love him. 

“What am I gonna do with you, Harrington?” 

“Marry me, I hope.” 

“Not if you don’t let me finish this, I won’t!” 

It’s not the first time he’s brought this up, and it certainly won’t be the last. He loves the way your eyes widen every time, a gasp falling from your lips as you curse at him, telling him to shut up. He might love to tease you with it but he’s never been more sure. Yes, you’re both young and while he’d love to marry you right here and now, he’ll wait. He’d wait until hell froze over for you, he thinks. 

The thing is Steve’s had relationships before, quite a few. None as serious as his relationship with Nancy, not until you. But he wouldn’t call any small relationship or fling he’s had meaningless, they were far from it. They all had a part in shaping him, helping him grow into who he was today. Was he proud of all of them? No. Proud of some of the things he’d done in the past? No. 

But those people, those things—even the shitty things he regrets—made him who he is. And that guy you love. They changed him, for better or worse, to be the Steve Harrington he is today. The Steve that’s watching you blush on his bed that you spend more time in than your own. The guy that has you. You, who’s wearing his initial on a chain around your neck proudly. 

He had to spend a lot of time working on himself, bettering himself even when it didn’t feel worth it at the time. But it’s all worth it now. Every breakup and makeup and loss and ass beating he took is all worth it when he looks at you. 

As cheesy and cliche at it sounds, he thinks you were like the missing piece to his life. You swooped it and everything fell into place and suddenly he wasn’t so worried about shit that didn’t matter and was focused on things that mattered like being around people he loved and caring for those people.

He knew as soon as he saw you that you’d been worth the wait, worth the shitty few years he’d endured and put others through. You made him good, whole. 

“Love you, ya know?” You always asked him, made sure he felt your love and support. He thinks he’d be lost without you. Fuck he knows he would. It’s nice to know someone’s in your corner unconditionally. It’s a feeling he’s still getting used to but will cherish forever. 

“Love you back, baby.” 

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part IV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a brief mention of reader being injured.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III

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

“Dr. Ieiri?” you called in a singsong voice.

The door was open, and you were half inside the infirmary, but you still knocked.

Shoko was standing with her back to the door, reading a file. She did not turn to face you, but asked “How’s your shoulder, [name]?”

Two days ago, you had been hurt during a mission. A curse had slashed your upper arm and you had taken quite a strong hit to your shoulder. The mission had been successful, though. The curse was exorcised, and you were technically still in one piece, but the wound had looked pretty nasty. You assured Ijichi that it did not hurt as bad as it looked, but Gojo escorted you to Dr. Shoko when you were back at the school, saying "We can't have your arm falling off, can we?"

Ieiri had healed it almost completely, but today was checkup day.

“It’s alright.” You sat on one of the empty beds and Shoko closed the file she had been reading.

She moved away to wash her hands while you removed your jacket and placed it next to you. Then you asked her about her weekend.

“I didn’t do much really. My neighbors got a new dog, though.” She had stepped closer, gloves now covering her hands and a mask on her face as she expertly removed the bandages off your arm.

“Oh, is it cute?” You looked into her tired eyes.

“I haven’t seen it, but it’s a dog for sure. It did not stop barking since Saturday evening.” Shoko’s attention remained on your arm.

You heard her vent about the dog and how a medical emergency had interrupted her weekend activities, and then she had asked about you.

She was wrapping fresh bandages around your arm when your next words slipped mindlessly “…I went there because Ikeda said the tea was on another level, but maybe I just haven’t tried enough kinds to tell the difference between that and the one I buy at the market.”

“Ikeda?” Shoko was securing the wraps on your arm but directed a brief questioning look at you. Then it hit you: you had not told her you had ran into him and exchanged contacts. Things really had been busy lately.

Your eyes widened. “I forgot to tell you...”

“Tell me what?”

“Remember Ikeda Haruki?” No reaction. “Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes?” You could tell no bells were ringing for Shoko.

You sighed. “Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy we met in high school? He served our table like a hundred times.…” You said that last part in a lower tone and Shoko’s eyes shone with realization, but you could not see her complete expression because she was still wearing the mask.

“Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy? That Ikeda?” You nodded, but she did not stop there. “The tea-obsessed Ikeda?” Nod. “The anime fan Ikeda?” Nod. Nod. “The Gojo-wants-to-kick-his-butt Ikeda?”

“Huh…” You frowned a little at that. “It’s odd you remember him for that, but yeah... I guess that would be him.” You put your jacket back on. “We ran into each other a few weeks ago. He is back in Tokyo.”

Weeks...

“And you are talking again…” Shoko said thoughtfully.

You nodded slowly. “We are… I mean, it’s not like we were ever on bad terms.”

A question popped up in Ieiri’s mind: does Gojo know? She doubted it. You may have forgotten to tell her, but as transparent as you were, it would not surprise her if you had decided to keep it from him. After all, if your friendship with Gojo was the Titanic, Ikeda Haruki had almost been your iceberg.

The way Ieiri saw it, it had begun innocently enough, but the half-friendship-half-puppy-love that started blooming between you and Ikeda at the end of that summer, many summers ago, had opened for a second the Pandora’s box of Gojo's messy feelings, and doom had almost engulfed you all.

Fortunately, the box had been closed when Ikeda moved away.

Gojo had told her and Suguru once “He should have moved to a different time zone, but I guess out of Tokyo is good enough.” And that was the last time she ever heard him say anything about Haruki.

“So, I’m good to go?” You were gesturing to your shoulder.

Shoko nodded. “You can stop wearing the bandages in two more days. I don’t think it’ll leave a scar.”

You thanked her and walked to the door. “[name]?” Ieiri called, and you expected her to instruct you to take painkillers if your shoulder was still sore or something like that, but that was not what she said.

“Tell Ikeda I say hi.” Had she not been wearing a mask, you would have seen the amused smile on her face.

I will not be the one to rock the boat, Shoko thought, but Gojo Satoru, you have had enough time to man up.

***

“Would you stop?” You slapped away the finger Gojo had been poking your cheek with.

Your computer had broken, and he had told you to come to his place and use his, but you had not been expecting him to just stay there watching you work all afternoon.

Gojo sighed dramatically and returned to the couch across the room. “You are not fun. Why do you work on the weekend anyway?”

It was your turn to sigh. “I have to finish a report I could not hand in to Yaga during the week,” you replied while still typing.

“Boring.” You rolled your eyes at that and continued working.

Your fingers pressing the keyboard was all that could be heard for a few minutes. Your eyes left the screen to look at Gojo. He had put away his phone and was leafing through a magazine he had picked form the center table.

Gojo was quick to feel your gaze on him. “If my beauty is too distracting, I can leave, you know?” he said turning the page of his magazine.

“Sorry to stare. I was just too surprised at the fact that you can read. Or are you just looking at the pictures?” He lifted his head and you both smiled when your eyes met.

“Coming to my home, using my stuff, sitting at my desk, and insulting me on top of that.” Gojo was speaking calmly, almost as if his words were not directed to you. “The audacity of it all...” He left the magazine aside to stand up and walk back next to where you were sitting.

“In my defense,” your focus returned to the screen in front of you, “you are the one who refused to let me take your computer home with me. So, if I am here, it’s your fault.”

“Is it now?” Before you knew it, he was leaning over your shoulder to peek at what you had been working on.

“I just finished…” You turned your head to look at him at the same time he had turned to look at your face, ending up with you two almost nose to nose.

He was wearing his sunglasses, so you saw your own eyes widen slightly when his blue ones showed over his frames.

Growing up with him, you were used to seeing Gojo up close, but lately, a weird feeling had been growing in your heart. Still, neither of you moved.

“Hey, do you know what personal space is?” you said softly.

A smile formed in his lips and you did your best no to look at it.

“Of course I do.” And he bumped your nose with his before straightening up and walking away, leaving you a bit too shocked at first.

“If you are done, we can eat out, right? Or should we order something?” He was looking at you.

“Yeah… Let’s eat out.” It took you a second, but you had recovered your composure. “Just let me save this.” You saved your report and turned off the computer.

It's all dark.

You opened your eyes and looked at the clock on your nightstand. 4:32 am.

It had been a dream… Well, not exactly. It had been a memory. That had happened some time before you confessed your feelings to Gojo, when you were already presenting the symptoms of having a crush on your best friend. Dreams and memories involving him would mix during your sleep in the months leading to your confession.

As if seeing him almost every day was not enough.

Sometimes, your mind would replay the memories the same way they had happened, like the one you had just had. Some other times, it would be a dream about you and him, ranging from the most romantic to the most bizarre scenarios, including some actual nightmares, like that one in which you had died and cursed him?

That idea is not too bizarre if you are a sorcerer, though.

It had been one of the reasons why you had decided to come clean about your feelings. Perhaps the dreams about Gojo were powered by your guilty subconscious feasting on the emotions you were trying to hide. If you stopped hiding, the dreams would also stop, right?

But you had been only kind of right. While the weirder dreams had ceased almost entirely, every once in a while, you still woke up with a memory of Satoru, sometimes, one you did not even know had been stored in your mind.

Is replaying memories a way of grieving what cannot be?

You sighed and looked at the clock again. 4:34 am.

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

Note: No notes from me today, just love. Thank you for reading!

Next: Part V

@mavs-stuff

[alicerosejensen]

Shades Of Cool

So here is the angst as promised. I have a lot of requests in messages and I will try to fulfill them, but now I want to write something sad. There was already a similar text, but it did not say exactly how the reader died.

Warning: mention of suicide; the reader has suicidal tendencies; longing with a bad end; Leon is hurt but holding on; Leon!Vendetta

(Depression is my profession, huh.)

Leon knew you had a failed attempt in the past. Everything has been documented for a long time and is in your medical file, the information of which Hannigan requested at the request of Leon when you first met him. Just to make sure you has nothing to do with Umbrella or other bioterrorists. Of course, you did not have any dark spots in your biography that would have made another chip on his heart if he knew that you were one of those who create bioweapons or have any dealings with them.

Except one.

“Suicide attempt…two years ago. Poisoned by sleeping pills. According to the medical records, she was barely resuscitated." Hannigan's voice came out with a sly grin as Leon's heart sank.

But why?

Leon did not ask you because he realized that he opened that page of your life about which you did not want to tell him yet and had every right to do so. However, you still remembered that sad look of his when he came to your house and hit his shoulder against the door frame. You never told him about it, but you suspected that he knew. You had a few cuts on your arms, but you lied to him that your cat left them for you as a child. Complete nonsense and Leon, holding your wrist in his hand, ran his thumb over deep footprints, looking intently at them.

"Never do that again" from his serious tone, everything inside turned upside down and, meeting with the blueness of his eyes, you lost all words and thoughts, feeling only shame in front of him. As if your problems are too small compared to his and how could you do such things with your body when he sees horrors literally every day? Goosebumps ran down your spine as Leon's lips touched each of your scars as he kissed them. “If something is bothering you, we can solve it differently”

But you didn't know how to decide otherwise. This is something that Leon should have understood before the irreparable happened. Leon was afraid to build relationships, and you didn't believe that someone could love you. Like it was impossible. But if Leon dared to let you get closer to him, to his heart broken into many parts, then you inflicted another knife wound on him.

Pictures of your meeting, communication, joint meetings, ringing laughter, everything revolves before his eyes as a bright kaleidoscope around one colorless event.

His indifferent face seems to show no emotion as he stands in front of the bed, peering down at your lifeless body sprawled on the clean sheets.

He didn't come home to you to find you dead.

But you're so tired of everything. Always not good enough. Never smart enough or pretty enough. There was always... there was always something missing. Eventually something started telling you to stop everything again.

Leon didn't need you. He preferred to while away his days in bars or in correspondence with Ada Wong, which he probably thought you knew nothing about. For everyone, you were too stupid and naive to notice clearly obviously, but you noticed ... you just didn't always show it. Maybe of course you took everything to heart, but even your family constantly inspired you that you were not as good as the rest. This was the reason for the first attempt. But love is short-lived, like a candle in the wind. So you went out like a candle, leaving behind only a dissolving haze. This sea of endless self-loathing covered you in endless waves, plunging you deeper and deeper into a dark abyss from which you no longer wanted to get out. At some point, you just realized that no one will even notice if you leave.

Suppressed by childhood fears, these deep wounds never healed. And the pain was too real, even though you somehow charmed Leon with your inner light and agreed to be with him, you were still alone with this pain.

There was so little good in your life that in the end even Leon turned out to be something negative that finally knocked you off your feet, made you drown, even though he remained your most beloved person. You were always very close to him and very far at the same time, because it was Leon who set the distance. The only woman he could let in without fear and looking back was not you at all.

And yet there was something that brought a smile to the face until the very end. Moments when Leon said that you belong to him and he is obliged to take care of you but in fact even he threw you away as an unnecessary thing.

You are so tired... Leon finally pushed you away after the death of his entire squad. He didn't need you anymore, no matter how hard you tried to help him, he just left without a word, taking the bag with his few things, leaving you in the middle of the room broken like a doll.

With slowly flowing tears on your cheeks, broken from the inside, and only when the door finally slammed shut behind him, you felt pain in your knees when you fell, hitting them on the floor. No word could describe how you felt when he left "us" behind. It hurt more than any betrayal, forcing you to roll onto his side of the bed and touch his nonexistent face. No one could help you forget him, and you were so tired of falling asleep thinking about him, unable to stop loving him. It was so cruel. You literally choked on your own howling and coughing, choking on tears.

He didn't even have anything to say to you. He just left when he saw fit, kicking you out of his life.

You thought pain was the worst feeling, but worse was the endless silence inside you that followed Leon's departure. Not even going to delve into the reason for the distance, as if out of spite, your whole family began to put pressure on you again, condemning you for a small mistake. As if a huge black cloud clouded whole life. You didn't want anything else. There were no tears, no sadness, no joy. You have always been worse than others. From early childhood. Even at your crappy job, you were considered worthless, which eventually led back to the only solution to the problem.

But even if you died, you would create unnecessary problems for your family with a funeral, and they certainly would not want to do this. The guilt was precisely because of this: the knowledge that someone would take the time to prepare your body for burial. But the upsides of your death seemed to far outweigh the few downsides when you were holding a full vial of sleeping pills in your hands.

That's why you corrected yourself. Cleaned up the house, had a nice chat with the upstairs neighbor while she complimented the dress you bought, thinking you were probably going on a date; made the bed with new linens, took a shower and put on light makeup before pouring a full glass of water and drinking sleeping pills one after the other until you emptied the whole vial and your poisoned body collapsed on the bed, staining the pillow with a thin line of blood running from under your nose and mouth.

However, even outwardly you did not look like a sleeper. The heartbeat gradually slowed down, and you plunged deeper and deeper into the dark bottom, from which there was no longer a single chance to get out. There was not even a farewell note, although you wanted to apologize to everyone for the fact that those around you spent so much time on you, but all their hopes were crushed. So death really was a deliverance from all problems.

You just finally solved all your problems in one single right way.

And Leon hated himself for leaving you for months without saying a word. However, something affected him in New York that he rushed to you as soon as the plane landed back, banging on the door of your small apartment to no avail.

This time he wasn't even drunk. Beaten, bruised, but completely sober and alive, unlike you. Because your heart hasn't beat in at least four hours, so your lips have taken on a bluish tint.

"Sweetheart, I know I acted like a fucking asshole but please let's talk. Open the door, I know you're home"

The comic of the whole situation was that the door was actually open, you deliberately did not close it so that in the morning your friend would find you.

"I love you... I was afraid that I might lose you too if I was by your side, but now I understand that I was an idiot! Please, let's talk, I don't want to lose you anymore."

Nothing.

Leon took a deep breath, resting his forehead on the door, trying to hear your steps or movements. Silence. But he knows that you are at home - he saw the open window. He knew that he acted like a son of a bitch, he knew that you had every right to hate him, and yet he wanted to return you.

Another series of knocks followed by no response. Leon accidentally put his hand on the door handle, and then with a click it opened, causing him to freeze in place in amazement. Leon pushed open the door into a dark hallway, and the dim light from the next room made him move further inside, shuddering slightly as the chill of the night ran down his spine.

"Sweetheart?" He slammed the window to a distinctive click, but you still did not respond to his voice.

Your phone was on the table, and next to it was an empty vial of some pills with an almost empty glass of water. Leon unlocked your phone by looking at the list of recent messages, but there was nothing interesting about them. However, taking a vial in his hand and reading the name on the label...

You definitely didn't have any sleep problems! A flash of insight, backed up by the knowledge that you've already had one failed attempt in the past, made Leon's heart sink and freeze as he entered the bedroom and saw your silhouette lying on the bed.

"Baby..." Leon quickly ran up to you, after a few seconds of silent stupor.

Leon turned your body towards him, feeling for a pulse, rubbing your shoulders. The sight of gore on your face for some reason raised a flash of accumulated negative feelings. Pressing your head to his chest, Leon flipped the lamp button to light up the bedroom a little and swallowed the bitter lump in his throat when he saw the lifeless pallor.

"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!"

You didn't hear. Leon scooped you into his arms, hugging you, whispering something in your head while he searched for the phone in his pocket. While the ambulance was coming, those minutes seemed to drag on forever. Any attempts to bring you to your senses, to at least open your eyes a little, were not blamed for success.

But it was unbearable when the doctors declared death in an unimaginably dry voice without even trying to do anything, despite his furious cries after your body was immersed in a black body bag. Leon just watched silently as the ambulance drove away and the police considered that death by suicide was not worth close attention. "Unrequited Love" would then be whispered among themselves as Leon read a copy of the autopsy report that Hannigan got for him, looking at him with a regretful look.

The following days passed in black despondency and alcohol. Leon would like to burn out all the feelings from his heart for you along with the endless guilt for leaving you. It feels like it's rotting from the inside. There is not the slightest desire to look at you dead, but he comes ... He comes and looks with an empty, otherworldly look at the same serene you. Already in a different dress, but still beautiful, albeit lifeless. he would like to make love to you now, hold you in his arms and luxuriate in bed. Count your moles, cover your back with light kisses and hug you. He would like anything now, but not to see you dead. His hand covered yours with his thumb, running over your knuckles as if remembering what it was like to hold your hand. Some looked at him in bewilderment, but Leon didn't care anymore. He gently stroked your face, trying to ignore the urge to smash everything around from the purest rage and despair that filled it.

But in the end, when all other senses recede, when the lid of your coffin closes forever, only a black, empty nothing remains inside Leon.

[ravenna-reid]

Admirer from the past... (Pt. 2)

TW: blood, mention of dead bodies & birds and stalking/obsessive behaviour

Part One Here

No matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. How many times you re-read over the plethora of files on your dozens of clients. How many times you made yourself yet another cup of tea. How many times you re-organised your desk, you couldn't tear your mind away from the memory.

The lines of police tape and sirens. The black petals dusting the dirty, wet ground. The stench of the strangers blood smeared across the pavement to spell your name. The horrified faces all snapping up to catch your reaction. The Red Robin's eyes glued onto you.

Fuck, you knew that guy was really bad news when he first walked in.

Although you were a registered and respected forensic psychologist, you were also working at your own psychology clinic, handling patients that displayed erratic or criminal behaviour. And did you still remembered him like it was yesterday.

He'd been sent to you for his odd behaviour, psychopathic tendencies, signs of selective mutism as well as obsessive behaviour.

Extremely obsessive behaviour.

Harry tells you you were being naive for thinking he'd never become obsessed with you, but you just never imagined it. You had, maybe seven sessions in total with him? And soon enough, a dark figure watched you leave and return to the office every day. He sent copious amounts of dying flowers and disturbing letters, and it only grew worse.

Banging on your car window and begging to be with you. Bloodshot eyes and a spine chilling grin wherever you went. And soon after, once you realised you had to move out of your apartment, he was sent to the police. Banned from your clinic and from you.

And now look at what he was doing. Taking innocent peoples lives-

Your soul leapt through your chest when you heard the gentle tap on the window. You snapped your attention outside to see Red Robin there, sheepish smile across his face as he waved.

Surprised. You were genuinely surprised.

Subtly regathering yourself, you closed your laptop and walked towards the window. The cool chill from outside took its chance to creep into your office once you opened the window. Tim's eyes glanced over you. Your hair was thrown into a french twist again, a little messy this time with strands of hair escaping here and there. A long, checkered coat hugged snuggly around your body, a black turtle neck peeping through the top. Your hooped earrings dangled as you tilted your head to the side.

He could practically feel the blush creeping up on him.

"Red Robin. How did you find me?"

Red Robin. He liked how you said that.

He ignored your question and gestured to your office, "May I?"

You nodded.

Tim slipped through the window, but stayed close beside it as though he was unsure about stepping further into the room.

He awkwardly nodded, "Y/n."

You gave an amused smile in return. How odd was this.

"I uh, I did a little research. Your clinic is pretty well-known." He finally responded.

Pride flushed through your cheeks. "I would hope so. It took me almost a decade to get this far." You sat back down at your desk and crossed your legs. "Do you need something from me?"

"Well, I was sent here by-"

"Harry?" You finished with a light laugh and the shake of your head.

Tim's brow furrowed. "That predictable huh?"

"Yes," you held up one of your spare coffee mugs and raised a brow. Tim swallowed before shaking his head. "It's alright."

You placed it back on your shelf. "Very predictable. Especially given the circumstances. Harry has known about this bastard for a while now."

"Yeah, about that. I was pretty eager to check up on you too after that."

Your heart beat a little faster. Tim moved closer to your desk, his eyes trailing over all of the files. The many degrees, masters and awards hanging above it. He snickered.

"How humble."

You shrugged. "'Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues.'"

With a genuine smile on his face, he leant against your desk and crossed his arms. "I need whatever you have on this guy so I can get him. Put him away before he does any more damage."

"I agree," You said before pulling a folder out of the nearest filing cabinet. "Here. This has everything. Criminal records, psychoanalysis, extra notes and information."

Tim flipped it open and immediately became immersed in it.

Jacob Harrington was his name, which Tim - of course - already knew, but he was still surprised that this guy was actually younger than both of you.

Tim's dark hair fell before his eyes as he read, and you couldn't help but watch on and admire him.

He was definitely handsome, and therefore probably taken.

"What a fucking creep." He murmured, reading over the counts of crimes he committed towards you prior to this incident. Mainly all of the stalking.

"Tell me about it." You sighed. "I'll help you in any way you need. I can predict his behaviour, and I have some friends in high places."

Tim smiled, until his thoughts went to one of your little friends. "Like Harry?"

"A bit higher up than Harry."

Tim hummed. Then berated himself for thinking such a thing.

No Tim. Don't ask her, don't ask her, don't ask her-

"Are you too close?" The words were out before he could stop himself. He gave you a side glance and didn't miss the expression that melted onto your face.

"I suppose," You teased out. "Harry has always been a family friend."

"A very protective one." Tim pointed out. Rightfully so he guessed, but he still wanted to test the waters.

"Yeah, I guess he feels he kinda owes it to me to be so protective."

"Owes it to you?"

"Harry was the detective signed onto my parents case. But he never found the guy that killed them." You gave a sad shrug, your eyes still trained on the rug.

Something tugged at Tim's heart, and suddenly his determination to find this asshole who was stalking you became even more fervent. Intense. He would keep you safe, if it was the last thing he'd do.

"I'm so sorry y/n."

You took a sharp breath in and masked it all with a smile. "It's alright Wonder Boy." But he didn't believe you. Instead, there was this sweet, sympathetic glint in his eyes. This was the guys that plummeted bad guys?

Suddenly, your phone buzzed on the table. "Ha, speak of the devil." You gave a light laugh before answering. "Yes, he is here. Yes, we are fine."

Tim watched you, tried to read the conversation by reading your expressions. And obviously, Harry had just said something that terrified you.

"What? My apartment? But..."

Tim put the folder back on your desk and frowned. "What is it?"

You stayed silent though, listening intensely to what Harry had to say. And every second was agonising for Tim until you finally hung up.

"What's wrong y/n? Is it that guy?"

Your face grew pale as you tried to find the words. "He.."

Tim stepped closer. "Yeah?" He ushered gently.

"That fucker wrecked my apartment."

Part 3

[friendly-books]

Dresden files Fool's Moon live blog

Fool’s Moon 

Ugh male gaze already

You’ve never mentioned Kim Delaney in your fic so I don’t have high hopes in her survival especially when she’s looking into summoning or binding circle

Sometime apprentice? Eh? How does one become a sometime apprentice

Harry drives a Beetle but he’s so tall and a beetle is so small ha

I’m absolutely blaming you for my love of Marcone and how unreasonably happy I got at the mere mention of his name in chapter two I might have a problem 

“He was one of Johnny Marcone bodyguards” pg. 18 Geez Marcone’s men can’t catch a break. First Tommy Tomm, then “Gimpy” Lawrence, and now “Spike” 

Ahh!! What was that agent Benn thinking? Pulling out her gun?!? I know Harry and Murph were going to live but still. I’m horrified by this lack of gun control 

Murph and Harry are fighting:(

I like Harry being a detective 

Who’s Justin? Why did Harry burn him to death? I’m reserving my decision if Justin is good or bad because while Harry is a good guy Bob doesn't have a moral compass.

Who’s Elaine? What happened to her?

Alphas really that’s the name they chose?

Susan you’re back!

Harry’s talking to himself again 

“What could possibly go wrong?” pg. 102 Harry sweetie you didn’t just say that. I can’t believe what I just read. Harry, you should know better than to say that. Every time someone says that things will always go wrong you’re supposed to be genre savvy. 

How is Harry still alive? He went to a hideout of possible murder happy werewolves with minimal tools and or weapons and no backup?

Marcone has arrived yay! It only took 10 chapters 

“Ah Mr. Dresden” pg. 114 Why did I think of Verinari when Marcone said Ah Mr. Dresden? Maybe because Verinari says Ah Vimes 

I love chapter 10 it’s all Marcone and Harry

Why does a demon know Harry’s mom?

“What was left of Kim Delaney lay naked and sublime on the bloodstained floor a few feet from the circle” pg. 143 I didn’t want to be right :(

“Middle-aged, starkly handsome man” pg. 145 Bi Harry counter 3

Why does a demon know Harry’s mother?

“Good-looking detective” pg. 231 Bi Harry 4 counter 

Wait did Harry call Rudolph the person who kills Murph good-looking??? What did I just read?? WHAT?!? 

It’s cool that Harry fights a werewolf 

I’ve now met ID Harry weird that whole bit was weird 

The FBI was in on it?!? 

Marcone to the rescue! 

“A man in his mature prime, his hair immaculately graying at the temples, his custom-made suit displaying a body kept fit in spite of the advancing years” pg. 293 Bi Harry 5

Really Marcone, you're really trying to get Harry to sign a contract now? 

“Marcone looked good in his gray suit and perfect hair and his manicured hands, but he wasn’t” pg. 295 Bi Harry 6

I find it amusing that Marcone and Parker are fighting over Harry for different reasons but fighting over him nonetheless :)

“He won’t accept my offer. He’d rather die.” pg. 297 Marcone knows Harry

“Marcone’s mouth dropped open, and it was an intense pleasure to see the surprise on his face” pg. 297 I love that Harry can get a reaction out of Marcone 

Loving chapter 23 with all its Marconeness 

How old are the characters? Harry calls the alphas kids, Billy calls Harry Mr. Dresden, and Harry talks about Marcone’s gray hair. I’m picturing Harry and Marcone as a mesh of @drawsdenfiles and @kaphkas fanart.

We got a title drop 

Awww Susan got Harry his duster

Why is Marcone’s house so big? Why does he need a big house? 

“If he truly offered you a challenge, he’s here,” Marcone said, his tone completely confident, “I’m certain of it.” pg. 365 Marcone really knows Harry huh 

I like that Marcone’s never underestimated Harry 

“Please remember that I want Dresden, alive if possible.” pg. 375 Wow Marcone really wants to hire Harry. 

Nooo the FBI kidnapped Murph :(

What did Denton see in Harry’s soulgaze? 

Marcone to the rescue again or not, honestly Marcone you should listen to Harry more often

“I guess it could be worse” pg. 394 Why would you say that Murph? Why???

“Mr. Dresden, Marcone said crossly. I’ve asked you not to call me that.” pg. 398 You should let Harry call you John, Marcone 

I love Harry and Marcone’s banter

Marcone’s throwing knives bit was cool

Harry using the belt was interesting. Glad Susan calmed him down. 

“Dresden! The pit!” pg. 417 Nice of Marcone to warn Harry

Harry using his necklace is cool! 

No Murph trust Harry, why did you shoot him?

Yay Murph was shooting Denton 

“Of course,” Marcone said, with a note of disappointment in his voice “I’d just hoped you hadn’t realized it. Nonetheless, Harry-“ 

“Don’t call me Harry,” I said, and hung up on him” pg. 428 I love this entire bit. How come Harry gets to call Marcone John but when Marcone calls Harry by his first name he gets upset? You should just call each other by your first names 

I hope we see more of the Alphas 

Oh Harry’s making connections with the ongoing mystery yay! 

Final thoughts 

Loved all the Marcone we got. I like that we’re getting more on the ongoing mystery. I hope we see more of the Alphas. I liked the fights and Harry’s detective work. More Bi Harry the counter is going up! We’re up to 6. As with the previous book, I'm not a big fan of the male gaze but I think that’s more to do with the length and descriptions used. Harry (or Jim) will go on for a solid paragraph describing women using words I don’t think anyone would use while with Bi Harry it’s not as long and I can see people using words like good looking or handsome. I mostly glazed over the male gaze bits. I don’t know if my predisposition to Bi Harry and a Harry/Marcone shipper is making those parts stand out or if it’s because I’m actively looking for them to add to the counter. Speaking of Marcone I don’t recall if it’s said why Marcone wants Harry to work for him. Yeah having a wizard on staff is cool he can do magic but surely Marcone knows that there’s more magic people and some are more likely to work for him than Harry. So why does he specifically want Harry to work for him? He tried to get him to work for him three times in this book and once in the previous book. There’s trying to hire someone and then there’s whatever this is. I enjoyed this book. Good book for Harry/Marcone moments. Looking forward to the next book!

[fabrizqueersubtext]

Who could care about me?

For SJ! Thank you-- your donation will be sent to the Palestinian Social Fund.

Prompt: the bad kids, mordred manor, group hangout

You mentioned not being pressed for details, so I moved it to Riz's office between S1 and S2. I hope you don't mind!

You can read all of the collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Kofi4ACause Request a fic at Kofi4ACause: https://ko-fi.com/omgpourquoi

TW: Disassociation/Derealization but his friends show up to help!

---

Riz Gukgak isn’t one to rest on a case. He’s not even sure what that means, actually. He’s staring at his case board, red string blurring together to the point he wonders if he should start again with a new color. Maybe a gray?

He’s been locking himself in his new office as much as his mom will let him get away with and drinking coffee as fast as he can make it. Once he had gotten his murder board through the door, the Nightmare Crown theft consumed him fully; even when he was away from the board, he was thinking about it. It was easier to just stay here with the board. The thing is that he's close. He’s so close— he must be. It’s been a little over a month since the Nightmare Crown went missing from Principal Aguefort's office during the fight. He’s still trying to connect its theft to the last case. To Kalvaxus. To the Seven. To the Abernants. To Aguefort. There’s something he’s missing, though, there must be something else—

His thought is interrupted by a loud banging on the door. In a second, he's up from the desk, goblin ears pinning back to his head with a hiss, gun pointed towards the door. There's another banging.

“The Ball, open the door,” comes the muffed voice of Fabian Aramais Seacaster from the other side. Riz realizes the banging must be Fabian's version of a knock. 

Riz takes a breath, trying to regulate his racing heart. He slowly replaces his gun in its holster. Apparently, though, he's not moving fast enough for his friends, because he hears an impatient sigh that can only belong to Fig.

“Move over, I’ll just kick it down,” he hears Fig offer.

It’s enough to get him moving towards them. He likes his door as it is, without Fig's bootprints on the front.

"I'm coming, don't break your foot or my door," he says as he drags himself away from his desk to unlock the door. It flies open to reveal his friends. And not just Fabian and Fig but Gorgug, Kristen, and Adaine as well. They’re dressed like it's warm outside and vaguely he remembers that it is summer.

The stand there and look at him blankly for a moment, before Fabian break the silence. "Oh, uh— we brought Chinese food?” 

Just before Gorgug asks, "Are you okay?" 

Both of them are outshined by Kristen though who, at the same time, raises her arms and yells, “This is an intervention!"

"Um," Riz doesn't know what to say. He settles on an answer to all three, "Okay."

They push past and pile into his small office without invitation. Suddenly, Riz feels tired. His legs are aching and his face feels sweaty and his head hurts. Gorgug pushes his old pizza boxes into the trash so that he can sit in the chair they’d been occupying. Kristen pulls the blinds and opens the window, letting in a light breeze. Vaguely, he wonders what time it is. He’s startled to realize he hasn’t had that thought for days.

"Hi, Riz. We're here for lunch," Adaine says, as she reaches forward to places a hand on his shoulder. Lunch. Huh, so it must be around noon. He feels the familiar rush of her magic, like summer rain and the faint smell of a library. His clothes unrumple, his face ungreases, his hair feels clean and he feels more present than he has in weeks.

"The Ball, we got you chow mein," Fabian says, pulling out boxes and placing them wherever he can find a spot on the desk.

Fig leans over and pushes some of the files and post-its off the desk and to the floor. Before he can protest, Kristen plops down into his desk chair and grins at him.

"It really is a nice office," she says, spinning in his desk chair.

Beside him, Gorgug lifts up a plastic bag.

"I bought a Cola, but, uh, we thought you should drink water. So-," Gorgug says, shoving a water bottle into his hand.

"Oh. Okay," Riz says, taking a sip. Someone hands him his food, he takes a bite and his stomach growls. Huh, when did he get hungry?

He looks at his friends, who've come into his office, interrupting his investigative brooding and taken up all his space. They're infuriating and chaotic and loud and overwhelming and here. They’re here.

Riz feels like he’s coming back from the dead. They sit in various part of the office, eating Chinese food and bickering about how much coffee is actually too much coffee. Riz just listens. He eats. He drinks. It feels like he's settling back into his skin. Into himself. Eventually, as always, they turn back to the case.

"Okay, what'd we got?" Fig asks as she kicks at his board. It rattles from the force, shaking all of his string. The vibrating strings look a lot like his brain feels, shaky and uncertain. Although, he is starting to feel better. More like their Riz, the Riz he is actually starting to like to be, instead of a hyper-fixated goblin in his room all alone. 

"You know, I think we need a new perspective. New string," Adaine says. She reaches in her jacket, which is currently tied around her waist, and pulls out a fresh ball of string. It's gray.

With a sudden clarity, Riz realizes that his friends are, each in their own ways, caring for him. Riz Gukgak isn't used to being cared for. He's usually the one doing the caring. Sometimes he thinks he cares so much that it'll kill him. Sometimes he hopes it does.

But his friends are here. They're here and they care. They think he is worth caring for.

Thinking about it, he gets a little choked up and has to drink more water to cover it up. Then he actually does choke. Fabian moves to his side and pats his back a little too hard. 

"Breathe, the Ball. Dying from drinking water would be a stupid way to die," he says. 

"Yeah, you have to die in a cool way," Kristen chimes in. 

He lets out about little cough and air returns to him. He turns back to his friends and they look at him expectedly. Right.

"Here's where we are-" he starts.

[finalgirlkateausten]

I was bored in the car today and @lesbiansayaishii was nice to me in the tags of my pinned moodboard, so elle, this is for you ❤️ this also marks the first thing I've properly written for the Ivy AU, and it's intentionally not the start of the story but more in the middle, because I wanted to make my brain think about other parts of the story. Thank you elle for giving me an excuse to flex my muse 🖤💞💗

Background/Context, Connor went to Mayo after s3, and Ava didn't ask him to stay, nor did she tell him when she realized she was pregnant from their one night stand. He comes back as head of the emergency department around four years later, and... you can probably fill in the blankssss

Connor is reviewing patient charts in his mercifully private office when the phone on his desk starts ringing. He eyes it for a moment, pretty sure it’s no one he wants to talk to. But he doesn’t get to foist it off now, now that he’s the one in charge, so he picks up the phone with a groan.

“Rhodes.”

“Dr. Rhodes, it’s Beth in the OR with Dr. Bekker,” says the surgery tech. “You’re on speaker.”

Not the most headache-inducing call he could’ve gotten, then. “Thanks, Beth. Ava?” It’s been a rocky few weeks since he’d suddenly learned that she had a daughter— that he had a daughter— but getting closer again, even just by arguing and pestering each other with every spare minute of their shifts, means he’s falling back into the familiar patterns from before his years at the Mayo Clinic, including using her first name.

“Connor, what’s the weather doing right now?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

“I know we’re supposed to be getting a winter storm,” she continues, “but last I heard it wasn’t getting bad until tonight. Only, now Ivy’s daycare is saying they’re closing early because the roads might be dangerous as early as this afternoon.”

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. “Oh, shit, the ER’s probably gonna get flooded.”

“Connor,” Ava says, exasperation audible even over the phone, “I’m currently elbow-deep in the chest cavity of a man in late-stage heart failure. I cannot leave this patient on the table for the half-hour minimum it would take for me to drive out to the daycare and check Ivy out. She can play quietly in the doctor’s lounge up here, she knows how to do that, but I need you to go pick her up.”

“Uh.” He pauses for a moment as his brain tries to catch up. “What?”

“I know you’re working too, but you’ve got a little more flexibility than I do at the moment,” Ava continues. “I’ll call ahead and tell them you’re cleared to sign her out, can you come get my car keys so you’ll have her car seat with you?”

“Hang on.” Connor’s hand flexes on the arm of his office chair. “A week ago you were saying you weren’t even ready for me to meet her yet, and now you want me to go pick her up from school? The hell do I know about entertaining children?”

“You don’t have to entertain anyone,” Ava huffs, “as long as you can buckle a seatbelt, you’ll be fine. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

"That makes me feel so much better," he says drily.

"Look, if I spend any more time begging you right now my patient is going to end up with brain damage. Car keys are in my locker; the combination is Ivy's birthday. Beth, hang up on him, please."

Sure enough, the call ends abruptly, leaving Connor to stand there and wonder what he'd expected.

"I don't know her goddamn birthday," he says aloud to no one.

On a hunch he boots up his desktop to open the hospital's L&D records from 2018, and punching in Ava's surname he finds a file from late in the fall. 11-06-18. Got it.

Sure enough, that combination opens the locker, and Connor grabs the car keys from the magnet hook inside the door. He vaguely remembers the name of the daycare, so he punches that into google maps, and even with the snow starting to fall, the drive doesn't hit twenty minutes. When he enters the lobby of the place, the woman at the front desk nods when he awkwardly gives his name.

"Dr. Bekker gave us a call, you're on the approved guardian list," she says. "We appreciate you working with our unpredictable winter schedule; the kids are in the main playroom and their belongings are in the cubbies with their names."

"Got it," Connor says, finding the small cubby with Ivy's name on it. There's a purple coat on one hook and a blue, floral-patterned backpack on the other, and he crosses his fingers and hopes there's nothing else he needs to grab, because he's not exactly sure the three-year-old will tell him. He makes his way into the playroom, scanning the small crowd of children, and a familiar face stares back at him, blonde pigtails bouncing as she crosses the room.

"You're Doctor Rhodes," she says a picture book clutched in one hand. "You work with Mummy." There's a pause, and then she adds, "hi," as if just remembering how to use greetings.

"Yep, that's me," he agrees. It feels insanely weird to have this small child referring to him with his full title, but everything about interacting with her feels insanely weird-- he's going to let Ava tell her what to call him, and all that. "Hey, Ivy, your mom is really busy right now, but because of the snow the nice people here are worried it might not be safe for you to stay all afternoon like usual. So I have your normal car, with your car seat, and we're gonna go back to the hospital. Sound alright?"

"Mhm," Ivy agrees. "I have my coloring books." And then she instantly reaches up for his hand, and he takes hers reflexively, but it brings him a moment's pause when he looks down at her and realizes this is effectively the first time he's held his daughter's hand. But he doesn't really have the time to pause and sit with that, especially with an inquisitive toddler staring up at him, so instead he leads her out of the room and to the car.

"Coloring books sound great."

In the car, Ivy talks a little about friends from her Pre-K, but mostly she looks out the window and dances to the random radio station Connor had turned on. They park in the hospital parking lot, and when Connor lifts Ivy out of her car seat, she wraps her arms around his neck. "It's cold!"

"We'll be inside soon," he tells her, picking her backpack up from the floor of the car. But after he shuts the door and locks the car, he hesitates, looking from Ivy's sneakers to the slushy puddles on the sidewalk. "Um... do you want me to carry you like this?"

"Yeah!" She rests her head on his shoulder. "Your beard is funny."

He chuckles as he begins to walk toward the hospital. "Funny?"

"It's soft. Soft like a fuzzy bear."

"Oh, yeah?" He grins at her. "I thought you weren't supposed to pet bears. Do bears like people?"

"No!" Ivy giggles, leaning back to give him a toothy smile. Connor adjusts his grip to account for the change in her center of gravity. "Bears don't live with people, silly. I got stuffed animals."

"Oh, I see," he says, adopting an air of seriousness. "You're the expert, then."

Ivy certainly agrees with that assessment, and she tells him all about her stuffed animals and their names as they make their way through the hospital. Really, Connor could put her down now that they're out of the weather, but he feels happily warm with her clinging to him so tightly. Yeah, it's a little freaky to meet a tiny alien of a human who's half made of him when she's already her own tiny person, but Ivy is so immediately trusting and bubbly that he can't help but love her. He can lose his shit on his own time; if a toddler wants to hug him, he's gonna hug her back.

"Here we go." Connor sets Ivy on the couch in the CT doctor's lounge, and she eagerly opens up her backpack and pulls out coloring books and crayons. "Your mom will come see you when she's done with surgery."

"Thanks." Ivy quickly opens the coloring book and holds out a crayon to him. "Here. Color."

He takes the crayon, a little surprised. Technically, he really should get back to the trauma floor, but... surely Ava will be out of the OR sooner rather than later. He can stay with Ivy for a little while later.

"Okay," he agrees, sitting on the floor to reach where she has the coloring book on the couch. "What... what color do we start with?"

[masterwords]

falling away from me

Summary: A re-imagining of the immediate aftermath of 5x09 - 100 with Hotch/Morgan and some hospital times and an IA hearing that isn't absolute cruelty.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: hospital, injuries, grief...this is the aftermath of "100" so you know it's not a pleasure cruise

Words: 5.6k

Notes: HEY! It's my birthday today, and I decided to be super selfish and write something completely self-indulgent...up to and including naming the Director of the FBI Skinner in honor of my love for X-Files. (Hopefully you didn't have to see the first version of this where I posted the WRONG DRAFT but it's fixed now and I'm a moron. Moving on!)

**

It's funny how quickly a day can get away from you.

Not funny ha ha, no not quite like that. Just...funny. In a different way. When you look back.

But when you're in it...

“You look like hell,” the nurse says, tucking the nasal canal back into place after the third or fourth time he's pulled it loose. He doesn't want it, doesn't think he needs it, but the doctor's orders are all she has to go by and this guy...well he's a wreck. She's not going to chance it. It barely fits up his nose, she's not even sure it helps. This guy's nose is broken in at least two different places, it is a swollen mess of cartilage and tissue that she imagines used to be regal at one point...but now he's breathing through his mouth. Still she sets it back in place and glares at him seriously. Thinks she can intimidate him.

It almost works.

“When can I leave?”

“Let me check on that, okay huh? Keep this in for me please.”

He will. For now. He's too tired, and his shoulders ache. He can't lift his arms again, so he tries to lay there and relax. His mind drifts back to the morning, the moment his alarm went off...he'd already sort of been awake, like always, but the sound of the alarm pulled his eyes open.

Aaron can remember plenty of days he woke up drenched in sweat, the ache of dread in his belly before he even knew what the day would hold. He can place them all by the timid way he went about his business, readying himself for an unpredictable day where the only certainty...or so he thought...was that it would be bad. And sometimes that premonition was right, but usually it was wrong. Mildly correct, maybe, if he wanted to stretch. Every day had its low point after all.

But as he lays in the hospital bed contemplating what possible reason they could have for the nasal canal when his nose barely works at all, he can't remember any remarkable feeling from this morning. Nothing that felt any different than any other day. His alarm went off like always, and he planted both feet flat on the floor. It always takes him a minute now to be ready to stand, his stomach is always sore, always just a little stiff and weak and painful in the morning. It's when he's reminded with the most clarity that he's not well. So he sits there a minute to let his body adjust to being awake. Every day he wakes a little further away from Foyet's attack, but the dawn always reminds him that he has a long way to go no matter how he pretends that he's healed.

Everyone else believes it.

And the minute that movement was granted, he dove into routine. A shower, a shave, plain oatmeal with his coffee. No strange feelings, just the sun creeping through his drawn shades as usual. It always came in the same dashes of faded yellow and gold, dust dancing a ballet in the bright spaces.

He took the train to work. Tonight, if everything went according to plan, would be date night, and on date night he takes the train to work because it's more inconspicuous that way when he goes to Derek's instead of home. In case anyone thought to look. Knowing the people he kept closest, they would. Derek would ride his motorcycle to work on these days and pick him up from a station about halfway there sometime after he'd had a chance to order them each a coffee.

He's not even sure it's a secret anymore, but there is a certain thrill that drives this weekly performance and it makes him feel enough good excitement that he doesn't question the actual need for it.

Routine. Aaron likes routine. He knows it's bad, knows damn well it's bad...in his line of work, especially. More than likely his routine allowed Foyet to find a way into his home and into his life, but he can't just throw caution to the wind and live every single day spontaneously. His life, and more importantly his mind, just isn't designed that way. He can't function without routine. It's the only thing that keeps him here some days.

He blinks and wonders at what point his day went from ordinary to nightmare. There is a lot of blank space in his memory bank between the journal with Carl Arnold and US Marshal Sam Kassmeyer bleeding to death in his living room.

A scene Aaron is a little too familiar with. He remembers looking at Sam and feeling sick, it's beyond empathy...he doesn't just feel it, he knows. He knows exactly. Sam says he doesn't know how Foyet got in, and Aaron knows. He knows. He has four locks on his door now, and an alarm system, because he knows. He never has figured out that riddle and it haunts him every single night.

There is more blank space between the ambulance with Sam and his own hours later.

His mind slows to a crawl around Sam, his missing fingers, his bleeding and swollen features. It's pure horror. Wes Craven would be hard pressed to create something worse that could live in his mind. He sees Sam's ruined hand, bloody and swollen around a glass of beer and a quiet cheers from beyond the veil. “To you and your family,” he seems to say through his ruined pulpy lips. “You'll join me soon won't you?”

It's a hallucination. He knows that, but it's so real, just Sam sitting there in a squeaky vinyl hospital chair bleeding and drinking his foamy beer in the corner beneath the wall mounted television. And then Foyet appears beside him grinning that wicked grin and the heart monitor begins panicking, screaming. “Not real,” he whispers to himself, flexing his bruised and swollen hands. A reminder. His joints are stiff and hurt badly enough that he almost cries out at the sudden movement, but it reminds him of what happened. At least part of it. His hands were broken on Foyet's face. “Not real.” He calms himself just before the nurse enters his room to check for disturbances. This isn't the first time, and she gives him that look that says he needs to calm down.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like something to help you relax?” she asks, though she is glad to see he hasn't taken the canal out again. He's improving. But this isn't the first time she's offered him a sedative. Or even the second. He chews on it for a moment and finally agrees. If whatever she wants to push into his IV will stop him from seeing Sam and Foyet there staring at him, well maybe it's worth it.

“I'll get a doctor to order something just to take the edge off.” He knows what that means, they're going to knock him out. “It sounds like you could be here a while yet. Sleep might help the time pass a little faster.”

While he waits, he's alone with all of these thoughts and the paper thin blanket and the judgmental machines keeping track of all of his vital signs. He toys with the pulse ox on his finger, pressing his finger further in and then sliding it out just enough that it kept reading. He's already learned his lesson there. Slide it out too far and the damn thing screams for a nurse. He doesn't want that lecture again. He's just...restless.

And alone. Lonely. Those are not mutually exclusive, and he's acutely aware of how different they both feel when piled on top of one another.

“I'm fine,” he keeps saying when they ask him how he's feeling. He mumbles it through swollen lips, his jaw stiff, blood crusted in Rorschach designs all over his face, forcing his already unruly hair up into chaotic spikes. One eye has nearly swollen closed, the other doesn't seem far behind, and his nose is definitely broken, he can barely breathe through it. The canal doesn't help. “I need to see my son.”

“Sir, you need to lie back down.”

The worst part is, he's all talk. He really can't do much more than lie down, that's the real joke of it all. He's adamant that he should be let go and yet every minute that ticks by his body settles further and further into a complete state of disarray. He's miserable. They did some x-rays and said some troubling things about his ribs and his tailbone, there is a lot of concern about internal bleeding (given his medical history they keep saying like he's not right there watching them look through his file with horror or pity marring their features)...he knows he's where he should be, but he can't think about anything except Jack. Before they bring him a sedative, he sees Haley join Sam and Foyet in the corner of his room and feels the sting of tears in his eyes. “No,” he whispers and the nurse, pushing tube connectors into place glances down at him like he'd been talking to her. She realizes quickly that he's staring into empty space, into nothing, and continues her task. He'll be asleep in no time, poor thing.

“I need to make a call,” he mumbles before his head lolls to the side and his eyes close. He's trying to fight the cold push of drugs in his vein, there's just no way. It trickles shards of ice, pushes them upstream from the back of his bruised hand through his arm and disperses them from there. He's powerless to stop it. “Please. I need to make a call.” He needs to call Jessica. He tries to say her name, but it doesn't come out. In fact nothing is really coming out right. The nurse tucks his blanket up a little higher to stave off a chill. He's shivering.

She runs into Derek on her way out, he looks like he's in a hurry and she reaches her hand up to slow him down just a touch. “You're here for Mr. Hotchner?”

“Yeah. SSA Derek Morgan, I'm his proxy.” He pauses and remembers to smile, a sweet gesture in trying times. “Is it okay if I go in there?”

“We've just given him a mild sedative, he's been very agitated tonight. He'll probably be asleep for some time but you're welcome to sit with him.”

Derek wonders how much she knows about why he's there, thinks her use of the word agitated is interesting. Yeah, you'd be agitated too if you were in his shoes.

“Hey,” he says as he enters the room, dimming the lights automatically. He watches Aaron blink slowly in his direction without really seeing him. He's not there, not really. Asleep and awake in some liminal space, some dreamland that doesn't look very inviting if the pinched look on his face is anything to go by.

“...look terrible...” Aaron drawls thick and syrupy. His backwoods Virginia accent slips out when the stars align, when the universe wills it, when he's drugged and tired and off his rocker a little. Every wall he's ever built has crumbled around him today. Every safety net, every shield, it's all been tested and failed in one fell swoop. He's raw and bloody and broken. Derek wonders how Aaron even gets up and walks out of here, but he's going to ignore that thought for the time being and choose to believe it's possible. As a test of that faith, Derek forces a smile for his benefit.

“You're still gorgeous,” Derek replies, standing beside the bed, brushing one finger along Aaron's cheek. It's true. Even with his hair matted in bloody spikes and his face swollen and patchy, even with bruises painting deep watercolor pools over skin that was once flawless, with deep purple and black crescent puddles beneath his eyes, he's gorgeous.

Aaron shakes his head, just slightly, side to side. It's painful so he only does it once but it gets the point across.

“...no you...terrible...”

“Oh. I look terrible? Thanks. I'm gone all day and this is the reception I get when I finally get here?”

He knows. He does look terrible.

“...tired...” Aaron whispers thick and sad. He licks his lips and winces at the movement in his jaw. “...sad...” God he looks so sad, Aaron thinks through his medicated fog. “...why?” There are bags under his eyes. Derek never has bags under his eyes. Most of the day is a blur, but he knows that everything scattered across Derek's features is his fault. In some dim way, he can't touch it but he feels it. Those damn blank spaces.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Derek says, pushing the bloody matted hair back from Aaron's forehead and pressing a kiss dead center, warm and soft and a little too long. “I got nowhere else to be but here. With any luck, I'll look even worse when you wake up from your beauty sleep.”

(x)

“Can I have a minute with him, doc?” Derek asks quietly, and the doctor nods. They've been there for hours, and Aaron never did really sleep. The sedative was only strong enough to make him slow, barely lucid, but never actually asleep. It wasn't really helping. More tests had come back and the doctor was hovering, waiting for him to be awake enough to share information. But he just keeps blinking long and slow and sad, and Derek figures they can give him a break. Another trip around the clock won't hurt.

“I'll come back in an hour with the last of the results and we'll see about discharge.”

“Thanks, man.”

Derek had been pacing while the doctor tried to get Aaron's attention, but now he's back by the side of the bed. He sits down, scooting Aaron's legs over just enough to give himself room, and stares at him. Long and hard, he looks and he can't find it in him to smile this time. As much as he'd like to. Just force that megawatt smile and tell him everything is fine and they'd be going home soon and life would go on.

Well, life is going to go on. Of that he's certain, but not the way they thought it would hours ago. Tonight was supposed to be date night, he reminds himself. And now he's staring into the face of a man who has lost everything that he'd built his life on. Sure, he's been divorced for years, but he still had Haley. He still knew her and could talk to her and since their divorce they'd managed to find some reasonable common ground. They claimed it was for Jack, but it was good for them too.

And now he's suddenly been thrust into single fatherhood without any warning, any preparation. Not only that, but it happened in the most violent way Derek could imagine, and that violence was going to leave a lasting mark on their family forever. It hit too close to home. He had watched his father bleed out on a city sidewalk and now he's right back there, staring into his own mother's haunting, devastated eyes as he looks at Aaron now.

“How are you doing?” he asks, knowing how crazy it must sound. But he really doesn't know what to think. How to feel. He's fumbling around in the dark here. All he knows is that Aaron looks awake, thoughtful, he's not blinking as slowly. He's aware of his surroundings in spite of the medication and the concussion.

“I want to leave.” That's the simple truth. He doesn't know how he is, but that hardly seems important. He just wants to go home, or go somewhere that isn't here. “Where is Jack?”

“He's with Jessica and her parents. They thought it best he stay with them tonight...the shock of seeing you like this might be too much for him after what happened. I didn't think I should argue with her.”

Aaron nods. He hates it but it makes sense to him even through his soupy mess of spilled thoughts. And truthfully, arguing with Jess is a lost cause. “Can I talk to him? Can you call them?”

“It's late, baby. It's midnight. They're probably all in bed. We'll call in the morning and make some plans okay?”

Derek is being as patient and as caring as he can be, but he's tired. He's exhausted and not sure he's got much gas left in the tank.

Aaron stares. And blinks, like he's putting together puzzle pieces in his mind. “Midnight?” he asks, like that was the only part that registered. Midnight. How in the hell is it midnight? When the ambulance sped away from his little suburban nightmare the sun was still high in the sky.

“Yeah.” Derek can't explain to him where the time has gone, not really. He's not sure himself. He was trapped in that house for hours, minute after minute, hour melting into hour until they were nothing but a murky congealed mess. “I know. But I think they're gonna cut you loose soon. We'll get the heck outta here, maybe eat something, get some shut eye and...” And what? It'll all be okay in the morning? He can't say that. “We'll call Jess as soon as we get up.”

Soon ends up being another hour, which feels more like a lifetime and the blink of an eye all twisted up like a candy cane. An endless barber pole spinning spinning, colors whirling, hours twirling but never really going anywhere. Derek was lulled into a sense of almost well-being while they waited, a fact that never ceases to amaze him when he thinks about it later. Hospitals did that. When a steady stream of people come in to make sure you're okay, you start to feel a little invincible.

“I met Haley in my junior year of high school,” Aaron drawls with his eyes closed. The lights have started to bother him as they back him off of the meds in preparation for discharge. His concussion is one for the record books from the sounds of it. They're going to have a hell of a time managing it, Derk can already tell. He reaches out and plays with Aaron's hair while he talks, twists his fingers in it, scrapes his nails against scalp, tries to soothe him. It's a waiting game. Aaron's long buried Southern drawl is seeping slow like muddy river water on a hot summer day into every third or fourth word. Derek can almost feel crawdads and fly fishing and mud between his toes. “She was a sophomore. Derek...she was the prettiest girl in the whole school...”

“Yeah. I bet she was,” he replies quietly, wrapping both hands around one of Aaron's. He's so cold, his skin so tight and swollen around broken knuckles but somehow he feels ice cold even still.

“She had a boyfriend, of course. Nathan Fisher. His dad ran a bar, he would let us sneak in sometimes on slow nights to get sodas and play pool. He had this bar tender on Wednesdays who would pour us the worst beer, it was always warm and too foamy but it made us feel pretty cool. Nathan was a good guy. I just wanted to be around her, y'know?” That drawl began deepening as he spoke, as he drifted in and out of what looked like a teary reverie bashed with the violence of the present. “Just wanted to be near her.”

“Did she like you?”

“She didn't even know I was alive until I made a fool of myself in the theater production...guess she felt sorry for me after...but eventually she loved me.” Aaron stops, crafting a thoughtful pause, and Derek smiles in anticipation. “I think.”

His heart sinks. That's not what he'd expected. He knows damn well it's not true. “Nahhh, man, she loved you. Don't go there.”

“And Jessica,” he continues, like Derek never even spoke. “She hated me. We were in debate together. When she found out I was dating her sister...” his voice trailed off, lost in the ghost of a smile. “I love her.”

“I know.”

“She hates me now.”

“Alright man, you're gettin' a little silly on those meds. You gotta give it a rest okay? Haley loved you, and Jessica sure as shit doesn't hate you. She might be upset about what happened to her sister, and she's right to be, but no way she hates you for it.”

Her parents, on the other hand, Derek knows they don't share that sentiment. They were...well they'd already made angry phone calls to him about all sorts of things he would rather die than talk to Aaron about. They didn't know he and Aaron were together, but they sure as hell knew he was the Unit Chief and held both he and Aaron responsible for what happened to their daughter.

Well, Derek figures, get in line. The two men in this hospital bed don't need help in the guilt department. They're threatening to take the FBI to court and he won't stand in their way. IA has already requested a hearing ASAP to go over everything between Foyet's attack on Hotch to now with a fine tooth comb, and they aren't willing to give Aaron a pass on it. The whole team is under investigation.

(x)

Home. Derek's home, because Aaron's apartment won't do, not tonight. The last thing he needs to see is that apartment. Instead, they're met with Clooney bumping into their legs, his long tail thrashing against their shins as he beckons them inside and begs them to sit on the couch. His favorite place to hop up into their laps...Derek has been gone longer than usual and he's clearly a little extra clingy.

He can sense something off in Hotch, he walks with his side pressed against Hotch's leg the entire distance from the doorway to the couch.

The mainline of meds right into Aaron's veins had ended over an hour prior and the pain hit him like a ton of bricks. There is no hope of sleep, not yet, not like this, Derek realizes. He isn't even sure he could do it anyway, so he decides to cook instead. He hasn't eaten anything all day and this was, still, technically date night. Sort of. Maybe they'll get in the shower afterward, Aaron still has so much blood in his hair.

“It wasn't your fault.” It comes out as nothing more than a thin rasp that catches Derek off guard while he pushes eggs around listlessly in the frying pan. Mindless work, he's probably overcooked them by now, his mind has been engaged elsewhere. There is salt and pepper in there, but he's on autopilot, just trying to get some toast and scrambled eggs onto a plate and into their bellies. Like that'll erase everything, fix it all.

“What's that?” he asks, turning the burner off before he pours the eggs onto the waiting plate and grabs two forks. He checks that he turned the burner off twice more before he leaves the kitchen with the plate in one hand, and two bottles held by their necks between his fingers in the other. Ketchup and hot sauce. It occurs to him that he can't remember how Aaron likes his eggs which is absurd because...he knows this. He's known it for years. He just can't get to it. His mind is completely on auto pilot, non-essential tasks and knowledge have been shut down, archived. Breathe, eat, sleep. They're both breathing, and he's trying to take care of the eating...he's not so sure of the sleep part but it's in there. It's next on the list of things to try.

“It wasn't your fault...what happened...” Aaron drawls it out this time in a voice that almost seems to ooze out thick like orange blossom honey straight from the comb. The accent, steadily getting stronger as the night wears on, almost sounds fake except he knows where Aaron is from, he's met his mother, he's seen that house.

“I know.” He doesn't, though. But he's not going to argue. It's all his fault. He could trace what happened to at least ten missed clues or opportunities. Ten that he can think of, dozens more if you give him time. Yeah, he's keeping score. Yeah that's what unsubs do, who cares at this point. He knows it's his fault, but Aaron doesn't want to hear that. Won't hear it. “It was Foyet's.” That's the only thing he can say that isn't a bigger lie than he'd started with. Aaron's blank stare at the mention of Foyet's name is haunting. In any case, Derek plans to take full responsibility for everything at the hearing and there isn't anything else to think about right now.

Clooney snores with his head on Aaron's feet, drooling on his pale pink hospital grippy socks, and Aaron picks silently at the overcooked scrambled eggs perched on Derek's thighs. “I love you, you know?” Derek says, like Aaron could forget something like that.

“I know.” He doesn't say it back right away, but he rests his cheek on Derek's shoulder and he cries and it's almost the same thing right now.

(x)

“Director Skinner,” Aaron deadpans with a nod, unable to forget his manners for even one moment. This is an Internal Affairs hearing, after all, and they're here because he fucked up. Because he didn't follow protocol. And he can't say he blames them, he didn't...but he also doesn't feel guilty, because he shouldn't. None of them have ever had their lives and the lives of their families utterly destroyed by the hands of a man who managed to skirt the system and its supposed fail-safes time and again. Witness Protection should have been enough, and it wasn't. But going back further, arresting him and putting him in prison should have been enough and it wasn't. And further yet? Boston P.D. tracking him with the help of the BAU should have been enough...but it wasn't.

“Agent Hotchner,” Skinner says quietly, tapping the table and indicating for Strauss to turn on the tape recorder. “We won't keep you long. I know your son is waiting for you.”

“Thank you.”

As Skinner opens his mouth to ask the first question, one he hopes will be the only question, the light on the intercom blinks. Flashes red. No one should be in the building, and they all feel a little dread watching it flash. “Do you mind?” Skinner asks and Aaron shakes his head, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He's too sore to move, to do anything but sit stone still and wait until this is over.

There is a squeaking sound on the other end, fuzzy and high pitched, and then a room full of hushed murmurs that sound more than a little like panic. “May I ask who is calling?”

“JACK!”

Everyone in the room smiles, everyone but Aaron. He's staring at his hands.

“Hi Jack. Are you Agent Hotchner's son, the very famous Jack Hotchner?”

“Yes.” Aaron can make out the sound of JJ's voice just behind Jack's, coaching him.

“Jack, did you know there's a secret code on the vending machine in the BAU that will get you a candy bar without even putting in money? If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll give you the code.”

“I hafta ask my dad...” Jack says a little morosely and Aaron's eyes flick up, meet Director Skinner's for just a moment and he nods.

“Well, Jack, I happen to be sitting in a room with your father right now and he says it's okay.”

It doesn't take long before Aaron can hear Reid muttering about a secret code and JJ assuring Director Skinner that the code will be safe with Jack. She'll keep Reid and Morgan far away from it. Emily is pretty sure she can steal it from JJ without her ever knowing, and then she'll make bank selling candy bars out of her desk.

“Agent Anderson,” Skinner says, turning in his chair to the man standing at the doorway. “Call the vendors for that machine and have them change the override code tomorrow morning.”

Aaron almost smiles, the corner of his mouth twitches small and fast. It's gone before anyone sees it, but he can feel it in his chest, a momentary lightness.

“Thank you, Director Skinner,” he whisper speaks. It's quiet and thin sounding. Skinner has known Aaron a long time and is more than a little shaken by his current demeanor. He'd anticipated some level of grief, of injury, but this...well he just looks broken. A wispy shadow of his former self.

“I think we can forgo this interview, Aaron. Your team has made things clear enough for our reports. I'm comfortable with leaving things as they are.”

Strauss opens her mouth, sits gaping at him for a moment. She can hardly believe her ears. “Director Skinner,” she protests and he shakes his head.

“I know protocol says we need to get a statement from Agent Hotchner, but I think we can all agree that this hearing is nothing more than cruelty at this juncture. Perhaps, if it would be agreeable to you Aaron, we could accept his statement in writing by the end of the week?”

“You're the Director,” one of the IA Agent says, closing her own file. “If that's what you're willing to accept, I see no reason to drag this out.” She's uncomfortable, too. Aaron is still staring at his hands.

“Well, Aaron?”

“It'll be on your desk in the morning.”

And just like that, he's pushing himself up out of the chair and shaking Director Skinner's hand. Skinner looks a little mortified when he squeezes too hard, apologizes under his breath and Aaron pretends like it didn't even register.

“Thank you, sir,” Aaron says and Skinner nods solemnly.

“Go home and be with your son. Save the report until the end of the week. That's an order.”

He walks snail slow back to the BAU, down long empty corridors and through keypad controlled doorways. He fumbles for his badge at every one, forgetting until the next one to have it ready. Every step drives the ache in his back deeper until he's practically dragging himself up the last of the stairs to the catwalk. Familiar territory, the home stretch. Derek is standing over the table keeping a watchful eye, making sure everyone behaves while they play a rowdy game of rock paper scissors with Jack whose face is covered in melted chocolate.

“That was fast,” Emily says, standing quickly to offer him her chair. He shakes his head and opens his arms instead when Jack comes flying at him. He'll stand. If he sits now, he might not get back up.

His back screams in violent protest as he lifts Jack up, holds him tight, buries his face in the boy's neck. Every muscle is seizing up, squeezing like a fist, yet somehow the smell of Jack and his chocolate cheeks are enough to keep him standing against the assault. It can't last long, but it'll last long enough.

“Are we all fired?” Emily asks, timid but laced with a little sarcasm. She can't help trying to cut the tension with a little joke. “Cos this is a really inconvenient time to be broke. The economy is in the shitter.”

“The BAU is cleared of all suspicion of misconduct,” Derek says, reading directly from an email Skinner sent him. Hastily typed, the man was clearly attempting to beat Aaron to the room...and judging by the way Aaron had moved like the Tin Man needing his joints oiled, he figured he had a few minutes to compose his thoughts. “Aaron just has to provide a statement in writing and it's all over.” He leaves out the bit about Skinner ordering him to make sure Aaron doesn't work on it until later in the week. That passes between them in a look when Aaron glances up at Derek helplessly from the crook of Jack's neck. Derek can see that he's on the verge of tears. He nods quickly and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“On that note, everyone get the hell out of here,” he says to the room before turning to Aaron and reaching out to take Jack from him before he collapses. “Do not come in tomorrow...or the next day. I'll text you guys when I want you back in the office.”

“Are you...still the boss?” Reid asks, a little unsure, a little unsteady. He regrets it immediately when everyone's eyes flicker toward him, burning through him. Not the time, not the time. “I just meant...now that...”

“You got a problem with that, kid?”

“No, sir." Reid's little smile, a little snarky, makes Emily laugh and shake her head.

“Hotch is gonna need some time off to be with Jack so I'll hold down the fort, business as usual. We'll let you know when or if that changes.” He pauses, letting them all absorb that little if he slipped in there. They'll have plenty of time to discuss that later. Not now. Locking eyes with Aaron, he offers him a gentle smile, a way out. “Let's go home.”

[queenofbaws]

Bed sharing 15 Hakwe and Varric GOSH GUYS WHAT CHANGED HMM I WONDER

definitely more than six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

“So?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad! I mean…as far as burnt-out husks of ancient war forts go, anyway.”

“A ringing endorsement!”

“I’m just saying we’ve slept in worse.”

Varric stepped aside with a gentlemanly wave of the hand, allowing Hawke to saunter her way into the room before him; and saunter she did, her stride the familiar rolling bounce it had been back in Hightown, Lowtown, the docks, the Gallows, everywhere in between. She stood in the middle of the room he’d claimed as his own, her arms akimbo, her stance loose beneath the gleam of her Champion’s regalia—and then he pulled the door shut behind him, and all that posturing fell away.

“Maker’s tits, I forgot how exhausting being the Champion of Kirkwall was!” she groaned, rolling her eyes up towards the ceiling even as she tore her gauntlets off and let them drop to the ground.

“I forgot how complicated that awful armor of yours is,” he snorted, latching the door and testing its hold before similarly allowing the performance to drop from his shoulders. “Why do I remember it being pointier than that?”

“Ah, that. Yes, well. Time makes fools of us all, Varric, I am no exception.” She paused in undoing a buckle to flash him a look through her eyelashes, her grin wry but warm. “As it turns out, fleeing the Chantry isn’t quite as exciting as the stories would have you believe. Sometimes, during those long, cold nights in the middle of absolutely nowhere, a girl finds she has no way to amuse herself but to file away the edges of her dress armor. Just…rasping a single rock against those hard edges over and over again, dwelling on the myriad mistakes which brought her to that singular moment.”

His eyebrow went up.

She raised both of hers in return.

“So it just always looked like that, huh?”

“Pretty much. Maybe your memory’s going in your old age. Here, will you help me with these?”

Something had happened that morning, when they’d met in Skyhold’s courtyard—out in the open, of course, in broad daylight, because that was how clandestine rendezvous actually happened. It wasn’t something either could put words to, which was something of a miracle in and of itself, considering who they were, but it had happened all the same: Things had simply picked up where they’d left off. As though time hadn’t passed, like the only thing that’d changed was where they were and what flag flew in the ramparts over their heads. Everything else had slotted back into its proper place, and they were themselves again.

Or at least that was what they’d thought.

Because then Varric took hold of one of the leather straps wrapped around Hawke’s back and something else happened. Something they could’ve put words to. Something they chose not to, all the same.  

Hawke cleared her throat slightly, hoping to draw attention away from how abruptly her laughter had stopped, making a grand show of tying her hair back out of her face as Varric went about unfastening her armor as he’d done countless times before back in Kirkwall. “I thought Cullen was going to burst into flame when I first walked out this morning. I never really understood the phrase ‘He looked like he’d seen a ghost’ until then, know what I mean?”

“Curly’s who you were looking at, huh?” he joked, willing his fingers to keep working as he undid the first of the belts securing her chestpiece and moved to the second, so much of the day already forgotten, pushed out of place by the bone-deep familiarity of the moment they found themselves in just then. “You want to talk about bursting into flame, I thought the Seeker was going to ascend to the Golden City when you looked at her.”

“That wasn’t her normal face, then?”

“Oh, sure. The Divine’s biggest, scariest guard-dog usually walks around blushing up to the roots of her hair and stammering like a Templar recruit passing by a brothel for the first time—you wouldn’t believe how much it intimidates the political prisoners.”

“I’ll bet. Could you imagine if Meredith had gone around giggling like a little girl all the time? Terrifying. Literally the stuff of nightmares.”

They snickered at that, and the snickering turned to laughter, and the laughter threatened to become guffaws, and there in the half-dark of the drafty old room, they might well have been in the Hanged Man again, congratulating themselves on another scam that broke in their favor. The déjà vu of it all was palpable, especially as Hawke pressed her hands to her chest to keep her armor from clattering to floor as Varric loosened that final belt and he turned away to start a fire in the grate to give the place some measure of warmth. They’d been there a million times before, done it all to the point where it’d become routine.

Only they hadn’t. And it wasn’t. And still neither said anything about it.

Hawke let out a groan of relief much too loud to be anything but a joke as she stripped the rest of her regalia off, shedding the Champion’s skin so she could slip back into her own. “Much better,” she sighed, stretching this way and that until her spine popped. “While we’re on the topic, I must admit, Varric…few things prepared me to walk in here and find you wearing something other than that duster of yours.”

Once the fire had caught, he glanced over his shoulder and then glanced away just as quickly, trying in vain to convince himself that it was that same familiarity, that same sense of being back in another time and place, that caused his heart to stutter in his chest at the sight of her. “We weren’t on the topic, but far be it from me to—”

“Sure we were! You said my armor was terrible, I agreed, you asked if it’d always looked like that, I made a witty joke…”

“Uh huh,” he smirked, beginning the (much less familiar) process of slipping out of his own armor as Hawke paced around, getting an eyeful of his quarters. “Yeah, well, as it turns out, her Inquisitorialness just really gets a kick out of dragging all of us out into the middle of nowhere to stare through skulls and pick up shards of who-knows-what, and a guy can only handle so many bug bites before enough is enough.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, then languidly waved towards him. “Does the, uh…lack of sleeves help? With the bug bites, I mean?”

“Ha ha.”

“No, I’m curious. Riveted, even.” She turned down a corner of the bed’s sheets and considered herself for a moment, running through silent reminders of all the bedrolls they’d shared back home, not to mention the number of times his palatial suite had acted as her palatial suite. There was no reason for this to be any different, none whatsoever, so she climbed in before her traitorous mind could speak up in a voice louder than her exhaustion. “It’s been a long while since we’ve spoken face-to-face, so I’ll grant that you may have forgotten, but I’m Fereldan, Varric, and my people sort of invented slumming through the mud, you understand. I’m just wondering whether the bugs in Orlais are different, that’s all.”

“Wait, you’re Fereldan?” he joked. “Since when? I’ve never heard you talk about that before! Are you sure you’ve mentioned it to me?”

She sank down into the pillow, hugging it close to her face, and when she felt the mattress dip beside her, she willed herself to shut her eyes. Pretending he hadn’t interrupted at all, she continued, “Are they intimidated by your muscles?”

“Hilarious.”

“Well, are they?”

Varric pulled the blankets up against Skyhold’s usual chill, yanking especially hard near Hawke’s side to jokingly cover her face. “Goodnight, Hawke,” he said flatly, though the laugh that punctuated it robbed it of any finality. “So glad to have you back.”

“Glad to be back,” she hummed into her pillow, turning the covers down just enough that they came up to her chin. “I did so miss my trusty dwarf,” she laughed, then pitched her voice down lower to add, “And his arms, my word!”

When their chuckling tapered off, there was only the sound of the fire crackling low in the grate. No raucous drunks hollered from just beyond the wall, none of their friends’ heated arguments snuck in through the cracks of the door, and all at once it became perfectly obvious that for all the things that’d stayed the same during their time apart, something bigger had changed. This wasn’t Kirkwall, and it wasn’t the Hanged Man, and this wasn’t how it had felt to fall asleep beside one another after a day of doing someone else’s dirtywork.

It wasn’t even close.

“I did miss you,” Hawke said after a beat, when it became obvious neither of them was about to fall asleep. “Jokes aside.”

“Yeah, I…I missed you too, Hawke.” Again the feeling of first seeing her in the courtyard rose up fresh in his chest, the relief so thick, so palpable, that even with the warmth of her beside him, it was a little difficult to accept she was actually there. That she wasn’t just a memory, a handful of coded words scrawled on an old piece of parchment carried across Thedas and back. He hadn’t been able to react the way he’d wanted to then, not with all of the Inquisition milling about, and he wondered why now, away from all those prying eyes, he still felt that same need to hold back.

Probably, he thought, because of that unspoken thing lingering between them; because he had the strangest suspicion that if he reached out and touched her at all, for even a moment longer than it had taken him to undo her armor, he wouldn’t be able to let go, that once he had her in his arms there’d be no going back. And wasn’t that a frightening thing to be thinking about your friend?

Hawke’s arms only tightened around the pillow, proof positive the fear wasn’t his alone. “I mean…I really missed you, Varric,” she admitted, her voice muffled by down but plenty loud enough to hear in Skyhold’s silence. “I guess I didn’t realize how much time we spent together until…well, we weren’t.”

“Preaching to the choir.” It was all he could think to say. It didn’t feel like enough. Probably because it wasn’t. “But here we are again, huh? Different boss, same bullshit, slightly better booze…”

“Anything is better than what Corff served.”

“…and unfortunately for a certain magister who shan’t be named, we’re back together.”

“Close enough to pick the same pocket.”

“Damn right. Nothing to do now but make up for lost time.”

There was a beat where it hung between them thicker than ever, the thing they’d been avoiding…and then Hawke, the one who always made a point to jump when an abyss presented itself if only to see whether this would finally be the time she figured out how to fly, let go of her pillow and slid her arm across Varric’s chest instead, shifting to nestle her chin against his shoulder and remove what remained of the space where that silent, changed thing had been hiding.

Varric turned to her, and she met his eyes, and then their foreheads were touching, and there was a hand in her hair, and neither could say who had started it, but their lips came together and Skyhold melted away for a moment.

“It’s a lot of time to make up for,” Hawke said when they pulled apart, her lips curved in a wicked smirk as they brushed his, her voice equal parts whisper and taunt.

“Eh,” Varric chuckled, his thumb tracing slow circles along the back of her neck as he brought her close again, “We’re pretty good team, you and me. I think we’ll figure it out.”

[kaz2y5-imagines]

Hi Kazy!

I've missed you! It's great to have you back! ♥️

I would love to request prompt 91 with Sam x Reader 😍

So so so happy to have you back ♥️♥️♥️

Hi!! It’s so good to be back! Thanks for the request and here you go! 💖🥰

“How’d it go?” Dean asked as you opened the back door of the Impala and slid in. “Did you get the files?”

You grinned triumphantly, shaking your phone in his face.

“He’s sending the scans right now.”

You handed your phone up to Sam, trusting his grasp on Enochian engravings surpassed yours. He thumbed through the files coming through for a moment and then, from his profile, you saw his eyebrows raise.

“Huh,” he said.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’s, uh - it’s not just the files he’s sending you,” Sam replied. “You just got a text from him asking you to dinner.”

“Hey! Nosy,” you said, reaching to grab your phone back.

“It came through between pictures, I wasn’t trying to look,” Sam said with a slight laugh, though his smile disappeared quickly, and you fumbled to get the words out that you weren’t being unprofessional in the museum.

“Hey, mixing business with a little pleasure, nothing wrong with that,” Dean said, throwing you a wink through the rear view. You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning hot. You looked down at the message, confirming what Sam had said. You were being asked on a date. It was hard to remember the last time that happened.

“Do you think you’ll go?” Sam asked, meeting your eyes for only a second before looking away again. You shrugged, chewing your lip.

“I don’t know. I guess I could…there might be more info I could get from him about the history of the place. Stuff we couldn’t find online.”

“Or you could just go and have fun,” Dean said.

“You don’t have to push everyone to be like you, Dean,” Sam snapped. Dean laughed a little, shaking his head but not saying anything more. “I just mean you shouldn’t go if you don’t want to,” Sam amended, turning in his seat now to look back at you. You nodded, fully aware of how much you were still blushing. Why was this so embarrassing to talk about with him — them.

“Could be fun,” you said, shrugging again. “It’s not like I’ve had any other offers lately.”

Sam turned away from you again, shoulders stiffening. You sent your reply and the rest of the car ride was mostly silent.

————————

It took you half an hour to decide what to even wear and you were staring at yourself in the mirror debating if you were really made for dating when a soft knock came to the door.

“Yeah?” you called, reaching down to tug your shoes off.

The door opened and Sam gave you a once over, eyebrows sky-high for the second time that day.

“Don’t,” you stopped him. “I feel - I don’t know. Like not me.”

Sam picked at his fingernails, nodding slowly.

“He must be taking you somewhere nice,” he finally said.

“Yeah, I googled it. A lot of the menu is in Italian. I’m going to need a translator. Too bad it isn’t Enochian or I’d bring you with me,” you smiled.

“Oh, I’m sure your date would love that,” he teased. You shook your head.

“Don’t call him my date. He’s just…a guy. You know?” Sam was silent as you went to your dresser, putting on the earrings you’d chosen. You picked up the bracelet that went well with them and turned to Sam with it in your palm. “Can you help me?”

He stepped farther into your room, meeting you and taking the bracelet from your hand. Again, you felt your cheeks starting to burn, hotter than they had even in the car, as Sam gently turned your wrist over to clasp the bracelet.

“Why are you going out with him if he’s just some guy?” he asked quietly.

“Because why not?” you asked, your eyes glued to Sam’s hands, he was being so delicate with the chain. The bracelet was clasped now but his fingers lingered for just a few seconds before trailing over the soft skin of your wrist and then finally away.

“Don’t go,” he said. You forced yourself to look up and meet his eyes, making sure you’d heard him right. “Don’t go on that date,” he repeated, reading your expression.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

He was holding your eye contact just as intently as you were and you felt the space between you - it was nothing at all.

“Say it,” you demanded, surprised at yourself. His eyes grew wider for the smallest second, and then dark, and you knew what was coming a breath before it did. He pressed both his hands to your face, pulling you to him in a kiss you’d been waiting for for months. You were on your tiptoes in an instant to meet him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he slid his hands into your hair, holding you, keeping you, deepening the kiss exactly when you wanted him to. It was perfect, like he already knew your body, knew your heart. He pulled away long enough to look into your eyes, to see your face break into a smile and then a laugh, and then he was kissing you again, smiling now too.

You never made it to the date.

[readerstories]

Body Heat - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

Summary: Been re-watching Criminal Minds lately, and ofc reading fanfics, and I see that there are very few male readers out there so here’s at least one. Some classic bed sharing because something breaks during a snowstorm and it’s freezing, so time to share body heat ;) (AO3)

Warnings: nsfw, smut

Wordcount: 3891

A case in a small and remote part of North Dakota during the middle of the coldest winter in memory was not ideal to say the least. 

You liked snow and the cold, but even you had your fill by now. Everything is frozen, the ground, the bodies of the victims, even the snow was crunchy and no good to make snowballs with. (All of you had at one point or another almost face planted before getting wise and buying shoe spikes.)

At least the case was over and you had caught the killer alive this time, so that was good.

What was not good, was the snow storm currently raging outside the cabin door, causing the whole team to be stuck waiting for it to clear so you could take off. Because of course, this being a small town, there was no hotel, only small cabins to rent. But at least there were beds to sleep in, a small desk with a chair, a small bathroom (and a fireplace that you had yet to use), which was really all you needed.

The team had split up, since there only were two queen sized beds in each cabin. You had ended up with Hotch, which you really didn’t mind. He was always a quiet roommate, very polite and proper. Didn’t talk much, mostly went right to sleep when he got in, or stared at case files all night.

He was doing the latter right now, while you try to read a few more pages of your book before planning to go to bed for the night. You are trying your hardest to keep your eyes open, determined to at least reach the end of the chapter before sleep takes you. The only lights in the room were the one above your head, and the one on the desk Hotch was using which made it actually kind of cozy, which made your goal even harder.

That coziness disappears in seconds however, when the lights flicker, and then turn off.

Silence, then the both of you try to turn the lights back on a few times. Hotch’s cell pings with a new text, which he quickly reads, the cold light of the screen now being the only light source. 

“Seems the power is out, Morgan is going to the reception house to ask the owner about it since he’s in the cabin closest by.”

“Okay, good, at least it’s not only us.” A few beats of silence, and then another text. Hotch frowns as he reads it.

“Seems like the whole town is dark, the storm has taken out the power, but this place has generators.”

“Great!”

“But it only covers the essential stuff so no pipes will freeze, so we need to keep everything else off.” You nod, forgetting he can’t really see you in the dark.

“So only heat on in the bathroom I’m assuming.”

“Yeah.” You both eye the fireplace, and you sigh. 

“The owner told Morgan they are fully usable.”

“Well, let's see if I remember how to light one, it’s been a while.” You get out of bed, walking over to the fireplace to start trying while Hotch texts with someone, presumably Morgan again.

Stacking wood and finding some old newspaper curled up in the firewood basket, it only takes two tries and a few minutes to get a budding fire going. Proud of yourself as you watch the flames slowly catch while crouching in front of it, you feel Hotch’s eyes on you.

“Did Morgan say anything else?”

“He suggested we move to fewer cabins. I told everyone to stay in their respective cabins, we don’t need anyone risking going out in this weather when we all have good heat sources.” You nod, getting up and stretching.

“Well, I’m going to brush my teeth then try to sleep, and you should too.” Hotch opens his mouth to say something, but you interrupt him.

“You can look at those casefiles tomorrow, a fire is not the best light source when reading and making notes.” Hotch sighs, knowing that irritatingly you got a point. You smile a quick smile before going to the bathroom. While you’re in there the lights you had turned on before come back to light, but Hotch is quick to turn them off, two small clicks following right after one another. You check the oven in the bathroom, turning it down to half, knowing that should keep the temperature above freezing at least.

Neither you or Hotch speak another word to each other before going to bed, curled up almost fully clothed in your respective bed in the already colder room, even with the fire now going quite well in the fireplace.

You close your eyes, sure that sleep will come easy, as it was not that long ago you had almost fallen asleep while reading, nodding off between each sentence on the page.

But sleep doesn’t come.

Instead, you lay there, head empty of any thoughts, calm, but still you just can’t sleep.

You hear the wind blowing outside, each gust of wind making the cabin creak and groan quietly, barely there, but noticeable in the quiet of the night. The fireplace crackles, giving back at least some of that cozy feeling from earlier.

You can also hear Hotch toss and turn, which is unusual for him. The few times you had seen the man sleep or just been in the same room as him while he did so, he had been still, almost never moving other than his chest going up and down with each breath.

It takes an audible shudder coming from the other bed for you to realize why.

Hotch is cold, very much so. You can’t help the little smile that grazes your lips, almost a quiet laugh in its own right. So the cold is what does the big bad unit chief in huh?

You don’t feel good about it for long however as it’s clear that some solution to the problem is needed, as Hotch sounds no nearer to sleep than you are, and you are certain that like this neither of you will get any rest soon. So you cast a glance over at the fireplace before quickly getting out of your bed. Hotch quietly speaks your name, a question more than anything else. You drag your mattress, your pillow and duvet in front of the fireplace and put it down, turning to face Hotch, who has propped himself up on an elbow, confusion in his knitted brows.

“Come here.”

“What.” The tone is deadpan, not really a question in the word.

“I can hear your teeth clatter, I know you’re cold, so take your duvet and get in front of the fire.” Hotch slowly does as he’s told, surprisingly without asking anything. Or maybe he just sees your point. He drops his duvet next to yours, farthest from the fire, but you tut, moving it closest instead.

“You’re the coldest one, so you can sleep closest to the fire.” Hotch quirks a brow, but sits down on the floor as close to the fireplace as he can.

“Are you sure there is no ulterior motive? Maybe you just want it to be me to catch fire if things go wrong.” You grin, loving when Hotch lets his humor shine through his normally stoic facade.

“Maybe.” You get down on the floor too, laying down at the same time as Hotch. Before he can really react, you pull him close to your chest. It’s the surprise of it all that lets you drag him so he’s tucked under your chin, his hands on your chest.

“What are you doing?” You feel his whole body stiffen, even his words come out like that.

“Body heat.” You hum. Hotch stays stiff for a little while, but then there’s a big sigh as he relaxes a little. Slowly, one of his arms goes over your sides, still slightly unsure about this situation. You smile, resting huffing out a small laugh.

It’s already a lot warmer this close to the fire and though sleeping on the mattress on the floor like this isn’t the best, it’s better than being cold at least. And you’re not complaining about having an excuse to hold Hotch close like this, feeling him shift as he tries to get comfortable.

You feel your eyelids grow heavy, sleep creeping up on you as you get warmer. The last thing you hear before slipping into dreamland is the crackling of the fire, and a faint snore coming from Hotch.

----

Sadly, you wake up just a few hours later needing to pee. You somehow manage to get up without waking Hotch, so you are as quiet as you can be while doing your business. He’s still asleep when you get back, face relaxed.

You stop briefly to watch him sleep, as weird as you know it is. It’s just that you rarely see Hotch without a frown or a face made of stone, so you drink in the sight as long as you dare. Which is only a few seconds, but you stop yourself when you yawn.

With quiet steps you walk over to the mattress, slipping under the duvet and back to the shared warmth. This time it’s you that are dragged into Hotch’s arms as he mumbles something in his sleep. You try not to make any sound of surprise, as not to wake him still. You don’t mind this turn of events at all, as Hotch mumbles some words into your hair before they yet again turn to occasional soft snores. Letting out another yawn, you slip an arm over Hotch’s waist and let sleep take you.

----

It’s still dark out when you wake next, although this time of year it doesn’t say much.

This time it was Hotch moving that woke you, as your arms have made their way around his chest like he has done with his, holding him close and feeling his every move. You can tell by his breathing and movements that he’s awake, so you slowly talk, more or less asking the only question you have right into his chest.

“What time is it?” Another movement, most likely checking his phone.

“6:30 AM.” You groan, his deep and sleep laden voice doing things to your heart and brain you don’t have the awake awareness to think about right now.

“Back to sleep it is.” Hotch chuckles.

“This is past the time I would normally get up.”

“Is the storm still going on outside?” You both listen, and yes, over the low crackling of the now almost dead fire you can still hear the wind taking a hold of everything around it.

“Sounds like it.”

“Great, more sleep for us Aaron.” You can’t see the raised eyebrow, but you can almost hear it in his voice.

“Aaron?” You nod, trying to get in the perfect position to go back to sleep.

“Yeah, it feels weird using your last name when I’m cuddling with you.”

“Sharing body heat.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Aaron chuckles, and weirdly enough he ruffles your hair a bit. Your heart aches at the familiarity of the motion, but again, not awake enough for any of that.

It is then that it happens. In your effort to get comfortable, you shift your leg a little to high, and suddenly your thigh rubs against a clothed, but very obivous, erection. Aaron draws in a small sharp breath as you turn to stone for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry, I, uh-” Suddenly more awake, but still not quite there yet, you say nothing at first. You could have made some lame joke about it you suppose, but instead you are just as awkward as him.

“It, it’s uh, fine, um..” Silence for a few beats, then you come to a mutual and unspoken agreement to just ignore it.

However, you find that no matter how hard you try, you can’t.

You’re not pressed up against his crotch or anything anymore, you moved your leg way too fast out of the way for that to still be the case.

But you are still in Aaron’s arms, which makes it hard not to think about it. He’s warm, a little soft, strong, and you can smell his cologne this close. His breath is steady, but too steady, like he’s trying to will himself to sleep. Your head almost spins by the feeling of it all, and your thoughts are no help either, replaying the moment over and over again in your head.

The noise he had made had made you stiffen, perhaps from other reasons than you would like to admit.

You don’t know how long you both lay there, trying to or pretending to be asleep, but you know it feel like forever and torture of the slowest kind.

An idea slips into your mind before you can really stop it, making everything else go quiet.

What if you did it again?

You had for a long time admired Aaron, perhaps in more ways than you were willing to admit to yourself or anyone else. And in some fleeting and weak moments you had thought he might be too. A lingering glance or two during a case when he thought you wouldn’t notice, him letting small smiles slip onto his face more often when you were around, him bringing you coffee from time to time.

Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself as you move your leg again.

Another sharp breath from Aaron.

“What are you doing?” He asks as you still with your thigh pressed up against his still there erection.

“Trying something.” A beat where neither of you move.

“Stop me if you want.” Aaron says nothing and does nothing, so slowly, oh ever so slowly, you use your leg to rub against him. His breath deepens, and one of his hands moves to your hip, but doesn’t push you away, simply letting it rest there. Your own hands roam across his back, shifting, fluttering, trying to find purpose. In the end you grasp the back of his t-shirt as you slowly start to try to move him too.

Aaron groans, something that makes your own dick start to stir, and then he’s moving, and oh.

He seems in no rush, just rocking his hips ever so slightly forward, pressing himself against your thigh.

His breath is speeding up, and so is yours, almost panting in the quiet of the room.

As good as you are sure it feels, you want more, you almost need more. Removing one hand from his back, you replace your thigh with your hand, rubbing and fully feeling Aaron’s dick strain against the front of his pants. A hitch in his breath, an audible swallow, him continuing to move, now into your hand, spurs you on.

As far as you can tell through the fabric, Aaron is rather large, and certainly excited. You let your hand wander, squeeze, and rub as you please, every so often pausing to grab at his thigh instead, teasingly letting your fingers drag and dance along it.

A thought, and then your other hand is in front of you, gently touching his chest. You back away a few inches, careful to keep your touch still on him. Casting a glance upwards as you start to push his t-shirt up from his stomach, you’re met with intense eyes watching your every move. You swallow, Aaron’s eyes shift to follow the motion, then to your lips as you lick them.

He lets you push his t-shirt up under his armpits, and only then does he do any of the work himself, lifting himself up slightly so he can take it off and drop it on the floor behind you. You don’t let your eyes or hand linger on his scars, instead focusing on his chest.

He’s less hairy than you imagined, but you don’t care at all.

And you had imagined it.

But nothing could compare to the real deal. Feeling him turn to putty in your hands as you rub him through his pants, hear him groan as you let your hand brush against a nipple.

“God, fuck, you-” Aaron stops himself, letting out another groan as you you lean forward and plant a kiss on his chest.

“Ah, fuck, come here.” Before you can ask what he means, there’s a hand in your hair yanking you up, and then you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing Aaron Hotchner.

Fuck.

Fuck yes.

In less than a second you’re kissing back, mouths uncoordinated and messy as they meet. Your hand which had stopped rubbing him, starts up again while you kiss, and he moans into your mouth, which, fuck, that’s hot.

Both of his hands tangled in your hair pull you even closer as you both almost forget you need to breathe, only breaking apart to gulp down some air before diving right back in, lips moving firmly against each other.

Aaron is the first to add tongue, which makes you let out a little gasp, giving him full access.

He takes the opportunity, and not to be outdone, you move your hand from his bulge to the button on his pants. A noise of disappointment turns into a small moan as he realizes what you are doing. With all the noises he is making against your lips, it’s hard to concentrate, so you break the kiss so you can concentrate on zipping him down, and getting into his pants. Aaron moves forward so he can kiss along your throat, letting his teeth nip along the little skin that is showing from under your shirt.

“Fuck!” You groan, feeling the small smile Aaron can’t hide as he kisses your skin.

“Could get used to hearing that more often.”

“Yeah, good, fuck.” You curse whoever invented zippers as you fumble with it as if you were a fucking teenager.

Finally, a few seconds later, you are able to shove your hand into Aaron’s underwear and the smug smile you could feel against your skin turns into a moan.

“Fuck.” It’s low, but you hear it, glancing at him with a grin.

“I would like to hear that too.” You say as you start to pump his length, using his pre-cum as lubrication. Another nip to your skin makes you moan.

“At least your shirts have higher collars.” Aaron teases as he moves his hands from your hair to the hem of your t-shirt, dragging it up. You let go of him only so you can take it off fully, then your hands are right back on him. One on his dick, the other tugging slightly at a nipple.

Aaron drags you in for a kiss, and you moan into his mouth as he lets his hands wander all over you. Up your sides, over your chest, down your stomach. Your breath hitches as you think you know where he is going, but instead his hands settles on your ass, pulling you even closer, so close you can barely move your arm, but fuck, he raises his leg a little and now your hard dick is rubbing against his thigh. He rocks forward, seeking friction for you both, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth.

His cock is heavy in your hand, heat radiating from all off him were you are pressed close, still under the duvets. Your movements aren’t rushed, neither of you in a hurry to finish, but fuck, it feels good. Every rock of Aaron’s hips moves his dick in your hand, and presses him against yours, building up on the desire you feel taking over you.

One of his hands move from your ass to your hair, pulling at it as he stops kissing you briefly to moan into your throat.

“I��m close, fuck.” Your eyes flicker all over his face, greedily drinking in the look in his face. The normally stoic Aaron coming apart in your hands  is a sight to behold. Hair sticking in every possible direction, breathing heavy trough kiss-bruised lips is a sight you will carry forever.

You nod quickly, diving on for another kiss.

“Yeah, yeah, come on, don’t hold back on my part.” Aaron groans as he comes, cum seeping trough your fingers as he shakes apart in your hold. You keep gently stroking him as he comes down from is orgasm, stopping when a shiver runs trough his body.

You’re still pressed close, so you you notice quickly when one of his hands moves down your front. He squeezes your cock trough your pants, and you buck your hips into his hand. He chuckles, and then he’s unbuckling your pants, and within seconds his hand is around your cock and moving. You moan, trowing your head back, giving him ample space to lean forward and kiss along your neck.

“Fuck, ah, no marks.”

“Good for you that it is scarf season.” Like the fucking tease that he is Aaron lick a long stripe along your throat, but he does move further down, sucking and biting bruises into the skin on your chest as his hand moves up and down slowly on your cock.

You can’t help the noises the escapes you, moans and groans mixing with heavy breaths. his hands is firm on you, taking you closer and closer with every second, building up until your toes starts to curl.

“Fuck, A-Aaron.” He hums against your skin, placing a last kiss on your collarbone before moving so you’re on eye level once more, a hand in your hair tugging lightly.

“Don’t hold back on my part.” The words are said with a small grin his face, and you div in to kiss him as you cum, spilling all over his hand.

For a few minutes, neither of you move, just catching your breath together in silence. You are the first to move, twisting around so you can get your t-shirt back. Aaron frowns, but you just use it to wipe his hand off and yours. You kiss his knuckles after you clean them off, getting a single laugh as a reaction. Discarding the t-shirt once more, you tuck yourself back into your pants, Aaron doing the same.

A few beats more of silence, both of you not really knowing what to say.

“That was-” Aaron breaks first, but stops himself.

“Yeah...” You can’t help but slowly break into a grin, then a little laughter. He does the same, quiet laughter and a smile making your heart warm as he pulls you back into his still shirtless chest.

You let him, content and almost ready to fall asleep again, but not before you get out some last words.

“Next time I would prefer a bed though.”

“Next time?” He questions as his hand settles against your back.

“Mhm.”

“Alright, I’ll remember that.” He ruffles your hair, placing a single kiss on top of your head. Within minutes you are asleep, back to dreamland in your arms, for once content with sleeping in.

(You don’t take your scarf off on the whole way home, but if anyone in the team notices, none of them mention it, but you can see a smirk threaten to break out on Hotch’s face every time he glances at it.)

[stariwrites]

Part One

Red: An Underground Hero Deku x Crime lord fem! Reader

18+ Minors DNI or else I’ll revoke your kneecaps

Author’s Note: All characters are aged up and this fic is a monstrosity so I figured I’d split it up into two parts this is part one and I’ll link part 2 as well when I post it

Tw: fem dom, corruption kink, praise kink, biting/marking, club setting, dry humping, slight choking, alcohol is mentioned (Izuku doesn’t drink it) use of the pet name baby boy, semi public sex

Thank you to @chaos-night for beta reading, I appreciate it!!

For @yixxes I hope you like it!!

Do not repost or share

“None are known to be good, till they have an opportunity to be bad”-Benjamin Whichcote

Summary: From the day you laid your eyes on Izuku Midoriya you knew you were going to be drawn to him. 

From the day you laid your eyes on Izuku Midoriya you knew you were going to be drawn to him. There was something about the way the college student stood in front of you with his arms drawn into himself as if he shrank far enough he would disappear. You couldn’t help but smile softly at him. 

The man in front of you was impressive to say the least even though he didn’t look it. He was able to track your group for days without your people even knowing. He documented everything in notebooks he carried with him. You watched as his Adam's apple bobbed the more he stared at you. He was trembling slightly, but his eyes never wavered. They held a fire behind them, one that you couldn’t even begin to describe. 

“Midoriya, right?” you asked, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“What do you want with me.” 

It wasn’t a question. Part of you grinned at the challenge. You had to give him credit, his voice only shook a small amount. Anybody else wouldn’t have been able to have the courage to do so, much less to you. 

Standing up from your chair, you signaled to the guards on either side of the door to stand down when they tried to move closer, weapons raised. 

“Do you know who we are?” you asked peering down at the streets below you. All Might was battling a water quirk user. You scowled at the scene before you, it was only a matter of time before he beat them to a pulp. 

“I know,” he said slowly in an attempt to keep his voice level, “that you’re an organization dedicated to uprooting false heroes.” 

Without turning around you gestured for him to continue. You watched his reflection in the window, he took a deep breath almost willing himself to talk once more. 

“You took Endeavor down and made a deal with Stain.”

“Very good,” you clapped, turning back around to face him. He was focused entirely on you. ”Now do you know who I am?” 

He didn’t hesitate, “The Woman in Red, heroes and villains alike haven’t been able to catch you. Nobody knows what your quirk is or if you even have one.”

You nodded to yourself, he showed promise. If you could use it to your advantage there would be no way your plan would fail. With his help you could uproot the fakest hero of them all.

“Tell me, what do you think of us Midoriya?”

It took him a couple of seconds to register what you said judging by the way his green eyes were transfixed on the destroyed All Might poster off to the side of the room. 

“A reminder,” he jumped at the sound of your voice while his eyes fixed themselves onto you. “All Might isn’t the hero that everybody believes he is,” you watched his eyes widen at your words. Part you assumed it was from shock at the way you said them so carelessly, but there was something else there. It was swimming under the surface almost begging to be unleashed.

Before you could place it, he coughed and straightened his posture. He could’ve looked confident when he stood like that if he didn’t shrink into himself at the last moment. With the proper training he’d stand to his full size without feeling insecure.

“Why am I here?” his voice was softer than before, concealed. It made a vicious smirk cross onto your face. You couldn’t wait to help him unlock his true potential. The thought alone almost had you pouncing on him, but you refrained. You wouldn’t scare him away just yet.

You moved closer to him, allowing your nails to drift across the wood over your desk before using one of them to tilt Midoriya’s face closer to yours. He didn’t pull away.

“Because, Izuku Midoriya,” you refused to leave his gaze, “I want you to join Chimera.”

He gulped at the proximity, “And if I refuse?” 

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped your lips. He was too cute for his own good. You flicked your eyes to his before locking them on his lips. 

“Then, I guess I’ll just have to find a way to persuade you,” you emphasized the words by moving closer until your lips brushed against his. You watched as he unconsciously closed his eyes and leaned into it, but before your lips fully touched you turned towards the door. 

You didn’t miss the pout that crossed onto his face when you broke away, but he missed the sadistic smile you wore as you gestured for the guards to file out. All you received in return was a nod from them until they headed out the door. 

When it was your turn you held the door open, but before leaving you met his gaze one last time.

“I’ll give you two weeks to make a decision, until then I look forward to our next meeting,” you purred and leaned against the open door in a way that rivaled Jessica Rabbit, “Izuku Midoriya.”

After you spoke those final words you left with a laugh while he stood in the dark room wondering what just happened.

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“She wants you to join, huh?” Aizawa said from where he was perched on the rooftop. His eyes were scanning below, from the lights of the buildings Midoriya could make out the bags under the man’s eyes. It had to be a late night that was for sure.

Part of Izuku felt guilty pulling the man away from much needed sleep, but being an underground hero he needed allies and the only one with enough experience was Aizawa.

“What should I do?” he asked, moving out of the darkness and closer to the man. He watched the capture scarf blow in the wind slightly while he shivered. It was becoming colder even in Spring, he’d have to get warmer gear. 

Out of the corner of his eye Aizawa seemed to notice because a soft smile slid onto his face, “I told you to bundle up problem child, but you never listen.” 

Before Midoriya could say anything a jacket was flung his way, he jumbled it until he was able to hold it steady. Peering down his eyes widened with disbelief.

“Are you just going to stand there or put it on?”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Stumbling out a yes, he wrapped the jacket around him and zipped it up. It was sleek, light fitting but also warm. Izuku couldn’t help but sink into the feeling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, but wearing that coat he felt like he received the biggest embrace in the world.

A peaceful silence fell over the two of them while they stared out at the streets below. It was a quiet night, the only sounds were of the cars driving by and an occasional group of friends walking past. Their voices echoed off the buildings and were burned into Izuku’s ears. 

He wondered what that was like, having friends. He knew going down the path he was on would be dangerous. He couldn’t have time for them if he was going to save people, especially since there was a chance they could become targets.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if his life would’ve been different if he’d had them when he was younger.

“I think,” Aizawa began, causing Izuku to fix his eyes onto his mentor. “That you should do it. You can get into their organization and gain intel, be a double agent of sorts.”

Izuku’s heart stopped. “Me?” he sputtered, “Do you really think I could pull something like that off? Half of the pro heroes have tried to take Chimera down and they’ve come up empty handed everytime! And besides the only reason I followed them was to bring the information to you!

How do you know I won’t end up like the others?”

“I don’t,” came the response. Izuku expected that to be it and for Aizawa to leave, but instead he turned to Midoriya and placed his fist on his protege’s chest, “But if there’s one thing I know it’s that if anybody could take down Chimera it would be you.”

Izuku focused his gaze onto the ground until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Aizawa shot him a look of genuine faith. “She went out of her way to try and recruit you. I doubt she’ll want to hurt you, but keep your guard up.”

With a nod of understanding followed by an “I will”, the man took that as his cue and began to walk towards the edge of the building.

“You don’t have to of course, but if you do, don't try to do everything on your own kid. You’ve got me. And it’s about time you actually started working on the front lines rather than behind the scenes.”

 With that he was off, a sigh left Midoriya’s lips. He’d been told time and time again that he wasn’t cut out for field work. Not with college he was juggling as well as the fact that his lack of a quirk was always taken into account. He stared up at the sky, he couldn’t remember when he became like this. 

He thought back to the earlier times where he constantly believed he could be a hero. He still believed, but it was subdued. Sad even, but he’d try. If he could take them down it would mean helping more people. 

“I wish you were here, mom,” he said to the stars while tears began to slide down his face, “I’m a little lost right now.”

————————————————————————------------------------------

The two weeks seemed to crawl by. Izuku was getting restless. He knew his decision, but he couldn’t find Chimera anywhere. He checked every back alley, store, restaurant that the members usually went in and came up empty handed. Even when he did find the members and tried to follow them shouting wait or slow down it was like they’d disappear at the last second. 

After running around for nearly three hours he found a bench next to a nearby park and took a seat. He tossed his head back, attempting to get all of the air he lost back. His clothes stuck to him uncomfortably while his forehead was making his hair stick to it. 

They sure can run when they really want to, he thought in between puffs of air. He didn’t know how he’d make it through patrolling, especially now. He dreaded the thought, clutching his side at the reminder. He managed to take Muscular down but not without the villain getting a few hits in. It was worth it though, considering Koda’s smile once he was discharged from the hospital. 

Yeah, he thought looking up at the sky with a serene smile. It had been worth it. 

After catching his breath, he was about to get up from the bench until a person sat down next to him with a note. They didn’t look at Midoriya, instead they were focused straight ahead. The shades made it difficult to see their eyes, while their hoodie and jeans made them look like an ordinary person.

“An invitation,” the person grumbled out, “Don’t be late.” 

Izuku didn’t watch them go, flipping the envelope over he noticed neatly scrawled out cursive. The envelope itself was red with a wax gold stamp. A chimera was in the center while the cursive was in gold. He didn’t open it until he was safe in his apartment.

His breath hitched as he read the words over and over again to make sure he had them right. Once he realized he did, he texted Aizawa on the burner phone they used specifically for underground work and buried his head in his hands.

“What am I getting myself into?”

------------------------------------------------------———————-------------------

The neon lights bathed everybody into an ocean of colors. People were swarmed into the center of the room, dancing and grinding on anybody close to them. The bass caught in Midoryia’s chest as he navigated through the crowd. He glanced around, taking all the strobing lights in. The letter said to meet at The Tavern, but it never specified where.

After bumping into several people and almost being roped into dancing, he finally found the bar. He took a seat and checked his phone as he waited for his nerves to calm down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to one of these. He thought back to freshman year when he first started out he’d gone to a local club to see what it was like only to realize he wasn’t really fond of it.

“Not exactly your scene is it?” a bartender asked, sliding him a drink. Midoriya looked up at the woman with a sheepish smile. She looked to be about his age, her short hair framing her face. Earphones were dangling  from ears. Must be her quirk, Izuku thought with excitement. Her pierced brow was raised as she stared at Midoriya.

“Is it that obvious?”

She hummed for a moment, studying him before she nodded, “Nobody wears a shirt that says ‘Club Shirt’ on it. It’s an interesting pick.”

He flushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. He knew he should’ve gone with something different. 

“Yeah,” he said trailing off until his eyes landed on the drink.

“I don’t—”

Before he continued the woman stopped him, “It’s on the house, you’re waiting for her aren’t you?” 

He was about to ask how she knew when you sat down next to him with a smile, “I see you’ve met Jirou, my most trusted friend.” 

Izuku watched as the woman, Jirou’s face turned bright red. He almost thought he heard a don’t mention it before she went off to serve more drinks, leaving him with you. 

He was nervous, that much was easy to tell with the way his eyes kept jumping from corner to corner. Poor thing you thought while his leg bounced up and down. Part of you cringed, he felt out of place.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

The sound of your voice over the music snapped his attention back to you. Taking his blank stare and furrowed eyebrows as a sign, you huffed out a laugh and repeated yourself. He joined in albeit nervously.

“It’s okay,” he said, stirring his drink with the straw, “You planned to meet here. I don’t want to cause any trouble,” he took a deep breath, “Boss.” 

You turned to him with wide eyes before waving him off as you leaned closer to the table, “You don’t have to call me boss you know,” you said nonchalantly, “Not even the guards call me that.” 

He couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. How you were able to be so calm in a place like this was beyond him, but it helped him relax. With furrowed brows he focused back on his straw. The ice clanked against the glass, but he couldn’t hear it over the song playing. 

“What should I call you then?”

Just like the first time you met, you used one of your fingers to tilt his head up, he could feel your breath mingle with his while his face turned a vibrant shade of red. He silently thanked the lights for making it almost impossible for you to see it. He watched as your eyes clouded over while a sinister smile fell onto your face. It made him feel small underneath it. 

Before he could say anything, you leaned in close to his ear. 

“I have a couple ideas,” your words sent goosebumps to ripple against his skin while his mouth felt dry. He wanted to know what they were, wanted to ask. What was going on with him?!

He didn’t have much time to dwell once he felt your breath ghost against his neck. It was warm and sent shivers down his spine. He briefly felt the touch of your lips against him, part of him hoped you wouldn’t pull away. 

“Please,” he rasped before he could stop himself. Your lips curled into a grin, one of your hands snaked from the table to bury itself in his green hair. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

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

The cool air of the outside clashed with the warmth from the club. Izuku barely processed your lips meeting only to find that in the next minute he was up against the brick wall behind the club. Your hands tangled themselves into his green curls causing him to whimper against your lips.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pussy clenching at the sound he made. You wanted to hear more, wanted him to scream. You placed your knee in between his legs, he instantly started to grind down on your thigh. He tried to pull away from you, but that only made you hold his curls tighter before letting him go. A string of saliva was all that left the connection until you wiped it away with the back of your sleeve. 

Izuku’s face was flushed as he tried to catch his breath. Everything about you was intoxicating, especially the way you looked him up and down like he was your prey. He was still grinding against you, his puffs of air were visible in the night. It wasn’t until you touched his side that he flinched.

You pulled your hand away in concern, but he was quick to shush you with the way his lips latched back onto yours. He could tell you about the wound later, you thought. His lips were soft against yours, when you met for another kiss you opened your mouth. Catching the hint, he opened his mouth enough for you to snake your tongue into his mouth. Judging from the way he was grinding faster against you with broken moans you could tell he was enjoying himself. 

You pushed him further into the wall, it was surely digging into his back by now, but he made no sound of pain. You made sure to avoid his waist, instead you grabbed a hold of his belt loops and yanked his lower body into an arch.

“Oh my god,” Midoriya groaned, tossing his head back against the wall. He needed more, you were everywhere, breathing into his neck, sucking and biting the skin there. Weakly he went to push you off.

“No marks-can’t ah-can’t ngh cover them.” 

A grin casted onto your face. He was so cute like this, all sprawled out under you just as you knew he’d be. You kissed the skin close to his pressure point before staring directly into Izuku’s eyes. Your lips brushed against each other. His eyelashes fluttered as he went to close the space, but you held his neck with one hand and pressed him back.

“I don’t think so baby,” you whispered. Your voice lower in pitch. You didn’t miss the way his pulse jumped under your fingers. Your eyes widened in shock until you gained back control. This was more interesting than you thought. “Does the little hero like this, hm? You like being helpless?” To emphasize your words, you guided his hips with one hand and ground him against your thigh once more. 

A high whine escaped his mouth before he could prevent it. He knew this was wrong, that he should stop this but the way your hand made him dizzy around him and the pressure against his cock caused his mind to become fuzzy. What Aizawa didn’t know didn’t hurt him anyway.

“Please,” he whimpered, meeting your leg. He wanted more--no he needed more. “I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything just please.”

“Such a needy little thing aren’t you?” With a huff you slowly stop moving. Tears sprang into the corners of Midoriya’s eyes as he thrashed in an attempt to bring some of the pleasure back, but you only moved your leg away. Broken no’s spilled from his lips and into the cracks of the brick wall. He’s a mess of babbles and pleas. You wait a second longer until you lick a tear from his face, starting at his chin and stopping just below his cheek bone.

He’s about to thank you when you send him a devilish smirk and drop to your knees in front of him. The sight alone causes him to reach his high. You let him calm down, rubbing his thighs through his jeans. You whisper soft encouragements that he can barely decipher. 

Looking up at him you can see that his pupils are still blown wide while his chest is heaving up and down. Under the neon red light he looks perfect. You want to devour him, but you hold back. Soon he’d learn how to get hard just by your words alone, but first you’d have to train him.

It isn’t until he comes down from his high that he realizes what he’s done. Mortification falls over him faster than you thought from the way his face flushes even further. You wished he wasn’t in so many clothes, you could almost bet that the same would be found on his neck leading to his chest.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, I tried holding it in but-”

Slowly, you rose to your feet and before he could stumble over more excuses you kissed his cheek whispering “Good boy,” into his ear. If Midoriya hadn’t just cum he would’ve from those words alone. 

You laughed softly at his body’s reaction before breaking away from him fully. You don’t miss the pout that formed on his face when you stepped away. At first it was cute, but now seeing it after this made something snap. You quickly grabbed him by the jaw and traced your thumb over his bottom lip. 

“Such a sweet little mouth, making all those pretty sounds earlier, but I think I have more uses for it rather than just pouting,” you locked onto his wide eyes. “Wouldn’t you say, Midoriya?”

He could only nod against you, completely trapped under your gaze. You had him right where you wanted him. “Well then baby boy,” you said detaching yourself once more. “Get to work.”

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

Midoriya woke up in a cold sweat for the umpteenth time that week. He fell back into the pillow with a groan. It had been weeks since that encounter and he was desperate to do it again. He couldn’t escape the sound of your moans echoing in the night or the way your nails dug into his hair just right to send waves of pleasure zipping down his back. And the way you tasted, he craved feeling you against his tongue, drowning in you. 

However now that he was officially part of Chimera after being tested the night after he was able to taste you, it had been pretty standard. There was nothing out of the ordinary, the organization ran just like how any other underground facility would. Midoriya had his own jobs that he had to handle such as keeping track of shipments and making sure nobody was caught. He didn’t have much to report back to Aizawa which caused the older man to worry.

Izuku huffed at the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. Speak of the devil. Why couldn’t the man just leave him alone? He knew what he was doing and what he went there to do. Even if his mind was preoccupied with you, he would still put Chimera down first and besides you weren’t serious about him either. 

Without looking at the contact he put the phone up to his ear. “Look Aizawa I’m fine I don’t need you checking up on me every second of every day so please just this once don’t contact me on my day off.”

Izuku expected to hear the gruff voice sigh into the other line and promptly begin telling Izuku why checking in is important because it could mean the difference between life and death which, being an underground hero, the lines tend to blur. 

Instead, there was a delayed pause followed by a low whistle, “And he lets you talk to him like that? I’m impressed.”

At the sound of your voice, he instantly shot up from the futon. “Boss, hey um why are you calling?” His blood froze for a second. “I didn’t miss anything, did I?!” He tossed the covers off of him and was about to head to his dresser to change when his foot got caught in the sheets causing him to crash to the ground.

You heard the loud bang on the other line causing you to snort. There was a heavy sound of stomping followed by another brief crash that caused you to look out into the city with a smile. You were reminded in that moment that he was still a college student, so full of life. 

“Nope, I was just calling to check in.”

Midoriya scowled on the other end of the phone. “You and Aizawa both. I’m fine if that’s what you’re wondering. I have all my body parts intact and none of them are broken,” he even wiggled his hands and sat back on the futon to swing his feet even though you couldn’t see him. “Thank you very much,” he said dryly. 

You hummed, mulling over his response. Ever since he joined he’s been more sure of himself, capable. It was an accepted change, after all he needed to be strong. Especially if your plan was going to work. After all, the stronger they are the more fun to break.

“He and I are alike then. You do realize that there’s a very fine line between life and death, right? People like us have to stick together.”

“How are you both the same person?”

That question alone had you laughing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Midoriya, but I do have something you can do for me.”

He perked up at that. “What is it?”

“I’ll pick you up, how does noon sound?”

“Yes-” he said all too fast before coughing. “I mean yeah sure, whatever works for you.”

“Good, be sure you’re ready early, I always come on time.” 

With that you hung up the phone and spun back to face your office desk. Phase one was complete, now you could move on to phase two. Leaning your head on the desk, you could feel rather than see Jirou’s eyes boring holes into your forehead.

“Why aren’t you worried about Midoriya?”

You cocked you head to the side. “Why would I need to be worried?”

“He’s working with Aizawa.” It wasn’t a question, but it didn’t need to be. You knew Izuku was working with the man for years before he even discovered your group, but that didn’t matter. You thought back to his confidence, how he was able to give orders and stand up for himself now, but still looked at you to make sure he wasn’t speaking out of turn. It caused a fire to burn in the pit of your stomach.

“Rest assured, Midoriya won’t be a problem. After all,” you said interlocking your hands on top of the desk. “I have him wrapped around my finger.”

tag list: @chaos-night​ @yixxes​ 

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[majestyeverlasting]

Could you do prompts 43 and 47 with fatws!bucky x reader? Thank you 😊

♡ Sure! Thank you for sending this request in, I appreciate your patience! These are quite the compatible prompts, and I tried my best to approach them in the most unique way I could manage. To give a summary as to what happens: Bucky and the reader attend a banquet in Washington D.C., but it isn't until afterwards that things take a peculiar turn as the result of a forgotten tube of lipstick. There's lots of cute moments and a little bit of a scare (but that's nothing a nice soak won't be able to ease away). Enjoy!

♡ Prompt 43: "Let me help you."

♡ Prompt 47: "Please let me take care of you, you’re bleeding.”

Remember the Good Parts

All around, there was dancing, talking, and laughter. Formality had been abandoned so that inhibitions could be released. The banquet hall of the hotel seemed elegant enough to have been fit for kings and queens. The paneling of the walls were trimmed with gold and each of the round tables were dressed in white cloth, floral centerpieces sitting in the middle. Hanging above it all were the most beautiful chandeliers. The crystals adorning them sparkled as if they were stars stolen from the night sky.

The invitation had been addressed to both you, and Bucky. Upon opening it, you learned that The Smithsonian Institute wanted to express their gratitude to the donors and sponsors who had shown continued support over the years. Especially in light of the new exhibits coming to the National Air and Space Museum. The evening itself was intended to be a time of meaningful dialogue and celebration.

The two of you didn’t hesitate to RSVP. Not only would it make for a well-deserved weekend trip, but was an opportunity to venture back to D.C. after being away from quite some time.

What came as a pleasant surprise that night was the moment in which you managed to coax Bucky up to dance. Not one word of protest escaped him as you led the way to where others had congregated and were moving to the rhythm of the music. A more relaxed song had started flowing throughout the room as the festivities were drawing closer to an end. You wrapped your arms around his neck and smiled when he placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently.

“This has been nice,” he said.

You nodded. “It has.”

Part of you still hadn’t gotten over the way he’d cleaned up for the occasion. The dark strands of his hair were getting longer, and he’d gelled them back lightly. And the all black suit he wore made his blue eyes appear even bolder. After the two of you had been swaying for a while, you spoke again, “You know what I think?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to your lips. You wore a rich, burgundy lipstick that complemented your dress and complexion. “What?” He encouraged.

“We ought to take a nice, warm bath when we get back up to our suite,” you thought aloud. “The tub is worlds bigger than the one we have at home.” Your fingers had begun to gently scratch at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. “That already sounds like a dream.” Then he leaned in to kiss you. It was short and as tender as the music in the air.

The event eventually did wind to its end. A Smithsonian spokesperson went to the main podium and made closing remarks about the importance of living in a way worthy of being remembered. It earned her a hearty round of applause and a few high-pitched whistles. Minutes later, attendees were filing out of the hall in a steady flow, some turning around to capture a final picture of the grandeur space. You and Bucky left right along with them, arms locked.

Nobody else was in the hallway when the two of you exited the elevator onto your floor. It was a long, empty stretch lined with warm lights. Taking advantage of that, you paced a few steps ahead of him and did a twirl as you walked—in a sleek pair of block heels, no less. The bottom of your dress caught the air in a graceful flow. When you looked back at him over your shoulder, he was shaking his head but his eyes were filled with adoration.

The first thing you did upon entering the suiet was go sit on the bed to take your shoes off. But Bucky spoke up, “Let me help you, pretty girl.” So one at a time, you raised your legs for him and watched the careful way he unbuckled your heels.

You smiled when he finished. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

That’s when you noticed the faint hint of pigment that your lipstick had left behind on him. “Hey, lean in for a second, Buck.” He obliged without question. You were still sitting on the edge of the bed. “There’s some…” You ran your thumb over his lower lip a few times.

“Lipstick?” He finished.

“Yeah—I got most of it off,” you said.

“It's a nice shade on you, by the way,” he said. "Very classy."

“Isn't it? I bought it a few days ago.” You dug into your purse in search of the tube, but it was gone. “Uh-oh.”

Bucky had begun to take off his suit jacket. “What?”

“I think I set it on the table just before we left the banquet... When I was looking for the card to our room.” A huff of air passed through your lips. “It’s probably been thrown away by now.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Not necessarily,” he said as he walked to hang up the jacket. “I can run back down and see.”

“Do you mind?”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured. “I’ll be right back. And then we can get to that bath you proposed earlier.” The wink he shot you on the way out made you bite back a smile.

I'll be right back, you replayed his words. But it came to the point when he'd been gone longer than what seemed necessary. That prompted you to peek your head out the door. All you were met with was the same long hallway, but with three strangers strolling down it. More time passed, and you found yourself on the bed again, preparing to call him.

A gentle knock on the door broke the stillness.

Bucky stood on the other side, a slender cut running across his left cheek a short ways beneath his eye. It wasn’t too bad, but blood had been drawn nonetheless. Before you could make an exclamation capable of disturbing the other guests, he slipped past you to get into the suite. It wasn’t until the door was closed that you attempted to vocalize the mix of concern and confusion swirling within your mind.

“Bucky!” Your eyes followed him.

“M'fine, doll,” he insisted.

“What in the world happened?” His slight frustration was evident in the way he resumed undressing as if nothing had occurred. “Hold on, baby, wait. Seriously.”

Bucky froze and looked directly into your eyes. You decided to use an even softer tone. “Just… Please let me take care of you, you’re bleeding.” You hoped your gaze was conveying your sincerity. On your way to move closer to him, you grabbed a couple tissues and folded them. A soft exhale left him when you pressed them to the cut, gently applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Neither of you spoke for a while.

Finally, he said, “Two guys brought an outside scuffle into the lobby. Nobody else was stepping in to break it up so I did.”

You lowered the tissues from his face. Due to the accelerated healing rate of his body and the size of the wound, the bleeding had already begun to subside. “And you got cut in the process?”

He nodded. “One of them had something sharp. Didn't really catch what it was,” he recounted. “And I didn’t wanna hurt them, so I couldn’t just flat-out tear them apart from each other.” His voice was low as he continued to speak. “But I was able to get 'em to stop. Some security guards showed up after the fact.”

You shook your head, briefly stepping away to dispose of the tissues. “I wonder why they were fighting in the first place.”

Bucky moved to sit on the bed, shrugging. “I don’t know, but it turns out they know each other pretty well. Apparently they’d just come back from a bar.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

With a small smile on your face, you went to go stand between his legs, looking down at his handsome features. The red cut stood out. "I'm glad it wasn't worse. Are you gonna need Band-Aid or something?"

He chuckled. "I'll live—check this out, though." he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out your lipstick. "Mission accomplished."

"My hero," you teased as you took it from him. There was a comfortable silence for a few beats. "What a night, huh?"

Bucky ran his hands over your hips. "I say we seal it with a good soak and only remember the good parts."

A laugh bubbled up out of you. "Deal," you agreed, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt.

-

Thanks for reading! Masterlist

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 9 - Eye to Eye [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Late night visits can be unpleasant.

Series Masterlist

Here’s something they didn’t tell you during your spy training;

The world’s deadliest assassin made a cute boyfriend.

For the last couple of days, he had been the perfect gentleman but aside from him dropping by the milkshake shop once, you could barely see him. The spy in you kept urging you to ask him where he was just in case it was an important information you could put on your latest report, but somehow you thought it would maybe be pushing him too much.

You looked over your shoulder to take a look at your surroundings and make sure you weren’t being followed by anyone, still holding the phone to your ear.

“You have nothing to worry about,” you assured Bucky, “I don’t mind, we can meet another time.”

“I’m really sorry darling.”

You tried to ignore the smile pulling at your lips at the term of endearment. “Bucky, I told you. I’m not going anywhere, we have all the time in the world. Well, all the time except for tonight.”

“It came up at the last minute.”

“Mm hm, you mentioned that,” you sat down on the bench, looking up at the tall building, “But I don’t know, it sounds a little like you have another date. A hot date.”

“I mean, if you’d call Sam a hot date—“

“Oh I’d definitely call Sam a hot date,” you taunted him, making him chuckle “Have you met him? He’s dreamy and I bet he wouldn’t change date plans at the last minute, just saying.”

“Hey, come on now.”

“But as it happens, I’m sort of already seeing this brooding guy who likes to be secretive, a lot.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You frowned at a milkshake once, Bucky.”

“The milkshake had it coming,” he pointed out, “So, seeing huh? That’s what people call it nowadays?”

“What did you guys call it back in your day?”

“Going steady.”

“I like that term better I think,” you said, drumming your fingers on your knee before fixing your skirt, “All jokes aside I get it, really. Just promise me you’ll be safe.”  

“I’ll try.” You could almost see his tentative smile and you narrowed your eyes.

“That doesn’t sound like a promise.”

“How about I visit you at the shop today?” he changed the topic, “Before we leave?”

You checked your wristwatch, “When?”

“In two hours?”

“Oh that works!” you said, “My shift starts in the afternoon, I’ll be there. And I will bug you until you promise me you’ll be safe, just warning you beforehand.”

“Can’t wait,” he said, “See you in two hours.”

“See you,” you hung up, then fixed your expression and raised your chin as you walked through the security. After swiping your card to get in the elevator, you swiped it once more to be able to push the button down to the headquarters.

After you walked out of the elevator, you had to go through the retinal scan to open the last door and stepped into the headquarters, the usual rush greeting you. People were either focused on their computers, or walking around with files or talking to one another. You looked around and slowly descended the stairs to hop on Chloe’s desk, taking her by surprise. She gasped, taking off her headphones.

“Hey, when did you get here?”

“Just now.”

“You look pretty formal.”

You looked down at your pencil skirt and white blouse, then your high heels. “Yeah I mean, I have to report to the General, I can’t just show up in that weird pin up uniform. I wouldn’t hear the end of it from others.”

“Right. Because every single agent here needs to be intimidated by you.”

“Not a necessity, but surely doesn’t hurt.” You wiggled your brows, “Is Keith around?”

“He’s on his way, asked me if I wanted coffee.”

You tilted your head, “Huh. He’s bringing you coffee?”

“Oh he’s just being nice,” she said, smiling at you brightly “Anyways, tell me everything. I haven’t seen you in days, how’s it going with Barnes?”

“Why, what have you heard?”

She scoffed, “Nothing you paranoid. Why, should I have heard something?”

“No,” you said in a haste, “Not at all, just curious.”

“So how’s it going with him?”

“It’s going fine,” you muttered, “We’re going steady.”

“What does that mean?”

You shifted your weight and crossed your legs, “We’re da—ehm,” you cleared your throat, the word feeling way too strange to even you, “Dating?”

She let out a squeal and you shushed her, looking around. “Chloe—“

“You’re actually dating! Like romantically. Dating dating.”

“As a cover, yes.”

“How was the kiss? Tell me everything about the kiss!”

“Chloe, I need you to look me in the eye and tell me you remember that this is a fake relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, “It doesn’t make it less romantic.”

“Yes it does. It definitely does.”

“The kiss?” she insisted, “Did he do something….old timey?”

“During the kiss?” you felt the need to ask, “Chloe, people have been kissing each other for centuries, what exactly do you think was different in the 1940s?”

She opened her mouth to retort but then her eyes found something over your shoulder and someone placed a coffee cup in front of her. You turned your head to see Keith sipping his own coffee.

“Hey.”

“Hey back,” you greeted him, “Where’s my coffee?”

“There’s a coffee machine in the hallway.”

“But that’s not artisanal.”

“Sucks to be you.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head, “You’re such a—”

“Y/N, he’s ready to see you.” General’s assistant approached you and you pushed yourself off the table.

“Wish me luck,” you said and followed her to General’s office. She motioned at you to go in and closed the door behind her when you did, leaving you alone with him.

General was looking out of the window with his hands in his pockets but turned around when you walked in.

“Shrike.”

“Hello General.”

“I went over your report last night,” he said, not beating around the bush, “Can we say that your relationship actually started then?”

“I think so, yes.”

“You think so,” he repeated and you pushed your hair behind your ear.

“I’m sure, sir.”

“Your report did not exactly provide us with any information on him,” he stated, “Or his actions lately. What is he doing, where is he going….with Captain America?”

“General, we have to keep in mind that this is Bucky Barnes,” you said, “Me actually getting close to him will be much slower than any other target. He doesn’t trust anyone—“

“You got information from drug lords and mob bosses, Y/N. They’re not exactly the trusting type.”

“That’s right, but none of those had over 80 years of spy experience.”

“He wasn’t a spy, he was an assassin.”

“An alone assassin,” you insisted, “I don’t put this lightly, he trusts maybe….I don’t know, three people in the entire world. You trusted me with this mission, just let me do it my way. By the time—“ you tried to swallow the bitter taste in your mouth, “By the time we’re ready to bring him in, I will have earned his trust and bring you the information in the meantime.”

He clicked his tongue,

“He didn’t come upstairs with you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“When your date was over, this…second date. He didn’t come upstairs with you?”

Translation: Why didn’t you sleep with him?

“He’s old-fashioned,” you managed to say, “I decided any further step would affect the mission badly.”

He nodded slowly and took his seat while you shifted your weight from one foot to another.

“Some of your superiors and I decided it’d be better to have some changes in your team,” he said and you looked up.

“Keith and Chloe—“

“They will not be replaced, don’t worry,” he said, “We’re just making some additions, that’s all. You will be informed about them soon, you can leave.”

You tried to smile and walked out of the office to close the door behind you. Gritting your teeth, you made your way to Chloe and Keith who were joking around.

“Hey, how did it go?”

“About as expected.”

“He’s in a bad mood, he and my mother had this fight last night,” Chloe said, “Don’t take it personally.”

“Do you know who they’re adding into my team?” you asked and Keith raised his brows.

“They’re adding someone?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t heard,” Chloe said, “I’ll snoop around his files when I can. Let’s hope whoever they are, they’re nice.”

You scoffed as you grabbed Keith’s coffee to take a sip.

“You’re talking about a spy, Chloe,” you said, “None of us is ever nice.”

                                      ***

Needless to say, your bad mood was there to stay for the whole day. Even after getting to the milkshake shop, you still couldn’t shake off that discomfort.

You were doing the right thing. It was just a mission, you had done it numerous times and listening to your intuition had never failed you.

No matter what your superiors thought.

You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t even notice the wind bells by the door chiming. You were doodling on a napkin while chewing on the straw of your milkshake, ignoring the clutter of mason jars Tara was currently putting on the shelves.  

“Hi beautiful.”

Your head shot up and your eyes caught the sight of Bucky standing across from you on the other side of the counter. A smile you couldn’t stop pulled at your lips without you having to force it and you let out a breath.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed and went under the counter to throw yourself into his arms. He wrapped his arm around your waist to lift you up, then brushed his lips against yours.

“It slipped my mind—“ you stopped yourself and shook your head as he put you down, “Hi.”

“Hi back.”

You stood on your tiptoes and pecked him on the lips again. Somehow, having him there made your day feel not as terrible as it had been so far, probably because your cover had a much simpler life.

That was it. No other reason.

“I’m pretty sure health regulations do not approve of this,” Tara’s voice pulled you apart and you let out a giggle.

“Sorry about that ma’am,” Bucky said and Tara grinned.

“Ma’am, huh?” she asked, “You, I like you. You have any friends who are as nice as you, lover boy?”

“I think they’d be too old for you,” he stated, making you raise your brows. Tara looked between you two.

“Is he a vampire?” she asked you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Still trying to figure that one out myself,” you said “Is it okay if I step outside for a moment?”

“You mean in this crowd?” Tara asked, motioning at the completely empty shop, “Knock yourself out.”

You tugged at Bucky’s hand to lead him out of the shop and he followed you without any protests.

“Sorry, I was going to lose my mind if I stayed there any longer.”

“Slow day?”

I wish.

“Just a bad day,” you murmured, leaning your back to the wall, “How about you? When are you leaving for this… highly dangerous mission of yours?”

“I never said it was highly dangerous,” he taunted you and you arched a brow.

“Right,” you said, “Then it’s just a little dangerous?”

“Just a little,” he nodded, “Yeah. A little maiming here and there—“

“Bucky!”

“I’m joking,” he said with a chuckle, “I promise you I’ll be safe and try to keep Sam safe. Happy?”

“Extremely, can’t you tell?” you deadpanned and scrunched up your nose, “Gosh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be all pushy, I just—”

“No no, you’re not,” he assured you, that familiar soft light appearing in his blue eyes again, “It’s the opposite actually.”

“The opposite?”

“It’s nice to…” He thought for a moment, “It’s nice to have someone who cares.”

The unsaid about me  hung in the air and you felt it tugging at your heartstrings before you took a deep breath.

Focus on the mission.

“When are you leaving?”

“In a couple of minutes, I told Sam I’d meet him here.”

“Shoot, that soon huh?” you murmured, “Okay, can you maybe just… Um- I don’t—I don’t need to know where you’re going, but can you please text me something when you get there? Even if it’s just a letter or something. So that I can know you’re there.”

“We’ll probably get there in the middle of the night, is that okay?”

Middle of the night.

They were leaving the city.

You made a mental note to include it in your report and nodded fervently, “Yeah, totally!”

“So what will you be doing tonight?”

“Me?” you asked, “Oh nothing much, I was actually thinking I could meet some friends from soup kitchen. We were talking about it the other day, and it’s been almost two months since I moved here. I need to start making friends.”

“And will you be safe?”

You tilted your head, looking up at him mischievously, “If I say no, will you still go?” you taunted him, “I mean I might get mugged again. It’s a dangerous city.”

“Not funny, and I thought you said no more dark alleys.”

“But Bucky, that’s how we met!” you insisted, making him furrow his brows, “It was fate!”

“It was a prick with a gun.”

“You should really put more faith in the universe,” you said “It might surprise you one of these days. Who knows? You might even be happy.”

A soft light crossed his blue eyes and he reached out to push your hair behind your ear.

“Where on earth did you come from?” he breathed out as if he was hypnotized and you scrunched up your nose, trying to keep your head in the game.

“Oregon,” you grinned and closed your eyes as he leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss but as soon as he did, someone cleared their throat quite loudly. You pulled back and looked around his arm to see Sam who seemed like he would rather be anywhere but there.

“Barnes, release the poor girl.”  

“Hi Sam!” you waved at him and he smiled slightly.

“Hi Y/N.” he said, “Staying away from wasps?”

You covered your face with your hands, “Gosh, I never should’ve told you that.”

“What wasps?” Bucky looked between you too and you shook your head.

“Long story,” you said, “You two will be okay?”

Bucky took the duffel bag from Sam, “Yeah, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Your jaw dropped, a gasp escaping from you and Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you kidding me dude?”

“Why would you say something like that?!”

“What?”

“Haven’t you seen any movies?” you asked, “You never say that, ever!”

“What did I say?”

Sam threw his head back, “I’m two seconds away from going on this mission by myself.”

“What did I say?” Bucky asked again and you heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Stay here, both of you.” You pointed at them, then rushed into the shop to grab two plastic cups. You filled them with chocolate milkshake, then put the lids on, placed a straw in each and went outside again.

“Here, for the road.”

Sam grinned as he took his cup “I like her better than I like you, Buck.”

“Don’t call me—“ Bucky stopped himself and took his cup from you, “Thanks darling.”

“No problem,” you said, “Be careful, will you?”

“Sure thing,” he pressed a kiss on top of your head and shouldered the duffel bag, “Let’s go.”

“See you Y/N!”

“See you!” you said and leaned back to the wall as they walked away from you. You nibbled on your lip, crossing your arms.

Out of the city.

Well, at least you knew what to put on your report the next time General requested it.

                                      ***

All things considered, the mission was going well.

Just a little too well.

You flipped your phone in your hand, checking the screen for what felt like a hundredth time before turning your gaze to the TV screen. The character let out a scream and started rushing upstairs as the axe killer burst through the front door, making you shake your head.

“Sure, just go and lock yourself in the bathroom, that’s gotta help….” You mumbled, “Who the fuck is writing these?”

You grabbed your phone again to check the screen once more, then shook your head at yourself, tossing it on the couch.

“Don’t be Marco….” You muttered, “Don’t be fucking Marco, Marco ended up dead.”

“Who are you talking to?”

You jumped out of your skin and grabbed the fruit knife lying on the plate beside you to throw it at the figure but he was way too trained for it. He ducked as you jumped on your feet, then pressed a hand on your chest.

“Keith what the fuck?!”

“You got the phone number of that Chinese place around the corner?” he asked as he picked the knife off the floor to put it on the table “I can’t remember the name and I’m craving noodles.”

“How long have you been here—how the fuck did you get inside?”

“Window. Do you want noodles?”

“I could’ve killed you!”

“Oh get over yourself. Noodles?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Yeah I could eat,” you said and found the number on your phone before tossing the phone to him, “There.”

“Thanks,” he said and took the phone to his ear, then ordered you noodles while you tried to calm down and sat down on the couch. He came to sit beside you.

“Your flowers look dead,” he pointed at the bouquet Bucky had given you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe I like them dead.”

“Okay, Morticia Addams,” he murmured, “What are we watching?”

“Scream.”

“Great, classic.” He put his feet up on the coffee table and you slipped a little on the couch.

“Keith?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever wonder what got into Marco to put his life in danger?”

“Well poor bastard was in love,” he said, “Love makes you do stupid shit. Why?”

“But he was a trained agent, we’re not supposed to fall in love.”

“Maybe the target was too good in bed,” he wiggled his brows, “Don’t underestimate how good sex can make you feel like you’re in love.”

“That ever happened to you?”

“You know the true owner of my heart,” he joked and you narrowed your eyes.

“Funny you should mention that because—“ you started but then the doorbell rang. You frowned.

“Their service can’t be that fast, can it?”

“It’s literally right around the corner,” Keith said as you grabbed your gun to tuck it into the waist of your shorts and covered it with your shirt.

“Easy terminator, don’t forget to tip the delivery.”

“I’m an assassin, not a savage,” you said and walked to the door, snatching your wallet off the coffee table. You opened the door but as soon as you recognized the figure standing on your doorstep, you dropped the wallet and pulled your gun to point it at him.

“Hi Julian.”

He had the audacity to smile as he eyed the gun in your hand, then clicked his tongue.

“Hi Y/N,” he said, “Do you greet all your ex boyfriends like this, or am I just special?”

Chapter 10

[stranded-in-salem]

[wattpad link] [last chapter]

Mafia’s POV:

“Well. Uh. That didn’t work.” “No.. no, it didn’t.”

The three Mafia members sat in the Mafioso’s house, glancing back at one another. Their plan to have Ollie executed failed, & it instead ended up with Dawn getting executed instead. Needless to say, it was very tense tonight.

The Mafioso tapped a pencil against the table, thinking of who to kill. They looked at the list of town members. “I’m going to kill the person at house #4 tonight.” they said. “You can stay home tonight, Janitor dude.”

“Got it!” the Janitor gave them a thumbs-up. “What should I do?” the Consort asked. “Uh..” the Mafioso thought, looking at the list again. “How about you distract the Investigator? House #9?” “Alright, I can do that.” they nodded.

& so, the Mafia headed out to go do their thing. The Mafioso went to house #4, the Consort went to house #9, & the Janitor went home.

Witch’s POV:

The Witch yawned as they walked to their target’s house. Tonight, they planned on controlling Bennie. Their last attempt to control someone was kind of a flop, but it still worked out for them a little bit? If the Witch had known Penny was a killing role, they could have made her shoot someone else. 

They approached Bennie’s house & knocked on the door. Ae answered the door rather quickly.

“What’s u-”

Before Bennie could finish his question, the Witch started reciting the spell. When they were finished, Bennie’s eyes had turned purple. 

“Alright, go use your night ability on, uh.. the guy who lives in house #2.” the Witch commanded.

“Understood.” Bennie nodded, grabbing her gas can & walking down to house #2.

The Witch sighed, heading back to their own house. The sound of a gunshot stopped them in their tracks. They whipped their head around to see someone aiming a gun at them. They had shot, & missed.

“Damn, I really suck at shooting this thing, huh?” they mumbled. “Yea, you’re a bit shit at it.” the Witch replied.  “Wh- hey! I’m not shit!” the shooter scowled. “Watch this!”

They shot 3 more bullets at the Witch, & they dodged each one.

“Wha- how?!” “Skill issue.” the Witch shrugged

The person crossed their arms. “Fine. You live for now.” 

They walked away as the Witch sighed with relief, going back to their own house.

Arsonist’s POV:

It had been about an hour after the Arsonist lost consciousness. They now found themself outside of house #2, holding a gas can. It seemed to be already doused, despite the fact that they had no memory of dousing it.

The last thing the Arsonist remembered was answering the door for someone. It was a bit dark, but they could tell who it was: Marina.

The Arsonist thought back to the note they had received.

“As an Arsonist, you can douse anyone who visits you at night.”

Marina had technically visited them, & therefore they were free to douse her! They grinned, heading back to their own house to grab another gas can (the one they had was already empty) so they could go & douse Marina’s house.

Ollie’s POV:

A knock at the door had woken up Ollie. They weren’t sleeping well anyway, so maybe a quick break from sleeping would do them some good. They hopped out of bed & opened the door, rubbing their eyes.

Two hooded figures stood before them. One of the cloaks was green, & the other was purple.

“Hello..?” Ollie mumbled. “Greetings, Ollie.” the person in the purple cloak said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” the green one said. “Uh.. who are you?” they asked.

The two figures entered Ollie’s house. “We can’t reveal our names just yet, but you can call us G & C.”

“Anyways,” C pulled out a file with some papers in it. They handed it to Ollie. “We’ve been.. observing you for quite a bit. Quite honestly, we feel bad for you.” “That’s why the boss specifically requested that we help you.” G nodded.

Ollie grabbed a hold of the file. They looked at it, but didn’t open it just yet.

“We’ll be back tomorrow night to discuss.. more. Have a lovely night.”

The two of them left Ollie’s house, closing the door on their way out. Ollie sat down on their couch, holding the file in their hand. They opened it up, looking through the papers in it.

Most of it wasn’t entirely useful to Ollie, but there was a couple of papers in the file that caught their eye. One was a map of an underground system underneath the town. The other was a list of everyone in the town, & their assigned role. Ollie looked closer at it. They grinned, & started giggling to themselves. The giggling turned to laughing, & the laughing turned to cackling. 

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day for the Jester.

[next chapter]