#out of the box ass head canons while sleep deprived | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neoheros · 4 years ago

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sneaking out headcanons feat. gym 3 squad ♡ — also this is all gonna be set in an au before or without the quarantine, so don’t leave your house please!! social distancing is important and people are dying!!

kuroo tetsuro

listen LISTEN

sneaking out is terrible and you should never do it because it’s dangerous and risky

and you as the woke and understanding gen z that you are definitely respected that

but , BUT , BUUUUT !

the minute your boyfriend snapped you a photo of him in his car with him rubbing his tired eyes captioned “couldn’t sleep, dreamt of u”

your morals were OUT THE WINDOW and now it was your turn >:// !!!

kuroo: i know it’s 4 am but what’re the chances you’d hop out for a quick trip to chick-fil-a 👉👈

you, purposely taking two minutes to reply: why are you still awake

kuroo, who knows you like the back of his hand: babe don’t lie to me, it’s embarrassing for the both of us x

so you agree !! because it was kuroo, the love of your life, the man you’d simp for, and he’s paying for food so hell fricken yeah

you throw on a hoodie, lock your doors, fluff up the bed to make it look like someone was sleeping in it just in case and you gently make your way towards your window

due to personal reasons, you want to pass away

you suddenly remember why you hated sneaking out and boy — the food kuroo was buying you better be worth it

the only way you were actually gonna get down from your two story house that idiotically doesn’t have a roof ledge was if you grab onto the tv satellite that latched by the sill

from your window you see kuroo’s car parked by the trash cans near your house and he’s got his windshield down signaling at you

mfer pulled out his phone from his pocket and waved as he zooms closer to your figure and he SMILED ?

you were in a dilemma?? and he had the audacity???? the fricken audacity???

kuroo, snapping you the vid he took: babe please you’re so cute you look like a tiny gremlin

you: had me in the first half, not gonna lie

it was a MOMENT for you !! but you just say what the hell and go for it anyways because you only live once apparently and sneaking out with your boyfriend at 4 am was better than sleeping

you grab onto the satellite ridge and you pray for mercy that it doesn’t make a sound or loosen up because if anyone found out you were doing this it was definitely kuroo’s ass on the line

while you’re struggling to get down, kuroo’s just in the car ??? laughing his ass off at your current state and you swear that he’s still taking photos

you get down on the cement safely and instead of him pulling up closer to your drive way naaaah he makes you walk to where he was at 😤

you, getting in the car: if i dump you by the end of tonight, just know that the only reason why i didn’t do it sooner is because i wanted food

kuroo, putting on your seatbelt: we’ll get back together in the morning, i’m not worried

so the two of you make your way to chick-fil-a, get food via drivethru and eat in the parking lot with the doors open and the windows down

he still looks very tired and before you even realize it it’s already 6 in the morning

you catch him yawn every few minutes and he always reassures you that he didn’t mind staying up this late :(

he’s baby

kuroo: lets get you home, are you gonna dump me yet?

you, kissing his cheek: no, i kinda love you

kuroo, less sleepy with a lazy smile on his face: aha simp

tsukishima kei

bro if you think he’s a goody two shoes boy who won’t ask you to sneak out at like 2 in the morning , you are so wrong

canonically, he is the most devious and logical character in the entire anime and if he wants to go out with you before the crack of dawn — he fricken will !!

he’s gonna be so sly about it too, nah, he gon make you think it’s your idea to sneak out

tsukki, texting you a tiktok of homemade shrimp rotini at 2:35 am: look what yamaguchi sent me

yamaguchi, who fell asleep three hours ago and absolutely is not in any state to send tiktoks:

so you’re there like ??????

bruv you were just tryna scroll through your twitter feed in peace, why the hell would he send you that like that’s so uncool

because now you were sleep deprived and hungry

you, close to tears: does your house in hell have a pool or

tsukishima, unnerved: i don’t like the concept of swimming

he’s gonna go on about how he didn’t realize what he did and how he’s kinda sorry for waking your hunger but you weren’t born yesterday !! you smelled BS !!

so you facetime him, ready to go off on how unsorry he is and you can already imagine the shit eating grin he must’ve had on

he answers after three rings and he’s in a MFING yellow hoodie with the dinosaur print in the middle, his hair neatly tucked and you just know that he’s got his keys on his fingertips

you, defeated: i’ve been played

tsukishima, heading out the front door: i deny all accusations

you’re not even upset though because this was a perfect opportunity to try the stability of your roof ledge and tbh? who wasn’t unreasonably hungry at 3 am

turns out climbing out your window was harder than you thought and you may or may not have gotten two new bruises on your wrist just by trying

safe to assume that you fell on your ass and since the universe has a particular hatred towards you, your boyfriend arrived at the perfect time to witness all of it

tsukishima: how are you gonna kiss me when you’re too busy kissing the ground

you, tears on your cheeks: if i wanted a bully instead of a boyfriend i would’ve SAID SO

when you get in his car, the first thing he does is ask if you’re okay though and he’s checking your wrists and hands for any scratches or bleeding because 🥺

tsukki: you’re such a clumsy idiot what the hell

tsukki, kicking down the pavement when you’re not paying attention: 💢🪓

you guys end up going to numerous places because most of the drivethrus in town were already closed

you see him get tired behind the steering wheel and you almost have the urge to offer to drive but you didn’t really feel like crashing his car any day soon so

you: lets just head to starbucks hm? get some coffee?

tsukishima, feeling bad because he knows you wanted to get food: we don’t have to

you, in love with him: if you say no i will willingly walk all the way to starbucks by myself , what , you think i won’t do it

so you guys go there and order a couple double shot espressos with a side of scones and muffins and the entire time you’re just trying not to shiver because name one starbucks you’ve been to that hasn’t been unreasonably cold huh i dare you

he notices this and he gives you his hoodie and ITS JUST THE SOFTEST THING OKAY BECAUSE HE’S COLD TOO BUT HE JUST WANTS YOU WARM

you: i knew it, you love me too huh 😌

tsukishima: unfortunately so

akaashi keiji

AKAASHI IS LEGALLY THE BEST BOYFRIEND IN THE WORLD !!

like he cannot be a bad boyfriend ?? it’s impossible for him to be so ?????? he’s just built that way ????

he’s the ultimate mixture of respect and self love , god was just like “let’s make this one perfect !!”

he’s DRIPPING in love each other juice and he eats kindness for breakfast so ha !

he physically cannot say no to you because he flat out adores you

( except when he feels like you’re wrong or being irrational to which he’ll politely correct you and educate you because that’s on what? that’s on having a healthy relationship ♡ )

so when you hit him up at 5:23 in the morning after a series of tiktoks that he has yet to see and react to you about, he’s kinda alarmed

but then again he’s also not ?? because let’s face it, at this point, he’s used to you spamming his inbox

the last thing you sent him two minutes ago was a text saying “bro just imagine this: you and me at a maccas drivethru with two oreo flurry’s and a box of 20 piece chicken nuggets — immaculate”

and you didn’t really expect him to reply?

it was five am and you were absolutely shit talking but when you saw his face time status go online you were just like ?????

akaashi, snapping you a pic of him under his covers with very tired eyes: it’s 5:27 am

you, sending him back a photo of you and the 2000 piece puzzle you spent the last two hours doing: that’s not a no 💅

he doesn’t reply and you’re not really upset by it because he probably just fell asleep and that was really cute to you so !!

but then two minutes later he’s facetiming you and you JUMP at the sudden ringing

he’s all tired and his voice is groggy and tight but he’s still smiling as he says “i’ll see you in ten”

YOU ARE !!!! PUMPED !!!!!

you won the boyfriend lottery , holy hell

now the only thing keeping you from seeing your man and the mcdonald’s sign was the eleven foot gap between your window and the solid concrete

you’d usually take the stairs but you just know that your mom would absolutely murder you for trying to sneak out when you should be asleep 💆‍♀️

it was either climbing out by clawing through the pipes or not being able to give akaashi a hug and you were not gonna let that second one happen

akaashi, after reading your two paragraph rant on how unnatural it was for your window to be that high: please be careful

you, haven’t slept in 32 hours: screw careful ! i embody elegance !!

in which elegance was screaming every time your pipes squeaked because dear mercy you did not want to die yet

akaashi, who just pulled up your drive way and is now seeing you almost fall to the ground:

you, on the verge of tears: please catch me

AND he does 🥺

it was a close call and he barely even made it to you when you chose to let go but HE DID ANYWAYS

you kinda fell on him rather than landing smoothly in his arms but that’s okay you were just glad you didn’t die

when you both get in his car, he just takes a hot sec to dust you off and ask if you’re okay and he’s so concerned please tell him you’re fine

he’s such a baby please i can’t believe this shit

the two of you end up in a mcdonald’s parking lot with doja cat blaring on the radio and you guys do your best to hold back your laughter as you eat

it was pretty cold and the sun was rising but honestly you couldn’t find the urge to care since the moment just felt so surreal

you: i’m sorry for waking you btw 🥺

akaashi, showing you his new lock screen which is the picture he took of you when he first saw you climb out the window:

you: i’m less sorry

bokuto koutaro

BOYFRIEND OF THE MFING YEAR

i accept no arguments, go cry about it

i literally don’t care what anyone has to say, bokuto is the only man ever ? he’s so deserving of every right on earth i’ll cry

the way that this is the third night in a row he’s stayed up til 4 am and he’s not even alarmed about it

like at this point he’s just accepted that he is nocturnal and that’s that on that !

before he actually had the idea to ask you to sneak out for him, he debated whether or not it was worth it

you needed sleep and you barely got any so when he knew you were resting he absolutely refused to message you :(

but then he also thought about how you would love to have a large dunkin iced coffee right now

and he was already getting ready for his morning fix so why not just ask harmlessly?

if you weren’t going to respond then he’d be okay with that because he knew that you were resting well

but if you were going to answer his consecutive texts with a positive reply then HE IS 🥺 over the moon

you, barely awake: can we get a venti triple shot latté instead , my caffeine tolerance is SHOT

bokuto, snapping you back within a minute: babe you are delusional if you think i’m gonna let you drink that

so it’s 5 am and your parents are in the other room asleep but you know that their jobs start pretty early so you had to get a move on

your room wasn’t that high from the ground to be honest, so you weren’t really worried about falling off

what you were worried about was how dizzy and out of depth the melatonin gummies made you because in order to fall asleep you took 3 and now that you basically forced yourself out of a self induced coma, your body was on the verge of passing away

bokuto tells you that he doesn’t mind if you’re not up for the trip and he’d just bring you back your coffee BUT NAH

you’re not a quitter 🤬 you miss your boyfriend and you are gonna do whatever it takes to spend some quality morning time with him !!!!!

so you throw on a proper outfit, make your way through your window and gently do your best to refrain from yelping every time your hand would slip from the railing that’s keeping your balance

bokuto, pulling up seeing you on your roof: you’re so strong 🥺👉👈

you, barely alive: all for you baby ❤️

he helps you get down from where you stood and he had the prettiest smile on earth i SWEAR when you immediately sank in his cold chest

he apologizes for making you sneak out like that BUT NUH UH YOU DO NOT LET HIM

he is a gift !!! and you knew how tired he must’ve been too since he kept yawning but he still took the time and energy to pick you up 🥺

he fastens your seatbelt in the car and puts the windows up because he knew that the air would get in your face and you didn’t like that

he even brought you a spare hoodie of his because he remembered how much you swooned over this particular fabric

bokuto: we’ll get you some coffee but you can sleep while i drive, ok babe?

you, trying not to cry: are you single because i really want to kiss you

bokuto, kissing your cheek: i’m dating someone i’m sorry

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mdawritings · 3 years ago

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Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 14

II.III

Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault, violence, rape (pretty canon typical descriptions), mention of PTSD, description of PTSD symptoms

Song(s): “when was it over?” by Sasha Sloan ft. Sam Hunt

Aaron Hotchner is a man who has always been accustomed to loneliness. Not that he lacks in company, all his time is split between work with his team and his son. But he has no one to share himself with. He has no one to open up to. To just say whatever he’s thinking out loud.

He’s grown used to needing to bury his emotions deep inside of him. Feeling everything all at once has become too painful. He needs to be solid and ever-present in his son’s life. He needs to be strong for his team. Though he tells them all, ‘it’s okay to lose it sometimes,’ he will never allow himself to lose it again in front of them. He wishes he could act emotionally, the way Morgan and JJ and Reid do. He wishes he could break down every once in a while without everyone thinking differently of him. But what kind of leader would that make him?

He’s a man who has a deep respect for the chain of command. He understands the need for structure and rules and protocol, yet at the same time, he wonders how much easier his life would be if he just broke the rules a little bit. What if he had taken that deal with Foyet? Maybe, just maybe, Haley would still be alive. Jack could have his mother in his life.

He’s acutely aware of the fact that as a leader he must put others' needs before his own. He follows protocol for a reason. He knows that Morgan sees him a little bit like a dictator. A stubborn, hard ass. Maybe even a little bit of a bully. But he doesn’t follow the protocol or the rules to be difficult. He does it because most of those rules are in place to keep people safe. To keep his team safe.

He’s plenty comfortable with this personality he has to put on. He’s accustomed to this role. He is comfortable in it. The problem is you. You come from the time in his life before all this. Before the shift. You remind him just how much fun you can have by breaking the rules. You remind him of giving in to his emotions. You remind him of feeling. Feeling anything. Feeling everything.

Whatever he once felt for you, it’s not lingering around. It’s been eight years. He doesn’t still harbor feelings for you. He’s had his great love. Haley. Haley was his great love. He’s not sure that his heart has the capacity for any more love, and if it does, he owes it to Jack to give him all the love in the world. The kid has lost enough.

It’s not that he wants you back in any capacity, but he feels this urge to explain himself to you. He knows doesn’t have to explain himself to you. He’s your boss. It would be best to keep everything professional. That’s what he’s been trying to do. He’s been doing a pretty great job at keeping everything bottled up. Not just keeping what he wants to say to you tucked away, but everything he feels— has been feeling— since he lost Haley a few months ago, tucked away.

But when you turned to look at him and asked how he was so okay, that little voice in his head was urging him to spill it all to you. To tell you everything. Tell you how much he cared for you. How much he still cares for you. He wants the best for you. He always has.

You had the potential to be his great love. The feelings were there, but back then he didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know what it meant to give your everything to someone. To bare your soul to someone. He did know, however, that you would’ve given him all of you. No matter the cost to you, you were willing to give him all of yourself. He didn’t know much, but he knew that was unfair to you. He knew he had to put a stop to it because you gave him everything and he gave you nothing.

He wanted the best for you. He was incapable of being the best for you. You deserved better than him, and he was not able to be better. That’s on him. He knows that. That’s no one’s fault but his own. You deserve an explanation better than what he gave you.

He doesn’t want you back, but he has been finding new levels of beauty within you. Within this new you, that he’s just meeting for the first time. You’re not a completely different person. The things he once found himself falling for, your wit, your intelligence, your smile, your humor, they’re all still there. Yet there’s so much new to discover, that he can’t help but find himself being drawn into you all over again.

You’re much more confident. You stand your ground. He knows that he is to blame for that. He showed you what it was like to have someone walk all over you. You have this air of wisdom that has clearly come about with age and experience.

There’s something deeply tragic within your eyes. They were once so bright and full of hope in the world. He can tell that the spark has died. Maybe it’s something he resonates with, a loss of belief in the good in people, that has him gravitating towards you all over again. He knows you’ve been through a fair share of tragedies. So has he.

Whoever said opposites attract applies to relationships was dead wrong. There’s nothing more appealing to Hotch than someone who completely understands him. Someone who completely understands his motivations, his mind, his feelings. Yet he believes he will never be able to open himself up to love again.

But you seem to give him hope. You might be just what he needs. He has this intuition that if he opened up to you, you would understand him. You would simply listen to him. You’ve always been good at listening. Maybe you’ve always been the right person for him. Maybe this is the second chance for the two of you.

Hotch visibly shakes his head, as if attempting to shake the thoughts from his head in the way a swimmer shakes their head to free the water from their ears. Every thought of you feels like a betrayal of his love for Haley. A betrayal of what he had with her. One look at the clock convinces Hotch he should be getting home. It’s long past Jack’s bedtime but that doesn’t mean he can’t be there when the kid wakes up. They’ll spend the weekend together, doing something Jack loves.

Hotch looks down at the stack of unfinished case files. He still has to check over the team’s work from the past week and he’s very quickly falling behind the more his mind seems to want to focus on you. He’s going to have to do a lot of paperwork this weekend. That’s not new for him.

He digs around his pockets for his personal cell, getting ready to text Jessica that he’s on his way home. She’s probably already asleep, but a text can’t hurt. The sound of his work cell ringing fills his body with a deep sense of grief and guilt. Guilty for not seeing his son more often, guilty for tearing JJ away from time with her family, guilty for forcing Garcia to see more of the worst of humanity, guilty of depriving Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss of sleep, guilty of depriving Rossi of his weekends, guilty of forcing you to spend any more time with him.

He reaches for the phone, “Hotchner.”

————

You don't get stuck in place. The instinct to call Hotch and tell him what’s going on has to be suppressed. You can’t tell him. The threat of the letter seems real. The picture is enough evidence of that. It’s not a picture of him at work, or on a case. It’s personal. He’s walking out of the coffee shop. A coffee shop you assume is close to where he lives. Close to his son. Close to a wife? A girlfriend? His son’s mother? You still haven’t heard the details of that whole situation.

It’s something you’re not sure you want to hear anyway. At first, you feel pathetic. For god's sake, you’re still hung up on this man from eight years ago? Get a grip.

But you’ve come to realize you’re not hung up on him. It’s not about the love you felt for him. It’s not a feeling of still being in love with him. It’s not about rage. It’s not about holding a stupid grudge. Yeah, he broke your heart. It was the worst relationship you’ve ever been in. But none of this is about love or rage. It’s about the way he made you feel. This feeling of worthlessness. A feeling that you can’t— won’t ever forget. A feeling you plan to avoid at all costs for the rest of your life.

You turn the photograph over in your fingers a few times. You don’t want anything to happen to Hotch. You’re not sure how you feel towards him. But you know this much is true: you want to keep him and his family safe. You have a sinking feeling that you know exactly who is behind the threat. It’s always been a possibility that he survived, no remains were recovered among the rubble. You’re quick to get to work.

You walk to your bedroom, flipping on the light in the closet and pulling out some of the remaining storage boxes you have yet to unpack. Your eyes fall on the safe in the back of the closet. Pushing everything out of your way, you crouch down, turn the dial and pull a box out. You walk by the door, checking the locks again. He knows where you live.

You open the small box, removing the manilla folder from inside. You pull out the contents: a photocopy of the incident report. The date on the top is just over a year ago. You haven’t looked at the photos since the accident. Your therapist warned against it, telling you it would likely trigger an episode. She wasn’t wrong. The anxious feeling builds in the pit of your stomach, nausea washing over you as you look through each of the photos.

There has to be something here. Something to tell you how he survived, why he did it, why he’s back. You find the transcripts of each of your calls with him. You think about how much easier this would be to decode with the help of the team. Reid would find some specific markers in the language he used when talking to you that would help demonstrate his obsession with you and why it took nearly a year for him to make contact again.

You set up a small workstation on your kitchen table, spreading all the information out. You tape the note and the photo up on the wall. You’re on your own for this one. Speaking to anyone, about anything, would be too risky. You’re not willing to risk Hotch’s life.

One thing is certain, you’re not getting much sleep tonight. You place a defensive hand on your gun holster that you haven’t taken off. You walk to the window lifting it up to study the fire escape. You see no one outside and squeeze through the open window back inside. You close the window, double-checking the lock. You place a small glass on the edge of the window, so that if someone does open it to break in, the glass will fall, alerting you of an intruder.

You never turn your back to the door as you work. The gun stays close to your side. You make a cup of coffee to keep you awake. Your profiling skills are getting better by the day, but you still know that you’re not well enough equipped to handle this all on your own. You pull the profiling handbooks off the shelf. You open Rossi’s books, poring over the words, again and again, noting anything you think might help you, noting any statistics.

It’s nearly two in the morning when your phone rings, startling you. You’re on edge. You reach for it, looking at the caller on the screen. “Agent Hotchner?”

“The team is meeting in an hour on the jet. It’s an emergency.” As much as you wish it didn’t, his deep stern voice soothes your anxiety ever so slightly. It’s nice to hear that he’s okay. He’s safe for now.

“Okay. See you then, Sir,” As you say it, you realize that the trains don’t run at this hour. You have no way of getting into the office or to the airstrip for that matter, “Hotch?” You say quickly before he can hang up. His name slips from your lips. You don’t mean to call him that.

“Yes? Something wrong?”

“I would just call another team member but I assume you haven’t left the office yet… I uh,” You’re embarrassed. Do you really want Hotch to see the shit apartment you live in? Do you really want him to know you don’t own a car? “I don’t have any way of getting into the office or to the airstrip. Usually, I take the train but… they don’t run at this hour.”

There’s silence on the other line for a second. For a moment you think the service has gone dead. You open your mouth but just as you’re about to ask him if he’s still there he speaks up, “Send me your address. I’ll come and pick you up.” This time, you freeze in place. You half expected him to say he would send Anderson or a car service, but the gesture isn’t surprising for Hotch.

At least not surprising for the Hotch you seem to be meeting all over again. Not all the traces of who he was long ago are gone but there are so many new layers to him you find yourself discovering. He’s immensely regimented. He follows rules. He respects authority. He’s the most giving leader you’ve ever seen. He manages to balance the right amount of rigidness and emotional detachment from the job while still acknowledging that his team is inherently composed of human people. People who deal with emotions and grapple with a myriad of different flaws and obstacles to their success. He always knows the right thing to say to each person.

You know that despite tearing his head off a few hours ago, Hotch is still the type of leader to drop everything to help you. If that means picking you up at 3 AM so that you don’t run into the possible dangers of taking a taxi cab this late, then he’s going to pick you up.

It’s equally unsurprising when you hear a buzz through the intercom to let him inside the building and up the stairs. Hotch doesn’t half-ass anything. If he’s going to pick you up, he’s going to come directly to your door instead of sitting outside in the car waiting for you.

You buzz him up, looking around at the disarray you have managed to cause. The case files are scattered across the kitchen table. The picture of him from outside the coffee shop still hangs on your wall. You don’t have time to hide it all. You know Hotch would never force himself inside your apartment, but you worry about what the consequences would be if Hotch found out about the note.

His knock at the door is firm, pulling your attention away from the photo and all the case notes. You shove a few of the case files into your bag and rush to the door. “One second!” You call yanking a jacket off a hanger in your closet and hurriedly sliding your boots on. You wince a little, your feet sore from wearing the shoes the entire day at work but you fight through it and open the door just enough for you to squeeze out without letting Hotch glance into your apartment. He gives you a weird look but doesn’t attempt to look around you into your apartment. “You didn’t have to come to pick me up, you could’ve sent a car or something.”

Hotch shakes his head. “Do you always take the train?” He reaches down, taking your go-bag from your hand, carrying it down the stairs of your apartment for you. You appreciate the gesture yet resent it all at the same time because of who it’s coming from.

“I didn’t need a car while in New York. Public transit got me everywhere. Now that I’ve moved here, I’ve started saving up for a car.” As soon as you step out of your building, Hotch instinctively moves to stand behind you, looking both ways around the empty early morning streets. He has your back as if he’s keeping a lookout.

Nice to know that the shitty living situation you have is not going unnoticed by him. He puts your go-bag into the back and opens the side door for you. Then something happens. As he opens the door for you, his hand drifts to your lower back, gently guiding you into the car. That’s when you feel it. A warmth that spreads throughout your body from where he touched you. You’re quick to move away from his touch and the expert profiler that Hotch is, immediately sense that he’s put you on edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” He rushes out and averts his eyes from yours, moving around to the other side of the car. You reply with a curt nod as if to tell him that it’s okay but not to do it again. Or do you want him to do it again?

The only thing you’ve felt for the past year is numb. And when you aren’t numb, you’re angry. Not at Hotch, just at the world, at yourself, at the FBI, at the way your life has turned out. So the warm fluttery feeling stirring around your stomach is comforting. It’s comforting to be reminded you can truly feel something, yet this isn’t the kind of something you want to feel right now.

There’s a moment of silence as Hotch starts to drive the two of you to the office.

“What—”

“I—”

Both you and Hotch start speaking at the same time. You fumble over your words as Hotch speaks up, “You go first.”

“What’s the emergency case?” You look over the lines in Hotch’s face and his side profile as he drives. Hotch presses his lips into a thin line and tilts his head down a little, wringing his hands around the wheel.

“It’ll be better to explain to the whole team but if I’m honest… it’s not good.” He sighs and looks over at you. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it, switching his focus between you and the road.

“You were saying something?” It’s so dark in the car that you can barely make out his features. The only time you can clearly see him is when you drive past a street light, which illuminates the whole car. He doesn’t immediately answer you. You watch as he seems to run over things in his head like he’s preparing his words before he says them.

The car pulls to a stop at a red light right outside the FBI building. Hotch finally looks over at you, “I’m sorry.” The bright red light on the side of his face somehow seems to soften his features and the way his voice is soft, hushed almost, keeping the conversation trapped in the car between the two of you, “For being so callous with you earlier and for pushing you to talk and for…” The light changes to green. Like a switch, he focuses on the road again.

“For?” You raise a brow, unable to pull your eyes away from him. He’s utterly enchanting. Aging has done something wonderful to his features. The lines next to his eyes tell you that though it doesn’t seem like he does now, he did at one point do a lot of smiling.

“For hurting you. I am truly sorry,” He breathes out. It’s relieving to hear him finally say the words. To finally own up to what he did. You always thought about this moment, when he finally apologizes for everything. You thought it would feel much better. You always pictured you would look him in the face and scoff lightly, acting as if you had gone on to so much bigger and better things than he ever expected from you.

But right now, you don’t want to be pompous. You feel no urge to throw the apology back into his face. You almost, almost, feel bad for him. It never slips your mind how beaten down Hotch looks. You’re sure you don’t look your best right now, running on minimal hours of sleep over the past few days, but from the minute you started this job, he looked exhausted. Exhausted from what? That’s what you want to figure out. You have this strong urge to reach over and take Hotch’s hand as if you’re the one apologizing to him, not the other way around.

You don’t touch him but only force another nod, “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. It was unprofessional of me.”

Hotch laughs softly, opening the car door and getting both of your go-bags from the back seat, “Nothing about this whole situation is professional.” His breathy laugh brings a smile to your face. Did Aaron Hotchner just make a joke?

You both walk in silence into the building, flashing your badges at the night guard, who recognizes the both of you from when you left earlier in the night. The two insomniacs of the BAU. Both too proud to admit to the demons haunting them when they close their eyes, chalking up their late nights to an excessive amount of work.

Any friendly, playful attitude that Hotch had in the car with you dissipates as soon as you step onto the BAU floor. You can feel him tense up, standing a little taller. His face sinks into that unmistakable frown. You smile at the team as you step into the conference room, ignoring the screwed-up confused glance Rossi gives at the fact that you and Hotch enter the room at the same time.

“Hotch, what’s the emergency?” Morgan asks, standing to make himself a cup of coffee.

Hotch walks to the front of the round table by the monitor, “Columbus PD just contacted us about two recent murders.”

“Okay?” Prentiss glances up at him, “Why does it necessitate immediate BAU assistance?”

“They entered the information into the database and came up with a match, to the case we just closed.” He reaches for the remote to turn on the monitor, “Two college-aged girls on Ohio State’s campus were stabbed to death,” He clicks through the photos.

“The mutilation of their hands,” Rossi nods, almost knowingly.

“Did we get the wrong guy? Has he crossed into a different state to avoid connecting him to Indiana? Columbus, Ohio and Bloomington, Indiana can’t be that far apart. ” Prentiss points out gesturing with the pen in her hands.

“228 miles apart to be precise,” Reid interjects.

“But how is that possible? Everett Wilson, we arrested him, he’s detained, awaiting trial as we speak.” You shake your head. “He confessed to the crimes.”

“The rate of false confession is much higher than you might think,” Reid leans forward in his chair, sitting up straighter as he does, “27 percent of people accused of homicide give false confessions. That number skyrockets to a hefty 81 percent when you isolate it just to people with intellectual disabilities and/or mental illness accused of homicide.”

“So we either have a copycat or we caught the wrong guy,” JJ deduces, sounding altogether defeated.

“That’s what Columbus PD needs us to figure out.” Hotch nods, “I think our time will best be spent split between Ohio and Indiana.”

“Indiana?” You look up from your tablet.

“Someone has to interview Wilson,” Rossi fills in the gaps.

Hotch confirms with another small nod, “We’ll fly into Ohio. I think two of us should drive to Indiana to interview Wilson for a few days. Wheels up.”

———————

Hotch reaches forward, turning down the brightness on his laptop, attempting not to disturb his coworkers, who are currently attempting to get a little bit of sleep during the short flight to Ohio. There are only two other sources of light on the jet. One comes from Dave’s tablet. He’s looking over the details of the case again. The other is from the opposite side of the jet. You have the overhead light on, your eyes scanning quickly over the pages of a novel.

Hotch finds himself distracted from the work in front of him by you. You let out a long yawn. The overhead lighting is not doing your under-eye bags any favors. He wonders how long it’s been since you’ve slept. Really slept. A full night of uninterrupted sleep.

He thinks of the neighborhood you live in. He thinks of the apartment complex. He worries about your safety, living alone in a place like that. Do you live alone? The way you slinked out of the door, barely opening it, not allowing him a view inside, makes him think you were shielding someone from him, hiding someone from his eye line.

Or maybe you were just worried about his wandering judgmental eyes. He wouldn’t be surprised if you made every attempt to keep your personal details completely secret from him. He knows he has no right to that information, but he can’t keep the curiosity at bay. No matter what the reason, your secretive behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You pull your feet up under you in the chair. He watches as you shiver slightly, reaching up to turn off the air vent above you. He feels an urge to offer you his jacket that sits on the seat across from him. He doesn’t, but he wants to. It’s a strange compulsion. Is it possible these urges to care for you, keep you safe that were put to rest eight years ago are still ingrained in him?

He needs to control himself, to remain composed and professional. He knows you don’t want anything to do with him. That much is clear from the way you moved when his hand landed on your lower back. He didn’t even consciously intend to touch you. He just opened the door to be polite. As you got in, he instinctively placed his hand on your back to help guide you into the car. It gave him that feeling again. The small sparks at the contact. The same small sparks from just over a week ago when he welcomed you to the team.

His eyes are lingering on you too long. Dave slides into the seat across from him, cutting off his clear line of sight. Rossi notices that Hotch’s focus is not on the laptop in front of him.

“So you’re going to Indiana to interview Wilson?” Rossi nods, leans forward on the table, folding his hands.

Hotch lowers the screen of his laptop, darkening the jet and shielding his features from Rossi’s profiling gaze, “He’s expecting higher-ups from the FBI. He’s not going to talk unless we fuel his ego. Make him feel important enough that I want to come and talk to him.”

“You know he’s not going to give you everything you need just with you there.” Rossi’s mouth forms a thin line as he shakes his head, “You need to throw him off. You need some behavioral cues as well.”

“I know that,” Hotch sighs, rubbing his fingers together on top of the table. “Prentiss is an intimidating female presence. I think she can elicit the right responses from him.”

Rossi pauses and glances off to the side at Emily who has fallen asleep, leaning her head against the closed jet window, “Emily has a lot of experience. She’ll be good.” He glances back at Hotch. Hotch knows what he’s leading to. It’s a fact Hotch is not oblivious to in the slightest. He knows exactly who the best partner for the interrogation will be. He knows exactly which team member will make Wilson the most uncomfortable.

Hotch shakes his head, “She’s not an option, Dave. She needs more profiling experience with the team.”

“She’s the youngest on the team. She’s not far behind Prentiss in age but she could easily pass for a student. That’s exactly his type,” Rossi argues, “I know there’s something going on between the two of you, but you can’t let that get in the way of this case.”

Hotch keeps his voice hushed so you can’t hear them, “Dave, I can’t do that. What if she breaks down? What if something happens to her?”

“What’s going to happen with you there?”

“To get what we need out of him we need to let him say everything he wants to say. We need to see his honest reaction to a challenging female presence. I don’t think she’ll be able to remain composed,” Hotch argues back with Dave, realizing his voice has raised a few decibels. He shoots a look at you, making sure you haven’t caught any part of the conversation.

“You think she won’t be able to remain composed… or you won’t?” Rossi points out. The old man is always capable of seeing right through Hotch. He goes silent and Rossi finally sits back in his chair, a smug smirk on his face, “There’s always something about your first.” He teases.

“Stop,” Hotch practically cuts him off, “There’s nothing between us.”

That smirk never leaves Rossi’s face. The lights flick on in the jet. Hotch feels the jet start to make an attempt to land. He knows what has to happen when you finally land, yet he is dreading it more than anything.

————

The team rouses from sleep as you land. You close your book, not having made much progress on it, your mind focused on the way Hotch’s eyes kept darting over to you. The shift between the two of you has rattled you. Maybe getting some of the feelings out there in the open has permitted a change in dynamic.

You were honest with him. He was honest with you. You didn’t necessarily want to hear any of his side of the story, but he answered your questions. There’s no doubt in your mind that he told the truth. Unit chief Aaron Hotchner is brutally honest, almost too honest. There’s a callousness to his honesty. He knows that truth can hurt, but sometimes you just need to hear it.

Sometimes you think it’s fate that has brought you back together. Destiny, maybe. But you’ve never believed in fate nor in destiny. You like to think you have some form of autonomy and you get to dictate how your life runs. The problem with not believing in destiny is that there’s no higher power or greater being to blame when your own reckless and stupid decisions end up hurting the people you love.

“Agent Y/L/N and I will drive to Indiana to interview Wilson. I’ve already made the necessary hotel arrangements. The rest of you will run the investigation from the Columbus PD headquarters. We’ll keep you updated and join in on the investigation by tomorrow.” Hotch nods and your head shoots up to look at him. He couldn’t have told you that earlier?

As soon as you step off the jet, there are three SUVs waiting for you. Hotch leads you to one, once again taking your bag from your grip and putting it in the back.

You find yourselves in the same position as just a few hours earlier, Hotch at the wheel, you in the passenger's seat, except this time, the sun is just rising as you start the three-hour drive to Indiana.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” He looks over your face for the split second that he’s able to take his eyes off the road.

You nod, lying, “I got some sleep before you called us all in.”

He hesitates, wringing his hands around the steering wheel. He’s always been fidgety with his hands. When he’s not driving, he still does that little finger rubbing thing at his side. Sometimes he twirls a pencil in his fingers when he’s thinking. He’ll rub his hands over his face or continually place them on his forehead, rubbing at his skin a little. When he drives, he rubs his hands over the steering wheel. It’s even more obvious when he’s thinking. He’s debating whether or not to call you out on the lie.

He clearly decides against it, “Get some sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you up to brief you before we get to the detention center.” And that’s the last thing he says to you for a while. You would reach for your book, to soothe your anxiety, but Hotch put the go-bags in the trunk.

Most of the drive is spent in silence until you’re about 20 minutes out from the prison. You attempted to get some rest but the fact that you’re about to practically be bait for a serial killer isn’t really the most calming pre-nap thought.

Hotch begins to brief you, “Wilson has an ego. He’s a narcissist. This is a game to him. He’ll turn every question back to you or me as another question. He’s going to try and trip me up. Tell me that I’ve gotten something wrong about him.”

You nod and Hotch continues, “Then he’s going to turn all of his attention on you. You’re a young, attractive, successful woman.” You try to ignore the small warmth in your stomach when he says the word attractive, “You’re his exact victim type. He’ll hate you, but he’s also going to want to impress you.”

“That’s why you picked me,” You reach for your tablet, looking over the details from Wilson’s case. You wrote the case report, yet you still want to feel as prepared as possible.

“It’s likely he remembers both of us from his arrest. He’s going to want to describe to you in graphic detail every violent thing he did to those women. How he planned to kill them, how he followed them, how he felt killing them.” Hotch’s voice is steady but you see a slight sheen on the steering wheel from his clammy hands. He’s nervous. Does he not trust you to do a good job? Does he think you’re going to screw up?

“To freak me out?” You glance out at the window as you pull down a long windy road towards the detention center.

“To have control over you. To draw you into his fantasy. Don’t let him know it gets to you. Remain charming with him. Don’t get antagonistic with him. It’ll cause him to shut down.” Hotch pulls to the guard tower, flashing them his credentials. You reach for your own and do the same. The gates open, letting Hotch drive through and into the lot.

“He’s still awaiting trial but he’ll be in handcuffs. I won’t let them uncuff him when he’s alone with you,” Hotch parks the SUV.

“Alone?” You have to admit the thought terrifies you.

“He’s going to want to tell you more without me there,” Hotch turns off the engine. You see a guard exiting the front doors, walking towards you two. You give another wary nod and reach for the car door.

Hotch reaches for your arm, grabbing it gently. Your first name slips from his lips as he does. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s just enough to stop you from getting out, “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You look down at his hand on your arm, the feeling sending tingles all the way through your shoulder and down your back. He tracks your gaze and removes his hand, “And if it ever is too much and you feel overwhelmed, you just leave. It’s okay to need to take a breath. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I’ll be okay,” Your shaking voice gives you away. You open the car door and extend a hand to introduce yourself to the detention officer. He leads both you and Hotch inside. You take off your gun holster and Hotch does the same for both of his guns.

A loud buzz signifies that the door is unlocked for you two to enter the center. Two armed guards lead you and Hotch down rows of cells holding prisoners that are all awaiting trial. A few of them call out, hollering and catcalling as you walk by. You resist the urge to wrap your arms around your body to shield yourself from them.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” Hotch speaks up from beside you. “He’s going to want to see the crime scene photos.”

“We can’t show him,” You argue. “We’re not here to give him a gift.”

“We need him to cooperate with us.” The next door is locked and you both stand there waiting for it to open. You finally catch a glimpse of him. His face is furrowed into that stern interrogation look of his, but his eyes are warm as they look at you, “You don’t have to do this.”

Another loud buzz. The guards push open the door. “Yes, I do.”

You step into the interrogation room. Everett Wilson stands to greet you. “Aaron Hotchner,” He smirks and just his smile sends a shiver through your body. That’s when his cold, steely eyes turn to you, “And you… I remember you.” He grins, speaking your name in a much more dulcet tone than he uttered Hotch’s. “I would shake your hand but,” He lifts his shackled wrists.

“Sit down,” Hotch is solid, unmoving. The way he speaks almost terrifies you. He slams a file down in front of Wilson.

“I assume you’re here because of my wonderful admirer,” He snickers and reaches for the file.

You place a palm on top of it, dragging it away from him, almost teasingly. You open it up, but keep it shielded from view, “You already have admirers?”

“Did one of those exclusive interviews with a newspaper,” Wilson nods his eyes running over you at a slow pace, as if he’s attempting to savor every last inch of your appearance, “The letters are already pouring in.”

You know he’s lying. He’s exaggerating the truth already, just like Hotch said he would. He’s only been detained for about 10 days. There’s no way he’s gotten that much attention in such a short period of time. You also remember Hotch told you to play into his ego as much as possible. “I’m not surprised. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit fascinated by you.” You raise your voice a few tones, letting a small smile grow on your face.

Immediate disgust at your actions fills you. You’re flirting… with a man who brutally stabbed multiple women.

“It’s not possible that you know who is committing these crimes,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the tension between you and Wilson. Wilson doesn’t bother to look away from your eyes as Hotch speaks. You want to tear yourself away from his chilling gaze, but it's almost as if you’re having a standoff and you don’t like to lose or give up.

“It isn’t?” He finally breaks eye contact. He’s questioning Hotch, just as expected. “And how are you so sure of that, Agent Hotchner?”

“You haven’t had any visitors,” He argues, “And according to the guards, very little correspondence.”

“And you don’t believe this imitation could’ve reached out to me?” He tuts and shakes his head, condescension oozing from every inch of the man, “So frequently incorrect, Aaron,” He turns to look at you again, “But how could anyone focus on anything when working alongside such a beautiful, young woman?”

You’re not sure how to act. Do you smile? Do you nod? Do you scoff? What you want to do more than anything is reach across the table, grab him by the neck and slam him up against the wall, demanding answers, “Can we see these letters?”

“No.”

“No?” You ask incredulously, glancing at Hotch for guidance.

“Not until I see those photos and confirm it’s my acquaintance from the letter,” He nods at the file you have trapped under your arms.

Hotch reaches an arm across you for the file but you stand up from the chair, picking the file up, “A word?” You mutter, looking down at Hotch. He nods and stands, following you out.

“If you can’t handle this just step away,” Hotch starts and reaches again for the file once you’re outside the room.

You move it out of his grip, “No I can handle it just fine. I just… this feels like a reward for him. I want him to give us more before we give it up.”

“What else are you expecting from him?” He crosses his arms across his chest.

“I want to know why. Why those girls? Why the hands? If we can identify the differences between his murders and these, we can figure out where the motivation stems from for these. “

Hotch hesitates, “Okay but if—”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to lose it. I can handle this,” You roll your eyes. You appreciate his consideration, but it’s starting to feel less like he cares about you and more like he doesn’t have faith in you to be able to do this.

You step back into the room, this time, alone. “Uncuff him,” You nod at the guards. They look to each other, then to you again and you nod. Wilson stands so they can remove the shackles from his wrists. He lets out a contented sigh once they’re removed and rolls his wrists around a little to loosen them up.

“Ready to show me what we’re dealing with?” He cracks his knuckles, almost threateningly.

“Not just yet,” You emphasize placing your hand flat on the file, holding it close. You talk a lot with your hands, “You see, I don’t get you. Or maybe I do. That’s the problem. Those women, what drew you to them? Was it their beauty? Or was it their age? You took pride in preying on younger women. You’ve always had a preference for them haven’t you?”

Wilson maintains that smug look on his face, but you notice that his eyes dart6 down to your hands often.

“That’s why your first run-in with the law was with your wildly underage girlfriend. Isn’t that right? Statutory rape. That will put a real damper on your career goals, won’t it?” You tsk softly, “Poor Amanda Reinhardt.”

“I loved her. We were in love. It was her parents’ fault,” He argues. You can tell his anger level is rising.

“I think your defense went something along the lines of this,” You open the file, pulling out some of the notes from Wilson’s history, “It was her fault. She was always teasing me, ruining me with those looks. With the way her hair smelled and the way her hands felt on my body.’ You remember saying that?” His jaw tightens as you recite the words back to him. “You didn’t love her. You grew to hate her. Her accusations ruined your career.”

“She loved me back. I swear she did.” His tone gets sharper.

“So when you killed those women, you really were thinking of killing Amanda, weren’t you?” You push him, finally sliding the file across the table to him. You open it, turning to one of the photos of the newest victims.

“It’s not right,” He growls, “He didn’t do it right!” He slams a fist down on top of the file. You jump back a little. Wilson reaches forward flipping to the next photo, “Not right!” He yells and you start to grow fearful of him. His anger level is quickly rising. You have hit a nerve. He shoves the file back across the table, the papers and photos scattering around as he does. “You don’t know! You don’t! You’re ruining everything!” He lunges towards you but before he can reach you the guards grab him by the shoulders. At the same time, two hands reach and grab your shoulders, yanking you out of his reach.

It’s Hotch. Hotch is pulling you away from him, placing his body between you and Wilson. “We’re done here.” He replies firmly.

Just as you turn to leave and follow Hotch out, Wilson yells one last thing at the two of you, “He’s just getting started! This is far from over for you, Y/N!” Ice water down your back as you hear it. Could the copy cat be connected to the note and photo you received? But this is all too up close and personal. The man who haunts your past never got up close and personal with his victims. Bombs. That was always it. Distance from the victims. This can’t be connected to him.

It takes you a second to realize Hotch is calling your name. He places a hand on your shoulder, which seems to draw your attention back to him, “Are you okay? I told you to step out if you needed to.”

“I’m fine.” You reply curtly.

“What was he saying in there at the end? Do you know who this copycat is?” You follow him back down the halls of cells, towards the exit, and out into the air. You take a few long deep breaths. Hotch repeats your name firmly.

“I don’t know what he was talking about. I think he was just trying to get under my skin,” You shake your head. “Something in those photos set him off. It’s clearly a copycat, and it’s clearly not someone who bothered to get to know Wilson’s original motivations.”

“But why are they doing it? To get his attention? To get him released?” Hotch walks with you back to the SUV.

You look down at your watch and realize just how long you and Hotch have been at this. What felt like minutes in there with him was really hours. “God I indulged him.” You mutter under your breath.

“It’s part of the job,” Hotch starts the engine, “We should get back to the hotel. You can get some rest. We’ll leave for Ohio in the morning.”

You sit in silence, running over the whole interaction in your head. You leaned towards him. You smiled back at him. You even laughed at him. You got valuable answers, but what did you lose in the process? Your dignity? Your self-respect? “I don’t think the copycat is even doing it for Wilson. I think he’s doing it for us. To get our attention. To get the FBI involved.”

“You think this unsub has some sort of personal connection to the BAU?” Hotch pulls into the hotel and parks the car.

“It’s the best explanation.” You meet his gaze.

“I shouldn’t have let you go to talk to him.” Hotch lets out and you feel frustration rising in you.

“Will you stop treating me like I’m incapable of handling this?” You open the door and step out, reaching for your bag in the back.

Hotch follows close behind you into the hotel. The man at the front has already checked you in and hands Hotch two hotel room cards. “I don’t think you’re incompetent. I just think you’ve been through a traumatic experience. It’s okay to be fragile after what you’ve been through.”

You push the elevator button with quite a bit of force. “With all due respect, you don’t even know half of what I’ve been through.”

The doors open and you step inside, Hotch right on your heels. You’re praying that someone else will come running, telling you to hold the doors, so that Hotch doesn’t continue this conversation, but the doors close with ease, leaving the two of you alone. “I know I’m the last person you’d confide in, but everybody needs to lose it sometimes.” You reach forward pushing the emergency stop button, “What are you—”

“Do you want me to lose it?” You question him, “Because you act like you actually want to see me lose it like you’re encouraging it.”

“I just care about you. You’re a part of my team,” Hotch speaks as if his line of logic is the simplest, most normal thing in the world. As if there isn’t a whole life you two lived together years ago.

“Because if you want me to lose it, make a scene, blow up on you, I can do that,” You chuckle bitterly. “Sometimes it really feels like you’re trying to push me to the edge and see how strong I am. How long I hold on before I lose it.”

Hotch doesn’t reply right away. You reach forward and release the elevator, feeling it lurch as it starts climbing the floors again. The elevator only rises four more floors before Hotch reaches forward and stops the elevator again.

“Would that help you? To lose it? To let it all out and yell and scream at me? Would that make you feel better?” His voice is eerily level. “Because if you need me to be your punching bag, I’ll do that.”

He’s telling you the elevator is like neutral territory for the two of you, again. Whatever you say in here won’t leave. You can’t look him in the eyes. You don’t start the elevator again. “I look at you and I don’t see you. I just feel the air disappear from my lungs. I feel pain. In my chest, in my head. I feel sick.”

You take a pause. Hotch doesn’t react. He’s giving you the opportunity to let it all out. To tell him everything you’re thinking. “I’ve tried to imagine how my life would’ve been without you in it. I could, and I felt so much better. The problem is no matter how good it felt to picture life without you, I still wouldn’t choose it over a life with you in it. I hate you, yet I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

Another long pause. Neither of you moves from your spot in the elevator. You keep your eyes trained on the closed elevator doors. "The worst part of this whole fucking situation is that after all these years, you still manage to have a hold on every decision I make."

“What are you talking about?” He’s giving you an opening. He can tell that something is wrong. Something is off about you. He can tell that this frantic, paranoid energy you’re radiating isn’t because of your past with him. It’s something else. That picture, that note, it’s put you on edge. He noticed from the moment he picked you up at your apartment. You can’t tell him about the letter. You tell him and you risk his life.

You reach for the elevator button, bringing it to life once more. It rises the last few floors to the floor with your and Hotch’s hotel rooms.

“Have a good night, Hotch,” You huff out a breath, stepping off the elevator and walking down the halls to find your room. You desperately want to collapse on the bed and sleep until morning. It’s only late afternoon at this point, but you’re so emotionally drained you just might actually get some sleep.

You open your door, tossing your bag onto the chair in the corner of the room. You draw the curtains, quickly stripping off your clothes, muscles aching for a hot shower. What you want more than anything is a drink, but you know Hotch would have your ass if he found out you were drinking while technically on the job.

You walk to the bathroom, turning the shower all the way to hot. The bathroom fills up with steam and you stand around in it, letting yourself get the slightest bit light-headed in the steam. You step into the shower, hoping to scrub away the disgust you have for yourself after today.

You’re not sure how long you’re in the shower, but at some point, you sit on the tiled floor. You let tears well up in your eyes. You don’t know why you’re crying but it just sort of happens. It’s just so much. It’s all so much. This life, this job. It’s so hard.

Your therapist’s voice rings through your head. Your interpersonal skills will take a hit. You’re going to be more irritable. Easily angered. Easily provoked. Almost like angry outbursts triggered by almost nothing. You think about how quickly you turned on a dime, snapping at Hotch in the elevator. You’ll feel like you can’t trust anyone. You’ll have days where you feel nothing at all, just numb. You might have overwhelming waves of sadness or guilt. Your tears start to merge with the soapy water flowing down your cheeks and all over your body. You might struggle to sleep. Sleep deprivation will aggravate the other symptoms.

The steam is so thick in the bathroom you can’t see your hands in front of your face. The glass is completely foggy. You can barely breathe. Your eyelids are drooping closed with exhaustion, so you haul yourself up off the floor and turn off the water. You reach for the towel wrapping it around your body gently.

You walk back into your room but freeze in place when you see a note delicately placed on top of your go-bag. It’s a small white envelope. The front of it has the same writing as the one delivered to your apartment.

He was in your room. Just now. He got into your room. You fumble around for your gun, looking around the tiny hotel room, still only wrapped in a towel. You swing open the closet doors, frantically aiming your gun. You see a breeze from the balcony, blowing the curtains back and forth. You creep slowly towards them and yank the curtains open, stepping out onto your balcony, seeing no one out there.

The envelope is still sitting on top of your bag. You turn back into the room and open it, still dripping water everywhere as you do. Another photo. Another note. This time, the photo is of Penelope and Derek. They look like they’re leaving a movie theatre. Morgan’s arm is wrapped tightly around Garcia’s shoulders. You pick up the note:

Ready to follow my rules? Rule 1: Play nice with Aaron Hotchner. He’s an expert profiler. He’s going to catch on to those mood swings of yours. Enough with the hot and cold with him.

Nausea grows in the pit of your stomach. He’s been watching you. He was in this hotel. He might still be in this hotel. He knows about your fights with Hotch. How?

You keep your gun close by your side even when you settle into the bed. You leave all the lights on. You check the locks on the door and the sliding glass doors every hour. All hope for sleep slips through your fingers.

You and Hotch travel the three hours back to Ohio the next morning in complete silence. You don’t mention the second note. He can tell you didn’t sleep. You don’t care. Your mind is hyperfocused on that stupid fucking note. Now it’s clear the man taunting you has eyes on Hotch, Garcia, and Morgan. They’re all in danger.

The main problem is with the copycat case. The case goes cold. You all stick around Columbus, Ohio for another two days. No new murders. No new leads. Nothing. You have nothing to profile. All the components of the profile seem to be leading to dead ends. Rossi explains that it’s one of the most frustrating parts of the job. Sometimes what you need to solve the case is another body, but another one never comes. It’s a good thing in retrospect, but it means that the team has failed.

You’re not much help to the team the two days you spend grasping at straws because you’ve retreated so far into yourself you barely speak. You do what Hotch asks of you but he notices your change in behavior. Then you realize you’re supposed to be normal. Play nice with Aaron Hotchner.

By day three, the team has decided there’s nothing more you can do. You have to return to Quantico. From the energy of the entire team on the jet, you can tell you all feel as if you’ve failed. It doesn’t seem like the team is used to unsolved cases. Everyone is frustrated and tired and angry.

One by one, the team starts to fall asleep, all thoroughly exhausted from the past two days. You eye the seat across from Hotch, the only bright place left on the plane. He has the overhead light on as he works on his laptop. You keep your book clutched tight against your chest and sit across from him.

He only looks up to smile at you before diving back into his work. You’ve never had a problem existing in silence with Hotch. Until now. There’s so much that’s happened between you. Yet like always, it’s not about the things that you said to him a few days ago. It’s about whatever isn’t being said. And at this moment, across from him, pretending to read, you can tell there’s so much he’s not saying. You look up at him to find he’s looking right back at you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, not sure if you really want the answer.

“Something you said the other day. It’s sticking with me,” He tilts his head down a little, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You said you hate me.”

“Oh,” Did you mean it? You don’t know. You don’t think you’ve ever hated Hotch. You could never hate him.

“It’s sticking with me because,” Aaron takes a slow deep breath, closing his laptop like he’s preparing himself for what he’s about to explain to you. What he’s about to discuss is going to hurt more than both of you can comprehend in that moment. “Because,” He’s loosened his tie, letting it hang crookedly around his neck, “If you’re going to hate me, I need you to see all of me before you do.”

So he tells you everything. He tells you about Foyet and Haley and the events of the past two years of his life. He starts with the deal Shaughnessy made with The Boston Reaper all those years ago. He goes over the case, in detail, describing the process that led them to Foyet. He describes Foyet’s escape from prison. He didn’t stop searching for him after that. Every free minute in the day, he dedicated to tracking anything and everything he could to find Foyet. But he had gone underground.

Then he gets to his attack. The details start to fade out from there. “That’s when—” Hotch pauses as he speaks. He averts his eyes from yours, taking a second to breathe. He presses his lips into a firm line. It’s hard for him to get the words out, “When he attacked me in my home.”

He doesn’t tell you much, besides the fact that Foyet stabbed him and dropped him off at the ER. As Hotch talks, you just simply sit there and listen. You feel your heart sinking further into your stomach. Your first impressions were correct. The man in front of you is a man who has been through a world of hurt. You could see it in his eyes that first day on the job. He’s deeply broken.

You feel bad for him. It doesn’t take away from the hurt he caused you in the past, but you find yourself starting to understand this current Aaron Hotchner more and more with each word out of his mouth.

You don’t know how you feel about Aaron Hotchner. You don’t know what the future of your relationship with him holds, a fact you remind yourself of constantly. But when he starts to talk about the attack, you see him closing off. You can see him suppressing just how traumatic and painful it all was. He glosses over the details, but just the look on his face makes you want to reach for his hand. You want to hold it, show him that you’re listening to him. You care about what he’s saying.

You resist the urge and resign yourself to attempting to demonstrate just how intently you’re listening to him. He explains how Foyet killed Haley while she was on the phone with him. He was too late. He couldn’t save her. Jack was unharmed. He’s not sure Jack fully understands what happened yet. He’s still not really old enough to understand that his mom isn’t ever coming back.

It’s ill-timed, but you can’t help but feel the pain in your chest as he continues to talk about Haley. He was deeply in love with her. She was his person. His one true love. She was able to show him true love. You feel intensely disappointed. You weren’t enough for him to change, but Haley was. He explains that he met her in high school and they separated a few years later as he pursued his career. They were reunited not long after he quit his teaching position. Right when he started his job in the FBI.

Now she’s gone. His true love, ripped away from him, all because of his job. “I lost her to the job twice.”

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can manage to get out after he stops talking.

“What are you sorry for? It wasn’t your fault,” He has to clear his throat a little, his voice getting caught in the back of his throat. You swear his eyes have glossed over with tears.

“For bringing her up the other day. That was cruel of me.” Your voice is small. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so weak, so emotional.

“You didn’t know.” He waves his hand, dismissing your apology.

“Still. I’m sorry,” You pause, “Also I’m sorry for wishing a horrible life on you.”

“When did you do that?” He scrunches his brows up, confused.

You bite back a smile, “Oh just uh… eight years ago?”

Then something beautiful happens. Aaron Hotchner lets out a full-bodied, amazingly childish laugh. It makes you think that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for the two of you after all.

Chapter 15: II.IV →

Tag list: @wanniiieeee @art-and-thoughts @enjoymyloves @flipperpenguins

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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thegc4life · 4 years ago

Note

Do you any other Hawks fic ideas you'd like to write? Or is Hawks-sensei all you've got on your mind right now?

Wyv. You know not what you ask. I have to put them in categories, Wyv. Categories.

Kid!Hawks:

-Kid!Hawks growing up with the LOV (both as a permanent thing and various ridiculous drabbles) This involves Unwilling Big Brother Shigaraki, scarily willing Big SisterToga who knows all the coolest knife tricks, Best Uncle Twice who sometimes on his real good days doubles as temporary Dad, the Dad who teaches you how to hot wire cars and laugh people’s money straight out of their wallets Compress, mother-henning can-not-leave-you-alone-for-one-god-damn-minute Spinner, True Mom Kurogiri, Big Sis Mag who seems to be the only actual one that realizes that children need to sleep at some point for the love of god, extremely confused but horrifically soft Dabi who may or may not eventually turn his whole life around because of this feathered idiot that needs someone to make sure he lives a happy life whether it be a permanent shrinking or not. Oh, and Machia. The best Mountain Monster Dog brother (?) a boy could ask for.

-Kid!Hawks with UA (staff edition) also both in temporary and permanent circumstances. Temporary is already in progress. Permanent? Oh boy, permanent world. They raise him within UA so as to keep him from the Commission. Hawks often sits in on their classes with coloring books, picture books, or just to sit there and watch them. He is very smart. He picks up on things, but mostly he just likes being around all the staff. He picks a new person to sleep with every week because some of them have really shitty sleep schedules and even as a kid he knows they would feel bad keeping him up, thus forcing them to go to bed through good-person guilt so he tragets the sleepiest looking people for the week (hint: Aizawa gets picked a lot, and even if he’s not sleep deprived Hawks would pick him because he adores his grumpy cat Dad). Thirteen does crafts with him all the time. She watches every kid show and gets really into it with him. Hawks and Mic make the meals and they sing the entire time. They sing together throughout the day. Hawks will chirp out a line of notes and out of nowhere Hizashi will burst in to sing the lyrics. Midnight reads him bedtime stories cause her voices are the best. She does his nails and lets him do hers. He practices on the UA students to surprise her with new designs (the students fall over their own feet to offer to be his test subject). Snipe does little challenges with him. Things that, while technically helping him get used to controlling his quirk, are more fun than anything else because Hawks enjoys using his feathers in games. Hawks dresses up like a cowboy for an entire month, quoting old western movies and driving everyone but a very proud Snipe up the wall. Hound Dog and Hawks go on walks together ALL THE TIME. They explore the woods around UA and Hound Dog tells Cementoss to change up the geography every once in a while so they have something new to explore. He teaches Hawks how to go camping and Hawks fricken adores him and is always on his shoulders just kicking his feet or napping in Hound Dogs hair. Ectoplasm is Hawks favorite person to play any kind of tag based game because the others are too easy to catch with his feathers. But with Ectoplasm and all his clones? hawks goes nuts. Ectoplasm cried once when Hawks asked Aizawa for peg legs for Halloween and when someone asks him if he wants to be a pirate he says no because he wants to be a super cool hero like Ecto for Halloween. No one will be as cool as him. Hawks fricken loves Vlad. Like, adores him. Whenever Vlad is in the room Hawks will just go hang off his shoulders, or tuck under his arms with a book to read, or just lean against him. He has a little stuffed bull dog that has Vlad’s exact resting bitch face and carries it with him every time he leaves the dorm because he feels safer with it. He goes to Vlad when he’s injured because Vlad just takes care of it, gives him a hug, and doesn’t tell him to be more careful. Just asks if Hawks learned something and moves on. Hawks and Nezu are penpals. They see eachother every single day, but they are penpals. Hawks grows up with the most beautiful calligraphy handwriting because he keeps trying to out-do Nezu’s. He absolutely tattles on every single teacher in these letters, giving Nezu years worth of blackmail. Hawks thinks Nezu is a stuffed animal until he is fourteen because Nezu never fesses up. He just thinks the staff is even cooler for letting a stuffed animal run the place. He only ever cries around Nezu.

-Kid!Hawks UA(Student edition): So many. There’s lines I’ve written where they’re still in school when Hawks is kidified. When they’re already pros. In Canon, in Hawks-sensei, I even a small blurb sentence of Deku running a preschool that Hawks gets put into in an AU with quirks still. I can’t even... there’s too many students, cause I’d do all 1-A and 1-B. My favorite one to randomly wake up in a panick and write about though is the one where it’s Hawks-sensei verse based and Kid!Hawks gets taken in by the Monoma family. Rui and Eiko are older and Monoma is a pro-hero by then. The pure amount of fluff, sass, and Hawks spoiling that will happen. Big Brother Rui and Bigger Sister Eiko. I think about this one a lot.

-I’m currently (slowly but progressing) writing a gift for @saltwater-sweets where Kid!Hawks is taken in by the Uraraka family. Like, he’s not even shrunk in this one. Uraraka’s newlywed parents were involved in the accident he first saved people in and they found him before the Commission. They realized his homelife situation and opened their home to him and now he is Uraraka’s big brother and that one line I threw out there? About him being a global superpower in household moving? Teaming up with Uraraka for that? Yeah.

-Kid!League of Villains and adult Hawks. Yeah, you heard me. They all get shrunk instead of him. And he can’t just... turn them in. They’re kids. They haven’t done any of the crimes their older counterparts have. And if it’s a permanent thing? They stay kids? Then he has a chance to really, truly save them. To give them the happy lives stolen from them. The Commission doesn’t like that. So Hawks takes them and runs. Dabi can be an adult too, I guess, if that’s the ship or something, but I just really wanna write Kid!LOV and Dad!Hawks.

-Kid!Aizawa. Dad!Hawks. Same concept. Beautiful dream. Need I say more.

-Kid!Hawks, Best Jeanist

-Kid!Hawks Gang Orca

-Kid!Hawks RUMI!!

Vigilante Hawks:

- Raven was born and I dived down that rabbit hole so fast I went back in time. Raven. But from a way earlier age. Those guys mugging Hawks when he was fifteen? The spark. Hawks stayed on the streets, he never went back, and he learned some things. He got some freedom, learned some shit, and realized that hero society was pretty fucked up. Shigaraki starts the LOV up and realizes there’s this whole underground community he was never aware of that Hawks has been building for years. It’s great.

-Hawks was never found by the Commission so he was never ‘Hawks’. His Dad raised him as a criminal but Hawks, with his little heart of gold, took every chance he could to make something good out of the bad deeds. Then he got old enough and he took full control. You ever seen the Levi OVA’s of Attack on Titan? Where he’s walking down the stairs and you realize every single person there is part of a huge ass gang of awesome with Levi at the head? That. THAT.

-Hawks loses his shit in Canon and goes completely AWOL. full Feral. He sees the problems, and he is prepared to do whatever it takes get rid of them. Whatever it takes.

AU Hawks

-Horribly injured, recently retired at the ripe old age of 23, and looking for something to save him from depression. Hawks meets Todoroki Fuyumi who gets him a job at her school. This one makes my brain happy.

-Takami Keigo and Todoroki Natsuo meet in college, graduate together, join the same hospital, and open one as partners as soon as they can. Ship or no ship, they go through their entire lives together. (I just... I really like the Todoroki sibs, okay?)

-Takami Keigo was born a lot earlier. So much, earlier, in fact that he is classmates with this overly optimistic ball of light named Yagi Toshinori and the grumpy ball of flame Todoroki Enji. Big Three anyone? Also, everyone needs a dumb smart birb to keep them sane. Hawks loves his friends, and he’ll kick anyone’s ass that tries to hurt them be it physically, mentally, or emotionally. Also, he meets Nana.

-I LOVE THE IMAGINARY KAMAKIRI FAMILY DYNAMIC OKAY?! literally anything with Hawks involved in their lives, okay?! I did not expect to spiral so hard when I made up Hideo and his relationship with Kamakiri but my god did I spiral! I just really love them!

-I’m a sucker for the classics. Tattoo/flower. Coffee shop. College. Roommates. Love.

- (she made me write this) a story surrounding the amazing love story of my sister and Iida Tenya with Aizawa crashes the wedding even though he was invited and Mirio is her maid of honor, with Eri as the ring bearer, and All Might is the flower girl. Twice is the officiator. Uraraka releases a flock of fake pigeons (not real ones cause they don’t deserve that). Oh, and everyone else is there too, I guess. Except for Mineta. Cause he’s in jail.

Right now, at this very moment, I can not for the life of me think of any others but I KNOW there’s at least seven more that I just can’t remember because my brain is work dead. Wyv. @wyvernspirit do you see what you’ve opened here? Close the box! Close it before it’s too late! There is always more! I am never without MORE ideas!

#adorable bean response #pandoras box #i only vaguely spell checked

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fishyelvenantics · 4 years ago

Text

Ok, just got back from the doctor so I apologize if I'm more of a mess than always, so have some hesdcanons about Langdon that bitch Caul and Edith, the poor woman who deserved better. Also, most of these were created with the help of the amazing @ellieheim

- FIRST OF ALL, let's just pretend he wasn't a jerk with Edith, canonically, he was a bitch, but let's just pretend he wasn't (at least with Edith, everyone else can suck it)

- Now, I can't for the life of me, remember if it was even mentioned how they met and such, nor the circumstances of their marriage, so Imma go with the following scenarios:

They met at the library. Edith got bored, went for some books, ended up finding a very sleep deprived and possibly drunk Caul, somehow they ended up talking and it was nice.

It was an arranged marriage. Edith's parents went like "ehhh, that one!" So they just introduced them and somehow they actually liked each other.

By sheer casuality, what are the odds you'll find your future spouse on the market looking for random products? Idk

- Now, keep in mind, we are pretending Caul was way nicer than what he was in canon, now, about Edith, she is nice and proper and all of that jazz... but she can also kick your ass and she will kick your ass.

- Don't mess with her, she'll slap you, she'll smack your head with an umbrella or something.

- The whole Oaness society is scared of her, Caul finds that hilarious.

- Speaking of Caul, Edith's the only one allowed to call him Langdon.

- Also, remember my bi Abe headcanon (x)? Goes without saying that it also applies to Caul, A.K.A, disaster bi/demisexual icon.

- Ok, so this one wasn't mine, Elle, I love your ideas: basically, Caul almost dropped the wedding rings on the sea by accident, then he DEADASS just flopped into the water for the sake of not loosing them.

- It happened the same day him and Edith got married, he showed up with his suit all wet and seaweed on his hair. Edith was unimpressed.

- There's definitely a photo of the where he's wearing a freaking deep sea diver suit, Edith once again is unimpressed.

- Btw, the wedding was cute and all but everyone was freaked out by the groom's guest, who were the whole fish cult society acting like the weirdos they are.

- I said Caul is nicer in this one but he still is a punk ass bitch so... I mean he kinda deserves a slap from time to time but overall he's just a drunk mess who definitely became the town's cryptid at some point.

- Oh and, since I know there are sourcers that say a little about his childhood (will put a proper link if I find it, for now I just got things I rebbloged), I don't care if he was a shy and nerdy kid who loved the outdoors, he was also a gremlin.

- Like, imagine this 5 y/o running around with a journal, taking notes of everything he encountered, face covered in dirt or mud, wet hair and clothes cause he fell into a river at some point, probably lacking some teeth, I mean, that's cute but has the potential to be extremely chaotic (plus kids are weird so...)

- Then his dad introduced him to the sea life and all, listen, just imagine this mess of a teen, complete nerd, probably a lanky mess of hormones and anxiety, just collecting sea shells and fossils while being extremely antisocial (a mood, ngl)

- Edith wasn't a fan of the idea of him putting all those weird things and fossils and crap as decoration, somehow he managed to convince her that at least one room would have those, Edith's inner interior designer was fumming but she at least got to pick the wallpaper.

- Let's be honest, Caul can't cook, he'll burn down the whole kitchen, but he totally is in charge of making tea and coffe.

- Edith stole a few cigars while he was gone out of sheer boredom, Caul knew but pretended he didn't, one day Edith finds a whole box of cigars with her innitials on it, she still is not sure if that's sweet or passive aggresive.

- Caul doesn't sleep, at all, that man lives on caffeine and spite, Edith tries to make him go to bed yet keeps failing, one day she tought he woke up early, turns out he hadn't even realized it was morning already. (Thank you Ellie for that wonderful idea)

- Imagine them drunk, lying on bed, ranting about life, each one holding a cigar, and yes, I know women weren't expected to smoke on the 1860s but I like to think Edith didn't give a damm and Caul was ok as long as those weren't his cigars.

- And speaking of drunk, one time good ol' Langdon got drunk enough to read outloud one of the poems he wrote as a kid, Edith liked it though.

- Also, I know men back then didn't grew as tall as they do now, but I like to imagine Caul being the same height as Abe (before certain comics events), I just like to imagine him awkwardly standing out next to everyone else.

- Edith on the other hand was the average height for a woman, which made her look even shorter next to her bastard of a husband, but hey, cute height difference interactions.

- I'm still not sure how Caul looked that young at amost 70, I think it's because of some cultist thing, but personally I have a headcanon that back in his 20s/30s or somewhere around those lines, he ended up involved into some weird thing that makes you look young and of course the bitch himself became the test dummy for it.

- The thing that made Caul fully realize he wanted to marry Edith was seeing her beating the crap out of a guy.

- TEATHER DATES, TEATHER DATES, those two totally went to the teather for special ocassions, or the bakery, or just to the beach to take a stroll. (Again, thank you friend for that)

- Caul's excuses for going away for months are crap and Edith doesn't believe them, they both know it, no one will say a word but Edith manages to came up with better excuses in case anyone else asks for him.

TL,DR: Caul is less of a bitch, Edith will fuck you up, let's imagine their marriage was happy instead of the mess it canonically was, that way what happened to them will hurt more.

#hellboy #hellboy headcanons #hellboy comics #langdon everett caul #edith howard caul #headcanons #abe sapien #comic abe sapien

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millennial-ring · 7 years ago

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Haunted Chapter 26.5

Tobi sat upright in bed, back against the wall and laptop resting on her outstretched legs that were tucked under the blankets despite the summer heat. Her bright green hair was pulled into a messy bun, stray pieces of hair falling out to frame her face. She kept having to push them behind her ears because they annoyed her, but she made no effort to properly pin them back. It was 5pm on her day off, and she still wore her pajamas, not bothering to change into real clothes despite her and her roommate’s plans to get Chinese before her roommate had to work. They’d both slept all day, exhausted and overworked.

Tobi’s hands hovered above the keyboard uncertainly, the exhaustion showing on her pale face. The bags under her eyes –which she usually liked having, since they gave her a “dead inside” look without having to apply make up at 7am- were much darker thanks to the 18 hours she worked in the last two days. She was attempting –and failing- to write the next chapter of her fanfiction, Haunted. She kept writing one or two sentences, then deleting them. Now she stared at the blank word document like it was mocking her.

“Fuck this,” she muttered, setting the laptop aside and getting out of bed. Her little black cat, Salem, chirped in protest at being woken up, and Tobi proceeded to get distracted with petting the cat for a good 5 minutes before she managed to make her way to the kitchen.

“Drink of champions,” she said to herself as she pulled out her third Vanilla Coca-Cola and cracked open the can. As she took the first few too-big mandatory gulps she recalled that this very drink had inspired her Fanfiction.net username –VanillaKokain, because the sweet vanilla-laced beverage was just as addicting as that white powder.

(In the real world, not fanfic self-insert land, the Real Tobi takes a second to retrieve her own Vanilla Coke from the kitchen before resuming the crack fic.)

Though she really hadn’t done much but write maybe two paragraphs, collectively, she considered taking a break and making something to eat. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat, so she set down her Coke and grabbed a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese – the new Star Wars shapes, because fuck you, the shapes taste better.

As she was turning to grab a pan from the cupboard above the sink, she spotted two people who were definitely not her roommate or friends, and dropped the box of BB-8 shaped noodles.

Sitting there on her couch among the dozens of decorative pillows were none other than Malik and Bakura; more specifically, the versions of the two characters that existed in the Haunted universe.

Malik wore his beautiful golden hair up in a ponytail, his outfit consisting of black skinny jeans and a white-to-lavender gradient tank top that Tobi had wanted to draw him in again. Bakura, meanwhile, wore his baggy red hoodie and grey sweat pants, his body surrounded by the weird, other worldly shimmering that Tobi always worried she didn’t describe very well.

The two men stared at Tobi, and for a long moment, Tobi stared back, too shocked to do anything but try and control her breathing so she didn’t scream. At length she picked up the can of Coke and checked the ingredients. “Did they start putting actual cocaine in this shit?”

“I’m pretty sure cocaine doesn’t make you hallucinate after one hit.”

Tobi shook her head, her eyes wide and an unhinged smile working its way over her lips. “No, you’re right, of course, I knew that. So this must just be a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and sleep deprivation and where is my phone I need to call chef and ask for some time off because I obviously need a damn vacation if I’m starting to talk to hallucinations of my two favorite YuGiOh villains!” The more she spoke, the more shrill her voice got, and at the end she took a deep gasp of air after not taking a single breath.

“Oh, we aren’t hallucinations, sweet heart,” Bakura purred, and Fanfic Tobi didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the pet name. Real Life Tobi thought it was hilarious, though, so she left it in there.

Tobi stared at them a moment longer before suddenly grabbing a ghost shaped salt shaker and chucking it at Malik. It hit him solidly in the shoulder and spilled salt everywhere.

“Ow! What the fuck!” Malik rubbed his shoulder and stood, shaking and brushing the salt from his clothes.

“Holyshityou’reREAL.”

“Yeah, Bakura literally just said that.”

“But- how- I don’t- you’re fucking fictional! Okay, this has to be a dream.”

“We aren’t a dream, either.”

“No, you totally are, because I have weird dreams about anime characters all the time.”

“But in how many of those dreams do you acknowledge it’s crazy to see two anime characters in your house?”

Tobi opened her mouth, a finger raised in her customary “Well, actually,” pose. She closed and opened her mouth a few times, trying to think of something to say, but in the end she gave up and pinched herself.

Fuck. Definitely not a dream.

Malik smirked as the reality finally, finally dawned on Tobi.

“Okay, but how, and why, are you two fuck heads in my living room.”

Bakura snickered. Malik pulled something from his pocket and held it out for Tobi to see. A glowing golden cube floated above his palm, one corner sheared off and replaced with a YGO-styled Eye of Horus.

“Ah. Yes. The Fanfic Device. Of course.” She paused for a moment, then frowned. “But how the hell did you get that? You guys are totally AU. There’s some stuff in your universe that’s based on canon, but the Dimensional Cube shouldn’t exist at all. Neither should any of the other Items.”

Malik nodded, tossing the cube from hand to hand. “You’re right, it doesn’t exist in our universe. We stole it from our Abridged counterparts when they entered our universe.”

“Your Abridged counterparts? I never wrote- oh shit. A Way Home.”

“Precisely.”

Tobi shook her head, raking her fingers through her hair and managing to pull more out of her bun. “No way. I just reread that fic a few days ago and YGOTAS Malik and Bakura never visited Haunted. It wasn’t even referenced.”

“It was off screen.”

“That’s…convenient.”

“Right? Anyway, point is we stole the Cube and used it to travel to this stupid self-insert crack fic you’re writing like it’s fucking 2005 again.”

Tobi rolled her eyes. “Why? Why would you come to this fic when there are a thousand others you could go to?”

“Because we needed to talk to you, and this is the only YuGiOh fanfic where you exist, aside from Where’s The Tan.”

“We don’t speak that name in this house.”

It was Malik’s turn to roll his eyes at Tobi’s dramatic reaction. “Believe me, I want to forget it exists, too. Thank god you only got three chapters in.”

“Anyway,” Bakura cut in, moving to stand beside Malik. “We’re here to tell you to get off your lazy ass and start writing our story again.”

Malik nodded in agreement. “We’ve been stuck in fanfic purgatory for five months, Tobi. Five months!”

“And you left the last chapter on such a cliffhanger, too!”

Tobi raised a brow. “It wasn’t that much of a cliff hanger.”

“My clothes just disappeared. You were definitely implying I passed on. But even we-“ he motioned between himself and Malik- “don’t know if I did or not because you haven’t even started the next chapter!”

“I’ve started the next chapter,” Tobi said indignantly.

“Yeah, because writing two sentences and then deleting them is definitely starting a chapter.”

“Hey, it’s an emotional chapter! And how do you not know what happens when I’ve outlined up to chapter 30?”

“Because that doesn’t count as a fanfic. We can’t travel to it and see what happens.”

Tobi grumbled something under her breath and rubbed her forehead. “So you stole the Fanfic Device from Sitabethel’s Abridged-based Verse and traveled to this specific fic to chew me out for not updating?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my fucking god that’s so stupid.”

“You’re the one writing it.”

“What?”

The three stared at each other again in silence before Bakura scoffed.

“Come on, how hard can it be? Just write the rough draft, at least! That technically counts as fic, and we’ll be able to travel to it and see what happens.”

“If it was so easy I wouldn’t really be struggling so much to write this chapter, would I?”

Bakura opened his mouth to retort, but Malik shushed him.

“Just do what you can, Tobi. We’re just anxious to see if we get a happy ending or not.”

Tobi winced. “I mean…Do you want spoilers? Because I can tell you what happens.”

Malik shook his head. “I’d rather experience it.”

“Same,” Bakura agreed.

Tobi sighed and picked up her forgotten box of Mac and Cheese, brushing a tuft of white cat fur from it. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But I really am exhausted from work, so I don’t know how soon I can get it done.”

“Like I said, just do what you can. Just don’t keep us waiting another five months, yeah?”

Tobi huffed and smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

Malik nodded and activated the Fanfic Device. A projection of various fanfics appeared in front of him and he began scrolling through realities in search of their own universe. Tobi watched, fascinated with the variety of AUs. While he was looking for the Haunted dimension, Tobi spotted a familiar scene and tensed.

“Wait, go back!”

Malik looked at her oddly but did just that, scrolling backwards. The scene on display was one of Malik spooning Ryou, while on the other side, “Amir” was spooning Bakura. Bakura and Malik exchanged confused looks, but Tobi was grinning.

“The Only Human universe! I’ve been obsessed with this fic forever!” She turned to Malik, giving him a puppy dog eyed expression that would have been adorable in an anime or cartoony style, but in the real world where shit was 3-dimensional it looked awkward. “Can you please go there and see how many chapters it takes until that Marik get truly comfortable with Kek and Ryou?”

“You mean, how many chapters are left until the big conspireshipping lemon?”

Tobi just grinned.

“No.”

Tobi’s face fell.

Malik flipped forward to their own dimension, the screen displaying Malik’s empty bedroom, exactly how she’d always imagined it. He tilted his head to the portal. “Come on, Bakura. Let’s go relive chapter 25.”

Bakura grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” Without ceremony he slipped into the portal and disappeared.

Malik took a step forward, paused, turned back to Tobi. He looked troubled. “I…don’t want spoilers, but… Is there actually a happy ending?”

Tobi chewed her lip. “There’s a lot of pain coming your way but…technically speaking, yes. There’s a happy ending. For everyone.”

Malik smiled. “That’s all I needed to know.” With that he stepped through the portal and, just like that, Tobi was alone again.

Tobi rubbed her forehead, glancing down at her half-finished Coke. With a frown, she grabbed the can, chugged the remaining refreshing beverage, and slammed the can back down onto the counter. She took a few steps towards the bedroom, determined to actually properly begin that rough draft, but her growling stomach stopped her.

“Okay… First, Mac and fucking Cheese. Then I’ll write some angst.”

#haunted #i spent too long on this and no one is gonna read it but that's fine

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sapphicscholar · 7 years ago

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Ok I know you're busy but please please please write whatever pairing you want for the post of the person who is advertising their services as being a terrible date to your family Thanksgiving dinner. No rush. Whenever you want. IF you want. Your life things absolutely come first

This has now been posted to AO3 here!

-Refers to this post (text is there, but I changed to better match the situation/add in a joke or two)

A/N: This is set before the sort of reconciliation we get between Eliza and Alex (for reasons, even though other things have already happened that canonically take place post-reconciliation and really the timeline is all sorts of fucked but I’m beyond sleep-deprived), and since I’m writing from Alex’s POV, their relationship will sound pretty shitty, though it’s not the focus here. Also, this is pure crack–probably fairly terrible crack. In case anyone worried it would be serious….

Chapter Text

Knitting her eyebrows together in confusion, Alex reread at the vague subject line in her inbox: “Saw this, thought of you.” Knowing it was from Lucy already had her on high alert—the last time she’d unthinkingly opened a link from one of her emails at work, she’d ended up with the video for “Dick in a Box” playing at full volume to the surprise (and amusement) of her DEO recruits. But, since she was at home and more than a little curious, she clicked on the link, finding herself on a Craigslist ad that read:

“It’s Thanksgiving. Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how youre still single? About how your parents really want more grand children? Well, look no further!

I am a 29 year old ex-con (long story, don’t worry, I’m plenty friendly!) with no family to worry about and a dirty pickup truck one year younger than me painted with some Scissor Sisters album cover artwork (there when I got it, but I like it too much to change it). I can play anywhere between the ages of 25 and 35 depending on hair and makeup. I’m a bartender and work late nights. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request: • Openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice• Start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion (I prefer to play the flaming liberal atheist, but can adapt depending on how promising the dessert selection will be and how much it would piss off your shitty family)• Propose to you in front of everyone (I’ve got a cheap ring and all)• Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry, I don’t really drink much anymore, but I used to. A lot. too much in fact… I know the drill)• Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see (I require advance warning if I’m not to harm them in any real way or leave marks)

I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest!”

Scowling, Alex switched over to email and sent back: “What the hell, Lane?”

Mere seconds later a reply came back in: “Morning to you too, Alex! You said you didn’t want to deal with your mom and your sister’s shitty boyfriend alone again so… voila! A solution—and it’s free.”

“I’m not going to hire an escort service,” Alex shot back.

“She says ‘strictly platonic,’ so it’s really not an escort service. And you’re not paying her, just feeding her. C’mon, think of all the joy those stories could bring to me, your dear friend, your oldest friend.”

“You arrested me for treason.”

“Hey look! Something you two have in common. You could totally bond about being ex-cons together.”

“Fuck off.”

“Do it!”

“No.”

Alex was ready to leave the conversation at that, but when she made it into the DEO, she found Lucy, a wide grin on her face and an extra coffee in her hand waiting for her in her lab. “So, I know you think it’s a bad idea, but here’s why you should do it.” She paused, waiting for Alex’s objections. When the woman just arched an eyebrow and glared, she kept going. “First of all, Eliza always wants to know why you don’t bring anyone home. You get the speech about how you went through all that effort to come out, and now you’re still single, Alexandra. Why? Second, Vas’s parents had to cancel last minute, so we’re gonna come crash the Danvers Thanksgiving extravaganza and would love to have some front row seats to this. Third, you know you’ve wanted to punch Mike since the moment he and Kara got together, and now someone is willing to do it for free. Do you understand how few things in life are genuinely free?”

“It won’t be free because you know the consequences will haunt me forever.”

“Danvers. Have I ever asked you for anything in my life?”

“So many things.”

“Hmm, I don’t recall those things. So you should say yes to this one.”

“Why are you so adamant?”

“No reason,” Lucy shrugged, a smirk playing at her lips as she feigned nonchalance, examining her perfectly manicured nails.

“Lucy,” Alex growled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing…I just, well, maybe I emailed her.”

“To say hello?”

“Yep, just emailed her to say hey.” A beat. “She can’t wait to meet you on Thursday!”

“Lucy!” Alex yelled, taking off after Lucy who had high-tailed it out of the lab. “Get your ass back in here!”

“Agent Danvers, is there a problem?” J’onn asked when Alex nearly collided with him.

“No, sir, nothing at all. I just have a few…follow up questions for Lucy.”

“It will have to wait. Supergirl just called in for backup on a situation developing downtown.”

With a nod, Alex resigned herself to waiting to exact her revenge on Lucy and cancel on whatever ex-con she’d found her for Thanksgiving. Of course, she reasoned, it might be amusing to see how her mother would react… Sure, she might not be able to compete with Kara, who could seemingly do no wrong, but surely she could be better than this internet chick. And bringing her would most definitely piss off her mother…

—

With a tumbler of top-shelf whiskey in front of her (courtesy of Lucy), Alex tilted her head to the side. “You’ll be there if anything goes horribly wrong?”

“I think you, Agent Badass, can more than handle it.” Lucy grinned at Alex over the rim of her own glass, far too excited about the prospect of her actually taking this mystery Craigslist woman to Thanksgiving dinner.

“Ah, but you forget I don’t really do family holidays sober. Still have a mean right hook, but it’d be nice to have backup.”

“Fine, yes, Vas and I will be there for you the whole day.”

“And you’ll take the blame if it goes horrifically wrong?”

“What? That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“It is if you want me to actually agree this time.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy finally nodded. “Alright, Danvers, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Fine,” Alex sighed, resigning herself to her fate. If nothing else, it would at least provide her with stories for years to come (and, if she were lucky, maybe even get her disinvited from future family holidays).

“Perfect, she’ll pick you up at 3.”

“Wait, you gave her my address?”

“Love ya too, Alex!” Lucy yelled, grabbing for her coat and making for the entrance before Alex could change her mind yet again.

—

2:50pm on Thanksgiving found Alex pacing back and forth in the lobby of her building. She hadn’t even wanted this woman—Maggie, apparently—to know where she lived, but since Lucy had already given up that information she was at least going to keep her from getting all the way up to her apartment. A ping from her phone finally drew her attention away from the door.

“Almost here. Is family there? Should I be a real dick and honk from the street?”

Smiling in spite of herself, Alex sent back: “No, just me. I’ll come outside.” Her smile soon vanished and her jaw dropped when she caught sight of Maggie’s truck rolling down her street. True to her word (though Alex might have conveniently forgotten that detail), it was emblazoned with a pair of women’s legs that morphed into scissors, a beam of light refracting through it and splitting off into a rainbow Pink Floyd-style.

“Your chariot awaits, m’lady!” the woman yelled after cranking down her windows, a smirk adorning her face that brought out dimples Alex might have fallen for if she didn’t know they belonged to some weirdo who would advertise her services on Craigslist.

With a nod and grunt of acknowledgment, Alex pulled herself up into the truck, rolling the window back up before turning to face her “girlfriend” for the day.

“So…you always this quiet?” Maggie asked, peeking over at Alex as they crawled their way through holiday traffic.

“No.”

“Cool, cool.” Eventually, tired of the quiet, Maggie spoke up again. “Anything you want me to do or not do today? Who all will be there?”

“Mom—Eliza. My sister Kara—technically foster sister, though she’s obviously the favorite child. Her jackass boyfriend, Mike, and her best friend Winn. I don’t think James is coming this year. Then Lucy and her girlfriend Vasquez.”

“Ah, yes, Lucy’s the one who wrote to me for you!”

“Mm, the very one,” Alex grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at the traffic as though the sheer force of her glare could make it move faster.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you do this? You seem kinda…miserable about the whole ordeal.”

“Lucy.”

“If you’re really not up for it, I can just drop you off and head back home. I mean, okay, yeah, I don’t get my Thanksgiving meal, but I’m not gonna force my delightful company on you.”

“Thanks.” Maggie couldn’t help but notice it was the first time Alex had sounded sincere, and she almost seemed to relax—not quite, but a little. “I’m okay though.”

“Alright, well, you’ve got until the front door to make that decision.”

“No, no. You were promised a Thanksgiving meal, and you’ll get one.” She’d even warned Kara to cook the turkey beforehand lest she accidentally out herself as an alien to yet another person.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Alex dismissed the thanks with a shrug and a wave of her hand.

“So, what’s our deal for the day?”

“Oh, um, maybe we’ve been dating for a couple of months—wasn’t super serious at first and didn’t want to say anything just yet?”

“Okay, that works. So no proposal?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Roger that. Now, do you want me to be a total d-bag? Hit on your sister?”

“No! No, there’s no need to remind mom just how much better Kara is than me at everything, including, apparently, attracting my fake girlfriend’s attention.”

Maggie cocked her head to the side, wondering how in the world the gorgeous woman sitting next to her thought she would ever fail to hold someone’s attention. Sure, she could be a little bit of an ass, according to Lucy, but who wasn’t?

“Okay, so, eyes on you and only you. Want me to talk politics? Religion? My former conviction? My lack of career mobility?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighed, rubbing at her temples and trying to remember why she had agreed to this. Perhaps she thought this woman might deflect attention away from her—be so unsuccessful that Alex’s failure to become a proper medical doctor might be overlooked for a change, be so unappealing as a date that her mom would stop pushing her into relationships, figuring singledom was better than the lowlifes Alex picked up. But this woman was…not quite what she had expected. Sure, she was loud and a little brash—and her pickup truck took both of those to the extreme—but she also seemed fairly considerate, and she was cuter than Alex had expected all dressed up in her holigay best plaid.

“How about we play it by ear? I’m very good at reading people, I’ll have you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. For instance you are feeling very stressed and wondering why you got into my truck and why you’re bringing some internet stranger to Thanksgiving dinner. I’d put money on the fact that you’re already thinking about how much you’ll regret it and planning ways to exact some revenge on Lucy.”

Alex just pursed her lips, unwilling to admit that it was all rather true.

Grinning at Alex’s silence, which she took as confirmation, Maggie pushed her luck. “Now you’re wondering, ‘However did she get so good at reading people?’ And how is such a gorgeous woman still single, without a line of women to go home with for the holidays.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“She speaks!” Maggie crowed, cackling at the scowl directed her way. “C’mon the whole point of this stunt is to have some fun. Family holidays suck more than just about anything. And this is my irreverent way of saying fuck you to the whole ordeal. Everyone knows the holidays are all about pushing your dirty laundry and your box of vibrators deep into the closet and pretending like you don’t hate each other and everything your conservative uncles stand for while you eat until you can’t taste the bitterness of regret for your life choices anymore, right?”

“That got really bleak, really fast.”

“It’s dark humor, get used to it.”

“Remind me where the joke is.”

“Because you’ll know that everything about today is fake. Having the fake girlfriend there just helps remind you that everyone else’s perfection is a big goddam charade too.”

Alex made a vague noise, still unsure about how she felt about all of this. Rather than contemplate any longer, she turned to Maggie. “So, tell me something about you.”

“Not like I know that much about you.”

“I’m a scientist; that’s all you need to know.” It wasn’t totally true, but it would be fine.

“I doubt it.”

“I like whiskey. And dogs, not that I have time for one. I’m a scientist, not the doctor my mother hoped for. Better?”

“A little. I prefer scotch myself on the rare occasion I splurge. Dogs are clearly superior to cats, so we’re in agreement there for our future dog, ya know, even though it’s only been a couple of months. And I hate doctors, so it’s better this way.”

“All doctors?”

“Doctors, dentists, orthodontists—all the sadists, ya know.”

“Mm, right, right.”

“Yep. So, according to Lucy’s directions, we’re getting close. Any last minute instructions or questions?”

“Uh…no?”

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“Sorry, I just, I hate family things. I know in theory that she loves me, but I just—god, I can’t do another one.”

“Want me to take you home? You can blame me—tell her I let my car insurance expire or something and we got pulled over. Or I got sent to prison again.”

“That’s sweet,” Alex said, “but no, I need to go.”

“Well, at least this year you have an ex-con on your arm.”

“Speak of which…what did you do?”

“Honest answer or the fun answer?”

“Why aren’t they the same?”

“Because it’s more fun for me if I let you think I killed a man and gave all of his money to charitable causes like a veritable 21st century Robin Hood.”

“So you didn’t kill a man?”

“Tragically, no.”

“You gonna tell me what you did?”

“Protesting mainly. So disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, that kind of shit. Not like I’ve got any felonies on the record. But I can if you want to freak out your mom. Or your sister’s boyfriend.”

“Well, if you don’t mind risking another arrest, by all means, please feel free to punch him in the face.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

“Yikes.”

Alex just nodded, wrapping her head around the slightly different image of Maggie that was emerging as she learned more and more about the woman. Of course, nothing excused the fact that she was in a tacky pickup truck—not even the dimples and the charm and the deep misanthropy that rivaled her own.

“We’re here,” Alex murmured, taking a deep breath and steeling herself for the inevitable shitshow.

—

“Alex!” Kara squealed, pulling her sister into a big hug like she hadn’t seen her just yesterday.

“Hey, Kara,” Alex laughed, squeezing her once before pulling back. “Maggie, this is my sister Kara. Kara, this is my girlfriend Maggie.”

The theatrical wink Kara shot in her direction had Alex ready to drop her head into her hands, but as her mom strolled across the room she realized it was too late to back out now.

“Did you say girlfriend, Alexandra? Why haven’t I heard anything?”

“Mom, this is Maggie. Maggie, this is my mom, Eliza Danvers.”

“Very nice to meet you—”

“Eliza is fine,” Eliza interjected, sensing the hesitation. “Alex, is it too much to ask that you call me every once in a while? I shouldn’t have to find out about a partner only because I happened to be in town.”

“I’ll do better,” Alex sighed, setting her coat down as her eyes scanned the apartment, looking for where Kara had hidden the good whiskey.

“Well hello there,” Lucy greeted from the doorway, grinning broadly at the sight of Alex standing next to the mystery Craigslist woman looking beyond uncomfortable under Eliza’s scrutiny.

“Lucy! Vasquez!” Kara yelled, running forward to take the mashed potatoes and rolls from their hands.

“I’m beginning to think the excitement was for the food and not for us,” Lucy pouted.

“Aww, you know I love you both equally.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy turned her attention to Maggie. “Hey, Maggie, how’s it going?”

“So your friends have not only heard about her but met her too?” Eliza asked pointedly.

“Oh, that’s my fault. I’m not always so great at meeting the parents, so I asked her to hold off on saying something.”

Alex tried not to look surprised at the way Maggie had been so quick to stand up for her, forcing herself to nod along with the sentiment while Eliza eyed her curiously.

“Hey, Lucy,” Maggie waved, hoping to break the tension—or, better yet, ignore it entirely.

“This is Vasquez,” Lucy introduced, kicking the door shut behind them as they finally made their way into the apartment. “She really enjoyed your pickup truck—helps the neighborhood aesthetic so much,” Lucy teased.

Figuring Lucy could deal with Maggie now, Alex made her way into the kitchen to find the wine, already anticipating her mother’s comments about how much “fun” she was having.

“She’s cuter than I expected,” Kara whispered, cutting in with a glass before Alex could abscond with the whole bottle.

Alex let out a noncommittal noise while focusing her attention on pouring herself a generous glass.

“I’m just saying—it’s been a while since you dated anyone…”

“I am not going to pick someone up off of Craigslist,” Alex hissed, shaking her head and finally taking a sip of the wine she’d been eying since they walked in the door. “Much better. Now you can deal with mom and the ‘best pie in the galaxy’ while I go have an intimate moment alone with a glass of red.”

“Why don’t you wait for dinner to start drinking, Alex,” came Eliza’s voice. Alex gritted her teeth as she spun around.

“I was under the impression that dinner would be starting soon.”

“Mike’s just running a little late,” Kara explained, shooting Alex an apologetic glance as she made her way back toward the oven where they were keeping the turkey hot.

“So let’s wait to have your fun until then, hmm?”

“Aww, we always have fun, don’t we, babe,” Maggie chimed in, throwing an arm around Alex’s waist and beaming at her as though she hadn’t just stepped into the first of many tense moments to come between mother and daughter. Then again, Alex realized, she had signed up for exactly that. “C’mon, why don’t you give me the grand tour?”

“Yeah, okay,” Alex shrugged, letting herself be guided away from the kitchen and into the living room where Winn and Vasquez had set up some multi-player video game and were currently shoving at each other as they competed both in and out of the game.

“Um, this is the living room…” Alex gestured awkwardly around them before guiding Maggie off to the side. “There’s the bathroom. And through here is Kara’s bedroom.”

“It’s a nice room,” Maggie declared loudly, chuckling at Alex’s startled expression. “Gotta make sure everyone knows we’re just doing a tour, not sneaking off to fuck, ya know.”

Alex glared and shushed Maggie. “Why would anyone think that?”

“Um, cause we’re dating. And it’s boring. And there’s a bed right there.”

“And a room full of people right out there!”

“You hired me to piss off your mom or be the asshole that makes you look good. Do you really have room to judge?”

“Ugh, stop reminding me of what a failure I am.”

“Hey, no, I don’t think you’re a failure at all—that’s not what I said. In fact, I bet you’re anything but. You’re pretty, and you’ve gotta be smart and driven to be a scientist. Your sister looks at you like you’re her goddam hero. And you had a friend concerned enough about your well-being to reach out to some stranger on the internet and subject me to a rather thorough vetting before sending me your address.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Lucy and Vasquez double-teamed me for some interrogation thing. I mean…I won’t lie, it was kinda hot. But also I felt like if I didn’t pass I maybe would’ve disappeared without a trace. I don’t know why, but I feel like they could do that…”

Alex shrugged; she wasn’t wrong. “How’d you get all of that in just a few moments?”

“I’m a bartender. I read people for a living.”

“I guess…”

“So, why don’t you fill in the details I missed?”

“Um, Kara works for CatCo as Cat Grant’s assistant.” Maggie whistled, looking impressed. “My mom’s a scientist as well, Dr. Danvers. So was my dad.”

“Divorce?” Maggie asked.

“Um, no, he died when I was younger.”

“Fuck, Alex, I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Not caring about family is your whole schtick, right?”

“Not caring about my family is my thing. That’s—that’s different.”

“What happened to the whole families suck act from the truck?” Alex teased, trying to move away from the topic of her dad.

“Ah, well, most years I’ve done this, I’ve gone to families as shitty as mine. Sometimes with shitty people as my fake date too, so there’s that.”

“So how do I compare?”

“Significantly less shitty. I mean, your mom’s a little judge-y, but she did pull me aside to ask what my intentions were with you, so she clearly cares.”

“Got a funny way of showing it,” Alex snorted.

“Yeah, but at least she’s showing it at all.”

“What’s the deal with your family?” Alex asked, suddenly curious.

“I don’t have one. Got an aunt I go visit when I can afford it, but otherwise it’s just me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Better off without them.” Seeing the clench to Maggie’s jaw, Alex didn’t push the issue, though she couldn’t help the instinctive anger she felt toward whatever kind of person had left the woman that jaded. She might not get along with her mother, but at the end of the day, at least she knew she was loved, even if it never seemed to come in the way she needed it.

A loud knock on the door pulled their attention away, and Alex sighed loudly as Mike waltzed in, pulling Kara in for a kiss that just seemed inappropriate in front of their friends, but Eliza looked pleased enough to see Kara giggling, so of course now it would be acceptable.

“The boyfriend?” Maggie checked.

“Yep.”

“Should we have put on a show like that?”

“What happened to platonic only?”

“That’s the rule. But I already dislike him enough that I think I could make an exception for a bit of one-upsmanship.”

Alex snickered. “You’re not so bad, you know that?”

“High praise.”

—

The group eventually settled into dinner after an awkward round of toasts that included Mike speaking at great length about what an excellent person he’d become knowing Kara, Alex refusing to speak, Kara attempting to keep the peace, and Maggie giving an effusive speech about how perfect Alex was, including the line: “Best yet, not only is she smokin’ hot, but she’s also really fucking smart,” that had Lucy choking on her wine as she let out a bark of a laugh.

“So, Mark, tell me about yourself,” Maggie said, turning to look at him.

“It’s Mike.”

“Right.”

“Um, I work as an intern at CatCo.”

“Hey, look, babe! Maggie called, patting at Alex’s hand. “I’m not the least impressive person at the table anymore! At least I have a salary!”

“I will have a salary,” Mike protested.

“Yeah, yeah, Matt, whatever you say.”

“It’s not Matt.”

“Right, sorry! Mark—I’ve got it now. Locked in my memory—good as a vault. Mark. Mark, Mark, Mark.” Kara glared. Vasquez bit back a laugh. Lucy snorted into her wine. And Alex slung an arm around the back of Maggie’s chair, thinking this might just be the best idea Lucy ever had. She was definitely enjoying Thanksgiving more than she ever thought was possible.

“So, Mark the intern, tell me more.”

Looking over to Kara for guidance, Mike finally turned back and rolled with it. “Well, I work with Kara.”

“Are you her intern?”

“No, I am not.”

“Gotcha. So is that how you met Kara.”

“Why don’t we talk about you instead,” Kara chimed in, glaring at Alex. She’d been willing to play along but didn’t need to see her boyfriend being attacked all dinner.

“Ah, yes, well, I’m a bartender.”

Kara looked at her expectantly, but Maggie just smiled.

“So how did you two meet?” Mike asked, glad to have the attention off of himself.

“Do you want to tell it or should I, babe?” Maggie asked, looking over at Alex. The panicked glance she got in return was all the answer she needed. “I’ll tell it this time. So, it’s a funny story, right. Cause the first time I see her isn’t quite how we started dating. But I’m driving downtown, and I see this one walking down the sidewalk looking fine as hell in a leather jacket. And I swear, I nearly rear-ended the guy in front of me she had me so love-struck at first sight. But I managed to hit the brakes—couldn’t bear it if something had happened to Gertie—that’s my truck, in case you didn’t get that. She’s a real beauty; you’ll all have to come see her before the night’s over. Anyhow, she probably could’ve survived the crash—really, I could probably hit pretty much anything and you’d never know it. Not that I do,” she added with an exaggerated wink. Alex finished her glass of wine, nearly tipping it completely upside down, while Vasquez dug her nails into Lucy’s thigh to keep her from bursting out in laughter.

“Anyway, I see that she’s going to this coffee shop, so I start popping in just in case—and boom, like an angel, she appears.” But as Maggie got ready to reach the high point of her story—it was gonna be a good one, she could just feel it—a bright flash appeared in the living room, bringing with it a new person, though Alex would bet money he wasn’t human.

Within a moment, the majority of the room had produced guns, batons, and knives from nowhere and stood at the ready, weapons drawn, badges held high, and questions on their lips.

“I come in peace!” the creature yelled, looking beyond intimidated at the less than warm welcome. “But I bring a warning for Kara Zor-El, daughter of Krypton.”

As he turned to look at Kara, Alex swore under her breath, realizing she’d now have to get some random stranger willing to trade fake-dating services for free food on Craigslist to sign extensive nondisclosure agreements. But when she turned she found the woman pointing a gun and holding up a badge of her own.

“NCPD?” Alex hissed, while Kara and Mike moved with the visitor to the living room.

“Well who the hell is gonna let a Craigslist cop crash their Thanksgiving? That sounds like a sting operation if I’ve ever heard one. Besides, you’re not exactly the scientist you told me you were,” Maggie added, gesturing at the baton Alex had pulled from somewhere—where she was keeping it in jeans that skinny, she didn’t even want to guess.

“You’re gonna have some paperwork to fill out,” Alex grumbled.

“Is that about your sister being Supergirl?”

“How in the fuck—?”

“I’m a detective; I detect.”

“So you’re not just a bartender that’s great at reading people?”

“Nah, that was my gig in college, though, if it makes you feel any better.”

“It does not.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, if I’m gonna have to do paperwork, can I at least bring some of this dessert to go? I was promised a free meal…”

#sanvers #crack #alex x maggie #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #lucy lane #thanskgiving #fake dating #susan vasquez #kara danvers #eliza danvers #prompt fill #fanfic #ao3feed #did i mention this was crack

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