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that-disabled-radfem · 3 years ago

Text

Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies.

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch.

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible.

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women!

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays.

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

#back to school #university #terf safe #terfs DO interact #feminist action

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r0-boat · 3 years ago

Note

I’ll finish the submas thing when I finish the submas thing-

But-

A very long shower thought because I had a pretty not great day today so-

YO FUCKED UP VOLO WARNING

College AU. Volo is a professor; he’s kinda weird but he’s really good at his job and personable, so administration just sees him as a reliable employee and they tend to not take any complaints about him seriously. He’s typically very professional- only breaking that to be a decent person (“hey maybe you shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend about being on birth control when you’re not.”). But oh- there’s a new student in the college rotation who he has to advise and also teach in a core class.

There’s physical attraction, but the part of him that likes having a job and money says to not act on it. You know. Because duh.

But there’s a lot that’s going through his head- when you come in for help on a schedule or how to deal with another professor or help for his class. And it’s driving him a bit insane. His office hours are later than his coworkers and now here you are- on campus, after class hours, sitting in his office with him. He keeps getting a little too close, watching a little two intently, but you don’t seem to mind.

But it certainly poisons his mind- constantly thinking about you, so much smaller and innocent than him, how you would be such a good little wife for him. He decided he’d let you finish your degree of course- he’s not a monster- but he definitely intends on keeping you to himself.

Uh oh- you got kicked out of your dorm. Why? They didn’t give you a reason, but now you’re panicking in your advisors office. Volo is comforting you, definitely overstepping as he hugs and rubs your back, soothing you down. You have all your stuff in his office now, and he offers to give you a hotel room for the time being- oh but that’s too much that’s too much to ask of you- and then he offers to let you stay with him, in a separate area of his home so there’s a boundary that he intends to ignore.

So volo takes you home. His home is definitely too nice to just be on a teachers salary (I know profs get paid more than public school teachers but still they should be paid well for dealing with us.). There’s a spacious quest room for you and his Pokémon are curious but unthreatening ( I’m not excluding Pokémon from this AU I wanna pet togakiss).

But there’s one thing you noticed- there’s clothes, robes, shoes, all your size waiting for you in there. There’s expensive toiletries and skincare for you- some of the things you already use, some of the things you’ve wanted to buy. But while it’s creepy, it’s clean and nice and there’s no where else to go.

Volo keeps his distance from you at home, more casual but still not over crossing into his students boundaries, even if they’re living in his home. He cooks you food, supports you emotionally, and has helped you do things like brush your hair or put it up. So while you’re starting to deal with emotions festering, Volo is checking off boxes in his head of how to make you want to stay here.

There’s another part of the guest room that’s concerning and odd- a box under the bed. Fine, probably storage, but when you open it, it’s sex toys. Even more concerning, one is one of yours that went missing a while ago and a pair of your panties in the box. Alarm bells are ringing, but come on- it has to be a coincidence, he’s been so gentle and caring, he didn’t steal these from you. Right? You try to ask him about it while he prepared dinner, but he just laughed it off, saying he has a female relative who sometimes stays over. (He does but that shit ain’t hers.). However, after dinner, your woozy, having trouble staying awake and standing up. Volo helps you to your room and sits with you while you sleep- softly stroking your hair and face while he just watches you. He doesn’t want to take you just yet.

This happens more and more- sometimes with terrible nightmares that accompany them, but volo is always there waiting to comfort you. One night he carried you to his bed and the nightmares went away when you slept beside him. He gives you a good morning kiss and holds you against him- it’s a break after all, don’t you want to learn how to relax even more?

Mask

Creep Professor volo😳

Oh, good news someone you've been dating gets an apartment and you're moving in with them. You tell your professor this only for him to look... Mad?

Well of course he's mad you're supposed to be playing and you're not only dating behind his back but they're planning on leaving him.

That's not happening not on his watch

#ro.chatting #volo.thirst #smut

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littlemissvincentvega · 3 years ago

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I’m self projecting so much with this but what about HCs for the Reservoir Dogs + Vincent with a college? >:)))

GIRL I ONLY JUST CAME BACK TO THIS AND DID IT ALL TODAY AND I LOVED DOING IT LETS JUST SAY THE VEGA ONES WERE VERY HORNY TO THINK ABOUT AND I MAY JUST WRITE TWO LITTLE SMUTTY FICS ABOUT THEM TEEHEE

LOVE U BITCH <3333

orange

a really cheerful professor tbh

always gives you a big smile when you walk into his lectures

the type of prof to make jokes and banter with his class

he likes to think that your outfits are for his viewing pleasure, but he doesn't really know

has a cheeky glance anyways, making sure you aren't looking

really hopes you take up his offers of after-hours tutoring just so he can get to know you on a more intimate level

would love to fuck you over a desk

blonde

we all know that this guy knows he's handsome so when you start wearing tight/revealing clothes in his class he knows whose benefit it's for

notices if you wear something different-- "s'at a new dress? looks great, y/n."

when he's giving lectures he looks your way a lot, more focused on those pretty little lips than what he's talking about

when he says his good mornings/afternoons his gaze always lingers on you, accompanied by a smug smile

has, on more than one occasion, had a hard on behind his desk thinking about you riding his cock

you're his favourite student basically

always waits for you to walk through his office door of an evening while he's marking essays

white

such a helpful professor. firm but fair ig

when he berates an asshole student he hopes you find it attractive. and you do i mean who wouldn't

"mornin', sweetheart, how we doin' today?"

even if you pass in the hall he asks how you are he's so sweet

steals glances at you during lectures (bonus: while giving lectures he is very animated with his hands it's adorable)

drives it home that he's always there if you need any help after hours

you're kind of a teacher's pet when it comes to larry

wants you to ride his cock in his office tbh

brown

tries not to stare at your body but fails a lot of the time

motormouth. his lectures always overrun

very interactive with his students, trying to make his lectures as fun as possible

he's always super grateful if you offer to help him with anything

if you have like a graphic tee on (especially a movie themed one) he gets really excited it's actually so pure. especially back to the future, he'll be wearing a cheshire grin i swear

always stops for a chat if he passes you in the hall

would love to just kiss you right there

secretly loves it when you call him 'sir'. his cock twitches every time

always offering you one-on-one tutor sessions

pink

a grumpy professor at its finest

half hearted "mornin'"s as students enter the lecture hall

like kevin malone, he has very little patience for stupidity. and in general. no patience whatsoever my dears

not afraid to swear at his students-- "the fuck outta my class. i've had enough'a you today."

is a lot softer with you, though. he thinks you're pretty and you don't disrupt his lectures, on top of always asking him how things are going. like they're always going shit but he appreciates it nonetheless

looks at your ass as you walk by his desk wishing he could slap it

eddie

"here she is-- mornin', y/n, how are ya?"

likes to banter with his students but has a line. like if you cross it he goes ballistic, although that's few and far between

"did one of you assholes just fart in my class? not cool, man..."

easily distracted during lectures, especially by your rack

not one to remind students about his after hours, he likes to just go home and relax

ends up asking you to dinner or for drinks or something if you don't end up doing something before you graduate. he has his mind set on you

really wants to fuck you between lectures with his hand over your mouth so nobody hears. he likes the thrill of it

vincent

a pretty chill professor tbh

doesn't really care if his students do homework or not

you guys know professor duncan from community? yea that's vincent

basically lets his students get away with murder. although he doesn't stand for backchat or insults towards himself

he doesn't really realise how much he looks at your boobs, or how obvious it is, but of course you love it

your friends 100% notice too and point it out to you

you pretend to be grossed out ("ew, he's like 40!") but it really does make your pussy clench

smokes at his desk even though it's not allowed

has definitely jerked off thinking about you. i mean, you walk around in your tight tops and call him sir and you expect him not to get a hard on?????? ridiculous

but it's not just a sexual thing, he really does think you're a sweet girl and hopes to bump into you outside of college someday

#reservoir dogs preference #reservoir dogs headcanons #reservoir dogs x reader #vincent vega x reader #vincent vega hc #vincent vega preference #tarantino preference

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beware-of-you-98 · 4 years ago

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BAU as College Professors AU

*cracks knuckles*

Penelope

penelope is a graphic design professor

she loves teaching kids about the wonders of photoshop!!

hates illustrator and indesign with a burning passion

(the illustrator pen tool can fucking choke for all she cares)

(AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU PUT THE FRONT AND COVER TOGETHER IN INDESIGN!?!?)

(she really hates both applications sm 😭)

is always reluctant to teach them but does it begrudgingly

(she’s just glad there’s other professors in the department that teach editorial and graphic illustration)

teaches photography!!

encourages the students to be as expressive as they want to be with their pictures!!!

she’ll be just as enthusiastic to see a close up of a sneaker as she is to see a sunset landscape shot

teaches the graphic design studio classes too!!

she always has music playing!!

half the time, her students come into the class and her glasses are all skewed, her hands are covered in paint or glue and some abstract art piece is sitting on her desk

when the students ask her what it is, she just gives the projects human names

“hey professor... what did you make there?” “oh, this?? her name is... pam.... yeah, pam”

she doesn’t offer up any further explination than that

and the students just accept it

her office light is always off

but she has multiple fairy lights in various colors hung up

her office is v inviting!!!

students come to her to vent or to talk about their problems bc the campus therapist doesn’t help all lmao

she always has on the most unique outfits but she pulls them off so well

a ray of sunshine tbh!!

Spencer

teaches major science and math courses

he teaches chemistry but only chem for majors in chemistry

it’s not that he can’t teach chem for non majors

but he sometimes gets too ahead of himself and forgets he’s teaching a course for non majors

it’s easier for him to teach for majors because the students can follow his ramblings better

he teaches upper level math courses and usually only has like three students in those classes

he’ll sit up on his desk and debate with the students for the entire hour about the riemann hypothesis

he gets excited because the students are just as enthusiastic as he is

he is two extremes

he either shows up to his classroom like a half hour early and writes out all his notes on the board so that when the students come in, he can go right into lecture

or he’ll show up two minutes before class starts with his hair disheveled, his tie undone and his expression glazed over and just be like “listen up i woke up late and just downed an entire pot of coffee i brewed with several cans of monster energy—i don’t exist on this dimension anymore”

on those days, he lets his students work on other projects for other classes because he knows it’s not fair to ask his students to focus if he’s not

he helps them with their homework

penelope brings him lunch sometimes to make sure he’s eating

he appreciates it a lot because between lesson plans and grading, he sometimes forgets to eat

he’s absolutely the youngest prof on campus

sometimes even his students are older than he is

but everyone addresses him correctly and respects him bc he’s really chill

his office is a disorganized mess

there’s files and papers all over his desk

and a sculpture penelope made for him (she named that one “roger”)

psychology professor

she really has a passion for teaching and learning about human psychology

(she may have started to become interested in psychology bc her sister was in the psch honors course before she died)

she comes across as a little hostile and unapproachable tbh

but she’s young

and she’s attractive

and she’s not conveniently what people think a professor looks like

she’ll respect her students if they respect her

she didn’t graduate the top of her class and work her ass off for the degree to not be respected

if there’s any inappropriate comments aimmed towards her or anyone in the class, she kicks the aggressor out immediately

she stands at the front of the room and lectures for the beginning part of the semester

once she’s built a good rapport with her students (and vise versa), she becomes more chill

she’ll sit on the edge of her desk and encourage discussion rather than following a book or a set plan

(she finds it’s more interesting that way anyway)

sometimes her students will show up ten minutes before class starts just to talk with her once they’re comfortable with her

she always answers her emails students send her (queen shit tbh 👑)

some kids in the psych major course playfully call her “mom” because she always asks them how they’re doing and about their week

(she hasn’t decided how she feels about it, but she also lets it slide)

always wears pants suits but cuffs the sleeves to the jackets

her office always smells like eucalyptus because she has a small mist diffuser plugged in

she also has a small fish tank with a beta fish inside (its the appropriate size too!!)

(she let a student name the fish—it’s name is sir bubbles of argon)

she also has a sculpture from penelope (“her name is maxine”)

her desk is very organized and clean!!

there’s a small couch in her office and her door is always open

sometimes, students will come in if they’re having a hard time and need someone to talk to

they know jj is there to listen and she always seems to understand (she doesn’t judge them either)

Emily

teaches three languages, both for majors and non majors

spanish, french and russian

(she’s also quite fluent in arabic and italian and can hold her own if she’s speaking in german or mandarin, but the students don’t need to know that)

she’s actually very intimidating lmao

students are so scared of her 😭

she’s serious af

(she smiles in class sometimes though!!)

(besides, she’s only serious inside the classroom)

(outside the classroom, she might even be as approachable as penelope)

always dressed in expensive black suits, polished heeled shoes with very dark makeup and a “don’t fuck with me” steely attitude to match

she also wears expensive watches

she always stands at the front of the class and slowly paces the entire hour

one time someone decided to fuck off in her spanish 101 class

she didn’t even yell at him, she glared

rumor has it the kid was never spotted on campus again after that

(BOY SHE SCARED HIM SO BAD HE DROPPED TF OUT)

despite that, her classes are some of the easiest to take

one because emily has a way of teaching that helps all students understand

and two because her voice is naturally very easy to listen to

students taking her french 101 are going to leave the class speaking fluent conversational french

she also doesn’t tolerate people being racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc in her class

if she catches a bigoted comment someone makes in her class, she kicks them immediately

she brings in her cat sometimes

he’s all black and his name is sergio

(he’s her esa that she brings in when she’s feeling really stressed out)

he’s clipped on a harness and sits on her shoulder or on her desk

if he meows, she accepts it as an answer

it’s the only time the students ever see professor emily prentiss as soft

well

other than the days she has the class watch foreign films because the students can tell emily has a fondness for them

her office is pretty organized like jj’s

instead of it being light and inviting, emily decorated her office on a more dark side

she has a few animal skulls, crystals and other gothic memorabilia on her desk or bookshelf

she has a small cat bed on the corner of her desk that sergio sleeps in

on the other corner is a sculpture penelope made her

(it kinda looks like a crow and emily named it kurt)

really, the only colors in her office are dark, deep purples and the small lesbian pride flag sticker on the back of her laptop

Derek

teaches history classes

but like modern history

from like 1940s to present

he refuses to follow most western history books bc they’re not accurate like at all

in his first year of teaching, the dean of his department made him use a book and he hated every second of it

how accurate could the information be if they portray king tut as a white guy???

he graduated under one of the best historians in the country

he also traveled a lot after he graduated and met a lot of people that had first hand experience with major historical events

that’s really what he bases his teachings off of—first hand experiences and encounters

every two weeks or so, he’ll invite in guest speakers to his classes to talk about what they went through (depending on his lesson plans)

that’s how he likes to teach and learn (bc he always loves to learn new things!!)

this is random, but also he is the type of professor to randomly box jump up onto a desk

he also sits in chairs backwards and has a more laid back style to teaching

his exams are based on what the students can learn from history rather than the information itself

he’s always dressed super casual!!

solid color, short sleeve button ups are a favorite!! (no tie)

he gets along with all the students

he’ll talk to the athletes about their games but sound just as enthusiastic and genuine talking with students who are majors in fine arts about their projects

he’s just a v down to earth professor tbh!!

he brings in clooney so much

like... every friday

it’s just another bonus of taking his history classes!!

he and penelope are dating

his office is full of sculptures she makes for him 🥺

he drops by her graphic design studio class with clooney to help out or even to just watch

he’s supportive and encouraging of penelope and her art!!

other than the sculptures penelope makes him, his office is a bit more disorganized than jj’s or emily’s, but cleaner than spencer’s

he has a few papers scattered on his desk but mostly he’s a little more put together

his office door has a small basketball hoop attached that he plays around with if he’s bored (and if penelope is busy)

both he and penelope have a dog bed in their office and water bowls for clooney when he comes in

Hotch

law professor

is the most intimidating professor on campus

seriously

if students think professor prentiss is intimidating, they haven’t met professor hotchner

he stands in the front of the room and goes over his lecture without pausing or asking questions

his voice is naturally low and intimidating and he actually never smiles

his attire and appearance is always so professional

suits

ties that are tied so tight, they look like they’re choking him

shoes so polished, he can see his reflection in them

hair always styled neatly

pants and jacket are always wrinkle free

his classes are difficult

not just because of the subject matter, but because he has a very organized, straight forward method to his teaching

students wouldn’t dare act up in his class—they’d be absolute idiots to

he’s quiet and reserved outside the classroom

if the others hear anyone talking shit about hotch behind his back, they’re always quick to come to his defense

they actually know hotch

they know he puts on a hardass exterior, but really he’s just a softie

he always lets them hang in his office with him

he listens to spencer’s ramblings and is extremely patient with him

he has lunch with emily every other day

even if she’s a pain in his ass 99% of the time, he likes that she sticks around and that he can trust her

he shows up to all of penelope’s art shows

and sometimes sits in on derek’s lectures when he has guest speakers

jj brings him pastries from the coffee shop on campus sometimes

he knows that he can come to her if he ever has anything he needs to talk about

(he never opens up to her but he really appreciates the sentiment nonetheless)

penelope has definitely made hotch a few sculptures

(he keeps them at home, but he does have one of her paintings hanging in his office)

speaking of his office it’s hands down the most organized out of all of them

his desk is so clean besides the picture of his son he proudly displays at the corner

he always has his lights off and his door shut

he seems so unapproachable, especially in class

but sometimes his lecture notes have crayon scribbles all over the page

or a small sock will fall out of his briefcase

and maybe, even for a moment, his serious demeanor falls when he spots them

and it almost reassures the students that he is human

Rossi

actually he’s the only one besides maybe reid i can see being a criminology professor

is a retired fbi agent

and successful author

so like that hasn’t changed from canon

but because he doesn’t work for the fbi anymore, he has absolutely no chill and tells all secrets

he’ll be like

talking to his class about a case he worked on in ‘83

and be halfway talking about details of cases that were supposed to be confidential

he’ll pause and go “oops” but keep talking lmaooo

penelope actually never made him a sculpture

instead she made him a coffee mug she made on the wheel and glazed herself!! (she even made her own glaze bc she’s extra like that)

carved on the side is “world’s best italian dad”

(this is because when emily introduced rossi to the group she was like “yeah he’s kinda like my dad” and now everyone calls him “dad”)

(he loves it so much though and proudly accepts his title)

he loves his mug so much and uses it every single day!!!

he’s the only professor besides penelope that let his students refer to him without the title of “professor”

he gives off kind old grandpa vibes

and that he’s only teaching because he really doesn’t have anything better to do during his retirement

but he’s chill and his class is interesting to take

(plus he really does love to teach)

he’ll ramble on and on about his “golden years” as an agent

he will especially talk a student’s ear off if they come up to him and tell him that they read one [or all] of his books

he writes a different quote on his board every single day

his attire is always business casual

he sits on the edge of the desk or on a swivel chair because it’s comfy

he was doing a lecture on jack the ripper and just pushed himself around on the swivel chair, slowly spinning around the front of the room

his voice kept changing in volume every few words because of him facing the wall and then a few moments later facing the classroom

his students refer to him as a “living breathing meme”

he has no idea what the fuck that means

but he take it as a compliment

his office is empty because he goes home after he’s done with classes lmao

he doesn’t do paperwork

or fuck with technology (he never fucking responds to emails smh)

so he has no need for an office

#criminal minds au #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jennifer jereau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotch hotchner #david rossi #honestly not much has changed about rossi from canon #but #ye #also #half of these are based on my college experiences lmao #my history professor brought his pair of poodles to class like every other week and it was the only reason i didn’t drop the class #my math professor walked into class one morning and just fucking box jumped up onto a fucking desk for no reason #during dead week my graphic design professor let us watch katy perry music videos for an entire class period it was grear #my gd studio professor was a weird dude but his class was so much fun #i’m still pressed about professors not responding to my emails tbh #professors: email me if you have any concerns or questions #me: (emails profs)#profs: (never respond or even read emails)#fuck right off lmao #long post #emily has a sculpture now pls #college professor au

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years ago

Text

And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

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

You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

————————

Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler

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ready-to-obeyme · 4 years ago

Text

[OM!] College!AU Zoom University Headcanons

For the 7 Demon Brothers + Solomon

Scenario: Headcanons about how you interact with the demon brothers online during online lectures via Zoom (an online video platform that universities have been using to teach classes) and their habits using it

Notes: gn!MC, Considering most universities (including mine) are all online AGAIN fall quarter and we’re going to be using Zoom forever……. i kinda wish i DID have online classes with the demon boys (and Solomon)

Lucifer

Video off, mic off, no profile pic just the typical first and last name, so you don’t really talk to him but you do see his name pop up in the Zoom chat to ask clarification questions

Accidentally has his mic on sometimes

First time you interact with him is when you private message him “hey, I think your mic is still on” because everyone can hear his brothers arguing in the background

The mic is soon turned off and you get a response back “thanks. Sorry you had to hear all of that”

“Yeah no prob. How many brothers do you have anyways?”

“Too many.”

Thus starts your relationship with him as zoom buddies, asking each other privately what the professor just said and some clarification questions

If you’re shy about asking stuff, he has no problems asking for you; never makes you feel dumb about your questions

first time you hear his voice during midterm season when the professor doesn’t see your messages (“you’d expect them to know how this all works by now” he messages you dryly) and he asks his question out loud before the professor can move on

(lowkey think he’s hot just from his voice)

Then highkey finds out he’s hot when his video is accidentally on for a few seconds when he’s distracted with Asmo or Mammon in the background

Bonus points if you tease him about it

Shows up at office hours when the TA is late and you just talk to him, exchange emails and numbers ;) y’know for homework help

If you’re going to do group projects, he seeks you out first-- god forbid he’s stuck with someone who doesn’t do the work ONLINE

Mammon

Mic is ALWAYS accidentally on until the professor mutes him or tells him to mute himself

“Oh, sorry prof!!! My b!!”

Private messages you on purpose to ask a clarification question because he doesn’t want to seem dumb asking it to everyone or to the professor

You wonder why he chose you but then you realize it’s because you had asked a question yourself earlier in the lecture or answered a question

It becomes a recurring thing-- like EVERY lecture

If you’re not annoyed at him, then you might suggest that the two of you share a document for notes or tease him about just having you teach the lecture if he’s confused

“Actually, that sounds great!” he types to you before you could say jk “that’d help me a lot, thanks!!”

Smh why did you sign up for more work for yourself but oh well, he seems like a nice guy

Is also a very attractive guy, you realize, when you schedule a zoom meeting with him and actually see his face

Realizes why he keeps asking questions is because he plays card games on a split screen instead of paying attention to lecture (same tho)

Invites you to join him by private messaging you a link to join (and you do eventually when lectures gets boring)

Sometimes sends the invite link to the whole class by accident

He admits he wouldn’t even attend lecture and would just watch the recording but you’re always there so he goes

Which means you suppose you should keep going to lecture if anything to have him go as well

Leviathan

Already the master of online classes tbh and has no problem with the format

Finds it kind of annoying when there’s technical difficulties, but he just quickly switches to a tab to watch anime

Probably is just watching anime on another tab if the lecture gets boring or slow anyways

He’s always the first one to answer forum/discussion posts because he’s just very tech-savvy and good at replying to people

First interaction is probably him answering one of your questions on the discussion question and from then on after you start messaging him privately during lecture when you have a question you think he can help with

A little hesitant on helping you, but you’re also just really nice to him so he’s okay with helping you, I guess

Give him your email? Why? So he can send you the book pdfs and previous practice tests of course, why else??

O-Oh, you want to add him on social media? Just to ask for homework questions right? Okay, yeah, sure! o////o

If video is on, you see the reflection of anime in one of his mirrors and casually ask him which episode he’s on

Has never been so shook or attentive in his LIFE

Satan

He is a godsend during every breakout room because he ACTUALLY TALKS instead of leaving you in a quiet room alone with three other strangers

You think you’re lowkey in love with him when he has no problems volunteering to present to the professor and putting his thoughts into words so eloquently

He also appreciate you talking during discussion too, and enjoys the conversations the two of you have while you’re not even sure the other blank profile pics are even there anymore

He’s the one to suggest making a shared doc to share notes and study together-- the man is productive and efficient about this, what can I say?

Manages to convince you to go to office hours with him and meet up for studying hours and ooooh he’s hot

He’s actually a very good study buddy, especially when he’s teaching you something you’re confused about, but also just good to study together with (when you’re not too busy staring at him)

The only reason why you’re focused during class because he’d look disappointed at you if you weren’t-- that’s on you for caring about what he thinks, but he’s just so PUT TOGETHER how do you NOT look up to him?

Finds out that he’s actually just a mess like everyone else when his brothers come in during one of your study session and he says “excuse me,” mutes the mic and goes off screen; you can see some shadows in the back as satan shoves his brothers out of the room and manhandles them till they leave

Is kind of embarrassed he forgot to turn of video too but you just think it’s funny because you relate to the lack of privacy of online classes (and perhaps annoying siblings)

Asmodeus

How the hell does he look awake and lively at a 9am lecture class????

Is that make up??? Is he… wearing PANTS??? (you don’t remember the last time you put on actual pants)

The most functional-looking person in the entire zoom lecture, asides from the professor

Has video on all the time-- because honestly why wouldn’t he? He actually looks good

Definitely not paying attention most of the time, and you see it on his face

Messages you first when you actually wear something nice for once because you’re going to go to the supermarket afterwards

“Ooh, where’d you get that accessory??”

The two of you end up not paying attention AT ALL and instead just gush about each other’s outfits

Definitely is not afraid to ask for your social media so you can follow each other and ask for homework help I guess but MAINLY to talk to each other because online classes can get sooooo tedious

Really really wants to be able to meet you in person someday when it’s safe (“we’d look so cute together!!!”) but settles for facetime or zoom meet-ups

Really does not hesitate to make friends and make the best out of social situations despite remote format bless him

The only time he doesn’t turn on video is after a night of drinking with his brothers (“it was mammon’s birthday” he types into the chat with you, “ugh i’m probably going to go lie down, let me know how lecture goes”)

Beelzebub

Always eating-- even if this wasn’t online, he’d also be the one to bring snacks-- his whole LUNCH to class to eat so this isn’t too surprising

You think it’s hilarious when he actually brings his laptop or phone (whatever he’s using zoom with) to the kitchen and literally makes dinner during the lecture

Sometimes you watch his tiny video of him putting stuff into the oven than the lecture slides and you bet your entire class is doing that too

Sometimes you ask him jokingly what he’s cooking and you’re surprised when he pauses and answers your question mid-dinner making

“Lasagna. You want some?”

“Yeah send it over through mail bro”

You don’t actually know if he’s actually retaining any lecture information, but apparently he’s doing decent enough-- still, if you offer to share your notes, he’d be so grateful

“Where do you live?”

“Ldfjalskjd why are you going to send me food?”

“Yeah. What’s your address? I’ll send you a box of cookies or something.”

Basically he just does NOT care what the entire class sees him doing; he could be cooking, eating, working out-- he’s listening to the lecture out loud but he’s giving you a show (whether it’s a cooking show or a work out video depends on the time of day)

Belphegor

If the lectures are recorded, you’ll never see him, especially if the class is early in the morning LOL

If you do see him during lecture and video is on, he’s always in his pajamas or sleep clothes, a pillow in front of him

During discussion, if video is required, he probably has a screenshot of himself awake as a profile picture so he can snooze away pretending like he’s actually there

You definitely notice because he’s the first video to show up in your gallery and his video is like never moving HAHA

You finally message him when the TA splits you all into breakout rooms when you’re all supposed to be finding the answer or discussing something to be shared later

Kind of awkward at first because he’s like… asleep, but when he wakes up blearily, he does participate-- if only for your sake and for discussion points

“Hey… wake me up if the TA or professor asks us any questions, will ya?” he says as he puts his head down and sleeps

Since you and him are now officially breakout room buddies, you message him when you have a question and know that he’ll probably respond to you by the end of class because he actually knows the material despite sleeping through half of the class

Is actually very appreciative of you that you volunteer to speak on behalf of your breakout room if no one else does because that means HE doesn’t have to do it

Bonus:

Solomon

The one to make the groupchat/slack link and send it to everyone in the class so we could actually help each other in the class

Shares a link to a google folder with resources

Highkey more useful than a TA sometimes

Super helpful, efficient, and charismatic… but suspiciously so

Like where did he get all these pdfs? Where did he get all these 100% test from previous years? And-- is that an answer key??? To what???

Video isn’t on ever, so you have no clue what he looks like… until you’re in the same discussion as him and he turns on his video for breakout rooms

He always, ALWAYS sits at the island in the kitchen and sips coffee whenever you have discussion with him

Responds back to you almost immediately if you ask him questions during lecture (because honestly, why not-- he seems smart and has his life together) but if anyone messages him in the groupchat, surprisingly takes a while to reply… maybe he’s busy?

Anyhow you’re not gonna question it; you’re gonna pass this class and Solomon is carrying everyone to an A+

#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me #ZOOM UNIVERSITY BABY

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thegetoufather · 3 years ago

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ok ok ok, I like my profs a little mean, almost a bit clinical. when he’s teaching in class, he comes off as a goof–the type who makes dad jokes, uses The Office clips as examples, takes y'all to the courtyard when it’s sunny outside so you don’t have to learn in a stuffy classroom. he’s the prof who everyone sees all the time on campus, like your school discord has a channel just for pics of him in weird locations (feeding the pigeons by the greenhouse, on the cafeteria roof, sleeping against a statue). he’s always got a sharp eye for who’s struggling in his classes. it’s rare, because he makes his content pretty relatable (and also you can get 5% bonus for playing in his class Kahoots).

buuuuuuuuuttt–if you ever show up in his office looking for help, his whole demeanor changes. he’s got this innocent smile on the whole time you’re talking, but somehow it feels different, and almost like he’s mocking you? Or when he can’t be bothered to make eye contact and it just feels like you’re a bug under his shoes? he lays it out in front of you briskly, and business-like: he already makes his class so easy, and yet you’ve got the worst grades in class? isn’t that just a little pathetic? anyways, you’ve got three options to make it up to him and it’s up to you which hole you choose.

when you stutter a little at how bold and abrupt this is, he just ignores you and tells you each hole is worth a certain percent–a blowjob for example, is a 2% boost to your assignment. the way he’s not even fazed as he talks about this makes you think it’s not the first time he’s proposed this to a student. (It’s not; in fact, every year, he has at least four or five struggling students he uses just for this purpose.) it’s up to you whether you take the offer or not; either way, he doesn’t care if you want to fail the class.

if you say yes, he’s still going to kick you out of his office though; that’s his space and he doesn’t need it smelling like sex where he works. you can meet him on your time and your dime. maybe he volunteers at the local rec center in the evenings, and you’ll have to bus 40 minutes to get there, so you can get on your knees in the dark and suck him off while he’s on his smoke break. or he’s housesitting for a friend and bored, so your ass is going to be his entertainment for the weekend.

@strawbirb this was a whole ESSAY thank you OMFG

class is in session with you and professor touya todoroki, who teaches anthropology 201. youre entirely correct, he’s the local campus cryptid who stands out for his wiry frame, the friendly man with the icy who pays for the starbucks for the student ahead of him. but when its just the two of you, you can see the icy edge in his eyes, fingers grabbing your cheeks so he can see the tears start to well in your eyes, and he hasn’t even begun with you.

be sure to use protection during office hours ;)!

turn that 68 into a 69 — let me match you up with your dream professor!

#teachers pet

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

Prof of Law Aaron Hotchner

Warning for violence, stabbing, nightmares, an anxiety attack, and drugs (the prescribed kind)

Aaron Hotchner is a retired Federal Persecutor-- just an AU where Hotch is a law professor for fun and angst!!

Bouncing Jack on his hip, Hotch smiles as he stands over Haley’s shoulder. He pulls his hand back from the cake, wincing when Haley smacks his hand away. She’s a perfectionist and having the smear of his finger through this cake is going to heavily disrupt her otherwise perfect spreading.

“Oh come on,” he pouts, he turns his body so she can see Jack. “We just want a little,” he attempts. Rousing his son, he jogs the boy up a little more in his arms. “Tell her Jack, tell Mommy, say only a little.” Despite being very much daddy’s little boy, Jack smirks and turns his head away. Giggling and babbling nonsense into his father’s shoulder. Wiping his face on Hotch’s shirt.

Hotch plays along. “See,” he offers, “just like he said. We only want just a little bit.”

Haley rolls her eyes, smiling at his antics. She reaches around the cake to the mostly empty tub the icing had come in. “Go,” she instructs, handing it to him. “Get out of my kitchen Aaron Hotchner before I beat you with this spoon.” She searches across the counter for the wooden spoon she’d used to keep the green beans on the oven stirred.

He smiles and kisses her head, avoiding the spoon when she tries to jab at his side with it.

As he’s walking away, egging Jack on in his triumph of obtaining the icing, there’s a knock at the door. He’s still talking to the baby, so stepping away from the cake she moves so she can see down the hall from the kitchen. To see if he’s getting the door. “Aaron--”

He steps into the hall and winks at her, “I’ve got the door.” He curses softly, pulling his hand away from Jack’s mouth. He’s swiped a finger into the container before coming to the door. Jack mercilessly chumps down on his fingers and regardless of his absent teeth it still hurts.

“Hey--”

Hotch lands flat on his back. The world a dark haze and a strange eerily painful chill in his side. Pain like he’s never felt before. Touching his side, he lifts his head off of the floor and stairs in shock at his hand. The dark, thick crimson of his blood. So much blood.

“Aaron!? Oh my God!”

Choking, Hotch tries to move. Mouth open and back arching, he kicks out blindly. The pain creating a black haze around his vision. Coughing and turning his head as he wheezes around the obstruction in his airway, his own blood, he can hear more gunshots. Jack screams, wailing, and sobbing on in distress. There is one final gunshot and the crying stops. The house falls silent.

“Jack,” he tries to move but his arms won’t hold his weight. “Jack,” he calls again, panic rising. “Come on, buddy,” he cries. “Where--” blinking the blood from his eyes he looks up and into the face of someone he hasn’t seen in a decade. George Foyet.

Leaning down, Foyet places his foot against Hotch’s throat. He presses down just enough to cut off the rest of his oxygen, smiling when Hotch uselessly tries to push him away. “Remember me, Aaron? Aaron? Aaron! Aaron--”

“Aaron! Easy, easy.”

He’s in bed. His grey t-shirt slick with his sweat and practically glued to his back. He’s safe. Looking around he can slowly start to piece together where he is. Dave’s house. Well, his house too but it’s Dave’s house.

“Woah,” perched on the corner of his bed is David Rossi. As silly as the older man looks in his matching pajama set (from probably the eighties) Hotch can’t spare the breath to do much more than lean into his embrace. “You’re alright,” Dave assures him, rubbing his back and cupping the back of his head. “Just breath for me kid,” Dave keeps Hotch pulled close, glad that he’s not trying to wrangle away just yet.

“Dave?” Hotch can feel himself shaking, his eyes pinched shut. He’s terrified, honestly. The nightmare had felt so real. So much like the real day. George Foyet had come into his home and-- “I need… Jack?” Hotch pulls away just enough to catch his old mentor’s eyes. Waiting to find the truth there. Because he can’t remember. His brain is split. Had he buried his son that day too? Is Jack… Is Jack dead too?

Dave smiles, it’s sad but it’s not mournful. “He’s sleeping in his bed,” Dave promises. “I checked on him before I came in here.”

Hotch can feel the hitch in his chest as he lets out a relieved breath. “He’s okay?” Hotch asks, he needs the clarification.

Dave nods, “perfectly content.” That’s the easy part about being a baby when the world goes to shit. Jack will never know his mother but he’ll also never have to wake, like his father, in cold sweats shaking from nightmares. Terrified and alone.

“Okay,” Hotch pulls back, scooting back in the bed so he can cross his legs and rest his head in his hands.

Watching him with an air of concern Dave sighs. He looks at the clock and shakes his head. It’s four in the morning and there’s no way that Aaron’s going back to sleep now. “You good,” he asks. As much as he’d like to stick around and make sure Hotch gets back to sleep… that’s futile.

For the last few years, they’ve been working on getting Aaron through the night. Whether it’s nightmares or insomnia he can’t seem to get a break.

Hotch nods with his face covered by his hands.

Dave stands and looks back over his shoulder one more time. “Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“Try and get some more sleep, alright? You can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Hotch doesn’t look up but hums in agreeance. Already he can feel the low throb at the back of his skull. If he starts drinking coffee now maybe he’ll make it through his first few classes without passing out. In the vending machines outside his office, they sell these little bottles of five-hour energy.

He’s a little too old to go chugging those but he’s not going to go canceling his class over a little missed sleep.

It’s been a long time since he even thought about consuming this much coffee.

By six a.m. he’s consumed four cups.

“How long have you been up?”

Hotch blinks sluggishly despite the warm fifth mug of coffee in his hands. “Hmm,” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.

Directing Jack down the hall, hand over the boy’s head like a claw, Dave looks Hotch down. His posture is awful, bent over himself, with dark rings under his eyes. “I asked how many cups of coffee you’ve had but I’m afraid I don’t want the answer.” Pushing Jack along, the boy scurries into the kitchen. Buzzing past his father to make a B line for the milk and cereal.

“Don’t spill the milk,” Hotch mumbles, watching Jack fumble with the carton.

It’s been nearly three years since George Foyet’s attack.

The man was released from prison for “good behavior” as young, white men tend to get off. It seemed as if the two young women he’d killed were brought to justice in the ten years he spent in prison. How easy it must have been for the justice system to see the opportunity in a man like him, while ignoring the ones he’d taken. A misguided youth and a tragic backstory only adding to their empathy.

The atrocities he’d committed were not of his own accord, of course not. It’s always so much easier to blame those young women or perhaps his mother. If those girls had not been out so late at night, if they hadn’t worn skirts and frilly tops then he would have never noticed them to begin with. If his birth mother had loved him more...

None of that matters now.

They considered Geroge Foyet “cured” and released him back into society.

Where his first stop was to a library, where he found the address of the man who put in prison. Federal Prosecutor Aaron Hotchner.

This is the part the dreams never get right. Foyet didn’t have a gun. He had a knife. A single pocket knife that he stole from a junkie in an alley. It had been late and Haley had answered the door. Hotch hadn’t even heard her cry out for him. He’d been wrangling Jack out of the tub, the little boy a mess of squirming limbs and very upset with his father for making him take a bath.

They’d been in Jack’s room when Foyet found them.

He’d had his back turned to the door, shushing the crying baby as best as he could while trying to get a diaper around his kicking legs. The first stab had been so quick… by the third he was on his knees and unable to do anything besides keep falling.

On that floor, George Foyet stabbed him six more times. Jack had screamed and cried the entire time. He’d been too young to understand, not even a full year old, but he knew something wasn’t right.

In the dreams, Foyet always kills Jack too. The harsh, overwhelming sound of silence those little cries silenced. There one moment and gone the very next.

He can’t remember much of what happened.

Foyet had moved to Jack, picking the boy up and shushing him. Hotch had watched, immobilized and too weak to even beg for his son to be spared. So he’d watched, choking on his blood, and slowly losing his battle with consciousness as Foyet settled down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and rocked his son. Soothed him.

A neighbor would walk by and see Haley laying in the hall. The blood…

Hotch had died on the operating table, a fact that Dave would later inform him of. He can’t remember recovery all that well. Clouded with drugs and grief, he… There was once, he remembers this clearly because it had only been a short time after he’d woken up, they’d brought Jack in. Dave and the nurses had been trying everything to calm him but he wasn’t sleeping or eating. He’d cry and cry and cry until he made himself puke or passed out.

The moment they placed Jack in Hotch’s arms, the baby had stilled. His pained cries dying to whimpers as he looked up at his father.

Hotch had been propped up with pillows. Too weak to even lift his own head but they’d stacked pillows around his sides and arms. He couldn’t fight the exhaustion weighing his body down but he clung to Jack. Waking from his sleep in a panic each time, watching the room’s other occupants in case they might try to take Jack from him.

After all the time he’d been nearly unresponsive to them, if having Jack around would keep his heart rate up and his oxygen intake steadily improving no one was going to complain. Several times he woke to his gown being moved so they could place Jack against him. Skin on skin therapy does wonders on humans of all ages. Recovery had been easier with Jack there. The baby stripped to his diaper and nestled against his chest. Little fingers grasping onto him.

It’s been three years and George Foyet follows him everywhere he goes.

“Professor?”

He makes his own lesson plans. He knows which cases come up when. “Who--” he makes the mistake of looking at the screen and his heart stills in his chest. Swallowing thickly around the obstruction in his throat, he looks down to the floor forcing himself to take in a steadying breath. “Who, um, can explain why this case can’t be dismissed on the grounds of Gamble v United States?”

He doesn’t need to call on a student. There’s only about ten kids in the class and it's a ridiculously easy question.

“It’s two separate accounts,” someone speaks up. “Same thing, sure, same crime even but that’s not how double jeopardy works. Besides, you’d want to look more into United States v Felix. Um--” The hard sound of one of the automatically folding chairs shutting in on itself sounds out through the room. “Sir?”

“Sir, are you okay?”

Hotch grips the edge of the desk tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “I’m--” his knees buckle but he forces his weight to his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. “I’m okay,” he manages.

A student, he can’t tell which one, cautiously approaches his side. “Sir,” he calls. The student, Carter one of his more extroverted and adventurous students, squats down by his side, hand on his back just above his belt. “Not to alarm you,” Carter says, “but I think you’re having an anxiety attack. Do you have any medicine? Is there something we can do?”

Hotch squeezes his eyes shut, trying to work against the tears rapidly falling down his cheek. “My--” he grabs frantically for his tie. The knot against his throat tightening steadily to a noose until he can’t stand it. His hands are too weak to pull the material away but graciously, his useless fingers are pushed aside. Carter undoes the knot quickly and Hotch is suddenly very thankful that Carter’s pompous, cocky agenda brings a tie into his little aesthetic.

“In my office,” Hotch rasps, his hand twisted around his dress shirt. “It’s--” he sinks to the floor, head between his knees. “... a few,” he manages, “in my office.”

Carter turns over his shoulder. “Billy!”

Hotch looks up and watches Billy meagerly rise from where she’s called. Billy, while a great student, is riddled with social anxiety. Despite having taught the young woman all three years he’s been employed at the university she can’t meet his eye when they talk. And she always makes great haste in avoiding him. He’s never bothered to figure out if she’s got issues with authority, a problem with her father, or if she just hates him that much.

Carter turns back to Hotch, surprised by the startlingly vacant look in the man’s eyes. His eyes just watch Billy where she stands anxiously waiting to find out what awful thing she’s going to be asked to do.

“Sir,” Carter shakes Hotch a little. Smiling reassuringly when Hotch’s bloodshot eyes meet his. “I’m going to send Billy to get Professor Prentiss, is that okay? Billy is going to get the professor and we’re going to head to your office, alright?”

Hotch nods.

“Can-Can’t someone else go?”

Carter helps Hotch to his feet, graciously nodding his head to another student who slides under Hotch’s other arm. “No, Billy. Now go.”

Professor Prentiss is a notorious hardass. Her students love her but everyone else is terrified to even cross her path. She’s like a black cat, bound to be bad luck. It did not help Hotch’s already scary demeanor to befriend her. To spot the two of them coming across campus, Emily always professionally dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and Hotch in his standard suit and tie, they’d built a good rapport for being scarily mysterious.

Despite how frequently they could be spotted in the campus café laughing over a cup of coffee. Their human moments always outweigh their harsh ones. In fact, Emily Prentiss has only ever come down on a few students. The ones dumb enough to try and fool her. Hotch has never raised his voice to a student and is surprisingly lenient for a law professor or even just a professor in general.

For goodness sake, Emily stops to talk to the campus cats.

Hotch wears a little beanie with a red knot at the top Professor Garcia made him two Christmas’ ago and spends the spring semester chasing his son around the quad. (Garcia made him the beanie so she could recognize him easier in public. There are way too many tall men in suits around but the red little knot makes him easily detectable)

That’s not to say they’re still not intimidating.

“Pr-Professor Prentiss?”

Turning slowly from her chalkboard, Emily faces the weary voice. First of all, this is a senior advanced level Arabic class so there are only five students present and she knows each and everyone one of them. Well enough to know that whoever just called out her name is not one of her own. Nevermind they never break from Arabic during class time. Under her breath, in Arabic, Emily mumbles, “freshman.”

Yet, the young woman is dressed surprisingly professional.

“What is it,” Emily asks, crossing her arms. She pushes her glasses down her nose, moving the reading frame out of her sight. Looking down the length of her nose, raising an eyebrow at the girl. As if interrupting her class wasn’t bad enough, she’s not trying to waste instruction time on some undergraduate student roaming where she shouldn’t be.

The student steps in a little more, chest heaving, breathless, and looking anywhere but at Emily, stammers her way through an explanation. “Uh,” she wets her lips. “Um, Prof--Professor Hotchner he, um, he was-- he was taking us through, um, a criminal law case and he was…”

The half-amused smirk on Emily’s lips placed there in the humor of what she thought was going to be some silly mistake or a prank from a coworker is wiped away. Penelope has sent mischievous students her way in the past, to knock them down a few pegs or remind them who's in-charge here. Derek’s sent way too many kids over, a whole class once, instead of doing his job. It’s becoming very clear this is not a joke.

Tossing her glasses on her desk, she demands, “where is he?”

The girl takes two steps back, not liking Emily’s shift. “He, um, Carter took him to his office, ma’am. He--”

Emily turns to her students, “class is canceled. I’ll send you a text this afternoon to make up for class.” Then with a nod, takes off up the catwalk, shoes sounding sharply against the tile. “We’ll facetime!” Motioning the girls to follow, “you, with me. Let’s go.”

She sends Dave a text, nothing complex just “Aaron, SOS”.

Hotch’s office is down the same hall as his favorite auditorium to lecture in. She’d bullied him pretty hard upon finding this fact out. It sounded very, very nerdy. And it is. What kind of normal person has a favorite lecture hall? Let alone a favorite room? Just as promised, that’s where he is.

He’s on the floor, stripped of his jacket and his shirt thrown open to reveal his white-shirt. His head is in between his knees and a young man, Carter, Emily presumes, is struggling to open the orange bottle of Valium. People go broke buying the stuff from drug dealers and Hotch will refuse one up until he’s breathless and shaking.

“Get out.”

The boy stops, “what?”

Emily nods her head out the door, “both of you, out.”

They share a look but neither student puts up a fight.

Emily cracks the bottle open with a single twist, pouring a pill out into her hand. The only thing she has around to drink is what looks like either tea or coffee from (nothing him) days ago. He doesn’t use creamer but there’s still probably something toxic in their brewing. “Here,” she kneels down beside him.

He looks up, face broken out in sweat and cheeks flushed, and takes the pill from her palm.

“You okay,” she asks, rubbing his back. She watches her friend carefully, studying him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it, ticking the seconds away in his head. Nodding, he closes his eyes and hangs his head back limply between his knees. He lasts only a moment, eyes flying open she finds nothing but pure terror in his dark eyes.

“Hotch,” she calls, unsure if he’s even here with her right now. “Hotch, calm down. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, “hard to breathe…” His hand comes to his shirt, gripping the white material tightly. “Can’t-- Can’t get enough… not enough air.”

She nods her head, sounds about right. “You’re okay,” she promises. “You’re completely safe right here with me, okay? We’re in your office and you’ve taken a Valium.”

He nods. Right. His office. He can feel the rough mug and smell the old books.

It’s hot. “Off,” he rasps, tugging harshly on his shirt. “Off. I want it--” Too hot and too tight and all over him and--

“Okay,” Emily stops his frantic movements, his hands tearing at his dress shirt. “Okay,” she grabs his left hand by the wrist, easily pulling the shirt off his shoulder and moving his arm out of the fabric. He’s already calming back down, sinking forward as she works his right arm out.

He’d been trapped. Hot and trapped and his brain isn’t working right.

“That’s better,” Emily whispers. She moves closer to him, sitting between his legs and hesitantly pulls him into a hug. He goes where he’s pulled, letting her guide his head to her shoulder.

He sniffles, unable to stop his tears. “He was there,” he whispers. “I saw him.”

She soothes him but she has no idea who or what he’s talking about it. All she knows is that three years ago Dave dragged Hotch here and had a look around. He’d been a mess then. Hair windswept or maybe just unkept and leaning heavily on a cane while Jack had circled them excitedly. She’d shaken his hand and greeted him because Dave is her friend; he'd introduced Aaron as an old friend. He’d looked haggard and disheveled but that hadn’t bothered Emily too much. He’d intrigued her.

Aaron started in an introductory course that fall. Predictably, Dave had allowed him into their trusted group of friends. He’d been removed, at first. Distant and didn’t speak much. Not that he speaks all that much now but it was so much worse back then. Whatever he’d needed that cane for, whatever had driven him from prosecution, whatever had made him a widower and single father that remained his secret. A part of him so guarded only Dave knew and, as she suspected, he would be the only one to ever know.

“Good Lord,” Dave appears in the doorway, shaking his head at the sight before him. “You look like hell.” He leans against the frame of the door, arms crossed. “You know,” he informs them casually. “The two of you have officially ruined your image around here. How’s anyone going to be afraid of you if they walk past this door and see the two of you cuddling on the floor?”

Emily scoffs but doesn’t move away. She keeps moving her hand up and down his back. His breathing has calmed back down but his heart is still racing. “Shut up,” she grumbles. “At least, my reputation isn't being a sleaze bag.”

Dave sucks his teeth, frowning at her. “I am not a sleaze bag,” he defends. He’s not. His reputation for sleeping with the faculty does preside him but it’s horribly honorable that he stays away from the students. They all know coworkers not upholding that standard.

“You okay,” Emily directs her attention back to Hotch. He squirms out of her hold, shakily forcing his feet back under his body and standing.

“Hey,” Garcia knocks on the door and squeezes in beside Rossi. “Everything okay in here?”

Hotch turns his body away from her, scrubbing his face with hands.

“Yeah,” Emily assures her with a smile. It’s obviously not the truth. Hotch is standing in his white undershirt, dress shirt and suit jacket on the floor. His tie not even on the same half of the room. There’s a pill bottle knocked over on his desk and his hair, from what can be seen from the back, is crazy. “We’re good, Pen.”

Garcia nods her head, skeptically. “Okay,” she smiles, eyeing Hotch. He glances over his shoulder at her and she can see his red rimmed eyes and wet face. It’s okay if he doesn’t trust her with this kind of stuff just yet. She understands. “I’ll see you guys at lunch?”

Hotch nods, “we’ll see you there.” His voice is surprisingly rough but she leaves without comment.

Emily reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here, alright?” He’s still shaking and looks rather awful. “I’m going to send your class home. Take a nap or something, you look like a train wreck.”

Hotch just hums, lifting his his hands to his face. The feeling of his body is yet to return. His arms don’t even feel connected to his body. Rubbing his hands across his face he can hear Emily and Dave whispering behind him.

“See you at lunch, Hotch.” Emily says as she steps out of the room.

Leaving Dave and Hotch.

“Are you ever going to talk about it?” Dave asks.

Hotch sighs but doesn’t turn to face the man.

“Come on,” Dave sighs. “It’s been years. If you don’t get it out, it’s going to kill you.”

George Foyet going to kill Aaron. Maybe not today but it’s a matter of time.

“Not now,” Hotch mumbles, turning his attention to his desk. He brushes the spilled pills into the bottle. Ignoring the careful way Dave regards him. He knows he has to eventually work out these stupid nightmares. It’s one thing to find himself trapped there in that house at night. It’s another when the nightmares work their way into the light.

“One day then, hmm?”

Hotch freezes, his anxiety sky rockets just thinking about it. They’ll have to institutionalize him first. Drug him up and throw away the key before he finds the words to describe what happened that day. Mentally, he’s not even sure he’s strong enough to think about it for too long.

Clearing his throat Hotch nods, “right.” He takes a deep breath. Lawyers are blood sucking liars, right? Well, he hopes this once Dave believes his bluff. “One day.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jack hotchner #canon divergence #crimimal minds au #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #haley hotchner #george foyet

108 notes · View notes

boonki · 4 years ago

Note

Saw you reblog those fever asks from me so 👀👀

“Is it cold in here?” Or “please put on the sweater.”

Please and thank you 😊

i combined them so you get BOTH wooHOOO

also its 3 am where im at so if anything doesnt make sense..... please forgive me, im so sleepy

BUT HERE YOU ARE LOVELY THANKS FOR THE PROMPT

__________

Across Obi-wan’s weathered desk, Anakin shivers faintly, head turned down at his essay sprawled across the wood tabletop, where they had been editing his final thesis together, the sun long set. Rain drizzles down the windows to Obi-wan’s dim office, the tip-tapping the only noise in the otherwise quiet building, all the other professors surely at home, eating dinner or settled in for the night with loved ones; Obi-wan would normally be nestled on the couch, book in hand by this hour, jazz floating through his apartment from his record player.

But Anakin, his dearest ex-student, and nearly a friend, had raced into his office hours prior, panic lacing his features, reminiscent of four years ago when Anakin had been a freshman in his English 101 class, desperate for a hand with all of his papers. Obi-wan hadn’t minded, of course, when Anakin continued to pop by for help after their shared semester ended, two semesters turning into three, three turning into a full year, which turned into two, which turned into Anakin’s entire academic career. If he were being honest with himself, a rather rare occurrence, he would admit that he looked forward to the bright man’s visits; something always loosened in his chest at their easy conversations, shared laughter, and how minutes turned to hours like sand slipping between his fingers.

“I think if we moved this paragraph here-” he takes his pen out front behind his ear, marks the paragraph he’s talking about and draws a large arrow “-then your argument would flow more logically, no?” Obi-wan muses, humming to himself in thought.

He gets a noisy sniffle in response. Obi-wan snaps his attention up to Anakin, who is wiping his nose with his sleeve, hunched into himself, still shivering. Anakin must notice Obi-wan staring, because he looks up, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Obi-wan cocks an eyebrow. “I said, if we move this,” he uses his pen to point to the paragraph, and flicks his gaze up to Anakin to make sure he follows, “here, then it would flow better given your thesis.”

Anakin sneezes.

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asks, digging out his box of tissues from within a drawer in his desk, handing them over to Anakin with stern concern.

Anakin seems to huddle even further into himself. “Is it cold in here?”

Obi-wan takes in the man’s thin t-shirt, a loose zip up hoodie the only thing between him and the onslaught of rain outside, trying not to stare at the way it hangs over his broad shoulders, exposes his beautiful collarbones. It would make sense that Anakin would be cold, but even in a papery cotton button-down, Obi-wan is perfectly warm in his office, his incandescent lamp and slow burning candle creating more than a fair bit of heat.

“No, I don’t think so. Here,” Obi-wan leans forward and holds up a hand to the air in front of Anakin’s forehead, retracting a bit when Anakin lurches backwards in surprise, “let me see if you have a fever.”

Anakin cautiously moves into his palm, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, gaze never leaving Obi-wan’s face, pink tinging the edges of his ears when Obi-wan presses against him a bit, pushing back the bangs that dangle into his face. He is running a bit hot. They make eye contact, and freeze for a few heartbeats, locked in place. Despite this being the most intimate thing he’s ever done with Anakin, given the rather academic nature of their relationship, Obi-wan doesn’t want to pull away; he wants to press his fingers further, straighten out the frizzy curls, card through the knots made by the rain, cup the back of his head and rub at the base of his neck-

The thought catches Obi-wan by complete surprise, and he pulls away sharply, clearing his throat, purposefully disregarding the way Anakin’s eyes fall in disappointment. “You do seem to be running a fever. When is this due again?” He motions to the pile of papers between them.

Anakin grimaces. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, right.” Obi-wan nods, dismayed but not shocked by Anakin’s lack of planning. “Well, in the meantime, here.”

Anakin watches with guarded interest as Obi-wan pushes his chair back to rifle through his bag, pulling out a spare sweater he had saved for the bus ride home. It is one of his favorites: a deep forest green, cashmere. He wordlessly offers it to Anakin, eyebrows raised and pulled together, a look of here, take it.

“No, Obi-wan, I can’t-”

“Please put on the sweater.” He pulls out his teacher's voice to use this, using his authority for good.

Anakin gingerly takes it from him, giving him a strange, curious look before casting off his jacket and slipping on the sweater over his t-shirt. It’s a little small on him, fitting him in all the right places in Obi-wan’s opinion, but sleeves ending a few inches above his wrist. It’s rather adorable, really.

“Better?” Obi-wan asks, ignoring the warm tendrils of possessiveness weaving into his chest at the sight.

Anakin, considerably more red than before, nods. “Thank you.” His tone, usually full of sarcasm and humor, is uncharacteristically sincere.

“Well I’m certainly not letting you keep it, so do return it next time you visit. And please don’t wipe any snot on it, cashmere is hard to wash,” Obi-wan jokes, “but yes, you’re welcome.”

Anakin’s eyes widen a little. He grabs a tissue.

Obi-wan takes a deep breath, shifting his focus back to the paper. “As I was saying, let’s move this thought.”

The rain eventually passes, clouds bumbling away to reveal a vast array of stars, moonlight tinting the small office as the pair edits the long paper well past midnight. As the hours tick by, Anakin sneezes about the same number of times as Obi-wan yawns, exhaustion making the finer details of their evening fuzzy. The walls seem to close in on them, pressing them together, and the outside world is so far away, asleep, resting. Anakin continues to shiver, and Obi-wan gets up to rest his jacket around Anakin’s shoulders at some point, promising that they’ll finish soon so he can go home and rest. I don’t mind, Anakin says, I like being here with you. Obi-wan entirely blames the sentiment on Anakin’s fever, but in his tired, yearning state, something akin to hope blooms in his heart.

Anakin, naturally, receives an A on his paper. Obi-wan regards the email with fond amusement.

“hey prof - got a 97%!! go us. have been taking it easy at home, doc says i have the flu :(

ur never getting ur sweater back, btw. its so soft

thanks again for your help, ur fav anakin”

#boonki writes #obikin #touching his forehead INTENSE GAY PANIC #i love them #its requited theyre just idiots

55 notes · View notes

teamhappyme · 4 years ago

Text

a series of promising events (1/5)

aaron hotchner x female! reader

word count: 7.9k :)

a/n: hello hello hello! this is my first hotch fic, and the first of three parts (edit: it’s actually 5 now lolol). it’s going to cover 8 (maybe 9?) events over the course of several years, so it needed to be broken up in the most rational way possible. this is my baby, and has been in the editing process with my lazy brain since september. please, please, please, let me know if the timeline or anything is confusing to you! i have a tendency to under explain things (as my profs will testify to), and i don’t want y’all to be confused. i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys!

also, big shoutout to @winterscaptain, you are a gift to the world, tali. i am in love with the ajf universe, and that shit inspired me to polish this piece up for the tumblr verse to see.

alright friends, here we go.

link to part 2: here

****

June 2005

You wouldn’t forget your first day in the BAU for as long as you lived. It was forever ingrained in your memory, the good, bad, and embarrassing moments all stored away. Stored away that is until Derek Morgan decided to dredge it back up as you passed your six month mark on the job.

Derek, Prentiss, Reid and yourself were finishing up paperwork in the bullpen after an unusually slow friday. You were usually the first one done, earning a groan from the doctor across from your desk. They all envied your English degree and professional writing skills.

“Hey bobo,” The nickname Derek had assigned to you was named after your alma mater, and extremely annoying. “Remember your first day, when I tricked you into doing Prentiss and my paperwork for almost two weeks?” You shook your head, not having to look at Morgan to be able to hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you think I could trick you again?”

7:47. Thirteen minutes earlier than you needed to be. Yet the room full of agents you were supposed to join was already filled. You liked these people already, they were punctual and functioned in the morning.

You pushed one of the glass doors open with your ballet flat, juggling your box of office supplies while keeping your crossbody balanced on your shoulder. The sound of fingers pounding on keyboards, phones ringing on loop welcomed you into the BAU. Along with a shove to your back, causing you to lunge forward. You felt something cold run down your back, cursing yourself for wearing a white blouse.

“Are you alright?” You looked up to find a tall mop of brown hair and big brown eyes looking down at you. “Well, I’m a little damp.”

He nodded while looking at your box full of sticky notes and pens. “You must be y/n l/n. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. We’ve been taking bets on what time you’d arrive. And you beat us all with your extreme punctuality.” You laughed. “Sorry to let you down. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” You extended your hand for him to shake, but he just stared at your extended limb.

“Yeah, he doesn’t do that sort of thing.” The new voice came into view, shaking your hand that was meant for Reid. He was tall like Spencer, but was lean with a smile on his face. Confident. “I’m Derek Morgan. When JJ told us the new recruit graduated with an english degree, I expected someone with tweed elbow patches and big round glasses.”

“You’re an english major? Statistically speaking, only three percent of the agents that have been recruited for the BAU didn’t have any background in law enforcement or field experience.” This wasn’t the first time you’d been questioned at the FBI for being a liberal arts degree profiler. Your english degree and your fresh age of twenty five left many people to dismiss you through your time in the academy. But you got used to it.

“Sorry to disappoint your stereotypical profile of an FBI agent,” You started, shifting your weight between your feet, now uncomfortable and a little embarrassed in front of your new co-workers.

“Oh I didn’t mean it as an offense. I-” “He’s a genius, but he lacks some social cues. You’re the first girl he’s been around that’s his age in the workplace.” Morgan added and Reid elbowed his ribs. You covered the smile on your face as the two of them started to quietly bicker.

“Let the poor woman go and settle in at least before you harass her.” A brunette woman in a black pant suit came walking toward you. She had a stern face while looking at the two men, but when she turned to you, her face softened into a smile. “Special Agent Emily Prentiss. You do not understand how happy I am to have another woman out in this bullpen.”

You laughed as she led you to the empty desk across from Dr. Reid’s. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thanks.” You placed your box down before taking the place in. “I’m supposed to meet with SSA Hotchner,”

“Agent l/n,” All heads turned to the man descending the stairs into the bullpen. He was taller than the other two, and that was saying a lot since they practically towered over you. He had a clean boys haircut, paired with a suit and tie. No question that this was the unit chief you were to report to. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the BAU.” He shook your hand before looking at the others. “JJ’s ready to debrief in the conference room.”

And just like that, the three agents sprung into action, leading the way to the board room. “We can go over the particulars when we get back from Nebraska. You ready for your first case?”

His face didn’t change, no change of tone in his voice. He lived and breathed for the BAU. Until you noticed the wedding band on his left hand. It was always the first thing you looked for when you met someone new. It was shallow and patriarchal, you knew, but it was instinct. And it put you at ease knowing there was someone out there he was doing this for. Someone he didn’t have to hold this demeanor around.

“Ready.”

“Funny. But if you have any other insults to give, direct them to the head of the english department at Bowdoin. Mention that you’re talking about y/n l/n, with the 4.0 GPA.”

Prentiss led a slow clap as Derek shook his head.

“I think that’s what the kids are calling a ‘mic drop’.” Spencer added and you couldn’t help your laugh. “Alright kid, why don’t you get out of here before we inevitably find ourselves back.”

You turned off the lamp on your desk and grabbed your crossbody and backpack. “Have a good weekend guys. And Reid,” He looked up, and you laughed as he pushed his hair out of his face. “Please recite the old testament for these two if they mock me while I’m gone.” He gave you a mock salute as Prentiss flipped you off on your way to Hotch’s office.

In the six months you’d been here, these three people you shared the bullpen with had quickly become the siblings you never had. Morgan acted as your annoying older brother, constantly picking on you and Reid. Not only were you the newbie, but you were now the youngest, only a year behind Spencer. Emily Prentiss on the other hand, was the protective older sister you always dreamed of. She was confident and held her own against the male dominated team, but knew when to be soft spoken and caring with victims and the team when needed.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid. The smartest person on the planet, in your book. Sure, he was a little socially awkward and didn’t know when to stop listing off all the stats he knew, but you understood. He was consistently the youngest and smartest person in every classroom he walked into. There weren’t many people that wanted to get to know him without bullying him or picking apart his eidetic memory. Despite the problematic first encounter you shared, the two of you stuck together considering your combined intellect and young age. He taught you the ins and outs of the BAU, and helped you get accustomed to D.C. Although, Spencer himself hadn’t really ventured out into the city in the four years he’s been here. So the two of you tried to see as many things as you could in the rare weekends that you weren’t working a case. You worked your way through a third of the smithsonian's, and saw the Declaration of Independence. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little emotional while looking at it. Spencer had called you a nerd, and you didn’t mind one bit.

You walked up the steps to Hotch’s office, case reports in your hand from this week. The blinds were open, you could see him working through the stack of files on his desk. Despite the exhaustion written all over his face, his sport coat was still on, tie still impeccably tight around his neck. Even when he was in private he kept up the put together facade.

You knocked on the door, and heard a quiet ‘come in’ as you twisted the door knob. “L/n,” “I have my case reports from this week.” “Just place them on my desk.”

“How much longer are you here for?” He let out a sigh while closing the file in his hand.

“Another hour or two.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch. “And before you offer to stay and help me, I don’t need any help.”

“You just don’t want to listen to me singing Coldplay under my breath.” He huffed out a semblance of a laugh. A month into your bout here, Morgan had accosted you on the jet on the way home from Milwaukee. None of you had slept in three days, and you were currently enthralled in your new mp3 player and Coldplay's newest album ‘X&Y’. After the third song, a paper cup was thrown at the back of your head, followed by a ‘I’m trying to sleep, bobo’ from Derek. It was a habit of yours that you had yet to kick.

“That’s part of the reason.” “I knew it.” He opened another file, and you took that as a cue to wrap up the conversation. You rummaged through your purse, looking for the blue envelope you sealed this morning.

“Um, I also wanted to drop this off. It’s for Jack, you mentioned he was being Christened this weekend.” You placed the card on top of the pile of paperwork, your cursive handwriting on top. “I was going to get him a stuffed animal or some type of toy, but he’s only three months old and wouldn’t know the difference. This check may be the penny that helps you guys afford Harvard.”

A real laugh escaped his lips now, as he picked up the card. “Thank you, y/n. You didn’t have to do this.” You smiled. “I know, but I wanted to. He’s a cute kid.”

He looked at the framed picture of Jack on his desk, then back up to you. No one else had mentioned the Christening after Hotch first brought it up. He was quiet, and only liked to talk about his family if he initiated the conversation. You could tell you were the only person who had reached out like this, with a simple gift.

Hotch had been the hardest person to get to know in your time here. Despite Morgan saying there are no secrets kept among the team, you knew these people had their demons. And Hotch certainly had enough both professionally and personally. You didn’t want to push the professional boundaries, but you always wanted to be present in the lives of people that you shared time with. To let them know you were thinking of them, and cared for them. It was probably your most damaging personality trait.

“I’ll let you finish your work so you can get home at a reasonable hour. Tell Haley I said hi.” He nodded. “I will y/n. Have a nice weekend.”

****

December 2005

You pride yourself in the fact that you haven’t shot your weapon in the year you’ve spent with the BAU. It meant that you were successful at connecting to these people’s emotions, despite the asterisk next to their name labeling them as a serial killer or sadist. Guns were there to protect you, and they were always the last result. But as you pulled up to a log cabin in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, you had a feeling your record was going to be broken.

The team was working a case where six bodies, two adult males and four teenage males, were found mutilated, along with a cut from sternum to belly button. It was the first case you worked that had no female victims. A small victory, in your mind. But, it was also the first case you worked that the profile of the unsub fit a sixteen year old girl, who had most likely been assaulted as a young child. When children were involved, the team acted differently. They were failed by the people that were supposed to care for them, they were consistently hurt with no one to turn to. And as a result, they would spend the rest of their lives paying for it.

You, Prentiss, and Hotch got out of the suburban, strapping the bullet proof vests onto your bodies. Thanks to Garcia, you had found the unsub’s location once she turned her cell phone back on. A cruiser pulled up behind you guys, two more cops falling out.

“Prentiss, you take the two officers down with you to the exterior basement access. L/n and I will take the main floor.” Hotch ordered as he pulled his gun from his holster.

You could feel the anxiety rising in your chest, but there was no time to calm it down. You barely had enough time to strap on your vest.

“Ready?” Hotch looked at you before taking another step toward the cabin. You nodded, pulling your own gun from it’s holster. “Ready.”

You followed him up to the front porch, announcing yourselves before kicking the door in. You cleared the living room as Hotch cleared the dining room and bathroom, leaving you both to meet up in the kitchen.

That was where you found her. You saw her first, hiding half of her face behind the rifle that she had pointed at you. She was trembling, dried tear streaks left on her cheeks. She was petrified.

“Stephanie Moore?” Her grip on the gun tightened at the mention of her name as you heard Hotch’s footsteps get closer. “My name is Y/n L/n, I’m with the FBI. I don’t want to hurt you Stephanie, but I need you to put the gun down.”

Hotch joined you on your left, both of you directing your weapons toward the young girl. “I did what I had to do to survive. They took everything from me, every last shred of dignity I had. I wasn’t going to let them kill me.” You never thought it would be possible for your heart to break while listening to an unsub. But this tiny girl standing in front of you, with her whole life ahead of her, it just hit you too hard.

“I know you did, Stephanie. You were so brave and so strong. Not many people could survive what you did.” She started to loosen her grip on the rifle, you were getting through to her. “I’m here to help you. I want to put an end to all of this.”

You glanced at Hotch and he gave the slightest nod, giving you the okay to take a step forward together. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.” Ever so slowly, the gun started to lower in her hands.

“You’re doing great. Just a little lower and this will all be over.” Before she could completely lower her weapon, you heard the storm door to the basement slam shut.

Stephanie jumped, raising her weapon back up in her hands.

“You said you were here to help me!” She exclaimed, the gun pointed at you as Hotch took another step forward. “I am Stephanie, but other members of my team are trying to help the boy you took.”

Fresh tears started to fall down her cheeks and you knew you were losing her. “Y/n,”

He whispered to you and she moved the gun from your chest to Hotch’s. “Shutup!”

“Stephanie, hey, look at me,” She shook her head, continuing her stare at Hotch. “He’s in on it, he has to be!”

“He’s not! He’s my boss, trust me, Stephanie.” You heard the safety go off, and before her foot landed as she took her first step towards Hotch, you emptied two rounds into her chest. He rushed forward as she fell, kicking away her gun and checking her pulse. Nothing.

You lowered your gun as your breathing increased, looking at the lifeless sixteen year old lying in front of you. A hand covered your mouth as you realized what you’d done.

You killed her.

You remembered what it felt like to be sixteen. Struggling to find your identity, wanting so desperately to be noticed by someone. For anyone to reach out and help you.

But you took that away from her. You ended her life before it even began.

“Are you guys okay?” You heard Prentiss come up through the basement, but your eyes were closed as she entered the room. “We’re good. Y/n took the shot.”

Hotch stood up and dared a look at you, taking in your grief stricken state. “Did you find the boy?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Before Emily could greet you, you ran to the corner of the room, heaving up whatever was inside your almost empty stomach. Your throat burned as you threw up for a second time, vaguely registering two people calling your name.

“You’re okay, y/n,” Prentiss approached you, gently resting a hand on your back. You coughed a few more times before a towel was being rushed to your side. “It’s okay.”

The whirring of more sirens forced you to open your eyes and straighten up from your sick position. Prentiss had eyes filled with concern, not letting go of you until you gave her a slight nod. She handed you a water before she exited the house, letting two uniforms in. They went straight to Hotch, asking questions and looking over the body before their eyes landed on you. You felt exposed, like you were the one lying lifeless on the ground for all to see. You took a few deep breaths to get your breathing under control, and tore your gaze away from Stephanie.

Hotch finished his conversation with the officers before walking over to you. “Hey,” He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but flinch. “It was a clean shot, but protocol states they have to take your gun and badge as well as give a statement to IA.” You nodded, taking your badge from your pocket. “They’re gonna take you back to the station and do an interview. This should all be wrapped up in a few hours. We’ll meet you back there, alright?”

You glanced up at his big brown eyes, warm as they bore into yours instead of their usual slanted nature. “Okay.”

The two officers escorted you to their patrol car, taking your badge and gun before you got in. You felt naked without them, like you were a nobody wandering the streets looking for someone to help, or looking for someone to help you.

It was a good thirty minute ride to the station from the cabin, and when you got there a detective from IA was already waiting for you. They led you into an interrogation room where they already had Section Chief Strauss hooked up through video call. Great.

The questions they asked were pretty straight forward, nothing that couldn’t be answered by a crime scene report from the technicians. But the government insisted on interviewing cops involved in shootings, just in case it wasn’t legal. As if anyone wanted to deal with the psychological repercussions of taking another’s life.

It took them nearly an hour and a half to get through the interrogation. In part due to you almost throwing up a third time as Strauss asked you to repeat the moment you shot Stephanie. They gave you a few minutes to regroup, some ginger ale and crackers from the vending machine to help settle your stomach. They took your fingerprints last, letting Strauss finish up with the bureaucratic discussion.

“That’s all for now Agent L/n. We’ll debrief tomorrow morning when you’re back in Quantico.” “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

They led you out of the interrogation room and back through the lobby leaving you at the conference room your team had been set up in the last three days.

The white boards were still littered with images of the victims, crime scenes, and the unsub. Piles of evidence were scattered along the table, and you tried to resist looking through them again. You knew if you went through the images of the mutilated boys again, you wouldn’t survive the emotional turmoil. But you needed to know that you made the right choice, the only choice to prevent more families from going through the same pain and suffering as the Corbins.

You turned to the white board, glancing at the first victim. Connor Corbin was fifteen years old, on the varsity soccer team, and involved in musical theatre. He was cousins with the teenager that abused Stephanie. She targeted all the men in her abusers life, letting them know what he did to her. Wanting them to understand the pain she’d had to endure because of their ignorance.

You looked through the rest of the victims, the abusers two younger brothers, father and uncle were among those killed. The boys were only twelve years old. You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, remembering meeting their mother on the first day you were here. JJ was the one to speak to her, as the communications liaison, most people trusted her with being the most empathetic. That fact was up for debate, in your opinion. She was a wreck, and JJ needed help comforting her from Morgan. But you understood, boy had you understood. Her whole family was killed.

“Y/n,” You jumped, startled by the new voices in the room. Hotch, Spencer, and JJ had arrived back at the station. “Did they clear you?”

You nodded as Spencer walked over to you. “Yeah, Strauss just wants to debrief again tomorrow morning.” “Of course she does.”

Section Chief Erin Strauss is a hardass and not the biggest fan of the BAU. “Did they give you your piece back?” Your hand immediately flew to your left hip, void of your gun and holster. “No, I completely forgot about it.” You went to move toward the door, but Spencer laid a hand on your forearm. “It’s okay, I’ll get it.” He gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving the conference room.

You spared a glance at Hotch as you started cracking your knuckles. “JJ, why don’t you call the airstrip, tell them to get the jet ready.” “Yes sir.”

In an effort to keep your mind busy, you started to take down the pictures from the white board, erasing all Reid’s notes in his barely legible handwriting. The boy had three PhD’s, yet couldn’t figure out the concept of penmanship.

“Are you alright?” “Fine.” You pulled an empty manila folder out, stuffing Connor’s pictures in. “You don’t have to clean this up for them.” “I know.”

He sighed. “Y/n, stop.” His voice was stern now and you dropped the files. “I asked if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, Hotch?” You crossed your arms over your chest, letting a breath out. “We found her, we saved her from hurting anyone else, and we brought closure to Mrs. Corbin. Case closed, the BAU gets to go home.”

Your eyes started to water but you refused to bring your hands up to wipe them away. You wouldn’t let them fall. “We’ve all been where you are right now.”

“I’m confident that you’ve never felt what I’m feeling before.”

“Try me.” He didn’t flinch, his hands remained in his pockets, stare heavy on your own.

“When JJ presented this case to us, that two teenage boys and their fathers had been murdered, it was a no brainer for all of us to take it. Two twelve year old boys dead, two more teenagers missing, how could we not take it? But then we got here, and we met with the victims' families, we learned the boys' backgrounds, the unsub’s profile.” You scoffed, not sure who you were angered with at the moment. “This girl was raped by a seventeen year old boy and his father for two years, and we’re still supposed to treat her like a monster, like Tim Vogel?” You shook your head. “I’m not condoning what she did, but, can you blame her? And then we went in, and she had a gun raised at us. I would’ve been able to talk her down, I know I could’ve saved her if she didn’t have the gun.”

“But she had a gun.” You nodded. “She had a gun and it was raised at you. And I didn’t even flinch to take the shot. All it took was two seconds for me to forget her pain, her trauma, and reduce her to a sick serial killer.”

Even though that’s what Stephanie ultimately was, you didn’t want to accept it. Because she was a person before she went through all that pain, she was someone’s daughter, who was involved in gymnastics and softball, and had stuffed animals scattered across her bedroom. God, were you ever going to forget what she looked like?

“Feeling guilty about taking someone’s life is a good thing. It means your human, that you care.” Hotch freed his hands from his pockets, taking the file you packed out of your grip. “You’re not like them, y/n.”

You dared a glance at him as you felt more tears spring to the surface. Those big brown eyes could tell a story all on their own, and right now, they were pleading for you to believe him. You would try.

“Got the goods.” Spencer came back in, your gun and credentials in hand. “They really had the audacity to I.D. me, as if we hadn’t just worked a case with them the last seventy two hours.”

He got you to laugh, which served you enough cover to wipe your eyes dry. And out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a rare smile cross Hotch’s face.

But Aaron knew there was more to your guilt than just this little girl. He was the leader of this team, it was his job to know the people he was in charge of like the back of his hand in order to keep them safe. And in the year that you’d been here, he noticed how reserved you were. Too reserved and too broken for a twenty-six year old. How you took on the giver persona to hide the fact that you were terribly closed off to others and your emotions. You would be the first to offer help, to be a listening ear, or lend your shoulder to cry on. But you never accepted it from anyone. Not that you had to, until today.

When Hotch started to notice you and Spencer growing closer at the three month mark, he was excited. Proud, even. He knew you were struggling with the gruesome cases (he knew you threw up after every crime scene, despite your best efforts with barf bags and travel size mouthwash) and hoped you could share your burdens with the young doctor. But it seemed like they only grew in time, like the smile on your face. Hotch just hoped you knew your limits.

“Gather whatever else you guys need for Quantico. Wheels up in thirty.” Reid nodded for both of you as Hotch left the conference room, presumably to find JJ.

“Everything okay in here?” He asked as you continued to empty the white boards, this time at a faster pace. Of course he had noticed the red rim on your waterline and the red tip on your nose. Spencer could read you better than anyone else, regardless of being a profiler or not.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just talked through the case.” His feet stayed nailed to the ground, yet his eyes continued to stick to the back of your head. You sighed and stopped moving, turning to face him. “Spencer, I can feel you boring holes into the back of my head.”

He had a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. We have copies of all this back at the office, I already faxed it over to Garcia. Why don’t we spend the next twenty eight minutes searching for a good burger before the flight home.”

You smiled. “Okay. As long as I can get a vanilla shake, too.”

****

May 2006

Growing up, you always wanted an office job. A boring nine to five with your own cubicle, a script to follow when your phone rang and a customer needed help. You’d have a generic wall calendar pinned on the particle board, sticky notes littering your monitor screen, and maybe a few pictures of pets and future family. It was safe, predictable, and what you were constantly told all you would be capable of.

Now, as you’re sitting on the FBI owned jet with your six special agent coworkers, you can’t imagine living that life you once dreamt of.

It was nearing two a.m., and you were two hours into the flight home from Los Angeles. Reid was passed out on the couch, Prentiss and JJ in the same state of mind in the cluster of four chairs, legs spread out. Morgan and Rossi were sitting across from one another, each listening to their own playlists. And by the way Rossi was tapping his fingers against the arm rest, you knew it was some genre of opera.

This left you in the back of the jet, staring out the window as you passed over Nebraska. You always had the map up on your screen, wanting to know every state you passed over. No matter the case, you always looked forward to the plane ride. It calmed you, oddly enough.

“Not tired?” Hotch took the seat across from you, handing you one of the two cups of tea. “Plane rides are too exciting for me to catch any sleep.”

You took a sip of the hot drink and your face scrunched out of instinct. You never liked tea, but you tried it again and again when people assured you that it would calm you down. It never worked.

“You could just say no,” He added and you smiled. “I know. But my taste buds may change one of these times.”

He took a sip out of his own cup, no change of expression on his face. You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips and his eyes narrowed on you.

“What?”

“Well, you may enjoy the taste, but it seems like it’s calming chamomile effect has never worked on you, either.” “We’re not supposed to profile each other.”

“Then don’t even think about rattling off excuses of why I’m not sleeping.”

He looked down at his cup, slowly nodding his head. “Well if you don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering you, because I know it’s not sleep, I can bore you with Jack’s sleep routine we have to stick to.” You smiled. “You know that I’m the only one on this team that would actually be interested in Jack’s sleeping routine. Hell, anything with that chubby little baby would interest me. Bring it on, Hotch.”

It was no secret that Jack Hotchner was your favorite person on the planet. Not only was he the chubbiest little nugget you’d ever seen, he was the result of two of the strongest people you knew.

The first time you met Haley, she was six months pregnant with Jack, begging Hotch to leave the office early for a date night. You made the afternoon walk up to his office, dropping off some files for him to sign when you first saw her.

“Come on, Aaron. This baby is going to be here before we know it, and who knows the next time we’ll have any alone time will be.”

Before he could respond, you knocked on the open door. Both of their heads snapped over to you, and a red blush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. Just dropping off some reports for you to sign off on.”

You smiled at the petite blonde woman while placing the files on the desk. “It’s okay l/n. This is my wife, Haley Hotchner. Haley, this is Agent y/n l/n, she started about a month ago.” She smiled back at you, extending a hand to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’ll leave the agent part out, it makes you sound like a robot.” She said and glared at her husband before placing her hand back on her growing belly. You laughed once you heard Hotch let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t offended with her joke.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The smile only grew on your face as you looked at her, admiring her own belly. “Congratulations on the baby. It’s always exciting to bring a baby into the world.”

“Thank you. If only my husband thought going out with me was half as exciting, he would’ve been gone a half an hour ago.” “Haley!” He was more than surprised that she would speak so cavalierly while at the office, especially around someone he had barely gotten a chance to know yet. But the two girls only shared a laugh.

“Hotch, why don’t you go. I can hold things down around here.” “Y/n, it’s not your responsibility to. And quite frankly-” You dropped a file to the desk, boldly interrupting your bosses statement. You were only acting like this because you knew his wife deserved half the attention he gave to this place. “It’s a friday night, and your beautiful, pregnant wife is asking you to go to dinner with her. JJ and I will be here if anything comes up, I’ll even redirect your calls to my desk.”

“I like you.” Haley said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulder. “She means business.”

Hotch let out a sigh, reluctantly grabbing his briefcase and punching a few buttons on his phone to make sure his calls went to you. “You or JJ call me immediately if I’m needed.”

“Promise. Now go have fun.” He gave you the smallest smile as he grabbed Haley’s extended hand to him. “Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” Haley said as they exited his office. But you weren’t looking for a favor in return. You did this to make them happy, and you always felt better when those that surrounded you were at their best.

But Haley did end up paying you back. She asked you to babysit the first night her and Hotch went out after the baby was born. Apparently, she was impressed with your background in social services that Rossi had drunkenly let slip at the office christmas party. And only you would get excited to babysit a poopy baby, for free. And you continued to do it as many times as they needed you to.

You earned a smile from the reserved unit chief, and raised a fist in the air. “I’ll have to add that to the team tally sheet. I’m now tied with Reid for the lead in making you crack a human expression.” “Doesn’t matter who’s in the lead, you’re all behind Jack.” He quipped back and you returned his smile.

You looked back out the window of the jet, the view of any terrain was quite literally clouded. You could see the moon reflecting on the puffy clouds, and you knew then and there you could be converted to a night person if you could look at this view every night.

“I wanted to check in with you, about Randall Garner.” You looked back to your boss, eyes glued to your own, an earnest gaze in them. “With what happened last time-”

“Last time it was a sixteen year old girl. This time it was a psychotic father who was torturing his child. There’s a broad spectrum.”

“So you don’t feel guilty about taking his life?” The way your stomach flipped at the mention of your actions merely hours ago should have worried you more than it did.

“Of course I feel guilty.” You quipped back, and quickly looked around to make sure you didn’t disturb anyone else. Hotch didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t take this job to play God. I wanted to help people, I wanted to stop people from getting hurt. To be on the other side of the heartbreak.”

Before transferring to Quantico, you worked as a social worker in Brooklyn for three years, straight out of college. You saw first hand the horrors and trauma that came with being in the foster system, and you wanted to help children going through the same situation you had.

This became your life, even after you escaped it. And one day, it became too much. You needed a fresh start, to make a change and help people from a different platform. And with your degree in English, and minor in psychology, the BAU seemed to be a perfect fit for a new career.

“Why did you leave DCFS?” It irked you to no end how his voice stayed so calm when he was clearly agitated. Especially since the silky smooth tone had talked you off an emotional ledge one too many times.

“Why are you interrogating me? Strauss said it was a clean shot, that she was proud to have a man like that dead and accounted for.” A direct quote from the ever emotionless section chief. If only she had any field experience, she would understand what this job was like. “Besides, I’ve been here for a year and half. You should have my file memorized by now.”

“Half of your file is sealed. Strauss must have a soft spot for you.” You actually laughed at that. Strauss most certainly did not have a soft spot for you. She was however under orders from the Attorney General of New York to keep my file sealed, no matter my employer.

“My sealed file has nothing to do with the actions I took tonight.” You uncrossed your legs now and turned your body to face him. This conversation wasn’t ending any time soon. “If I needed help grieving this process, I would ask for it, Hotch. I’m fine.”

He wanted to believe you. More than anything else, he wanted to believe that you had found a routine that helped you forget the daily horrors you saw. But he knew that you were the last to leave the office every night, he knew you drove home with the light on in the backseat of your car every night. Deep down, he knew you weren’t fine.

“We don’t ever truly know the people we work with. Despite the fact that we say there are no secrets in this unit, we all have our own demons we hold onto. I know you’re not fine, y/n.” You let out a strained laugh as you started tapping your foot anxiously against the ground.

“I do though.” For the first time tonight, Hotch had no idea what you were talking about. His furrowed brow only made your throat tighten. “I know every single one of these people’s secrets. They confide in me because they know about my past with DCFS. Everything I knew was confidential, and it ate me up inside not being able to tell anybody the horrors these children go through.” You ran a hand through your hair; the flood gates were open. You feared there would be no turning back now. “It started out as me just wanting to get to know them. I wanted to be liked, and I wanted to trust my coworkers. And then overnight, I became Father l/n, sworn to secrecy by the Parish of the FBI. I’ve become a suggestion box, papers filling me up to the top and no one is coming to empty me out.

“But I can’t even be mad at them,” I said as my eyes started to water, remembering what Spencer said to me two months into our friendship. “Spencer told me I’m the only person that’s ever listened to his problems without suggesting that he see someone to talk to. He said I was the only person that’s ever laughed at his stuffy jokes without making fun of him. I can’t be mad at them for confiding in me in their time of need. But I’m just,” You tried to smile as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m just really overflowing.”

Aaron Hotchner was lucky enough to have never experienced a heartbreak in his life. He met Haley his junior year of high school, she was his first and only girlfriend, hurling him into a life of love and happiness, sparing him any pain from loving someone too much. But as he watched you break in front of him, feeling so overwhelmed by the responsibility to be everyone’s rock, to be everyone’s source of light, he experienced his first heartbreak. And he was sure he never wanted to feel it again.

“So confide in me.” You didn’t think his tone could become any softer. His baritone voice had already been strained to keep from waking the others, and he somehow became even softer. But you shook your head, quickly bringing your hands up to wipe the tears that fell down your face. “Why not?”

“Because you’re the boss. You have all of us to worry about when we’re in the field. You have Strauss breathing down your neck, waiting for one of us to screw up.” He rested his elbows on his knees, slightly leaning toward you. “Most importantly, you have Haley and Jack that need you to be their confidante. That beautiful family needs you to be there when you’re not here.”

“Y/n, if you can’t come talk to me when you’re drowning in your own thoughts, I’ve failed you as a boss.” He sighed at your continued silence. “I can’t force you to open up. But I can’t watch you give and give and give without earning a reprieve of your own.”

So the two of you sat there, in a deafening silence, as you counted the seconds passing by. You were both too stubborn to pull away first, because that would be admitting defeat, and this conversation would end then and there. You counted to one hundred and eighty seconds, three minutes, when you finally got tired of staring into the endless brown eyes of Aaron Hotchner.

You thought carefully about what you were going to say, what you would reveal in the magic that covered the two a.m. air. And no matter how hard you tried to in those one hundred and eighty seconds, you could not keep your eyes from watering.

“I grew up in foster care.” You started, scanning his face for any judgements. You weren’t going to find any. “The last, and most permanent foster parents I had were horrible. It was basic shit that happened to every kid in foster care, nothing scandalous enough to get them to be turned in. But their birth son,” You swallowed, trying to resist the urge to pick your fingernails. “He moved back in with them when I was fifteen. He was a loser, and he started to take a share of the subsidy checks. I heard him in the living room one night with Charlotte, one of the younger girls that lived there. She was only twelve, and I found him pinning her to the couch, a knife to her throat. And I just snapped. I lunged at him, knocking him off of her. It’s all blurry now, except for when I stabbed him in the throat.” My hand scratched at the side of my neck, subconsciously finding the spot I stabbed him. “He died before the ambulance got there. Charlotte and I both gave statements, and it was ruled as self defense. But the statement still lives in my file, and with some convincing, I got Strauss and DCFS to keep it sealed.”

In all honesty, Hotch didn’t know what to expect when you decided to open your mouth. But he never would’ve guessed this. Not from the doe eyed kid that never forgot a birthday, that got everyone a donut and coffee on Monday mornings. Not from the kindest person he worked with.

“You know that took a lot of courage to get out, so it would be nice if you could say something.” You started to panic, wondering if he saw you as a monster, as a killer.

“You were the oldest one there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widened, how did he know that? “You grew up quick and took on the role of the parent for those younger kids. You wanted them to be safe, stay innocent for as long as they could.”

You finally tore yourself away from his gaze, starting to become too strong. Baby steps.

“None of us had a family. I tried my hardest to shelter them from those people and make a family out of the five of us. And it worked. Because all four of them still reach out and tell me how successful they are.”

“But they don’t feel like your family.” You had a sad smile and looked back up at him.

“Do you ever stop profiling?” He mirrored the smile you gave him. “No, they don’t. But I was old enough to understand that they needed each other more than I needed them. Besides, I found a pretty weird family to take me in.”

You earned another laugh from Hotch as you made a check mark in the air, referencing the team tally. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the cash and cards he had in there.

“What are you doing?” He pulled out a thin wallet picture and turned it over to you. It was of him, Haley, and Jack on his first birthday. “You’ve got more than one weird family to belong to.”

He extended the picture to you, but you shook your head, the anxiety forming a pit in your stomach. “Hotch, this is your family. I can’t,”

“You can. And this family wouldn’t be half as happy as they are in this picture if it weren’t for you and everyone on this team.” You smiled down at the picture, Jack had frosting from his birthday cake all over his face. You reached out and took it between your fingers. “You’re a giver, y/n. You wear your heart on your sleeve and exude more empathy than we know what to do with.” You let out a laugh as you pulled out your own wallet now, tucking the picture in one of the plastic sleeves. “It’s time you learned how to accept the love you give.”

It was deep, too deep to be coming from your boss on the private jet at two in the morning. But he was more than just your boss, and they were more than just your team. And this job, boy this job was so much better than sitting in a cubicle, answering questions from a recited list.

****

#aaron hotchner x female! reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #jules writes shit ??

85 notes · View notes

yoonguurt · 4 years ago

Text

Taken

pairing: harpy!Jae x reader

genre: smut

warnings: fingering, unprotected sex (please don’t), penetrative sex, yandere themes if you squint. I think that’s it? If not let me know and I can edit it and add what I missed.

word count: 6,521

A/N: Guys I am sorry it’s so late. It is currently 12:38 a.m. and I have been trying to finish this for two days. I had some issues with not one but two power outages and just a hard time with getting my shit together. Thank everyone for your patience, but a huge thanks to K for making this title card and helping me when my motivation lowered.

Collab masterlist

Walking a few beats faster than your normal pace, you round the corner just a tad too close, bumping into the wall slightly. Slowing down a little as you rub your right arm, you lift your head briefly to make sure you aren’t on a collision course with anything else before speeding back up. You were used to this route, you took it at least once a week but you frequently went this way even when you didn’t have the Mythology class. Though, to be fair, you weren’t really taking the class, you were the teaching aide, and you absolutely loved it. Your previous class had just ended and even though you weren’t due to the classroom for another two hours, you always went early. It was, in a sense, your “me time.” Your freshman year, you tried so hard to get picked as the aide for Professor Kim, being that was only the person you admired most in life. The man had written no less than three books on different versions of mythology, all of which you had read numerous times, his feature on Greek mythology being your favorite. By the time your sophomore year had come around, your grades had gotten you noticed enough to be considered for being an aide, it was just pure luck that you managed to be assigned to Prof. Kim. By junior year, he had asked for you to once again be his aide, which led to now.

You sat down at your own little desk in the corner of Prof. Kim’s office, it had been his idea to have you a desk put in his office after he found you in the library pouring over your notes one too many times. It was part of your routine, you would leave from your previous class and go sit somewhere and look over your notes from the previous week. You wanted to make sure that your mind was refreshed before each class. After a few weeks, your mentor mentioned that there was an extra desk in his office that you could use, rather than the uncomfortable tables in the library, which you happily accepted. Once you were settled, you pulled out your notebook and began your routine of looking over your notes. As you hyper focus on your notes, a take out coffee gets placed beside you. A smile plays at your lips as you look up to thank Professor Kim. “How many times have I told you that there are better things for you to be doing with your free time?” You immediately giggle at the playful tone he has and think quickly of a response. “Well, that’s probably true, but how the hell am I supposed to beat you in your own field if I don’t study and do my best?” He lifts his hand to his chest in mock hurt before you both burst into a fit of laughter. With a shake of his head, your mentor turns to his desk and sits and busies himself as you go back to your notes.

You get to the lecture hall before Professor Kim, as usual, he prefers to be “fashionably late” as he likes to say. You scan the room, taking note of everyone present. Most of the students here are returners, you know the vast majority from the previous year. During this year, you’ve taken the time to get to know any new comers. At this point, you know the name of everyone here and what seat they prefer to sit in. Well, until now. As your eyes scan the room, you notice a new face. You take a moment, wondering if you have somehow missed this person every week, but that quickly fades from your mind, you know there’s no absolutely way. But why would a person join the class so late in the semester? He would have missed so much, was there even a point to joining more than halfway through? You realize that your eyes had stayed focused on the new man. He was certainly very handsome. He looked like something only your imagination could conjure up. He was tall and thin with blonde hair that you could tell wasn’t his natural color, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t pair well with his dark chocolate eyes. It hit you that you were STILL staring and you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you quickly tried to move your gaze. You thought you averted your eyes rather quickly, and that made you feel a little bit better, but the last thing about him that you noticed was the small but cocky smirk that played across his lips.

The door slowly opens and Professor Kim silently walks in, not lifting his head until he reaches his podium. He looks around the room, seemingly in suspense before flashing a small smile and addressing the room. “We’re going to be doing something a little different today. Today, I’m going to have Y/N run this lecture.” You’re head snapped in his direction, panic flooding your gaze as it landed on him. He stepped aside from the podium, taking a seat at the small table you were seated at. He gave you a small smile and a slight nod of his head, his way of letting you know he had full confidence in you. You stood, legs slightly shaking as you made your way to the podium in front of the room. You knew these people, for the most part, you knew you shouldn’t be as nervous as you were but you really couldn’t help it. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, opening your eyes to find every set of eyes fixed on you.

Glancing down at your notes, hoping to buy yourself some time to shake your nerves, you take a moment to force yourself to stop holding the podium so tightly. You could see your knuckles turning white and you knew you wouldn’t be able to do this if you were so tense. Taking one more deep breath, you fixed your eyes on the sea of faces in front of you. “Ok guys, I need you to bear with me here. You guys know how quickly my brain flutters from one idea to another and how sometimes my mouth can’t keep up with my brain.” She sighs in relief when that gets a laugh from the class, a smile quickly replacing the anxious frown she had before. Finally feeling a little confidence, you jump right into your first teaching lesson. “Well, we’ve already covered our fair share of gods, theories and creatures, you all know how excited I got about the gorgons,” that got another laugh out of everyone, “but I think I may be able to top that excitement. We’re going to be exploring one of the lesser talked about creatures, and they’re really one of my favorites. Harpies.” You watch as few people perk up at the mention of the creatures, but you notice the blonde man really focus his attention on you. You could only assume that he too had a fascination with the topic, which would explain his sudden appearance.

“There are many different accounts of harpies throughout mythology. They have been called beautiful creatures, but have also been referred as quite the opposite. Some people say they were known to steal food as you were eating it, while others say they would steal people. There’s really only one thing all accounts have in common. Harpies were known to be some form of a mix of a woman and a bird.” Your eyes had continued to scan the room and every time your eyes landed on the handsome stranger, you could tell that he seemed to be hanging on your every word. The other students, while you could tell they were intrigued, it was nothing compared to the blonde man. His interest struck you as odd. Not that he was interested, just the look on his face as you spoke. His eyes were focused on you, seeming to burn through you really, and his face was like stone. He looked like he could erupt in anger at any time, but you couldn’t think of a reason why he would. Tearing your attention away, you continued your lecture, not wanting to lose your momentum. “This leads researchers to believe that there weren’t male harpies.” You could hear someone give a disgusted snort from somewhere in the room. You stop and look around, trying to figure out where it came from. The quick glance offers you no information, but you feel a little hurt that this would happen during your first lesson. You push that hurt feeling and continued on.

You conclude your lesson, releasing a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding, but feeling proud that you hadn’t flubbed anything up too badly. Professor Kim tells everyone that they are free to go, turning to you afterward and let you know how proud he is of you and finishing off by saying that he is considering making this a semi regular thing. You grace him with the biggest smile you think you’ve ever had and thank him and tell him how much you appreciate it. He dismisses you shortly after and you walk out feeling like nothing could ruin your day.

As you walk down the hall, you think about what you should do for the rest of the day. Mythology was your last class for the day, and while you really want to start planning for next week, you know it’s probably far too soon to be doing that. Especially since you know that you’ll make approximately 300 changes before the next class. You settle on getting a coffee on the way home and settling in front of the tv. A sudden call of your name draws you out of your thoughts and you quickly turn around to see where the voice came from. You see the tall newcomer from the mythology class walking toward you. Well, sauntering really. You can see the amount of confidence he has in himself just by his stride, he’s gorgeous and he knows it. He catches up and doesn’t immediately speak, which baffles you a little. The man had the nerve to stop you in a crowded hallway just to not even speak. What the hell was that about? “Do you have a question about class or something?” You try to keep your voice as polite as possible, despite the small irritation you feel. The man gives you that stupid smirk again and shakes his head lightly, causing his hair to fall into his face a little, which makes him more attractive and you more irritated. “I can see you know alot about mythology, but you also don’t know as much as you think you do. Your harpy interpretation was really cute, but wrong. Now if you really want to learn about harpies, let me know.” He hands a small slip of paper, which no doubt has his number on it, before he gives you a smile that is small but somehow still manages to give you butterflies. As he walks off without another word, you’re left speechless. Just who the hell does this guy think he is?

Over the next few days, you notice that you see the stranger almost everywhere. Late night run to the corner store near your house, he’s in the aisle next to you. Go to the library to check out some possible topics for next week, he’s at the table across from you. He was even at the park on the other side of town when you decided to go read under a tree. By the time you see him in your favorite coffee shop, you’ve had enough. You push your chair out from under you, the sound of the legs sliding against the floor making your ears hurt slightly and causes a chill to run down your spine, but you can’t be bothered to care. You have a fire behind your eyes as you stalk over to where he’s sitting and give a poke on the shoulder. “What the fuck is your deal, huh? Are you following me or something?” He looks at you with a dead pan face, other than a slight look of confusion. “I really have no idea what the hell you are talking about.” You study his face for a moment and you can’t see any sign of lying and you immediately feel silly. You issue a quick apology and change the subject, hoping to breeze past your lashing out. “Who are you anyway? I’ve never seen you in myth before the other day. Did you just decide to drop by late semester to see what it was about?” He lets out a small laugh and you’re struck by how beautiful a laugh can be. “The name is Jae, I guess you could say I am new to the area.” His reply is brief, but all of your questions are answered and when he gives you a full smile you immediately drop your gaze to your feet, suddenly flustered. The fact that he had gotten you flustered twice already had you slightly irritated. The flustered blushing girl was not who you were. You had always been a very confident and sure of yourself, blushing and getting tongue tied was not something you did often. And now this complete stranger had made it happen TWICE in less than a week was aggravating.

“Have you thought about my offer, teachy lady?” Even with your eyes on the floor, you could hear his smirk. You’re blush was quickly gone as you felt the slightest tint of anger bubble up in your stomach. “I’ve been studying mythology for years, I really doubt there is anything you could tell me that I don’t already know.” Your tone was curt, maybe a little more than you had intended but that was completely fine with you. You fixed your glare on the pair of eyes in front of you, doing your best not to fall into a trance of just staring at the beauty in them. The brief silence was broken in the form of a harsh laugh. You narrowed your eyes as Jae continued to laugh until he was a little out of breath. “No offense, dollface, but you don’t know shit.” he stood from the table and moved toward the door. “When you’re ready to talk, you have my number.”

The thoughts of the coffee house interaction still fill your mind as you ready yourself for bed. You honestly can’t believe he spoke to you that way, especially during your first actual conversation with the man. But what was worse was that it actually turned you on. It wasn’t the words he said as much as the tone he said them in. He had this cocky tone that affected you deep down in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to simmer on that thought for too long, you did your best to shake the thought from your head as you crawled into bed. You made sure to flip your pillow over, cold side is always the best side, before you slid under the covers and waited for sleep to take you.

You feel tips of fingers ghosting up your thigh, inching closer and closer to clothed heat. Just before they reach their mark, they sweep to the side and fall down to grab a handful of your ass, nails digging into your flesh. You let out a whimper, making your disappointment known, only to be met with a soft smack on the cheek of your ass. You let out a loud whine, loving the small sting the swat left behind. “Patience, baby. You’ll get everything you want, you just have to be patient.” The words whispered in your ear came just before a soft nibble to your earlobe. You could feel the wetness from you sex causing your underwear to cling to you. How would one man have so much power over you to have you so wet without even touching you? The ghost tips were back, this time traveling from your neck, down to your breasts before gently bypassing the hem on your sleep pants. You felt a burst of pleasure as a slow circle was drawn around your clit as the single digit slid through your folds and slowly pushed into your entrance. You let out a soft sigh, finally getting some sort of relief, pleasure flowing through your body. Your mind was clouded as a second finger prodded at your entrance only allowing you to form a single word. “Jae.”

You jolted up in your bed, a slight sheen of sweat covering your body. What the fuck was that? This could not be happening, you didn’t even really like the guy. Sure he had the beauty of a god, he smelled nice, and his laugh sounded heavenly, but that doesn’t mean anything. You still didn’t like him. Your gaze drifted to your purse where the slip of paper he had given you still remained crumpled up among the mass of pens you seem to collect. Absolutely not, there was no way. This was just a dream, it didn’t mean a thing, not one thing. You could totally ignore that dream like it never happened and not think of it at all. Totally.

You were doing pretty good about not thinking about your dream. You had gone to your classes and had been able to completely focus on what the lecture was about and had been able to take some great notes. You honestly hadn’t even thought of Jae or the dream since you had gotten a shower and headed out for your day. Still keeping your mind off of it, you sat at your desk in Professor Kim’s office, looking over some notes your mentor had been gracious enough to take for you last week. The two of you had already talked about this lecture and you were both relieved and a little disappointed that you would not be leading this week. You hadn’t really prepared much, which was completely unlike you, so you were glad you weren’t having to lecture without preparing. On the other hand, you had enjoyed the feeling of being in front of everyone as they listened to you. Realizing the time, you shut your notebook and walked to the lecture room. You did notice that you weren’t walking at your normal speed, and you couldn’t really figure out why you were sort of dragging but you decided not to think about it too long.

You made it to the room just before Professor Kim walked in, which really let you know how slow you must have been walking. You scanned the room, not wanting to admit that you couldn’t really decide whether or not you wanted to see that shimmer of blonde hair. When you didn’t see Jae, you felt a mix of emotions, but you absolutely would not consider the fact that you were more disappointed than relieved. You sat down at the desk just to the left of the podium, gaze focused on your mentor when a voice pipes in behind you. “Sorry for being late, class ran over.” You turn and see Jae walking in and he flashes a quick smile. Of course your cheeks flush, how does he even do that? He moves to take a seat at the front of the room, the opposite of where he sat last week. You quickly snap your head back to the man at the podium, trying to pay attention to what he says. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re being watched and you cast a small glance toward the rest of the people in the room, only to find Jae’s eyes solely focused on you. You cut your eyes away quickly, but you can still feel his eyes on you. You leave the lecture with no new notes, no memory of what the professor talked about, and a gnawing sensation in your gut.

Jae and the dream had been on your mind since you left mythology. You had done everything you could to take your mind off of it and so far nothing had worked. So here you were, angrily scrubbing your already clean kitchen counter. You thought back to how he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you and it made your blood boil a little. You started scrubbing with a bit more force, every now and then your gaze flittered over to your purse. Should you just get him over here and just let him annoy you so you could stop thinking of his hand down your pants? Or maybe you could get him over for a quick fuck? After realizing the scrubbing had stopped, you tossed your sponge in your sink and made your way to your coffee table. Turning your purse over and letting the contents fall all over the table, you fumbled around trying to find the small crumpled paper. After a brief search, you find it and unfold it, staring at it for a moment as you try to make up your mind. Not letting yourself think about it too much, you grab your phone and type Jae’s number and a short message. “Still up for that talk about harpies?”

Fifteen minutes later as you sit on your couch, bouncing your legs nervously, you hear a knock on the door. You still weren’t sure how he hadn’t needed your address, but maybe he lived near or something. He did seem to live close since he was always where you were. You scrambled to get to the door before he knocked again, opening just as his hand was about to rap against it. You both stood there in silence, just staring at each other for a while until Jae lifted his eyebrow and nodded his head toward your apartment. You stuttered a bit while telling him to come in and asking if he wanted anything to drink. He gave you a polite no as he sat down in the chair across from the couch while you sat down on the far end of the couch, trying to put some distance between you so maybe he couldn’t affect you as much. The silence from before resumed, with you sitting there awkwardly while he seemed very relaxed and calm. “What’s wrong, dollface? I make you nervous or something?” His voice brought you out of your awkward phase rather quickly. “Are you gonna talk about harpies or just flirt?”

He gave a loud laugh, leaning farther back in the chair while he tried to catch his breath. “Fair enough, babe. So let me start with the harpies being ugly thing. That is just rude and an insult. Have you ever met a harpy? How do you know if they’re ugly? Never judge on someone else’s opinion, dollface.” You almost burst out laughing. Was this man serious? Here he was talking like harpies were real and walking among people, rather than a myth. “And secondly. No males? What the heck is that about? How would you get more harpies if male harpies weren’t a thing? You do know how reproduction works, don’t you? I know for a fact that harpies are in fact beautiful creatures and there are male harpies. I mean, just look at me, male and beautiful.”"

He flashed a cocky smile, and you weren't sure what he was saying. Was this man trying to imply that he was a harpy? You couldn't stop yourself from laughing this time, letting it all out until you were gasping for air. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you are a harpy?" you managed to get out once you had caught your breath. He stared at you for a moment before he replied. "Yes. That is exactly what I'm saying." You didn't think you had it in you to laugh more, but you were wrong. "Hey! Stop laughing, woman! I'm serious here." But stop laughing you did not do. You just started laughing harder, tears forming in your eyes, only stopping when he stood up. "Fine. I'll show you."

He stood next to the chair as he took off his black hoodie and tossed it on the back of the chair, followed by his shirt. You were taken aback by his random stripping in your living room and quickly moved to cover your eyes. You heard what sounded like the flap of wings before he spoke to you. "You can't see if you cover your eyes, dummy." Tearing your hands away, you were ready to snap at him when you finally got a look at him. Given the circumstances, you were ashamed to admit that the first place your eyes went was his naked chest. He wasn't super defined but he was definitely nice to look at. "My wings are back here, darling." Your eyes snapped up to see that he did in fact have a set of wings and your eyes widened. They were huge and resembled the wings of an eagle. You placed your hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn so you could see if had glued them on or something, but you found that they were very much attached to his back. You stood there in awe for a while, not sure what to say. His voice once again brought you out of your daze.

"You can touch them if you want." His voice wasn't far above a whisper and you glanced up at him to double check that it would be ok. His eyes were soft and he looked back down at you and nodded his head gently. You reached out and slowly moved your hand forward cautiously. When your skin met the feathers, you almost snatched back as a reflex, but you fought it and ran your hand down the side of the wing. They were soft, softer than anything you had ever felt, and you felt wrong touching them. Like they were made of glass. You quickly moved your hand back, causing a look of surprise to pass across Jae's features.

"Are you scared of me, dollface?" Were you scared? You didn't feel fear, at least you didn't think so. You felt many things. Awe, confusion, amazement, lust, but fear was nowhere to be found. You knew that you most definitely SHOULD be afraid, but you couldn’t find a reason to be. You didn’t feel like he would harm you in any way and you really couldn’t explain why, but you accepted it without much thought. You realized that you still needed to answer him, but you didn’t feel like words were not what was needed. Standing on your toes, you leaned in toward his mouth, hoping that he would meet you somewhere in the middle. He didn’t move, opting to let you stretch and reach until your lips found his. He stayed still for a moment only moving when his hand lifted to cup your face. It was unlike any kiss you had had before. It was intoxicating. It was soft and strong at the same time, sweet but full of lust. It didn’t take long for his tongue to swipe at your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You didn’t hesitate to fulfil his unspoken request, immediately flooded with the taste of him. He tasted of coffee, a sweet flavor with a hint of bitterness. You felt that it should be an unpleasant taste, but you could tell that you were already addicted. The soft moan that you whimpered couldn’t be held in and you could tell that he was pleased that you didn’t hold it when his hand moved from your jaw to your waist, pulling closer to him. He pulled back, to catch his breath you assumed, and rested his forehead on yours. “I’ll take that as a no then.” The heat of his breath fanned over your face, and you felt your knees start to buckle at the sound of his husky whisper.

He pulled your body closer, though you were sure you couldn’t get much closer to him. With a quirked eyebrow, he met your gaze. “Bed?” You nodded almost too excitedly, earning a chuckle from Jae. Taking his hand, you turned and led him down the hall to your small bedroom. He closed the door behind himself, quickly spinning you around as his hands found your ass and he lifted you up and pressed your back against the door. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, lightly grinding your core against the growing bulge in his sweats. He let out a low moan before backing up slightly, just enough so his bulge had moved away from you. “So needy, already?” Your reply came only in the form of a moan, which granted you another chuckle from Jae. You whined, hoping it would convince him to move back and give you the friction you needed. He did move closer, but only to whisper in your ear. “Patience, baby.” You instantly moaned loudly as the memory of your dream came flooding back to you. Jae moved back against you before removing your back from the door and turning you both towards your bed. You were expecting him to toss you onto your bed, but instead he gently laid you down, climbing over you without breaking the kiss he had surprised you with. When you were firmly planted on the bed, he stood up straight, his wings raised and you weren’t sure you had seen anything sexier in your life. “I think it’s a little unfair that I have my shirt off and here you are still fully clothed.” Your arms instantly flew to the hem of your shirt, ready to tear it off and fling it to some unknown part of the room. Jae’s hands moved on top of yours, slowing your movements. “There’s no need to rush, dollface. What did I say about patience?” He stood back straight, allowing you to remove your own shirt. You slowed your pace, taking an agonizingly long time to rid yourself of the article. When your shirt was fully off, you tossed it to the floor, reaching around to unclasp your bra. You were slow with your movements again, eyes locked on Jae’s face as he watched you. When you tossed it aside, leaving yourself bare, you could see the lust in Jae’s eyes. His pupils were dark and blown out and his tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips.

You leaned back on the bed, putting your arms behind you and waited for Jae to make a move. He just stared for a moment, taking you in for a while. When he finally moved, his hands lunged forward, grabbing your leggings and pulling them down your legs slowly. He kept eye contact as he took what felt like forever to rid you of the clothing, only making you soak your panties further. Once he had your leggings off, he lowered himself on top of you, making his way to your neck, leaving small nibbles along your jaw. You turned your head to give him better access, a low groan coming from him in appreciation. His lips were suddenly replaced with his tongue, licking a slow stripe from the bottom of your jaw to your ear. He took your lobe into his mouth and giving it a bite as he moved his lips up. “Tell me what you want, baby.” His voice was low with a small bit of rasp to it, that coupled with his words had you moaning almost instantly. He hummed against your skin, urging you to give him an answer. “F-fingers” was all you could say, hoping to relive your dream in any way you could. He gave you a quick kiss as his hand made its way down to the hem of your underwear. You held your breath as he inched closer, the anticipation had you dripping and you needed some sort of relief. Finally his hand made its way into your underwear and you were almost panting as you waited for him to make contact with your throbbing clit. Just before his finger reached your bud, he quickly moved his hand lower, skipping over your clit completely. You let out a whine and he gave a chuckle as his face lowered to your chest.

He took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as he slowly plunged two fingers into you. The feeling of finally having something filling you gave you just enough to give you the pleasure you had been craving, but his slow pace had you still needing more. You let out a long whine as you let your hand fall to his arm and tried to shove him further down. “M-more. Please.” You could feel him smile against your breast before he bit down and slid his mouth off of you. “Such a needy girl.” His tone was playful, but the look in his eye was very serious. Picking up his pace, he curled his fingers slightly finding your sweet spot almost immediately. Your moan was so intense that it almost felt like it hadn’t even come from you. On instinct, you grabbed Jae’s shoulder, nails digging into his skin. He let out a small moan of his own and tried to make a mental note of a sweet spot of his own. His pace quickened once more, his fingers pumping in and out of, causing your high to approach rapidly. You could feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten and Jae must have sensed it too. He leaned into you, lips just barely touching the shell of your ear. “Come on, let go for me, dollface.” With one last hard thrust of his fingers, the coil burst as you came all over his fingers and he helped you ride out your orgasm.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, making sure to keep eye contact, and slowly shoved them in his mouth. He let out a groan at your taste, eyes slowly closing as he savored your release. The sight was beautiful. You loved being able to see how much he loved the way you tasted, you could almost watch him all day. The neediness you still felt said otherwise. Without really thinking, you grabbed one of his wings and gave it a small tug, catching his attention but also earning a groan. You’d revisit that later. “Jae. I need you inside of me. Please.” He gave you a smirk as he moved to fit himself between your legs. He lined himself up with your entrance, pausing briefly to make eye contact as he slowly pushed into your walls. Once he finally bottomed out, you let out a long moan, feeling more full that you ever had before. He gave you a moment to adjust, but you were quick to start moving your hips and whining for him to move. He slowly pulled himself back before harshly thrusting into you, causing another loud moan to fall from your lips. “You take me so well, dollface. I knew you would as soon as I saw you.”

Praise was falling from his lips as he picked up his pace, holding your hips in place as he timed his thrusts. Moans were falling from your mouth almost constantly as his pace picks up again. Your hands were wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into the skin around the base of his wings, his loud moans letting you know how much of a sweet spot you had found. His mouth fell to your neck and his pace got sloppy. You could tell he was close and so were you, his name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Give me one more, baby. I know you can do it. Let it go.” One hard thrust was all you needed to come around his cock, with one final moan. Jae hurriedly asked you where you wanted him to cum. You didn’t have the strength to form words, so your reply was a simple whine as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you with your feet. You knew by a moan, deeper and longer than all the rest, that he got your meaning. Giving a few more hard thrusts, his hips grew frantic as he chased his own high. His body finally stilled as he released inside of you, choked moans and grunts falling from his mouth as he planted his face in the bend of your neck.

Jae placed a kiss sweetly on your lips and asked if you were ok and made sure he hadn’t hurt you in any way. “ ‘M fine. Just tired.” It had taken all of your strength to form the broken sentence and you watched as he gave you another small kiss and get up to clean you up and find your clothes. He got himself dressed and asked if you wanted him to stay or if he needed to leave, and you responded by making grabby hands at him. He gave a quiet giggle as he climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you as snuggled close to him. “I knew you’d be the one. I just knew.” Sleep took you before you could ask him what he meant.

You could feel air blowing against your face, drawing you from your slumber. You slowly opened your eyes to find the sunrise, and you were very confused as to where you were. You move to get a better look at your surroundings. “Be still or you’ll fall, baby.” You look around to see Jae smiling at you, brighter than you had seen yet. Glancing around again, you turn to Jae, eyes full of concern. “Jae what’s going on? Where are we?” His smiles fades into a smirk as he places a kiss against your temple, warming you up despite the bitter breeze. “I’m taking you to my nest, dollface.” He gives you a small squeeze before he continues. “There are a few things I need to say. Remember in the coffee shop when you asked me why I was everywhere you were? I might have lied. I was following you, but only because you interested me so much. I just wanted to see what made you tick. After I told you what I am and you accepted me, and then after our wonderful night together, I decided that I wanted to keep you around. So, we’re heading to my nest. My home.” You watched him for a moment, confusion still clouding your mind. “And what if I don’t want to go to your nest?” Your tone was playful, not really sure what outcome you wanted or really what you expected him to say. He gave you another kiss to the temple and flashed you a smile. “Well. Then I drop you.”

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queens-hoes · 4 years ago

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Ikevamp Suitors as University Professors (Part 1!)

Leo

The head of a faculty for SURE

what can't this man teach

Lots of people look up to him and respect him even though he loves goofing off with students

The go-to guy for professors who need someone to cover their classes bc he’s capable of teaching anything and everything

For students that want him all-year round, he can be found teaching Italian Studies, Renaissance-focused history classes, Classic Art History and the occasional physics class

Despite being really good at painting, he refuses to teach any art classes

When he isn’t hanging with students or teaching, he’s napping in his office/the library/Comte’s office/a lecture hall/the fountain

He's either your father figure or your daddy, there's no in between

Napoleon

History professor!

Can talk about historical events as though he was actually there hmm

Specializes in the French Revolution (ofc) but can talk for hours about any given point in history

Also a fairly professional fencer on the side which many students find extremely attractive

Once a few students saw him sparring with Professor Jean and all collectively Lost Their Shit

Several students have written poems on the beauty of his eyes (kinda like the Ikevamp writers)

Also teaches the occasional French class

The only reason he doesn’t do it more often is bc the classes are always scheduled so early

Mozart

Music professor, ofc

Probably the head of that faculty as well

Good luck passing his class bc he is ruthless!

"Where is the vibrato?" "I told you to play that fortissimo, why are you playing it fortisissimo, dear Lord..." "I know you didn’t play that C# as a Bb!" Did you just. Accent that note--"

Known for having a glare that can kill

Composes music in his off time, though under a pseudonym so his students don’t interrogate him

Probably has like one office hour a month bc all he wants to do is focus on his music

Totally one of those professors that hates teaching and only does it bc he has to

But if he has students who are truly dedicated to their craft and constantly striving to be better, he'll be slightly more patient with them and maybe actually enjoy teaching them

Arthur

Literature Prof who specializes in English Detective Fiction

"So, like, Sherlock Holmes?" "No."

"Do not mention that blasted name in my presence ever again."

"Overrated bastard"

He's more of an Agatha Christie fan

(“Hercule Poirot >>> Sherlock Holmes any day”)

I'm an English Lit major lemme nerd out a little

Since he has an English accent you kNOW plenty of people are taking his classes just to gawk at him

He knows it and he loves it

That type of teacher to really get into a lecture and stand on his desk to amplify his point ("Oh Captain my Captain!")

Loves entertaining the female students that flirt with him

Regardless, he never crosses the line of impropriety tho certain girls make that very difficult

Bc of this, Comte keeps a constant eye on him

Loves teasing and clowning around with the other profs no matter how much they tell him to go away looking at you Theo!

Vincent

So. Wholesome.

No one will ever complain about him or his class

Despite having a preference for Post-Impressionist style, he will never criticize a student for using something different

He doesn’t get mad often

Unless

Someone starts hating on his students’ works for no reason other than “it doesn’t look pretty” or “this isn’t real art!”

When this happens, Theo offers to fight the critics for him

Vincent and the students all have to hold him back

Bc of this, he and his class are a very tight-knit group of people

Loves taking them outdoors or to cool places in the hopes of inspiring them

Always holds a year-end exhibition with Theo to showcase his class’ pieces

Literally the most encouraging and caring prof on campus

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp leo #leonardo da vinci #napoleon bonaparte #wolfgang amadeus mozart #arthur conan doyle #vincent van gogh #Ikevamp headcanons #Ikevam headcanons

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, obsessedbutonline!

For @obsessedbutonline, who listed fluff, angst, and ‘Derek giving Stiles gift’ as a few ‘Likes’. I hope I did those items justice. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Friend!

Read On AO3

*****

The Gift

The gift. He supposed it all started with the gift. Or maybe Star Trek. Derek wasn’t sure. It was Stiles, after all. One day, the younger man had been debating the cuddle rating of a Tribble, before diving into an analysis of The Voyage Home being one of the worst movies in franchise history (except for the whales, of course), and the next thing Derek knew, he’d found himself discussing how Moby Dick was one of his favorite books. The random jumps from one topic to another hadn’t been anything new for Stiles, but that had also been the year they’d legitimately gotten ‘together’ after their contentious circling of each other’s orbits, so when Derek had opened an inelegantly wrapped early edition of the novel on that first Christmas as a couple, he’d been rendered speechless.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d stared at the leather-bound copy exactly, but he did recall feeling a bout of inadequacy. He thought he’d hid it well though. “Stiles – “ he’d started. “I wasn’t expecting…This is too much.”

Stiles had shrugged like it hadn’t been a big deal, an eager grin on his face. “Nah, it wasn’t too bad. A classmate mentioned a prof who needed an assistant to help translate some Latin verses, and I thought I’d check it out. When I went, I noticed a copy of Moby Dick in his office, and you’d mentioned it was one of your favorites, so I offered my translation services for free if he would sell the book for a discounted price.”

Of course, Stiles had remembered that weird detail from a throwaway conversation. And of course, he’d been resourceful in procuring it. That was just who Stiles was. Now, Derek, on the other hand… well, he’d felt completely out of his league when he’d pulled out the gift card he’d picked up a day earlier from a comic book store. He hadn’t even known if that was a store Stiles ever visited. He really sucked at gift-giving. “Sorry, I didn’t …”

Stiles had yanked it out of his hands before he’d even finished. “I love it. Thanks, Derek!” The younger man had beamed excitedly, clutching that cheap piece of plastic in his hands as if he’d just received some personal heirloom. There had been no uptick in the man’s heartrate, so there’d been no lie in those words, but that hadn’t stop Derek from feeling bad.

And it was then that he had resolved to do better, that he would be thoughtful and meticulous in his gift selection the next time Christmas rolled around. Stiles deserved as much.

But he’d mentioned he was bad at gift-giving, right? As in, monumentally bad. Because the next Christmas, when they’d settled down on his couch after an intimate holiday dinner he’d prepared for the two of them, Stiles had presented him with a charmingly wrinkled gift bag. And when he’d pulled out a lovingly restored and framed photograph of his family from before the fire, he’d not only felt a slight lump in his throat at the sentiment, he’d also felt remarkably small and completely lacking in comparison. It was a good thing they’d come to a mutual understanding that their birthdays would be a no-gift zone, because Derek wasn’t sure he could’ve handled double the inferiority complex this time of year.

“I found a copy of the photo from the digital archives of the town newspaper. It was for some fundraiser committee your mom chaired, I think. I saved a copy, and googled around for some pointers on how to increase the resolution so I could print out a decent version of it,” Stiles had explained.

Derek had nodded absently, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of his mother’s face under the cool glass. His whole family had stared back at him, carefree and unburdened in the moment that photo had been taken, eyes all shiny from a sunny afternoon picnic. “Yeah, I remember. It was a Pets in the Park fundraiser for the local animal shelter.” There had been an ache in the pit of his stomach at the reminder of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. Now, it had been dulled by time, and tempered by the meaningful relationships he’d found, foremost of which was the one with the man beside him. “Thank you,” he’d said slowly, slightly surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked at the pool of emotion swirling within him.

“Anytime, big guy.” Stiles had leaned in, his weight and warmth freely offered as a source of silent strength.

But when he’d pulled out his gift for Stiles, he had had that sinking feeling of failing an important test. He hadn’t even had time to wrap it properly, opting to place a haphazard bow on it instead. “Sorry, I didn’t know …”

Stiles had grabbed the cellophane-covered box with a puzzled expression. “A bath set?” he’d asked slowly. “Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

There had been amusement in the younger man’s tone, devoid of upset or disappointment, but that hadn’t stopped Derek from feeling upset and disappointed in himself. After Stiles had gone through all the trouble of giving him such a personal and meaningful gift, he’d reciprocated with … soap. “Remember when you were on break during Thanksgiving,” he’d started to explain. “That necromancer problem we had?”

“Oh, damn, do I ever! We spent the whole night trying to wash zombie goo out of bodily crevices I never knew I had!” Then, realization had set in as those rich brown eyes widened. “This is perfect, Derek! Thank you!” And just like that, Stiles had fallen on him with his usual gracelessness, and proceeded to express his ‘gratitude’ properly.

That had been last year. But this time around, right before Stiles had returned to campus for his final two semesters of college, Derek had stumbled upon the ideal Christmas gift, while they were cleaning, of all things. They’d been packing up and storing some of Stiles’ stuff before the younger man headed back to school when they’d gotten diverted by some dusty, old boxes in the Sheriff’s attic. Somehow, in the way of procrastination, they’d ended up flipping through old photo albums when Stiles had paused to tell him about a picture of his mother.

“Oh, there’s the locket my dad helped me buy for Mother’s Day when I was eight,” Stiles had said as he’d pointed to a picture of Claudia Stilinski, vivacious and beaming brightly at the camera. Anyone could see where Stiles had gotten his smile. “I didn’t have the greatest taste in jewelry, so it doesn’t look like much, but she was so excited when she got it. She wore it all the time.”

“It’s nice that you have a memento to remember her by,” Derek had supplied.

Stiles’ shoulders had slumped a little at the comment. “Yeah, I think we accidentally sold it during a garage sale not long after she died. Dad wasn’t exactly in the best place, and he just wanted to get rid of the memories because they hurt so much back then. Lots of regret now. Who knows? It might’ve found another home, or it might be in a garbage dump somewhere.”

And that comment had led him down the winding, convoluted path to where he was now: standing in front of a teenage girl with bright blue hair and an eclectic ensemble of a loose plaid shirt, artfully ripped leggings, and combat boots.

“A hundred bucks,” the girl re-stated, her tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation.

“One hundred? The pawn shop owner said you only paid five dollars for it.” He could be stubborn too, though deep down, he knew he wasn’t really in a position of power in this situation, much as that rankled him.

Ms. Blue-hair shrugged. “So? If you want it that bad, then you should be willing to pay for it.”

She had him there. Three months of diligently interviewing the Stilinski neighbors, and following a trail of multiple goodwill and pawn shops had led him to that very locket hanging from the girl’s neck, that very locket Stiles had shown him in that old photo of his mother. He gave the teen what Stiles had laughingly termed his ‘murder-brow’ look and pulled out his wallet. Of course, he would pay, especially after all the work he’d put into tracking it down, and because this was for Stiles. He didn’t have to like being swindled like this though.

“That’s a nice jacket, by the way.”

Derek looked up from pulling out the cash and froze. He glared at the girl, hoping the intensity of his stare would deter whatever she was about to insinuate. It didn’t work.

“No,” he said flatly as she watched him expectantly.

“Okay, I guess we’re done here then. Nice meeting you.” And with that, she turned and started to walk away.

Derek ground his teeth together to keep from outright growling and fought hard to not wolf out. He hated being bested like this. Life would’ve been so much simpler if he could just take the damned piece of jewelry by force and run off with it. Stupid morals.

“Fine,” he conceded with a clenched jaw after she’d managed to walk several feet away.

She turned with a triumphant smile as he started to shrug off his leather jacket. When he held it out with the wad of cash, she unclasped the chain without any further objections and handed it over. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

(***)

Stiles’ name flashed on his lock screen just as he was pulling up to his loft.

“Hey, you back already?” he answered as he shifted his car into park. His regular visits to Stanford notwithstanding, he’d been anticipating Stiles’ winter break for a while, and the timing couldn’t have worked out any better with him finding the locket when he had. “I was going to pick you up tonight after you’ve had a few hours with your dad.”

Several seconds of heavy breathing greeted his words, and almost instantly, he was on alert, muscles tensing and heartrate increasing. “Stiles?”

“Yeah, Derek, I’m here,” a familiar voice sounded through the phone. “Sorry, just had to get around Scott to check something out. But no, I’m not home yet. Got sidetracked on my way into town. Can you come to the preserve right now? The trail just off Parsons. We’ve got, um, a problem.”

Since his return to Beacon Hills, the supernatural activity in the area had decreased significantly, especially with a solid pack established in the area now, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional run-in with creatures bringing in death and mayhem. This sounded like one of those times. Shifting gears into reverse, he responded without hesitation, “On my way.”

The trip to the preserve was quick, the route having been travelled so many times that he could probably drive it eyes closed. After parking in the lot off Parsons, he picked up Stiles’ scent almost immediately, along with a few others of the pack, and had no problems tracking the source down a few hundred feet off a popular running path.

Not surprisingly, Scott noticed him first, looking up from a patch of tall grass and nodding in greeting as Derek silently approached. Stiles stood more out in the open, back turned and head down as he tapped busily on his phone. Once upon a time, his quiet ‘stalking’ would’ve caused a flailing of limbs and a high-pitched yelp from the younger man, but of the familiarity borne from the years of closeness, Stiles simply turned, smiled, and greeted him with a warm ‘hey’ as if he’d known he was there the whole time. And all things considered, he probably had.

They’d never been a couple for overt displays of affection, but the way Stiles unconsciously leaned toward him, trusting and open, worked just as well in telling Derek how the other man felt. He usually did the same, subtly breathing in the scent of his boyfriend and feeling more settled in his presence. They hadn’t seen each for a couple of weeks, and he’d missed having Stiles near.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking around for the rest of the pack. Their scents were fainter, which meant they had been here recently, but had likely wandered off or left altogether.

“It’s Christmastime in Beacon Hills, so the usual. Y’know, carolers, Santa parades, sleigh rides, tidings of comfort and joy, and oh yeah, witches.”

Derek had never been bothered by Stiles’ sarcasm, though he wouldn’t openly admit that if asked about their first encounters with each other, but now, he found the trait rather endearing. “So, we’re dealing with a witch. How bad?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was driving back into town when I saw a kid running across the road. Freaked me out, and barely stopped in time. When I went to check on him, he was crying and said an old woman had tried to take him. At first, I thought it was an attempted kidnapping, but then, he said that there was a lot of screaming coming from her big bag, and he was scared of getting stuffed in there with all the other kid. For this town, that triggered alarm bells. Stuffing kids into bags and lugging them around is not your regular run-of-the-mill kidnapper MO. I called my dad, and he came out here with a few units, but is running interference on the supernatural front. He’d mentioned that this was the third attempted kidnapping this month, so the deputies are on high alert. They still think it’s a regular human predator, so they’re canvassing the other side of the preserve right now, which means we can do our own investigation here. I called Scott, and the others are now fanned out, doing a search to see if we can catch a scent.”

“No luck yet,” Scott added as he strode over to join them. “Just a whole bunch of the usual smells, and with the people that use the running trails, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific one. We’re not exactly sure what we’re looking for.”

“I think I have a lead though.” Stiles held out his phone to show an etching of a stooped crone with a large sack. “We might have an Icelandic witch in the area, one that kidnaps and eats children, but I’m not a hundred percent. I hope I’m not right because … well, children! But she’s supposed to be active around Christmas. I need to double-check some books at my house to make sure though.”

Derek nodded, not surprised that Stiles had pretty much figured it out already. As human as Stiles was, he was arguably one of the pack’s most valuable assets, and truth be told, Derek felt quite proud of the other man’s quick wit and life-saving accomplishments. “So, you need to go home then?”

Stiles made a sound of agreement as he tucked his phone away and gave him an apologetic look. No words were needed to communicate how sorry he was that their reunion wasn’t what they’d planned.

“Okay, call us with any info,” Scott chimed in. “Derek and I will probably be more useful if we keep scouting the area. This is children we’re talking about. I don’t want anymore of them put in danger.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Alpha leader, sir,” Stiles replied jokingly, giving his friend a mock salute.

The years had matured Scott somewhat, enough that the erstwhile werewolf took his role and responsibilities somewhat seriously now. And for this, Derek was grateful.

Scott gave Stiles a shove to get him on his way, before shaking his head with a laugh and started to move back to the tall grass he’d been searching through earlier. “Go, you idiot.”

Stiles responded with the very mature gesture of sticking out his tongue. Then, Derek felt the younger man’s arm wrap lightly around his waist and pull him close for a quick kiss. The motion was casual, natural, and one that Derek returned without thought. “Sorry, not what we’d planned when I got back, huh? Let’s catch this witch fast so we can start our Christmas cuddle session, ‘kay?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at the comment. His boyfriend sure did have a way with words sometimes. “Christmas cuddle?”

“Hey, it is what it is.” Stiles shrugged innocently as he started to move away.

“I’m not calling it that.”

“Suit yourself, Sourwolf, but I’ve officially labelled it, and you can’t take that away from me,” Stiles said as he walked backwards toward the nearby trail. Derek half-expected him to trip on some invisible rock in the next few seconds. “Gonna say it all I want!”

He rolled his eyes as the younger man’s antics. “Go.”

“Christmas cuddle! Oh, and far be it for me to complain about seeing you in that t-shirt, but you do know it’s winter, right? We may live in California, and you may have some super-awesome internal wolfy furnace going, but I’m cold just looking at you. Where’s your jacket?”

“Go!” While he didn’t feel the chill as acutely, he didn’t need to be reminded about his fleecing by a greedy, blue-haired teenager.

After Stiles wave his acknowledgement and jogged out of sight, Derek turned back to join Scott. Their relationship may have started out roughly, but they’d fallen into a companionable pattern over the last few years. It was likely because of everything Scott had been through and his maturation, but Derek guessed part of it may have been out of respect for both their relationships with Stiles. Without much preamble, they quickly sectioned off their respective search zones, and fanned out into the thicker parts of the preserve. Derek had grown up here, had run and played amongst the trees and foliage so often that walking through it now stirred a sense of homecoming. Still, sometimes, there were things here that could still surprise him. Like the odd whiff of fear and panic he caught a few minutes after he’d split off from Scott. It was faint, probably non-existent for the newer wolves, but it was there, so out of place with the earthy scent of moss and soil. He started to follow it, his senses sharpening as he homed in on the potential prey. He hadn’t made much progress before he heard a howl off in the distance, and his entire body tensed, ready for action.

They’d found something!

Once he pinpointed the source, he was off, dashing through branches and over roots with a surety of stride that had been acquired from a lifetime of running these woods. He didn’t get very far though. He heard it first, a loud symphony of disembodied laughter all around him. Before he could stop and confront whatever it was, he caught a flutter of movement in his periphery, and then, he was flying, thrown through the air by an impact harder than anything in recent memory. He was out cold before he even landed.

(***)

He wasn’t unconscious for long. At least, he didn’t think he was, given that generations of werewolf evolution had refined his healing abilities to the point where he shouldn’t be. But however long it was, it was enough to find himself strapped to a board – or a crude table, perhaps – staring up at the flickering shadows of a stone ceiling. Or a cave? He honestly hated losing time like this and waking up in unexpected places, which, given who he was and where he lived, was an actual occupational hazard.

A whimper somewhere to his left drew his attention just then, and he tilted his head at an uncomfortable angle to take better stock of where he was, and with whom. Just within his field of vision, he could barely make out a small figure sat huddled inside a primitively constructed cage no higher than his hip. A wood fire burned beneath a big vat just a few feet away, thoroughly heating up whatever was inside if the bubbling sound was any indication.

“Hey,” he said quietly, if a little hoarsely, hoping the hunched figure would shift enough into the firelight for him to make out who it was.

The figure shuffled over, and Derek could see the tear-streaked face of a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old. Stiles had said there’d been attempted kidnappings. It looked like one had succeeded.

“H-hello? You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I am.” He wasn’t good with children, barring the few cousins he’d played with when he was younger, yet that had been different. They’d been family. He knew this kid was scared, could hear it in the tremor of his voice and smell it in the dankness of the air, but he wasn’t sure what he could say to help with that. “I’m Derek. What’s your name?”

“A-Andy.”

“Well, Andy, if you give me a minute, we can get out of here and I’ll take you back to your parents.” He tried to sound reassuring, though he wasn’t sure it worked as well as he’d intended when he was tugging and testing the thick ropes tied around his chest, waist, and legs. They were tight, but he managed to slide a hand free enough to shift and start slicing away at the restraints with his claw.

“Just Mom,” the boy said quietly. “Dad left.”

“Okay, we’re going to find your mom then. I’m sure she’s really missing you right now.” He figured that keeping a calm tone and easy conversation going was as good a plan as any while he worked on the ropes.

Andy shuffled a little in his cage, his face dipping down again into the shadows cast by the nearby fire. “She’s working. She’s always working. She promised I’d get to see Dad, but she couldn’t take me, so I went to find him myself.”

Which might explain why the boy hadn’t been reported missing yet. There was some give to the rope by his right hip, so he tilted his head and tried to look over at the boy and hoped he properly projected the sincerity of his words. “That doesn’t mean she’s not missing you, Andy. I know she’s probably very worried. She – “

The stench assaulted him first, sour and rancid, before he felt the whole space shake with a reverberating thud. Andy quickly scooted back into the corner of his cage with a scared squeak, leaving Derek to turn and search out the source in the dim light. An old woman came into view near the foot of his table, posture bent and face haggard, each of her steps sending tiny shockwaves through the cave. Her long, gray hair hung in a greasy, unkempt mess, framing a crooked nose and a gap-toothed, mirthless grin. She resembled the picture Stiles had shown him on his phone, but the younger man had neglected to mention one thing. She was a fucking giant!

The whole cave suddenly felt cramped, and her looming presence caused his heartrate to spike. He worked faster on his ropes.

“Good dog. You’re too old and gristly for my liking, but if my lads want a pet, a pet they will get,” she said in a voice deeper than he’d expected. She patted his stomach dismissively as she passed, and he fought hard not cry out at the jarring, painful contact. “Now, where’s my little snack? Little boy for a little snack. Little boy snack.” She cackled at her own wit.

He heard Andy whimper again as the old, giant crone ambled her way over to the cage, and he wanted to tell the boy to be brave, to hold on because he was almost through his rope. Yet, as he was about to do just that, he caught the scent of metal and electricity in the air. It cut through the myriad of other unpleasant smells like an olfactory beacon, clear and crisp and a harbinger of something – or someone – familiar. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the arrival of the calvary, even as Andy shrieked when the witch pulled him roughly from the cage and shuffled over to the boiling pot.

Then, several things happened at once. First, voices that sounded like the disembodied laughter he’d heard earlier came from somewhere outside. This time, however, they were shouting out in distress, intermingled with the familiar voices of his pack. The cries gave the witch pause for a split second, just as he cut through the last of his restraints and pulled free. After that, he was up and leaping through the air, aiming to get Andy free of the old woman’s clutches and away from the fire. And he managed just that, wrapping his arms around the boy as he clawed at the large hand that held him. But he underestimated the reaction speed of the crone, and barely managed to turn his body to shield Andy before her other hand swatted his side. He landed with bone-cracking impact against the boiling pot, adrenalin enhancing his movements as he rolled quickly to avoid landing on the fire or getting splattered by the hot liquid in the toppling vat. He was pretty sure he’d probably cracked a few ribs, but they were already healing. Andy seemed none the worse for wear when he looked down, unhurt and safe in his arms still.

“My boys! What are they doing to my boys?” the witch wailed.

Derek tensed briefly, thinking the giantess would take her surprise and anger out on him. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, she turned and marched the other way, he and Andy seemingly forgotten. He eased himself up with a barely suppressed groan, and let the small body pressed against his chest slide down to his lap. He could hear the pack outside, the growls of the wolves and the foreign-sounding chants from Stiles, and he knew that they had it handled.

“You okay?” he asked as he gave Andy a good once-over.

The boy simply nodded, his whole body still trembling. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and hugged Derek as if his life depended on it. Not sure how else to respond, Derek hugged the child back.

That was how Stiles found them a few minutes later when he stumbled clumsily into the cave. After some coaxing, they both managed to talk Andy into finally letting go. Scott took it from there, coming in to take the boy away to find the Sheriff, who had been called to the area when Stiles had triangulated Derek’s location. Stiles waited a moment after Scott had left before he turned and threw himself into Derek’s arms.

“Oh, thank every deity I just prayed to you’re okay. Had me worried.”

Derek squeezed the warm, lithe body clinging to him like an octopus, and bent down to briefly nuzzle his partner’s neck. He breathed in the fortifying scent that was simply Stiles and used it to ground himself after the crazy events that had just happened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m fine.”

“I know. You’re one tough son of a bitch, but the uncertainty always gets me.” Stiles pulled away and gave him a look with those ridiculously wide Bambi-like eyes that made Derek’s insides go warm. “And of course, you would go all superhero and save a child while we saved you. With the way the boy was holding on to you, I thought you’d replaced me with a cuter, newer model.”

Derek quirked up his lip into a lopsided, half-smile. “Never,” he returned easily. “If I did, I would at least try to get a good trade-in price for you.”

“Smartass.” As his comeback, Stiles smacked his arm with the back of his hand. He then slipped said hand into Derek’s, intertwined their fingers, and started walking out of the cave. “See if I ever send baddies back through an intercontinental gate for you again.”

“So, she wasn’t a witch?” Derek asked as he followed Stiles’ lead out of the cave

“Oh, no, she was a witch. The giantess witch, Gryla, and her sons, the Yule Lads. I don’t know how they got here, but I was working off of some quick and dirty research, so the best I could do was track down caves in the area, which is what the literature says she tends to favor, and find a spell to send her back to her native Iceland.”

Derek silently listened as Stiles explained what had happened, both grateful and proud – and not for the first or last time either – at the quick wit and resourcefulness of the guy he got to call his. They eventually emerged from the cave, and he immediately felt lighter the moment he could smell the fresh earth and foliage again. The sun was beginning to set, creating lengthening shadows of the redwoods and the oaks that stood like sentinels around them. And with that came a distinct chill in the air. He felt Stiles shiver at the lower temperature, and wished he’d had his jacket around to offer the other man. The jacket that he’d exchanged for …

With his free hand, he reached into his jeans pocket where he’d tucked the locket earlier, and –

Shit!

Without another thought, he turned and sprinted back into the cave. He quickly scanned the area and did not see the locket anywhere. His eyes then fell on the overturned pot and the still-burning embers of the woodfire. A dash of panic began to taint his actions, but he didn’t stop to quell it. Instead, he rushed over to the dying fire and started digging through the ashes. His hands burned and healed almost simultaneously as he dug desperately through the charred wood, an odd combination of frustration and helplessness clouding his judgement.

“Derek?”

He heard Stiles, but didn’t answer, mainly because his fingers wrapped around a clump of metal just then. He looked down at what used to be Stiles’ mother’s locket, the piece now misshapen by the heat and bearing no resemblance to what it used to be. He dropped the thing, both dejected and angry. This was supposed to be the year. This was supposed to be the Christmas where he would show Stiles how much the younger man meant to him by putting the care and thought into his gift that Stiles had always put into his. But everything… everything had been for nothing.

“Derek? What’s wrong? You okay?” Stiles approached and knelt beside him, looking ready to join him in whatever he was searching for.

He brushed the soot and ash off his hands, shook his head, and stood up. “Nothing. I’m good. Just thought I dropped something but I was wrong. C’mon, let’s go home.”

Puzzled, Stiles stood too, though he didn’t pry, and together, they made their way out of the cave once more, but not before Derek threw one last, longing glance at the pile of ashes.

(***)

“Oh, my god, I’m so stuffed,” Stiles said as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his belly. “I might have to be rolled off to bed later because there’s no way I’m standing up.”

Derek smiled softly at the younger man’s dramatics, and joined him on the sofa. Christmas dinner had been an intimate one again between just the two of them, with Derek doing most of the preparation, while Stiles had ‘helped’. He didn’t mind though. He enjoyed their time together. The way they fit together, their ease with each other … it had all been hard-won, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The younger man had chatted animatedly throughout the meal and Derek had let him go on, wanting to prolong the whole thing because, if he was being honest, he was dreading what would happen afterwards: their gift exchange.

“Merry Christmas, Derek,” Stiles said, as if reading his thoughts. He reached over to the end table and grabbed an unevenly wrapped gift.

Derek stared at the thing for a moment, just knowing deep down it would be a typical Stiles present, all special and personal. Why did Stiles even stay with him? He must come across as an unthoughtful, unappreciative jerk. Slowly, he unwrapped the gift, and revealed a collage of artfully arranged photographs. There were trees and flowers and butterflies dancing on sunbeams across open trails. They were beautiful, more so in that Derek recognized where they had been taken: the preserve.

“You sometimes talk about how you grew up in the preserve,” Stiles explained. “How it’s a second home to you, and how you have all those memories with your family there. I know the memories are special, so I went and took some pictures during summer break. I hope these help you remember all those good times.”

Derek blinked away the prickling he felt in his eyes. Stiles may have assumed he was touched by the gift, which was fine. He didn’t need to know what Derek was really feeling. He didn’t need to know that in that moment, he thought Stiles really deserved so much better than him.

“Thank you. It’s perfect,” he choked out. “I – “ He didn’t know how to continue. What else could he say? “My present isn’t –“

He stopped. Stiles looked at him expectantly. Not finding the right words, he leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the last-minute gift bag he’d filled the day before. “Here.”

He looked away while Stiles eagerly dug into the bag. He knew what was in there, and he didn’t need to see the lackluster reaction the younger man would have at the assortment of Reese’s candies he’d find.

“Oh, this is awesome, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed excitedly. “Holy shit, there’s a half pound peanut butter cup in here! Hello, Heaven!”

Derek felt Stiles’ arms wrap around him in gratitude, but he couldn’t find it in himself to return the gesture. The younger man seemed to notice and pulled back. “Derek?”

He turned and took in Stiles’ questioning gaze. He couldn’t do this. They complemented each other so well in everything, but somehow, in this, they were completely mismatched. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he asked in earnest.

“What?”

“My gifts. Doesn’t it bother you that my gifts are so … so bad. Yours are always so … so perfect.” It felt good to get that off his chest.

Stiles gawked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. “Huh? But I think your gifts are perfect. And that’s not a lie. You can tell, right?”

True, Derek hadn’t heard any change in the other man’s heartrate to indicate otherwise, but no one could like his choice of gifts that much. “I just ... I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, how much I care about you, the same way to do for me, especially with the gifts you give me. But I can’t seem to do that.” This was uncharted territory for him, this admission. He wasn’t used to revealing his insecurities like this. Yet, this was Stiles he was talking to, he reminded himself. Stiles, who never had any shame in revealing his every failure and weakness, and who gave his trust without fear of being hurt. Derek owed him the same. “I found your mother’s locket,” he finally said. “The one from the album you showed me. I found it, and was going to give it to you, but I lost it when we fought that witch last week. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the coffee table. He stared at the discard wrapping paper of the collage he’d just received. He started at everything but Stiles.

And then, “That’s what you were worried about? Not being able to show me you loved me?” Stiles’ tone was incredulous, and it was enough for Derek to turn his attention to the younger man again. “You’re an idiot, Derek,” Stiles continued. “For the record, your presents are awesome. But that’s not the point. You drive three hours each way to visit me on campus every other weekend. You cook Christmas dinner for us every year. You help me pack for college each fall. You drop everything and meet me in a forest, no questions asked, when I call. You even spent all night picking zombie guts out of my hair. If that doesn’t say ‘love’, I don’t know what does!”

To put an exclamation to his point, Stiles pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss. “I love you, Derek Hale, and I know you love me. You don’t need to give me things to show me that. You show me every day in the things you do. And that’s more than enough.”

Derek looked at the man sitting beside him, stunned and at a loss. “I –“

“It’s more than enough,” Stiles re-stated firmly. “Now, stop your self-flagellation, and show me how much you appreciate my gift by kissing me.”

Stiles pulled him in again, and this time, Derek did put everything he had into that kiss because the weight of those heartfelt words were slowly sinking in. He loved Stiles. And Stiles … Stiles knew that. He groaned in appreciation at the true gift he’d been given as he pushed the younger man down onto his back, bracing his weight on his arms as he ground their hips together. Fuck it, he felt like he’d really won the lottery in finding Stiles … because Stiles was right, he realized as he deepened their kiss, tasting and teasing the smart, sarcastic, and silly man beneath him.

This … This was more than enough.

#obsessedbutonline #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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