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writemywaytoyourheart · 4 years ago

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Aim For The Heart | Chapter 2: Push and Pull

Pairing: hitman!jk x female reader

Genre: E2L, romance, drama, angst

WC: 8.2k

Warnings for this chapter: stalking, alcohol consumption, a gun, attempted murder, language (jk has a potty mouth) pls let me know if there's anything I should add!

Tag list; @hopekookies @moonchild1 @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @jaebeomsblackgf @sugaslittlekookies

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn't sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn't his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

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Jungkook blinks up at his ceiling, his eyes dry from keeping them open for so long. The light of the sun is starting to peek through his blinds, signaling that morning has officially come. He finally looks away from his ceiling to look at the window where the light is creeping in.

Jungkook sighs and sits up, running a hand through his hair and mussing it up. He's not sure he even got a wink of sleep last night. There's something about this case that's apparently keeping him up at night, and he's barely even started.

He can't help but wonder what this girl did to make herself a target. He's not questioning whether he should go through with it, no, that's not even a question. The money on this girl's head has to be at least three if not four times as much as his previous hits.

Jungkook just wants to know what he's getting himself into, that's what's bugging him the most. He doesn't like walking into situations and not knowing everything that's going on.

He looks around his tiny studio apartment, his eyes blurry. Then, he starts to laugh to himself quietly. With a job that pays this much, he's worrying an awful lot about things that don't matter.

After another minute of delaying the inevitable, Jungkook forces himself to get up and get dressed before grabbing an apple to eat on the way.

As he locks his apartment door behind him, the neighbor's door opens and Jungkook sees a familiar face smiling brightly at him.

"Good morning, Jungkook!"

"Hi, Hoseok. How are you this morning?" Jungkook asks politely.

The older boy smiles even brighter if that's possible as he holds up a rolled-up paper, "I'm great since I've got a new paper to read. Thanks for leaving it, Kook."

Jungkook smiles, "No problem. I was getting one anyway, thought I might as well grab an extra."

Hoseok nods, "Where are you off to? I thought you didn't work at the coffee shop on Tuesdays?"

"Oh, I'm going job hunting," Jungkook responds lightly. "I'm tired of working at the coffee shop." He laughs as Hoseok pouts.

"I haven't even gotten to visit you while you work! Darn." Hoseok snaps his fingers in disappointment. "Oh well, good luck on the job hunt!"

"Thanks, Hoseok." Jungkook smiles and turns to leave, only relaxing when he hears his neighbor's door shut. That's something he doesn't like about having a friendly neighbor, he hates lying to people that seem to actually care about him.

Hoseok was always saying he wanted to visit Jungkook and get some discounted coffee. Jungkook doesn't have the heart to tell him that it was all a lie. In fact, everything he knows about him is a lie.

That's why he doesn't involve a lot of people in his life and he plans to keep it that way.

Jungkook shakes his head to clear it. He's been getting too emotional lately and his head isn't in his work.

"That stops here and now," Jungkook vows to himself as he waits at a crosswalk, watching the cars drive by.

A few minutes later, he arrives at Sunshine Kindergarten.

Jungkook is caught off guard when he sees the girl immediately. He had expected to have to wait for her arrival again today. She's sitting outside the school on the steps, a book in her hands that's long forgotten as she looks up at the sky. It looks like she's talking to someone, but when Jungkook looks around, there's no one else anywhere near her.

The girl cocks her head to the side, then starts to rock back and forth a little as she continues to talk to no one. Too curious for his own good, Jungkook crosses the street to get closer. Maybe if he gets close enough, he can hear what she's saying.

"I th-think...maybe s-sandwiches would be a good idea."

The hell?

Jungkook glances at her as he pretends to just stroll by. She's definitely talking to herself.

"No, no no no. I had a s-sandwich for l-lunch yesterday..." She bites the fingernail on her right thumb as she seems to contemplate something. She takes no notice of Jungkook while she continues to look at her book, then the sky.

"Mm, maybe tt-tteokbokki?"

Jungkook fights the urge to look at her like she's insane and just continues to walk by until he's safe to turn and keep an eye on her.

"Oooh, tteokbokki sounds y-yummy." The girl says with finality. Then she glances at her phone, notices the time, and starts putting her book in her cupcake and cookie decorated bag. A minute later, she's walking into the school and leaving his line of sight.

"What the hell..." Jungkook mutters to himself.

Who even is this girl?

_____________

Today, as Jungkook follows behind the girl as she walks home, she stops several times to talk to babies, dogs, and even a bird.

Jungkook just follows behind in disbelief.

This has to be some kind of an act.

Yeah, that's definitely what it is. This girl is better than he thought, she's got her whole act planned out to throw anyone off her track. She's going to have to do better than acting like some innocent school teacher to throw him off though.

This time, instead of heading straight home, the girl goes to an arcade. When Jungkook walks into the arcade a minute later, he spots her in the same white skirt and chunky tennis shoes, a light blue cardigan around her shoulders.

She's playing one of the games by herself, her face set into one of pure determination. Jungkook goes to a game where he can still see her and starts to play. He's more focused on making sure she doesn't leave, so he ends up losing that first round.

He doesn't really care though, he watches her carefully as she shouts in triumph. A few tickets come out of her little machine and she snags them, running to the front to trade them in for a tiny stuffie.

The girl ends up staying at the arcade for another two hours, collecting enough tickets to trade in for an octopus stuffie that's almost the size of her to go along with the tiny starfish one she got earlier.

She looks laughable as she carries her prizes out the front door and down the street, clutching the giant octopus like her life depends on it. The little starfish rides along safely in her bag.

One more stop is made as the girl gets a little cup of ice cream from a man selling it on the side of the street. The second he asked her if she wanted to buy some, it was like she couldn't say no as she hurriedly agreed and bought one scoop of ice cream. When she leaves, Jungkook goes up to the man and buys a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream to eat while he follows her.

He hasn't had a decent meal all day and he's starving.

It's starting to get dark by the time Jungkook recognizes the streets they're on and realizes she's finally heading home. Weirdly enough, the girl turns and walks down a dark alley, even though the streetlamp near it is flickering on and off.

Doesn't she have any sense of self-preservation? Jungkook thinks to himself.

It might not be good for her, but it's definitely something that could help him out immensely. He'll have to keep tailing her for a few more days to make sure, but if she continues to use this dark alley as a shortcut, then she's practically doing his job for him.

Sure enough, they end up a lot closer to her apartment by the time they're out of the alley. So, it's a shortcut she probably uses quite often. Then Jungkook notices that she hasn't turned around to look at her surroundings this entire time.

She's making this too easy.

He could have this job over with by the end of the week if luck stays on his side. It's always a relief when it doesn't take him long to get a job done.

He's really had nothing to worry about, why was he worrying so much? It isn't his business why this girl is a target, it's his job to carry out his end of the deal, that's all.

It feels like a weight has lifted off of his shoulders as he climbs the stairs to his apartment that night. He says hello to Hoseok, who's sitting outside and reading, before making his way inside.

The first thing he does is jump in the shower, then when he's finished, he makes himself some ramen.

Jungkook sits alone at his little dining table, gently blowing on the noodles in-between his chopsticks. His hair is still damp from his shower, but he's cozy in his sweats with something close enough to a real meal than he's had all day. He gets up once to grab some kimchi and soju from the fridge, then he stays at the dining table until he's downed two bottles.

This happens every time he gets a new job. It feels good at the moment, but he knows he's going to regret it in the morning. That's the only thought that stops him from grabbing a third bottle.

By the time he's settled into bed, he's forgotten what was worrying him so much the past few days. He smiles to himself, relieved that he'll be getting that money in a week at most. He'll have to come up with a plan when he isn't hammered like he is now. That's the last thought to pass through his mind before he's out like a light.

______________

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping.

Not real birds, just the sound that you chose for your alarm. Something you're grateful that Mina helped you do. The other alarm sounds just give you anxiety when they go off.

You don't notice it at first, but by the time you've become aware of your surroundings, you realize that your legs are all tangled up with the tentacles of a giant octopus stuffie. The small starfish stuffie is laying by your head. The events of last night, you getting enough tickets to get your new little friends, makes their way into your brain.

You laugh and snuggle into it more.

No wonder you slept so soundly last night; you had something to cuddle!

You breathe deeply, after a few minutes you're awake enough to sit up and rub your eyes. Smiling to yourself at the sight of the beautiful golden light seeping in through your blinds, you sigh happily. Normally you don't like waking up, but today feels different. There's something that's shifted, but you can't tell what it is.

Maybe it's because you slept so well last night. The nightmares that usually plague your dreams, were absent. You smile at the giant octopus in your arms, "Y-You chased away all the b-bad dreams!" You exclaim, hugging it tightly to your chest, "Thanks, C-Cookie!"

You named the stuffie last night, the starfish also got a name, Smiley, due to the tiny smile stitched into its adorable little face.

You sit in bed for another minute or so, just staring into space and thinking about random things. Then you slip out of bed and hurry to the bathroom to get a quick shower. As the water pours down your head and shoulders, you start to sing a song that's been stuck in your head for a few days. Your voice cracks as you try to hit the higher notes, but you pay it no mind and keep singing your heart out.

With your hair wrapped up in a towel on top of your head, you pour yourself a bowl of your favorite cereal. You play your favorite songs as you eat and hum along to them, your mind wandering. When you're finished, you move to your room to get dressed.

Opening your closet, you stand there and scan the limited amount of clothing you have as if you had millions of choices to pick from. "One, two, three, four..." You count lowly to yourself, pointing at each shirt, skirt, and pants hanging in your closet. After a minute of debating, you decide to wear your light blue flowy skirt today instead of your favorite white one. You pull it on, then grab a white blouse along with some frilly white socks.

Mina texted you earlier to tell you how sorry she was, but she couldn't drive you today. Her work wanted her in at six o'clock sharp. You didn't need to be at work until seven. You reassured her that you would be totally fine walking. You love to walk in the mornings anyway, the fresh air always smells so nice and all the birds seem to be braver as they are out more in the morning. The whole world is just so quiet and beautiful as it wakes up.

You hum to yourself as you pull on your favorite tennis shoes. It takes you a few tries to get the laces done, but you manage.

"What should I eat f-for lunch today?" You ask yourself as you scan your fridge. You really want to try making some kimbap, but the last time you tried that without Mina's help, you ended up with a burned finger and almost lost another finger trying to cut the veggies.

So, you decide to make yourself another simple sandwich today, cheese this time. When you're done putting it together, you get out your cookie cutters and get to work. You have to contain your excitement at the heart-shaped sandwiches sitting on the counter after you're finished.

You stick to letting yourself jump around for a second to let the giddiness out, then you force yourself to calm down enough to grab a container and gently put the little sandwiches in. You grab a few more little snacky things to put in your lunch bag, then you zip it all up.

Finally, you're ready to go!

You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder, then you snag your lunch and clutch it tightly in your fist as you make your way out of your apartment, remembering to lock the door this time.

Mina would be proud of you.

The crisp June morning air hits your nose and you breathe in deeply, a smile spreading on your face as you descend the stairs.

You make good time this morning, seeing as there isn't much to catch your attention today. You arrive at the school twenty minutes before the bell is going to ring, so you decide to sit on the steps again today like you did yesterday. It's just too nice out here to be all closed up in your classroom before your kids even get here.

You pull out your drawing pad from your bag and get comfortable on the front steps. Next, you take out your colored pencils as you scan the area, trying to figure out what you should draw today.

You see something across the street, the kind old man that runs the paper stand. Maybe you could draw him and give it to him as a present when it's all finished! You nod in excitement and get to work, your nose soon buried in your drawing pad.

______________

Jungkook had decided this morning that he would follow the girl from her home. If he was lucky and she was going to walk today it would be a perfect chance to see if she always uses the alleyway or if she had just used it by chance last night.

The girl comes out of her place around six-twenty, in a light blue skirt this time. Jungkook smirks, so she does own something that isn't just that one white skirt.

Her hair is a little messed up as if she forgot to brush it before leaving. She's got a scrunchie on her wrist, but it appears that she has no intention of using it.

Jungkook follows a little ways behind her, as he has been these past few days. With how distracted this girl gets, he could walk right behind her and she'd never notice him.

Surprisingly, she doesn't stop much on the way to the school. She skips a little, probably to the beat of the song she's listening to in her headphones. A few people, Jungkook notices, give her odd looks.

He later finds out when he hears her, that it's probably because she's talking to herself as she looks at the sky, then down to her shoes as she watches herself walk.

He shakes his head, seriously wanting to know what the story is behind this target.

She deserves an oscar, Jungkook thinks in amusement.

Then he notices that she doesn't use the alley, she just passes by it.

Maybe she'll use it again tonight, he thinks hopefully.

At one point, the girl trips over a crack in the sidewalk and lurches forward. He isn't sure why, but he finds himself stepping closer, his hands out to catch her before he realizes what he's doing. Jungkook steps back and clears his throat, watching as she catches herself anyway, and continues to skip down the sidewalk.

When they get close to the school, Jungkook crosses the street and heads over to buy a paper from the old man before finding a bench and settling down on it. He looks over the paper, expecting the girl to just go inside, but instead, she sits on the steps again.

He watches as she pulls a notebook out of her childish bag, then she pulls out a little box. Out of the little box, she takes some colored pencils. She looks across the street and he can tell she's decided to draw the old man at the paper stand.

Huh.

This girl is undoubtedly strange.

She sits and draws in concentration for a good ten minutes, then she gathers up her things and heads inside. She must be too excited about her picture because as she's skipping in she yet again trips on the last step and stumbles. The girl catches herself and continues in as if she's used to tripping over everything.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, then just shakes his head again and goes back to reading the paper. He's got some time to kill before school is over.

It turns out, he would see the girl before the last bell.

Jungkook thanks the man at the food stand and heads to his little bench to sit down and eat his lunch, grateful that he's going to be eating actual meals today.

He digs into the tteokbokki and fish cakes immediately. It's as delicious as he expected it to be and he tries not to groan in satisfaction at the taste of something that isn't just instant ramen noodles. But what he doesn't expect, is to see the girl coming out from the school.

Jungkook chokes on a rice cake as he scrambles to grab his paper and flip it open, covering his face. He settles his breathing enough to be able to swallow the bite that almost killed him, his eyes closed in annoyance. When he slowly peeks over the top, he sees her sitting on the front steps again, a little pink lunch sack in her lap. She moves her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up and expose anything, then she opens the lunch bag.

Jungkook watches in mounting disbelief as she pulls out what looks to be a heart-shaped sandwich.

How much weirder can this girl get?

She says something to herself before taking a big bite of the sandwich, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk that stuffed one too many nuts in his mouth.

He shakes his head and stabs a little rice cake before shoving it in his mouth. He isn't sure why this girl is starting to annoy the crap out of him, but she is. Jungkook looks up again when he hears a loud laugh ring out from across the street. A couple that was walking look at the girl like she's insane, but she doesn't seem to notice.

She just covers her mouth with her hand and snorts as she looks at something on her phone. Jungkook scoffs and goes back to his paper, the annoyance seeping off of him.

How can someone be so annoyingly happy all the time? Damn.

It's like she knows she's got everything she's ever wanted and she couldn't care less about anyone else's problems.

Jungkook despises people like that.

It's as if a switch goes off in him and he's suddenly really freaking pissed off. People like her think that life is so easy all the damn time. Do they ever struggle with anything?

He snaps his paper to straighten it out, trying to calm himself down before he goes into that nasty hole of becoming envious of those more fortunate than him.

Against his better judgment, Jungkook looks over the paper at her again, his chest only burning with more hatred as she starts to count the stupid little carrot sticks in the container on her lap.

Fucking annoying.

By the time Jungkook looks up again, the girl is gone. A second later, the bell signaling the end of lunch rings loudly.

Jungkook sits on the bench in a funk until the end of school bell rings. When he finally sees the target coming out of the school, he stands up and starts to follow her. The same routine he's been doing since Monday. Jungkook mulls over a few things in his head as he watches her stop at several food stands until she's got a cup of rice cakes, a scoop of ice cream, a fish cake skewer, and a mochi that's bigger than usual. He doesn't know how she is able to carry all that, but she manages.

She walks around a bit, looking into the windows of shops, her forehead pressing against the glass as she stares at a gaudy red dress. She stuffs another bite of mochi in her mouth, chewing sadly as she reluctantly drags herself away from the store window.

Jungkook looks at the dress in distaste; it's hideous. He can't imagine someone actually buying that thing, besides, it's probably way overpriced anyway.

He turns from it to keep following her, seeing that she's stopped now at a window where a few puppies are running around and playing with each other. The girl smiles at them and puts her hand up to the glass. A tiny brown puppy inches close to her hand and licks the glass that separates them.

She giggles delightedly.

Jungkook watches, emotionless.

When is she going to head home?

Finally, after what feels like hours, the girl starts taking the streets that lead back to her apartment. Jungkook sighs in relief, then he gets another nice surprise when she turns to head into the alley by her house.

A smirk spreads on his face as he enters the alley behind her. He knows what he's going to do.

_______________

The next day passes just like they have been this past week. Jungkook trails the girl from her apartment to the school, from the school back to her apartment. It's a relief to find that whenever she walks, she takes the alley by her house on the way home.

Now, Jungkook is sure what his plan is going to be.

It'll be sure to draw attention when this girl is dead, there's no doubt about it. No one is going to suspect her of being anything other than a school teacher, so why would someone kill her?

Jungkook has thought through it all. This is what he does for a living, of course he isn't going to be sloppy about it. He'll be done with this by Sunday and no one will suspect anything other than a robbery gone wrong.

He happened to overhear the conversation between the target and her friend that drives the black car. The friend will be gone by Saturday morning, out of the picture and none the wiser.

Jungkook needs to be careful today though. He also overheard them this morning talking about how they are going to be meeting up at the girl's apartment tonight. Something about doing girl shit before the friend leaves tomorrow.

So, Jungkook decides to take the day off. He heads back home, not about to be caught by this friend that's probably a lot smarter than the target.

He'll just come to her apartment tomorrow morning and the plan will be over by tomorrow night.

______________

When you see Mina's car parked out in front of the school, you start running outside excitedly, your bag bouncing as you bound down the front steps.

"M-Mina!"

She has a huge smile on her face when you open the passenger door and climb in. "Hey, girl!" Mina shouts, yanking you over to hug you. "Aren't you excited it's Friday??"

You nod, "Yes, b-but...I am g-gonna miss you." You pout.

Mina shakes her head, "Nuh-uh. Tonight we party, there shall be no tears!"

You laugh as you buckle yourself in, "Ok, I p-promise I won't cry. W-What are we going to do tonight?"

Mina smirks sneakily and nudges your arm, "Oh you'll see~"

_______________

You clap in excitement when you see what Mina has planned for you two. After you unlocked your apartment door and let her in, she had set down a few bags, then instructed you to open them.

Inside one, you found a tub of ice cream, a box of cookies, and a few bags of your favorite types of chips. In the other, there were two blankets, two pairs of fuzzy socks, and a couple different movies.

"We g-get to have m-movie night?" You jump up and down as Mina nods happily.

"Yes! Now you have to pick which movie you want to watch. Should we do romance or comedy?" She starts pulling the stuff out of the bags as you mull over the different choices.

You have a hard time deciding things a lot of the time, that's why Mina usually has you make the choice. She wants you to get some practice making decisions.

After she's set everything up, she turns back to see you on your knees, leaning over the movies that you've laid out on the ground. You're biting the nail on your thumb as you appear concerned, looking at the movies.

Your best friend laughs and moves to crouch next to you. She looks at you and speaks softly, "Do you want to laugh tonight, or do you want to get the butterflies in your tummy?"

You turn to her and a shy smile spreads on your face, "Ok, l-let's do romance!"

A few minutes later, you're cuddled up next to your best friend. You both have fuzzy socks on and blankets, keeping you warm. You each also have a spoon, scooping out the ice cream as your eyes are glued onto one of your favorite romance movies of all time.

Not even three hours have passed when you're both dead asleep on your couch. Soft snores leave Mina's mouth, both of your legs tangled up with each other. The second movie is playing in the background, long forgotten after you both fell asleep not even halfway through.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch groggily. You look around in confusion, forgetting for a minute why you're on the couch. Then you remember and you laugh to yourself as you rub your eyes. Then you look around again.

Mina isn't anywhere and you think for a moment that she's left without saying goodbye. You hang your head, trying not to cry. Then you hear the toilet flush and the water run in the bathroom. You sigh in relief and wait patiently for her to come out.

When she does, you instantly stand up, "Want s-some breakfast?" You offer. She smiles sadly, "I wish I could stay for breakfast. But I have to leave now. I still have to grab my luggage and head to the airport. My flight is at ten."

You look at your phone and see that it's eight o'clock.

"Oh," You say sadly.

Mina walks over and hugs you, "Don't worry, ___. I'll be back before you know it! And I'll call you whenever I'm not working, okay?"

You nod and smile at her to reassure her that you're okay.

She leaves a few minutes later and you find yourself alone in your quiet apartment once again. Your nose twitches as you try not to tear up, then you move to the kitchen to get yourself some of your favorite cereal to cheer yourself up.

You'll have to plan some fun things for you to do while she's gone, or you might just go crazy.

______________

Jungkook has been outside the girl's apartment since eight this morning. He saw the friend leaving a little after he got there. He recognized her shoulder-length black hair immediately and he knew it was the driver.

He had smiled to himself when he saw her get into her car and drive away. He honestly can't believe the luck he's had on this job so far. This is going to be the easiest he's ever had it.

But now, he's sitting on a bench in complete and utter boredom as he waits for the girl to leave her house. It turns out, she doesn't leave her house until almost lunchtime.

By the time he sees a flash of black and grey, he's almost fallen asleep on the bench. But he jerks up the second he sees the girl hurrying down her stairs. She looks totally different today...

Jungkook is surprised to see the girl is in grey sweatpants and a long black t-shirt. A black bucket hat is on her head, seemingly hiding her bed head if the knotted bits of the hair he can see tell anything.

She's usually more put together, but then again, it is the weekend. Not everyone should be expected to go all out to look decent when they aren't working.

But there is one thing that hasn't changed; the girl is still simple as hell looking.

She doesn't have a bit of make-up on as she rubs her eyes.

He gets up to follow her once she's about two blocks away.

Jungkook shakes his head when he sees that even though her outfit is completely devoid of color today, she still has that damned bag covered in colorful treats.

It seems like today this girl is on a mission. She walks briskly and not a single thing distracts her. She only stops once, to get a small bite of lunch from a food stand. Jungkook realizes where they're headed a second before the girl stops.

She looks into the window of the store and waves at the brown puppy. It wags its tail at her and she smiles for the first time that Jungkook's seen today.

The girl goes into the store and Jungkook follows a minute later.

He sees her talking to a woman at the front. She points at the dogs in the front window and the woman nods with a smile. A minute later, the girl has the brown puppy in her arms as she's sitting in one of the little places with a bench and walls to keep the dogs that are being held from getting out.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Jungkook flinches and turns to see the woman that helped the girl looking at him with a smile. "Oh, uh...I, uh..." Jungkook looks around frantically, then he points at a little black kitten that's sitting in a big cage, staring at him.

"Can I uh...hold that kitten?"

Why the hell is he so awkward??

The woman smiles brighter and nods, "Of course! Come with me."

Jungkook tries not to groan in frustration as he follows her to the kitten's cage. This wasn't part of the plan, but whatever.

The little ball of fluff mewls when the woman takes it out and hands it to a very stressed Jungkook.

Damn it.

He flinches when the kitten licks his nose. The woman laughs, "Looks like he's finally found someone he likes. No one that's ever come in here to hold him has ever had him more than a few seconds before he freaked out."

Jungkook forces himself to smile at the employee. Then, he turns to keep an eye on the girl, pretending like he's just talking to the kitten.

"Hi, little guy." He speaks softly, his eyes shifting to see the girl hugging the puppy close to her chest.

After a few minutes, the girl reluctantly hands the puppy back to the store employee, her eyes watering as she talks to the little dog.

"I p-promise I'll come back and b-buy you next t-time, okay?" Then she hurries out of the store, making Jungkook hand the kitten to a random employee. "I might get him another time." He says in a rush before hurrying out after her.

The day is spent much like it is after she gets off work every day. The girl gets some steamed buns and walks through the park, humming along to whatever song is playing in her headphones. Jungkook strolls along behind her, going through the plan over and over again in his head to make sure he isn't missing anything.

He's pretty sure he's got it all down to the last detail, nothing should go wrong tonight. This target is quite predictable, but there's always that chance that they pull something that you don't expect. Jungkook doubts that'll happen with this girl, but he can't be positive. After all, if she is acting, then she could turn it on him in an instant.

Jungkook watches the girl doubtfully as she tries to stuff more steamed bun into her mouth than it can take.

Geez.

Then the girl suddenly plops down on the ground. Jungkook stops and sits on a nearby bench to watch her. She sets her paper bag of remaining steamed buns on the grass next to her, then pulls out the drawing notebook that Jungkook has seen her use several times this week.

The girl gets right to work, her nose stuffed into the notebook as she scribbles madly. Jungkook fights the urge to get up and look over her shoulder at what she's drawing. He used to love to draw when he was younger. When the world wasn't such a brutal place to live in and be accepted.

Jungkook leans back on the bench and tilts his head up to the sky as he closes his eyes. He gets the feeling that they're going to be here for a while. Besides, he can still hear her drawing, no need to keep an eye on her. The feeling of the warm sun on his skin makes some distant memories try and sneak their way into his brain, but Jungkook immediately blocks them out.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh June air through his nose, then blows it out through his mouth slowly. Hell, he's exhausted.

Jungkook reaches a hand up to snatch his black baseball cap off and sets it in his lap. Then he starts to massage the back of his neck, his eyes still closed. He feels like he hasn't had nearly enough sleep this week, the stress of just wanting to get this blasted job done keeping him up at night.

The sound of the girl drawing and mumbling to herself reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to massage his neck. Then he moves down and starts to rub the tense part of his shoulder close to his neck. After that, Jungkook moves his hands to start massaging his face. He rubs his eyes and temples, moving down to his cheeks.

"Hello, mister."

Jungkook flinches at the tiny voice and his eyes fly open as he yanks his hands from his face.

There's a very very small girl standing in front of him, her long black hair in two braids on either side of her face. Her huge dark eyes stare into Jungkook's as he calms his breathing.

Fucking hell. Scared the shit out of me.

"What do you-"

Jungkook cuts himself off when the little girl steps even closer until she's standing in between his spread legs. He leans back, one of his eyebrows rising in confusion.

The hell does this girl want?

Jungkook looks around to see if he can find her mother or father. When he looks back at her, she's smiling shyly, her wide eyes still staring straight into his soul.

"What do you need?" He snaps.

She doesn't react to his sharp tone, she just reaches out and snags his baseball cap. Jungkook tries to protest but she places it on her head anyway. She looks even tinier if that's possible, his hat looking positively massive on her small head. "My name is Mi-Rah." She whispers.

Jungkook feels a twist in his stomach. This innocent child shouldn't be anywhere near someone like him. He kills people for a living.

Where on earth are her parents? Have they taught her nothing about stranger danger?

Then Mi-Rah reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of candy in a very crumpled wrapper. She takes Jungkook's large hand and places it into his open palm. "You look very sad, mister. Sometimes all we need to feel happy is something sweet, no matter how small."

Jungkook tears his eyes away from the little candy and looks at the tiny girl in disbelief. How old is she?

"Uh...thank you-"

"You don't have to thank me, mister. Maybe just...make someone else smile today. Give someone else a chance to be happy." The little girl says simply. Then she takes his hat off her head and places it back onto his own before turning and running off.

What the hell.

That girl spoke like an adult, but she couldn't have been any older than seven. Jungkook shakes his head, then glances at the candy. It has a bit of lint on it, there's no way in hell he's gonna eat that. So, without thinking, he stuffs it into his pocket, then his eyes shift over to where the girl is drawing.

Except she isn't there.

"Fuck." Jungkook jumps up and whips his head around, scanning the park. When he doesn't see a single sign of her, a growl leaves his throat and he starts walking. If that kid hadn't distracted him, this wouldn't have happened.

Jungkook walks around for a good two hours, but he hasn't seen the girl once. Now he's starting to panic. The sun will start going down soon.

What if she already went home?

His plan would be ruined.

Crap.

Jungkook takes his cap off and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He doesn't want to have to wait another day to get this over with.

One more hour passes as Jungkook frantically walks around the city. He even goes to the girl's apartment to see if he can tell if she went home, but all the lights inside are off so she probably isn't in there.

After another hour, the sun is down.

Jungkook curses and kicks at a little stone on the sidewalk, watching it roll into the grass. He fucked up. He got distracted and now he's going to have to do this all over again tomorrow if he's even lucky enough that the girl will go out and stay out all day tomorrow.

After all these years, he's never lost a target before. He feels like an idiot. Out of all the hits he's had, every single one, this weird-ass kindergarten teacher is the one he loses. All because he let some kid come and distract him for a second.

He curses again and resists the urge to throw a punch at something, anything.

Jungkook turns around, ready to head home and curse himself until the day he dies. But he stops short when he sees a familiar figure walking down the street. A bucket hat covers their face, but the unmistakably ridiculous bag is hanging from her shoulder.

"Fucking hell." Jungkook sighs in relief as he watches the girl make her way towards the alley. His luck is back! The second the girl turns into the dark and desolate walkway, Jungkook follows her in.

She's singing softly to herself as she walks slowly, taking her time. As if there isn't a killer looming right behind her.

Jungkook pulls the gun he grabbed from his safe earlier out of his back pocket. The girl stops, then crouches to pick something up as Jungkook switches the safety off his gun.

He raises it slowly.

A tiny laugh slips out of the girl's mouth as she messes with something on the ground, her smaller figure crouched on the dirty cement of the alley.

Jungkook aims carefully, he's got a perfect target.

He can do it.

He can be done with this.

So, why isn't he pulling the trigger?

Jungkook shakes his head and raises the gun again.

Fuck.

The girl stands up again and starts to walk quickly.

Shit, shit, shit Jungkook scrambles after her, almost tripping on the trash piled in the alley. She happens to be the one to trip on it first. Her arms flail out and a tiny shriek leaves her mouth as she tumbles to the ground. "Ow." He hears her whimper quietly. "Owie." She pulls her right knee out from under her and pulls her sweats up enough to see the small cut on it. Ok, enough dilly-dallying Jungkook. Get it done. Jungkook raises the gun once more as the girl gets to her feet and starts to walk away. He's about to call out and get her attention so he can get her from the front. Make it look like a robbery gone bad. That's when he sees the papers on the ground that had fallen out of her bag when she fell. He doesn't know what possesses him to look closer, but he does. Shock courses through him at the drawings he sees. They're fucking terrible. They look like a four-year-old drew them, the coloring not even in the lines she drew. What the hell even is that? A fucking bird? There's something that looks kind of like an apple tree next to the deformed-looking bird thing. Another picture shows an awfully drawn lollipop. Who messes up a lollipop? Jungkook looks up at the girl, who has stopped to look at her phone. "Give someone else a chance to be happy." The tiny girl's words suddenly ring through his mind and Jungkook swallows thickly. He lowers the gun, his arm hanging limply at his side. "Damn it." The girl swivels when she hears the voice of a man behind her, but when she turns there's no one there. She glances at the dumpsters and trash bags and listens intently. When she doesn't hear anything, she quickly turns and runs out of the alley. She runs the rest of the way home, only stopping when she's gotten inside and locked her door. ________________

"Fucking stupid!" Jungkook screams and throws the gun onto his bed. Why the hell did he hesitate? He never hesitates. He's shot dozens of people dead and he never blinked an eye. Why? Why now? This is the most paying job he's ever gotten and now he's fucked it up! He got distracted. That's all. If he hadn't spoken to that kid today or seen those stupid drawings, he wouldn't have messed up. "Ok, that's it," Jungkook growls and stomps over to the file sitting on his coffee table. It's been sitting there since Sunday a week ago. He grabs it and opens it angrily, a few papers spilling out and onto the floor. He doesn't bother cleaning them up. He just grabs the last one, the folded picture of the target. Jungkook unfolds it and glares at the image of the smiling girl. "I don't give a fuck why you're a target. I'm going to fucking kill you on Monday and that's it!" Then he tears the picture in half. He tosses it onto the coffee table and slumps down onto his couch, mentally exhausted. _______________ Jungkook spends Sunday holed up in his apartment. He's never been so pissed at himself before. No more distractions. If he doesn't get this done tomorrow, he doesn't know what he'll do. This hit is driving him insane. The only time he leaves his apartment is when Hoseok knocks and asks him to come over for dinner. As much as he would rather do anything but that, he agrees with a plastered smile. Jungkook sits at Hoseok's dining table awkwardly as his neighbor plates up the fried rice he made and hands a plate to him. "Thank you." Jungkook takes it and his stomach growls the second he smells the food. This is the first homecooked meal he's had in...well as long as he can remember. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and Hoseok laughs, "Oh, I almost forgot! I hope you don't mind, I invited some more of my friends over." Jungkook shakes his head, "I don't mind at all." When Hoseok opens the door, Jungkook sees a tall handsome man with broad shoulders and black hair walk in. He's taken by surprise by the man's beauty for a split second before he snaps out of it and sees another man walk in. This one is shorter and his hair is bleached blonde. The first man has a huge smile on his face and the second looks like his face has been set into a permanent look of uninterest. "Hi! You must be Jungkook!" The taller man says happily, reaching a hand out to shake Jungkook's. The younger man nods, "Yes, I am." "I'm Seokjin! And this is Yoongi." The handsome man turns and points at the blonde. Yoongi nods and sends Jungkook a small smile. "Nice to meet you," Jungkook responds politely, trying not to be awkward as hell. The only person he's really spoken to as an acquaintance for years is Hoseok, and he's only known him a little less than a year. Dinner goes by rather smoothly and the food is delicious, but Jungkook is grateful when he finally steps back into his own apartment. He's usually good at faking with people, part of his job is to charm people and put all suspicion off of himself. Tonight was different though, he felt exposed and like he couldn't put up a facade with those men. He takes a long hot shower, trying to wash away all the stress from the past week. When he's out of the shower and in his shorts, Jungkook crawls into bed and turns out the light. He blankly stares into the darkness for a while, trying not to let his brain run rampid so he can sleep. But he thinks back to the dinner a little while ago, anyway. Seokjin and Yoongi were nice, and Hoseok has always been kind to him. But, Jungkook feels uncomfortable, he feels off. He just isn't cut out for friends. He's a killer. That's all he is and that's all he'll ever be. And killers are meant to be alone. ______________ Jungkook sighs as he sits on the bench in front of the school. Hopefully, this will be the last day he has to do this. The girl had already gone into the kindergarten hours ago, it's nearing the end of the school day. All he has to do is tough it out until tonight. If the girl doesn't stay out till dark, he'll just have to lure her out of her apartment later somehow. He'll figure that out when he comes to it. The bell rings and Jungkook gets up to buy a paper from the old man that he's become quite acquainted with this past week. The two of them chat it up a bit as Jungkook watches the school doors. Eventually, he sees the girl leading a long line of kids out the front doors and down into the grass to wait to be picked up. It takes a little longer than usual, but finally, all the kids are gone and the girl goes back inside. When she comes out and starts walking down the street, Jungkook follows on the other side. As he walks he keeps an eye on her, but that means he isn't looking ahead. "Umph!" Jungkook jumps back in surprise when he sees a little old woman glaring at him after he ran into her. "Oh, sorry. I'm sorry." Jungkook bows his head in apology and the old woman nods curtly before walking around him. He looks back across the street, only to groan at seeing the girl is nowhere to be seen. "Not again." Jungkook moans in dismay. Then he jumps a mile high when he feels someone tap his shoulder. "Excuse m-me, sir." Jungkook turns and his heart stops in his chest when he sees the wide eyes of a horribly familiar girl staring up at him. She's clutching a piece of paper in her hands as a smile spreads on her face when she looks at him closer. Jungkook blinks a few times, the rest of him frozen in horror at being caught. "Th-This is for you." She holds out the paper. Jungkook takes it limply, his eyes never leaving hers. When the initial shock leaves his body, Jungkook tears his eyes away from the girl and looks down at what she gave him. He squints in confusion at what he sees. Then he looks back up at his target. What the hell is this?

_____________________________

a/n: I hope you guys like this one. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it at first. Let me know what you think <3

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Summary: Spencer is not that kind of doctor, but he'll always come when Y/N needs him, even if germs are involved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Warnings: One cuss (sh!t), kisses, small insecurities

Word Count: 2.5 k (was not supposed to be this long but I'm a monster)

Author's Note: From this list (3, 12, 14) since I hit 300 followers! Thank you! This request is from @willowrose99 (look for the bold)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel

Spencer’s half done with his third book that weekend when his phone rang. A weekend spent in the company of Nietzsche and Sartre is, according to Spencer at least, a weekend well spent. He can feel the relaxation that settles in his bones come crashing down as he phone rings.

Thinking it’s Hotch calling the team in for an unexpected case, Spencer, lethargically, walks over to answer the phone. However, realizing the caller is not his boss pulling him away from a restful weekend, but Y/N, his heart rushes with a sudden urge of excitement.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts. He’s more than happy to have Y/N interrupt his weekend; they even made plans for a day out on Saturday at the new Anthropology museum that opened downtown. But all of Spencer’s made up plans fall in front of his face, as he hears Y/N’s quiet sniffles.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know that you’re probably enjoying your rest, but I guess I have a cold. One of the kids at school, I suppose,” Y/N tells him in between sniffles. Her voice is scratchy and Spencer tries not to think about how his brain seems to short circuit at the way his name sounds.

“I’m coming over,” Spencer says, cutting her off. He doesn’t like doing that, in fact he hates when that happens to him, but right now he knows that Y/N is going to try her hardest to stop him from coming over.

“No Spence, it’s germs. You hate germs and I’m really gross and snotty and—”

“Stop, Y/N. Don’t say another word. I’m on my way” Spencer says. He feels a little guilty for hanging up on her, but he knows that if he stayed on the line any longer she’d end up convincing him that he didn’t need to rush over. There’s not a lot of people in this world that can convince Spencer to change his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Y/N is one of them.

Spencer walks into his bedroom, looking for some supplies like a man on a mission. He decides to pack a small bag for the next three days. He’s off from work anyway, why not spend that time making sure Y/N gets better. Spencer packs away a couple of sweaters, flannel pajama pants and two thermal shirts. In the back of his drawer he spots a very old college tee shirt.

A memory, an early memory with Y/N, comes flooding to the surface. They got caught in a rainstorm after a picnic in the nearby park. Spencer changed into his comfortable tee shirt and pajamas. He would never forget the look on Y/N’s face; the way the rain collected on her glasses and for some reason she had yet to wipe them off. She called him an angel. Maybe it’s for bringing her some warm clothes or maybe she’s slightly on edge from their dash into Spencer’s apartment. Whatever it was that made her call him an angel, Spencer never wanted her to call him anything else. Besides his own name, in that scratchy sick voice that made him feel a little guilty for liking so much.

Spencer collects some other things he needs for his stay. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hair brush, and his hair serum that Y/N says she likes the way it smells. When she told him that, Spencer could hardly wait to buy the entire supply from the CVS down the street. He tucks away in this bag with a small smile.

Walking out of his apartment, Spencer locks up and makes his way down to his car. He glances at his watch, realizing that it only took him a couple of minutes to get ready for Y/N. Quicker than what it takes for him to get ready for an emergency case. Then again, tending to a sick Y/N seems much pleasurable then looking at served bodies and mangled limbs.

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After making a pit stop at a small convenience store near Y/N’s apartment, Spencer pulls into the guest parking spot near her complex. He attempts to shoulder the weight of his go bag; even though he only packed a couple philosophy books, they are quite dense. In his hands, he grasps the grocery bags.

Y/N’s apartment, thankfully, is on the first floor. Spencer approaches the door and thinks twice about knocking or ringing the doorbell. The last thing he wants to do is wake a sick Y/N up. He rummages in his pants for his car keys. Attached to the keys is a cat keychain with a spare key to Y/N’s apartment. Balancing the groceries and his own bag, Spencer quietly attempts to open Y/N’s door without possibly waking her up.

Once he finally gets the door open, Spencer realizes all too late that a large orange cat guards the tight hallway entrance. Spencer Reid, though a genius in his own right, is completely aware of the fact that he has two left feet.

“Oh, Zelda! Oh shit!,” Spencer yells as he trips over Zelda, Y/N’s orange cat. Zelda, scared from the noise, leaps from her spot guarding the hallway to the kitchen. Spencer brushes himself from his fall and picks up the groceries that fell during his tumble.

“Zelda, baby?” Y/N calls from what sounds like the couch from the other side of the wall.

“Hi Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just Spencer,” He says, placing the oranges back in his canvas bag and on the kitchen table. He sees Y/N laying on the couch. Surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues, she smiles weakly at Spencer. He walks over to her and like an involuntary muscle, she scoots her feet so Spencer has room to sit.

Spencer, setting the beg on the floor, tucks Y/N’s legs over his. He rests a comforting hand on her calf that’s covered by a worn quilt.

“You didn’t have to come Spencer. I’m really okay, I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t ghosting you this weekend,” Y/N explains. The TV has been left on, but on mute. The colorful lights illuminate Y/N’s face in her dimly lit apartment.

“Nonsense, Y/N. What are friends for,” Spencer offers, wondering beyond belief if he messed up calling them friends. Their relationship had been quite strange for the past couple of weeks. Intense moments of silence where Spencer thinks he’d have the time to memorize every freckle on her nose or small grazes from fingers to wrists where Spencer swears she left scars that he hope would never heal.

“Friends,” Y/N says quietly. Spencer, offering a tight lipped smile, leans forward to straighten the blankets under Y/N’s chin. He presses the back of his hand towards Y/N’s forehead, feeling her warm skin under his knuckles. He’s not sure if the heat he feels is from her bug or from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at being this close to Y/N.

“You’re hot,” Spencer says, not moving his hand from Y/N’s forehead. She, loving the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, uncovers her arm from under the blankets and holds onto his wrist, keeping him attached to her forehead. Not that he’d want it any other way.

“So are you,” Y/N says. Spencer flinches and moves his hand from her forehead like she scorched his hand. In reality, her comment pierced his heart with hope.

“How much cough syrup did you take?” Spencer asks, choosing to face the situation with humor. There’s no way in the world Y/N could ever find him “hot” without the aid of cough syrup or another mind numbing substance.

“None,” Y/N says, reaching around to turn off the television. Spencer, getting increasingly nervous as the minutes of that intense silence passed, mentions to Y/N that he needs to put the groceries away.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Spence. I feel bad enough that you came here just to get sick yourself,” Y/N says. She’s folding the blankets that she was just resting under.

“I’ll always come when you need me to, Y/N” Spencer says, his breath catching and his eyes latching onto Y/N. He looks at her too long and there’s that intense silence again. Silence that is as thick as fog. Spencer can’t see facts through all the love that swallows him whole looking at Y/N.

“Maybe I knew that, and maybe that’s why I called you,” Y/N murmurs quietly, almost like she’s more scared to admit it to herself than to Spencer.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, breaking her gaze to put the half melted tub of green tea ice cream in the freezer.

“I think I’m going to shower, I need to put a fresh pair of pajamas on. I’ll be right out,” Y/N tells him, turning on her heel and leaving Spencer along with his thoughts.

Spencer can hear the water from the shower turn on. He estimates that Y/N will take at least 5 minutes in the shower, accounting for a margin of error, he supposes that he should start to heat the soup he bought from the store now, so it’s ready for Y/N when she’s done in the shower. Too bad all Spencer’s brain power is good for his statistics and numbers, not recipes and romance.

As it turns out, not a single statistic, nor a single digit could account for the possibility of Y/N walking out her bedroom, her hair damp and skin practically glowing, wearing Spencer’s worn college tee shirt. Spencer reckons that his eyes must have been bugging out from his head, given the spirited smile Y/N wears.

“I’m sorry, Spence, you know how much I love this tee shirt. I was putting some of your stuff away in your drawer and I saw this and I just couldn’t help myself. God it even smells a little bit like that hair gunk you wear,” Y/N rambles. She stands, leaning on her door frame, staring at Spencer who holds a wooden spoon that he used to stir the soup.

“You look like an angel,” Spencer says before he can stop himself. He just knows that his face is flaming red.

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, her voice light and hopeful. Spencer recognizes something in it. It’s the way his voice sounds when he talks to her, about her, with her. He can only hope that this is the way she always talks to him. He hopes with every fiber of his being that she uses that light and hopeful voice with him and only him.

“Of course Y/N. Then again, even if I didn’t have an eidetic memory, I’d still remember every single detail about you,”

“Now you’re making me feel guilty about stealing your shirt. You’re being all sweet and kind with me, it makes me fuzzy in the head,” Y/N confesses. She walks to her kitchen table, slowly closing the gap between her and Spencer.

“Keep it, it looks better on you anyway,” Spencer tells her. Her eyes grow big at his words and she presses her lips together like she’s holding something in. But something in her switches. Something in her grows a little sad and Spencer watches before his eyes as Y/N withdraws into herself.

“You can’t say that stuff to me, Spencer. You can’t say that stuff to me and not expect me to love you more than I already do,” Y/N says, her eyes shut and her lips pinched so tightly that it almost looks painful.

“Y/N,” Spencer starts, unsure what he’s supposed to say. His brain always seems to be playing catch up around Y/N. “Can I say it if I do love you back?”

Y/N eyes flutter open and narrow at Spencer, as if she’s reading him. Her eyes scan for any sign of a joke, of a prank, of Spencer trying to trick her. Maybe he should be upset that Y/N is doubting him, but all Spencer can feel is hatred for the person that made her doubt herself so much to not believe him.

“I’ve never felt what I feel when I’m with you, Y/N. No one else has made me feel truly me except you, Y/N,” Spencer professes, setting down the wooden spoon on the counter to reach Y/N’s hand.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way, Spence. I love you, God. That feels so good to say,” Y/N says, letting out a strained laugh. Spencer standing up next to her, places his hands on Y/N cheeks, and tries to lean in lower to kiss her, but Y/N’s finger on his lips stops his movement.

“I’m so sorry, I should have asked. I thought that this is-” Spencer stammers, suddenly very concerned that he violated Y/N in some way.

“Shhh, angel. It’s okay. I want you to kiss me. I really do, but I just want you to tell the facts on you getting sick if you kiss me,” Y/N says, not moving her finger from Spencer’s soft lips. He kisses her finger and grasps her hand with his.

“Sorry, I just had to do that,” Spencer smirks, “but to answer your question, unless you have a bad cough, and some of the respiratory mucus has made its way into your saliva, the cold virus will not be transmitted by kissing,”

“That’s good, so please kiss me, Spencer,” Y/N practically begs, eager for Spencer to leave pieces of him all over her. Eager for him to leave physical evidence of the marking he’s already left on her heart.

“You just might have to take care of me next week,” Spencer counters, peppering kisses over her jaw, knowing he’s purposely avoiding her lips.

“Spencer, I’m sick! Don’t tease me, just kiss me,” Y/N whines, and Spencer caves. He leans in slowly, meeting his lips to Y/N’s. It was the kiss that Spencer knew he’d be waiting for. A kiss that seals fate without a return address. A kiss that reminds him that he’s alive. A kiss that says forever and always.

Spencer, resting his chin against Y/N’s head, closes his eyes. The intense silence that existed between them, now is this light and hopeful air.

“Y/N, do you use my hair gunk?” Spencer asks. He can’t help but giggle with her and breathe in the familiar scent of her hair. He places three kisses on Y/N’s head and gently pushes her hair to the side to kiss down the back of her neck.

“I’m not sure what I love more, the smell of your hair gunk or the man that wears it,”

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kindestegg · 3 years ago

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Deltarune: On tea, relationships, and why people probably need to stop exaggerating

Alright, so ever since the introduction of the “character flavored” teas in chapter 2, there has been a lot of discussion about them. If you haven’t heard of it yet, in Deltarune Chapter 2, there’s an item that’s a tea that you can buy from an NPC and choose the flavor of, giving you a flavor that is named after a party member. So, Kris tea, Noelle Tea, Susie Tea, and Ralsei Tea.

The fun thing about this item is that it can more or less be used to “track” the relationships between the characters, so to speak. For example, if Noelle has the Susie tea, even if she’s not supposed to drink it due to normally leaving the party, she’ll still have a reaction to it, wondering if they would sell this in gallons and recovering an absurd amount of HP, 400 to be precise.

(this is long as hell, so please continue reading under the cut)

These teas are also actually a reference to a book series Toby is a fan of, Sideways Stories from Wayside School, which does have a chapter about students having ice cream flavored after their classmates. This is most evident when the characters drink their own tea, which tastes like nothing to them and recovers the least amount of HP: 10. In the books, the students also could not perceive the taste of their own flavor of ice cream.

So, the fandom gets ahold of this information and starts testing out the teas and how characters react to them, right? The thing is, I’ve seen people kind of exaggerate the importance of these items and even the meanings of them, and while I think everyone’s entitled to harmless headcanons speculating on the relationship of characters, the problem is people are using these teas as immutable proof and part of their theories.

One of such exaggerations comes mostly in the form of the infamous Ralsei Tea, as to which Kris apparently does not show much reaction, though curiously Ralsei is still happy to see Kris drinking it, and it only recovers 60 HP. For reference, the teas usually cap at a good 120 HP, which is when a character loves the flavor, Noelle being the outlier because she really is just that in love with Susie. For the most part the Fun Gang has pretty positive reactions to each other’s flavor of teas, recovering 120 HP… with the exception of Kris’ reaction towards Ralsei tea.

And the problem starts now: Due to this, people started using this little tidbit in their theories, claiming this was proof that Kris actually dislikes or even hates Ralsei, that we should be ashamed of ourselves for making Kris hug Ralsei, that it is torture for them that we choose nice dialogue options towards Ralsei, some going as far as to claim this is somehow tied to the infamous “Ralsei is secretly evil” theories.

But does this speculation hold any actual weight when analyzed more deeply?

… No. I’m sorry, it just does not, I’m not going to entertain this. In this post, I’m going to deconstruct how the teas really work, and exactly why claiming that this is good enough proof that Kris would dislike Ralsei is an exaggeration at best and downright false at worse.

To truly make a precise conclusion, we must first look at the full picture. We know that 10 HP means “tastes like nothing”, and we know that 120 HP means “tastes amazing”, but are there any other reactions that aren’t either 10 or 120, aside from the 60 HP we already know from Ralsei tea?

Pictured: Noelle reacting to Kris tea.

Pictured: Kris reacting to Noelle tea.

Pictured: Ralsei reacting to Noelle tea.

Pictured: Noelle reacting to Ralsei tea.

I think what people forget here is that you don’t have to really adore someone or outright hate them. Sometimes you’re more neutral on people. And I think that’s what happens here. As you can see here, Ralsei recovers 10 less HP for Noelle than Kris does for him, and still calls her flavor “soft and sweet”. Meanwhile, Noelle claims his tea has “nothing in it”, even though she still recovers 50 hp.

Does this somehow mean Ralsei hates Noelle, or she hates him, for that matter? … No, that wouldn’t make sense, they just met, they know nothing about each other. We do learn here one important thing though, flavor is not tied to HP recovery, as in, the flavor of each character’s tea will taste different to a different person based on what they perceive of them.

As a comparative example, while Kris tea tastes like apple juice to Susie due to her always smelling the apple shampoo they use, Kris tea tastes like blueberries, which is a reference to Kris’ appearance in the Dark World. So while Ralsei tea tastes like nothing to Noelle as she can’t perceive him well enough yet, it still heals 50 HP due to it not being her own tea, and Ralsei heals for the same amount, but he seems to perceive others based on appearance and wants to find something good to say, so he ends up tasting it as something “soft and sweet” because that’s what Noelle appears like.

We can also gain a new “base” HP recovery that is accounted for when characters drink tea that is not their own: 50 HP. And we know 50 HP means “I was literally just made aware of your existence and can’t comment much on you yet”. Now, if you look at Kris and Noelle, they recover 70 HP from each other’s tea. In Noelle’s words, they have been neighbors their entire lives, yet they still find it hard to call each other friends, necessarily. Although you can choose the prompt “we’re friends”, the reasoning still stands: Kris and Noelle just don’t have that much to say about each other. If you remember, when you visit Rudy at the hospital in chapter 1, then Noelle afterwards, they’ll comment on how Kris usually isn’t as involved or interested in their neighbor’s business, suggesting they really don’t hang out as much as you’d think.

So, 50 HP, 70 HP. Where does that leave us for Ralsei’s 60 HP? Does it actually reveal evidence of hatred or at least dislike?

… The answer, if you’ve been paying any attention, is no, of course not. If 50 HP means “literally just learned the other exists” while 70 HP means “not exactly great friends but have known each other for a long time and shared memories”, then that puts Ralsei at a pretty advantageous spot all things considered. Even with him acting somewhat suspicious, even with him being a creature from an entirely new magical world Kris was made aware of literally a day ago, even with Ralsei’s clingy behavior, Kris considers him more than just some random person they just met, and almost a good acquaintance to the level of Noelle.

And sure, you could still bring up comparisons to the higher HP recoveries, like Susie recovering 120 HP from everyone despite also not really being exactly friends with any of these people for too long, and for that I will say…

That girl will eat anything and considering they are all flavors she enjoys she’ll obviously down it in a second, and

Susie is just… a more open person. Once you get her guard down and let her know you truly want to be her friend and think she is cool, she’ll immediately consider you a friend and part of her team. (It’s also kind of sad in a way because it shows she may be desperate for the feeling of belonging but let’s not get into that right now).

Kris, however, is a much more reserved person. Once again I must remind you how everyone in Hometown comments about Kris not usually being very outgoing or talkative. Hell, even when they drink Noelle tea, no one can tell whether they like it or not. Susie may be an exception to this rule, simply because they do have a lot in common, particularly to the fact she was also always an awkward quiet person that their classmates could never place and would often get in trouble. Even if she was mean to them and a downright bully in chapter 1, teens can still have some pretty weird appreciations, and you can tell they must have been wanting to befriend her from the start. It simply just is a better relationship to them. Otherwise, people they haven’t invested in knowing well will probably not cause the same reaction.

Bottom line is… why are we having this debate again? In the end, it feels rather silly. Yes, Kris doesn’t recover 120 HP from Ralsei tea. Big deal? That doesn’t mean they hate or even dislike him, that there’s a deep turmoil and conflict going on between the two already. Ralsei is just a new friend they are still getting used to, that’s it. Can’t blame the kid for having boundaries.

For further proof, if you learn more about the content that is being referenced here, you’ll learn that in the same chapter of the book, there is actually a way for one’s flavor to taste “horrible” due to a person being perceived that way, but at no point in these reactions it’s suggested anyone’s flavor tastes bad, that any of them are disgusted, so I doubt any of these reactions can be seen as dislike.

Dang… this got a little long… but I just felt like I had to make this post because, reiterating, I find myself a little irritated at the fact people will use the tea’s reactions as part of their theories, claiming it as actual proof, when it is far from proving anything.

And before someone brings it up, yes, Kris has been shown to prefer Susie over Ralsei, do I have to point out the flaw in that logic? Preferring someone doesn’t mean you outright dislike the other person.

Moral of the story is: Don’t take conclusions for your theories without good backing in canon, feel free to make your headcanons but don’t state it as proof, byeee.

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers #Commander's orders

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aching-tummies · 3 years ago

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if i was your partner... I'd take you on a date to the county fair. I know you have a sweet tooth, and I promise to buy you whatever you want. When we get there, we haven't had dinner yet so we get a big meal of hamburgers and hot dogs, and some fried dough and cotton candy for you. I tell you I want to take a lap around the fair to see what rides there are, and get you as many treats as you want. Ice cream, churros, sodas and milkshakes all end up in your belly... 1/?

I’ve never been to a fair/amusement park or anything so when my beloved suggests we go I’m excited. Since I was a child, I’ve always wanted to go to these things because friends that have gone always have such cool stories about the rides or cute ones about laughing and having fun with their dates. Also…the occasional fair food item sounds delicious.

At the same time, I’m wary of the food because I’ve eaten stuff like ice cream, churros, milkshakes, and hot dogs before. Not at a fair setting and definitely not all in the same day. Past experience tells me that these are the kinds of foods that give me a queasy tummy ache individually. The idea of eating them all in the same day has me apprehensive. Absentmindedly, I press my hands to my tummy as though guarding it from the thought of such a nasty ache.

The day of the fair arrives and excitement has given way to nerves and those nerves have gone straight to my stomach. As we get out of the car and approach the fair grounds my stomach clenches and does flips. An empty growl splits the air but peters off into an inaudible, nauseous burble. I haven’t eaten much since you told me about our visit to the fair. The thought of fair-food filled me with dread since I knew we were coming and I guess I subconsciously lost my appetite in preparation…to try to give the fair-food a blank slate as though in hopes it’ll hurt less if it’s just the fair-food bouncing around in my gut. I rub my tummy with both hands, squeezing my eyes shut against the sensations rolling within it. I want to bolt. I want to go home. It’s like my tummy knows exactly where we are going and knows it’s in for something nasty.

I toy with the idea of asking that we just go on rides. I try to formulate the words, to make up a reason why I won’t be eating anything at the fair. Variations of “my tummy’s upset” or “I ate earlier and I’m full” come to mind. The latter wouldn’t be something I could fool you with. We’ve been together the whole day and you know naught but water has passed my lips all day. If my stomach weren’t sickeningly empty, I would definitely have thrown up by now. The anxiety of the impending situation twists in my gut, and I feel like a solid mass is forming inside my hollow gut…an imagined mass that sends urgent “puke” signals to my brain. I feel my stomach muscles convulse and I squeeze my eyes shut as it snarls again.

Your hand comes to my stomach and jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Aww…hungry?” You say as you pat my stomach through my clothes. You heard the hunger part of the growl and you took my hands on my tummy as a sign of a hunger pang. Or so I think.

“Uhm…n-not exac—"

“They sell food in there. Let’s grab some hotdogs before we check out the rides.” You pat your own stomach, triggering a growl that has no hint of nausea in it. “I’m hungry too.”

My stomach burbles as you all but push me forward, walking us to the entrance of the grounds. Each step brings the thought, “dead man (stomach) walking”. I had opted to eat less/not at all in preparation for this day because I didn’t want to come to the grounds with an upset tummy. My own stupid anxiety over what this kind of food does to me foiled that plan. If I had known my stomach would be upset entering the grounds regardless of whether or not I had eaten anything I would have just eaten something rather than endure hunger for so long.

“Uhm…d-darling? Hotdogs…uhm…y-you know what hot dogs do to my stom—”

“Ooh! Chilli-dogs! Yeah, those beat hot-dogs any day. We’re getting some!” It’s like you didn’t hear me. Tears prickle my lashes as I realize you’ve cut off all my attempts at telling you something is wrong. I open my mouth again but the glint in your eye shuts me up.

You know. The way your hand is snaked around my waist and how your palm is pressed up against my tummy is a new clue. The gentle, subtle rubs you’re giving me, that I haven’t noticed until now—you’ve done similar motions before. When I lost a dear family member you made those same motions on the back of my neck and on my shoulder when you put your arm around me. It’s your go to ‘comforting’ move. You know what’s on my mind. You know how upset my tummy is. You know I’m anxious about the impending stomach ache. And I know about your fascination with my stomach; we aren’t just here for the fair.

“Let’s walk and eat. Fair grounds are huge and I don’t know exactly what rides they have this year. Let’s do a lap, or two, and fill our tummies with all the different food as we narrow down which ones we want to go on.”

You’re still rubbing lazy circles on my tummy. Your voice and the gentle rubs slowly bring me out of my own head and the tight vice-like coil of anxiety in my gut unclenches just a little. The anxiety lessens just enough for a hungry growl to squeeze out. You know exactly what rides are offered. You studied the pamphlet thoroughly and I know for a fact you have a ranking order of your favorite rides. You love the fair and are a seasoned fair-goer. The walk is for my benefit. Suggesting two laps and suggesting that we slowly fill our bellies is entirely for the sake of my tummy. Starting at the fair with an already upset tummy wasn’t in the plan. You don’t just want to deal with an anxious tummy or a sickly one…the food and the fair-experience are part of your script for tonight. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. If I let myself throw up it’s all over—that’ll be the end of the night. I don’t want to rob you of your opportunity to enjoy the fair. It only happens once a year. I don’t want to imagine having to deal with an entire year of an anxiety-induced stomach ache—knowing that you’ll try again next year.

“O-Okay…uhm…c-could we just split the food? I-I just want a bite or two of everything.” I pat my tummy. “You know my capacity is garbage.” You grin.

“Sure! One large chili-dog it is. Wanna choose what flavor milkshake we get? Oh, and the churros at one particular truck are to die for—you gotta try ‘em!”

And…we’re off. Your hand slides away from my waist and takes my hand instead as you pull me into the fair. I slide a reassuring hand on my tummy, hidden behind my messenger-bag. I rub my tummy gently, trying to quell the upset.

2/? ... and by the time we're ready to ride a ride, I can hear your tummy grumbling noisily. I ask if you're okay, and you insist, though you look a bit nauseous. We end up on the Tilt-A-Whirl, and afterwards, your stomach is louder than ever. I ask if you're hungry, if maybe that'll help your loud, bloated aching belly, and you say yes. More treats end up in your tummy, until its aching so bad you can barely stand...

A large chili-dog, a sub-par burger, and a churro have disappeared between both our guts and I’m currently polishing off the large choco-banana milkshake we ordered. Sure, you had most of the chili-dog and the burger was because you were still hungry—I’ve let you have the lion’s share of the solid foods. I meant to let you have most of the milkshake too, but you’ve been sneakily finding ways to have it end up in my hands and to my lips.

My stomach is comfortable right now. There’s a barely-there queasiness in it but it’s slight enough to be ignored. It’s quite noisy though, churning away as it tries to break down what’s gone into it. You’ve been rubbing my tummy as we’ve been walking for the last ten minutes or so and I’m sure your rubs are the only reason my stomach is comfortable right now. Without the rubs, a normal fast-food combo has been enough to give me a twisting ache in my gut, enough to get me to cry and dash off to a bathroom to be rid of the mess.

“Oh, hey! Let’s go on that!” You gesture to the roller-coaster we’ve arrived at. I’ve never been on one. “Oh…damn…no drinks allowed on it.”

I raise my eyebrow quizzically as I rattle the empty milkshake cup. You offer a sheepish smile and hold up a full cup of cola you’ve been clutching in your other hand. “Came with the burger. Could’ja help? My tummy’s gettin’ kinda full.” You place a hand on your slightly rounded tummy.

Sure, it’s only cola…but neither of us is in the habit of wasting food. Steeling my nerves, I grab the cola and begin to suck at the straw, taking it down in gulps and thanking the heavens that it’s small as far as beverage containers go.

You pat my grumbling tummy as I finish the cola, forcing a sharp belch to pass my lips. “You didn’t have to chug it, we could have come back.” You coo as you continue to pat and rub my tummy. I groan, realizing my stupidity. My stomach sloshes sickeningly and rumbles violently at the sudden addition.

“Nah. We’ve already done two laps around the grounds. If we’re going to ride anything now’s the time.” A part of me just wants this night to be over. That cola pushed the discomfort meter in my gut higher. There’s a tight pressure inside of me right now and I want to believe it’s just the carbonation from the cola.

We share a car in the roller coaster. I grip the bar. Do not throw up. Do not throw up. Do not throw up. Repeats like a mantra in my head. Just as the coaster starts rolling, you release the bar and put both hands on my gut. You knead into my tummy, forcing burps out as I grip the rail tightly for the both of us. We have seatbelts and all that…the bar is just there for an extra level of safety. You’re experienced, you know we won’t fall even if we aren’t white-knuckling it so you put your hands to a different use. Each loop and sharp turn of the coaster causes your grip on my tummy to tighten. A particularly sharp turn sends your entire form slamming against me and your elbow meets my stomach and has me feeling something wet surge up my esophagus but I fight it down. You’ve managed to get most of the gas out of my tummy before the big loop of the coaster, at which point you offer one last pat to my tummy and turn to face forward properly. My stomach churns as we slow and watch the looming loop seeming to creep up on us. As we crawl up the loop my own hands clutch my tummy and I begin to squeeze, short and small burps burble out of me. You raise an eyebrow but are more fixated on the coaster. I want the gas out. I don’t want the inversion to cause a burp to bring up something else when we’re completely upside-down.

As we climb out of the coaster all that is left in my gut is a dense mass of thick sludge swirling around in a lake of cola. Some of the milk from the shake most definitely curdled in the acid bath of the cola. I let out a few moans as I walk and my hands have not left my tummy since we got off. I cradle my churning gut as I make my way to a miraculously empty bench.

“Babe, you okay?” Concern colors your voice as you skip after me. I need a few minutes for my stomach to re-orient itself. I can feel the thick sludge swimming in my gut and it is not a pleasant feeling. The squeals and whines from my gut betray that it doesn’t like the sensations either.

You’ve disappeared and I’m too absorbed in the activity in my tummy to care. Bathroom break, maybe. I press into my tummy cautiously, wincing at the churning grumble that is pushed forth from it. I can’t help but groan under my breath. My stomach really sick. I feel like it’s a sack of vomit churning violently rather than a stomach at this point.

I hear the crinkle of paper and I open my eyes. Something crisp and golden is shoved into my face as though you are presenting me with a bouquet of flowers.

“Is that?” My eyes widen.

“Yup! A Bloomin’ Onion! I saw a stall selling ‘em while we were on the coaster.” You announce proudly as you plop yourself down next to me.

Eagerly, I reach to tear off a piece of the treat, my nauseous tummy forgotten.

“I thought you’d need something to settle your stomach and maybe absorb some of the mess in there.” You pat my noisily churning tummy. “A-also…you’ve always wanted to try this thing, right? ‘cuz you love onion rings.”

“Mmph.” I give you an affirmative grunt as my mouth is full of the treat. You giggle and tear off some for yourself.

Once the onion has disappeared between the two of us my stomach is feeling moderately better. I’ve eaten most of it. I’ll definitely come to regret putting something so oily down the hatch, but I take your hand and suggest more rides before it has time to bloom into a full-blown sickly ache. I’m resigned to it now. We’ve got precious few minutes before my stomach begins to literally belly-ache about what’s gone into it.

We arrive at your favorite, the Tilt-a-Whirl. Nothing will stop me from letting you enjoy this ride tonight. I hope my stomach gets the memo. As I hear the screams from the ride, I notice someone off to the side of it, hurling into a convenient trash bin. I grimace, willing that not to be me.

“Babe, you sure you’re up for this?” You’re worried. I take your hand as we get in the (thankfully) short line.

“Yeah. You love this ride. It’s fine.” My tummy grumbles deeply, sounding like a dying lawn mower or something.

You slide your hands around my waist, rubbing and patting at the upset vat that is my stomach. Your hands are magic. By the time we’re at the front of the line my stomach is still churning, and aching, but not as violently as it was before. There’s a very present ache in my guts but it’s just under the threshold between a full-blown stomach ache and something that could just be classified as discomfort.

The seatbelt is tight against my tummy and I have doubts, almost caving and telling the staff I’ve changed my mind and to let me off before the ride has even begun. As the cup spins the centrifugal force causes the belt to cut into my stomach jostling it every which way. I grow steadily more and more nauseous as the ride goes on. I don’t have your miracle hands on my tummy and that thought is enough to make me want to cry. Seeking some escapism, I let my mind wander as I try to focus on anything but the violent churning in my tummy. This ride has accomplished in thirty seconds what it took your hands thirty minutes to fix.

I imagine how this ride looks from above. It must look pretty cool—my thoughts are interrupted by a new one: how this ride looks from above is how my stomach feels right now. Uneven, unpredictable churning with little bits seeming to churn within the mess. Yeah, the inventor of this thing must have seen some cruel irony in fabricating a ride that was an external representation of what it was causing internally.

When the ride ends I practically stumble into you. You laugh, dizzy yourself, and we move together. I’m leaning on you, whimpering and clutching at my distressed tummy. I can feel it. I want to throw up. The vomit signals are very strong but it feels like one of the chunks of curdled whatever has blocked the path to my esophagus. My stomach convulses and I whine as it grumbles angrily.

Your hand comes to my tummy. “Aww…baby…you hungry? The most of a solid thing you’ve eaten today has been that onion. Maybe something more solid in your tummy will calm it down?”

I can no longer tell if you’re sticking to your kink-script or if you genuinely believe my sickly tummy is in need of some proper sustenance. My stomach feels too awful to care so I let you lead me by the hand wherever it is you want us to go.

I don’t protest when something is shoved into my hands. You tell me to eat and I mechanically bring it to my mouth and take bites. I don’t even know what it is you’re making me eat, but many different treats disappear into my tummy. I think there was a burrito of some sort at one point. At least two different churros have made an appearance too. A slice of pizza, dripping with grease, is definitely one of the items if the layer of grease floating in my gut is any indication.

“Ergh…ugh…” I curl, bringing my knees up and sandwiching my arms over my belly. You led me to a sort of hidden bench. We’re kind of behind one of the tents for some carnival game and there’s tree-coverage around us. You wanted some privacy while you fed me and I’m grateful for it because I’m certain my stomach is about to spill out of my mouth and I do not want an audience. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover how bad it feels. I feel like I’ve swallowed lava and the molten mass is burning away my digestive organs. The lingering ‘discomfort’ of an ache threatening to bloom finally explodes and I curl up tightly, the added pressure not doing any favors for my poor, achy tummy. “Ugh…urp…n-no more…please? Ugh…babe…it hurts. My tummy hurts so, so much…” My stomach protests just vocally as I do.

I end up flopping over onto my side on the bench, knees still curled up to press my arms into my sickly belly. You guide me to make sure my head is on your lap. You try to get me to uncurl, to grant you access to my tummy, but my limbs refuse to budge so you settle on rubbing my side and back.

“Aww…baby…maybe a walk would settle your tummy?” Your voice is sickly sweet and I groan as it goes straight to my stomach, feeling like I just guzzled another cola.

“Umph…nuh-uh—nope. Not gunna.” I curl up, my tears soaking into the fabric on your lap as I whimper a little. I try to bring up a burp, desperately trying to relieve some of the pressure in my gut. Nothing comes up. I know there’s some in there—there has to be—but each time I clench my abdomen it feels like there’s something sickly blocking the path of the gas. If I were to really push it I could maybe clear the blockage…but I’d almost definitely end up vomiting all over your lap.

“Babe…how about that walk?” You suggest again and this time I glare at you from your lap. I glare at you and uncurl just a little. You can see the pain lancing through my eyes for a split second. I watch as your gaze travels to my gut and then I jab at it with a hand. I bite back the groan of pain so that you can hear the resulting rumble. The turbulent sounds from the jab continue for a few moments even as I curl up again.

“A walk? You kiddin’ me? My tummy hurts, babe. Hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it. I can’t even stand up straight ‘cuz my tummy is imploding; and you want me to walk?!”

I’m being curt with you. I know I am and I regret it even as the words spill from my mouth. It’s the stomach ache. I haven’t had such a nasty one in a very long time.

3/3 I feel terribly you're not feeling so well, and offer to help you to the car. You lean on me heavily, and I rub your aching belly as we make our way back to the car. I have to help you in, and the seatbelt barely fits over your round tummy. I rub it as we drive home, and carry you into our house where I'll nurse your tummy back to health... or maybe give you more snacks ;)

“Oh, baby…I’m sorry.” You’re genuinely sorry and that makes me feel even worse about snapping at you. I pull a hand out from its position on my tummy, reaching over to brush against your face, to apologize in some way.

A sharp cramp shoots through my unhappy tummy and I let out an exclamation of pain. It felt like I got punched, from the inside. I whimper and close my eyes, breaths labored as I clutch at my tummy again. My stomach convulses violently and you can tell that I’m trying very hard both to vomit and to keep it in me. The struggle exhausts me and it breaks your heart to see it go down.

The fit dies down after a while and I eventually lie still on your lap. My stomach continues to churn within me and you can hear the sickly burbling. You’ve taken to carding a hand through my hair and using your other hand to rub at whatever you can reach—arm, side, back. The shooting cramps die down somewhat and I manage to uncurl. I find your hand and guide it to my stomach and you rub it gently. I’m still biting back grunts with each breath but you can tell that your massage is slowly doing something for my sickly tummy.

“Do you think you can get to the car? I think we’re done here.”

I whimper, shaking my head and guiding your hand back to my tummy. “Not yet. Ugh…please?” I look at you, silently begging for more rubs. “If I get up now I’m gonna hurl.” You continue rubbing my tummy and we continue in our positions for a while.

My stomach is fairly distended. I usually don’t eat much in a single day and you managed to cram a whole lot of stuff I usually wouldn’t touch into me today. Sugar, fried foods, salt, milkshakes. This is stuff I only allow myself to indulge in a couple of times a year…and only one at a time, usually. Like…before meeting you I was the type to see a can of cola as a treat. That was my dessert quota for the day or week. After we got together the occasional scoop of ice-cream became another dessert option—but always only one scoop. This is our first time at the fair as a couple and you really let me have it. You gave me the ‘full’ experience in more ways than one and my tummy is suffering for it.

“Urp…ugh…nachos? When did I eat nachos?” You laugh at my observation, a sign that I’m doing a bit better.

“I think it was between the second burrito and the banana split.” You inform me as I sit up.

“Second? Banana…split?” I’m surprised. I know I was out of it when you were feeding me, too caught up in the agony swirling in my tummy, but I didn’t think I was that out of it. “Wait…when was the pizza?” You laugh at my dumbfounded expression.

“I only gave you a few bites of the banana split ‘cuz I wanted it…and ‘cuz it looked like you were going to be sick at that point. You ate a whole slice of that pizza before the ice-cream.” My stomach burbles as it’s reminded and I put a hand on it.

“I don’t think that qualified as pizza. It feels like it was grease with a side of dough and cheese.” I groan, patting my tummy gently and rubbing up and down slightly. I still feel sick but the crippling ache has subsided…for now.

I take your hand and get up off the bench. You’re up immediately and drag one of my arms over to rest around your shoulders. We stumble our way toward the exit with your hands resting on my waist. My other hand on my belly is more to support the extra weight while yours provide some much-needed rubs. It’s a team effort to get to the car in my state.

You help me into the passenger seat as I moan. The cramps are building in intensity. You fasten my seatbelt and I almost push you off when you put too much pressure leaning over me to get the thing buckled. Now that I am sitting up my belly is really prominently distended. As you back up I immediately recline the seat, giving my belly some much needed room.

“Do not throw up in the car.” You admonish.

“Urgh…urp…ulp…ugh…no promises.” I whimper. You close the door and the impact jostles my belly. I clutch at it with a groan, swallowing back something thick and wet.

It’s a long drive back home. I’m reclined as far as the seat will go. You have one hand on the wheel and the other rubbing absentmindedly over the crest of my tummy when it’s not needed to steer or shift gears or whatever.

A part of you feels horrible for what we have done tonight. While both of us are into tummies, this is the first time we’ve ever done something like this. We’ve done some minor stuffings before. We’ve done other things in the realm of tummy kink before. This is a first where you stuffed me with foods that would normally cause me great distress all on their own and you decided to cram them all into me in the span of six hours.

I’m lost to the pain as we pull up to our place. I’m in the same incoherent state I was in when you fed me all those things I didn’t register. Gently, you unbuckle the seatbelt, guiding it home so that it doesn’t have a chance to upset my belly further. I groan and nearly lose my gorge as you slide your arms under my back and my knees and lift me out of the car with a massive heave.

The vertigo goes right to my tummy and I’m a groaning mess as you whisper reassurances at me. We’re almost home. Don’t throw up on you. Etc.

You set me on the couch. The bedroom is too far a walk and you don’t want to risk dropping me. The extra weight of all that indigestion is more than you anticipated.

I can’t move. My tummy is pinning me down and the threat of vomiting is extreme. I feel like a thermometer or something with the sludge going up and down my esophagus.

You set a bin within reach of me before disappearing to the kitchen. I whimper, wishing I could call out. I need your hands on my belly. I feel so sick.

I hear clattering in the kitchen. The tell-tale signs of something being microwaved. I hope it’s a heat pack or something even if the added pressure of it is sure to make me vomit. You return with a plate of pizza bites and my stomach pulls a move where it feels like it’s trying to drop out of me and run. I can’t move. I’m too full, too sick, and in too much pain. I only hope you have a night of rubs planned and that you’ve got a hair-tie somewhere ‘cuz there is no way this night ends without me throwing up.

#AT Asks #Tummy RP #bloated belly #Tummy ache kink #Stuffing #tummy stuffing

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lgcmilan · 2 years ago

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CHARACTER UPDATE Q3 2022 POST TYPE: SOLO TITLE: YOU GAVE YOUR PASSCODE TO WHO???

what are the top 5 most used apps on your phone?

“hmm...” milan looks around her cautiously “this is off the record, right?” she says with a nervous laugh. “my number one most used application is tiktok. this app might cause my downfall, but i check it at least twice a day.” she admits with a bashful smile. “second is youtube to watch videos. i mostly watch kpop music videos. i’m a fan of kpop first and foremost after all. i also like to watch my favorite youtubers and variety channels like mmtg! third is kakaotalk, of course. fourth is melon to listen to music and last is just the explorer! i usually use it to search for information.”

what is the most random note in the notes app?

“if i have to be honest, i barely use my notes app because i always forget to check it. if i have to note something down, i prefer to use my notebook, or use my conversation with noeul oppa to leave note to myself since i know i’ll open our chat the next day.” as she speaks, she scrolls searches for the application in her phone then through it. “speaking of noeul, all the notes are actually written by him.” she searches through them for the most random. “ah, yes, noeul oppa has my code. that was an oversight on my part; i gave it to him once and thought he’d forget but...” she trails off, concentrating on the her phone for a moment. “ah! here: ‘why are we so sure dinosaurs looked like the model simulations when i doubt even the human simulations that are done based of older bones are probably incorrect’ also ‘ what if aliens have been happily living in the deeper parts of the ocean’” she raises her head up, looking incredulous. “how am i supposed to know???”

what was the last message or call you’ve received and who was is from?

“the last call is definitely my mother!” she says with a chuckle. “i really like chatting face to face but i really don’t like talking on the phone. i don’t know why, it’s just feels like a chore to me. even my father knows that i prefer texting or voice notes, but mom insists on calling me. for the last message... it has to be daeho oppa (though he should text me first more often), yujin unnie (we share a bedroom and often keep up with each other like that!), my wifey nayoung” she makes fingers heart while naming nayoung, clearly found of the girl. “or noeul oppa.” with a single tap on her phone, the application is opened. “noeul oppa again. if you think his text messages are better than his notes, you are wrong: ‘i don’t know why the fact that there are finger guards to eat finger foods angers me so much. i’ll let chopsticks slide with hot cheetos? but buying something else entirely to avoid cheesy fingers’. it ends with an anger emoji.” she raises her head again, and sighs, looking tired. “i replied: ‘oppa, i really think you don’t have enough struggles or troubles in your life at the moment...’”

what were the last 5 songs that you’ve listened to?

“three of them i don’t even need to check: fabula’s ‘cool’, crystallis’ ‘fiesta’ and BLAZing’s ‘i got a boy’. since we’re preparing for the dance showcase, i’m always playing the songs whenever i have time, even outside of rehearsals to visualize the movements while i listen to them. ‘cool’ was already in my playlist, but now it’s likely to be the top song i listened to this whole year.” she admits. “in fourth place is ‘that that’ by siwoo sunbae. it’s such a fun song!” she hums part of the chorus while doing some of the moments with her hands. “and lastly ‘cat & dog’ by txt sunbaenim. it’s an older song but it always cheers me up and gives me energy. sometimes, i relate to the lyrics too.” she finishes with a shy laugh.

what were the 5 most recent online searches?

“five more recent? definitely something silly...” she says, once again checking her phone for the reply. “‘is there patbingsu in los angeles’, for my defense, it was hot and i was really craving that over ice cream that we usually find here. ‘what is 104 fahrenheit in celsius’” she lets out a big sigh. “seriously america, please stop using weird units. the rest of the world measures distances in kilometers, weights in kilograms and temperature in celsius. why you gotta be like this?” she vents, clearly annoyed by the situation. “anyway, it was really hot like i said. if you don’t know the reply to 104 fahrenheit, i won’t tell you~ go find out yourself~” she says in a teasing tone. “‘can cats eat bread’ there was a cute stray that approached me and i only had bread. a little bit is fine! so i gave it to the cat. it ate and left. ‘sweet potato in english’ and finally ‘good fried chicken in los angeles’. it wasn’t that good by the way. definitely the first thing i’ll eat when we return home!”

#lgc:cupdate004

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avenging-criminal-bones · 4 years ago

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After All This Time || Chapter Four

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2128

CHAPTER WARNINGS: hehe i don't wanna spoil it, but angst, language, case talk, the usual

A/N: This is the longest chapter so far, and honestly it took less time than some of the other ones. I got really into it.

TAGLIST:

@kingofthetwats @wanniiieeee @uwu-sebastianstan @piggyinthesea @yoshigguk @thatisthemagic @errorcosplay67 @ivebeenthinkingboutu @big-galaxy-chaos @rynfoxsleeps @phoenixsnape1 @mojofun @pachiibatt @enjoymyloves @thenewnormalforensicator @word-scribbless @zezezena @chelseyjoyce @ellyhotchner @lora21

AS ALWAYS, Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

* * * * *

Halfway to the drive you remember to ask, "So who are we interviewing at the school?"

"James O'Malley, who is the principal, and Margaret Solokowski, one of three first grade teachers." His response is automated as he looks to the right out the window.

Your mind drifted back to the case from when you were only nine. It was the reason you wanted to be involved with S.W.A.T or the FBI.

Your brother was playing in a sand pit at the local playground when you turned around to go buy the two of you some ice cream cones from the truck driving slowly past.

There was a priest with a group of nuns walking through the park, discussing something about the "Lord's Will". You didn't believe in any of that stuff then, so you rolled your eyes and told the nice man what ice creams you wanted.

"There you go, kiddie."

"Thank you!"

Spinning on your heel, you licked your own ice cream as you went to get back to Joey, your brother.

Something was wrong though. When you looked, he wasn't there anymore. He had been playing with a group of three kids, and none of them were there anymore. Turning back around you remember the Priest had been driving away with the nuns. You saw the two other childrens' mothers crying and talking, flailing their arms wildly at each other.

"Joey? Joey where are you," you wandered around the play set for a minute and started crying when you couldn't find him.

Wandering up to one of the adults scattered through the play area, a mother with a small baby in her arms, and said, "Can-" a sniffle before, "Can I borrow your phone? I need to call my mom."

"Of course, honey," she shuffled the little girl to her other hip and grabbed the phone from her other pocket. "Here you go sweetie. Is there anything else you need?"

"No. Uh, thank you. I'll bring it right back."

Taking a few steps away you called your mother's house number, suddenly grateful for the pressure she had put on you from a young age to remember her house number and her cell number.

"Mom-"

Hey, honey,- what? What's going on?"

"Mom, I can't find Joey. He's not here. I just walked ten steps to get our ice cream and he's- I can't find him, mom. And the other two kids were gone too. I don't know what to do, he's gone. Mom-"

"Honey?"

"I can't find-"

"Y/N!" You finally stop rambling and quiet down enough to hear your mom's voice and your own heartbeat. "We'll find him, okay? Tell whoever's phone this is what happened, and then wait there for me okay? Ask the lady you borrowed this from to call the police and help you explain what happened and I'll be right over there okay? It will take me five minutes, okay?"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too, Peanut."

Hanging up the phone you do as she told you and explained your situation to the kind woman with the baby. She agreed to help you call the police, even though the other parents had probably already done it.

"Are you okay, Y/N?"

"Y/N? Hey. Y/N! You missed the turn..."

You snap out of your flashback and look around you at the road.

"What?"

Hotch let out and annoyed puff of air and pointed to the road that you were about to drive past. "That's our turn. You know, to get to the school. That's right there."

Mumbling under your breath you turn the signal on and slam the breaks after seeing there was no one behind you. You smirk to yourself when you see that the man in the passenger seat had to throw his arm out so as not to hit the dashboard.

"Agent, if you do not drive this vehicle with care, I will personally revoke your privilege of driving on the clock," he threatens as he adjusts the lapels on his suit jacket.

You ignore him and park in front of the school, getting out and straightening your own blazer.

"You let me do the talking, L/N." He declares as he brushes past you, not bothering to hold the door on his way.

Murmuring under your breath, you follow him in.

Almost immediately, you are stopped by someone from campus security and flash your badges in reply. The guard simply nods and sends you through, pointing to the principal's office.

"Mr. O'Malley? I'm SSA Aaron Hothcner, and this is Agent L/N. We are here from the BAU in Quantico investigating the homicides that I'm sure you've heard about. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions about the victims; they were all students here." Hotch's air of professionalism was back full force rather than his childish antics only five minutes ago.

O'Malley shakes his head slightly, a red tint coming to his ears as his eyes scan the clock. "Actually, I don't have the time right now. I have another meeting coming up shortly-"

"Sir, your meeting isn't for another fifteen minutes," the secretary states before turning back to you and Hotch, "Surely that's enough time for you and your partner to ask him a few questions?" The young woman looks at you when she speaks, her eyes silently pleading. She must know something as well.

"No, Anne. I really don't have time for that-"

"Hotchner, if you want to talk to Mr. O'Malley, maybe I could ask," you pause, reading her desk tag, "Ms. Brink a few questions?"

She nods her head eagerly, and as much as Hotch wanted to argue, he has seen her desperate look as well and would have suggested splitting up if you hadn't.

"I was just about to say that. Mr. O'Malley is there somewhere we could go that's a bit more private?" Hotch questions, signaling behind him, "If that's a break room that would be perfect."

O'Malley nods, standing up. He walks towards the door, opening it as he turns back to look at the you and Hotch. There's a glint of something in his eyes and-

And he's running.

"Go! Hotch, go, go, GO!" Before you even finish urging him to chase the principal he's running after the man. "Anne, if you know anything suspicious about James O'Malley you need to tell me, and you need to tell me now."

Tears well in the younger woman's eyes as she nods, fists bunching in the skirt of her peach colored dress. "He, uh. He has made- you know. S-sexual advances on a few young girls. He did the same to me, b-but when he d-did it to me he said he would kill the next girl that w-was in here if I told..." Anne breaks into sobs as she hangs her head low.

"Anne, listen to me. None of this is your fault. You were only trying to protect these girls and yourself. This has been extremely helpful, thank you, Ms. Brink." Gently you reach over and squeeze her hand, sliding a box of tissues towards her before quickly slipping out of the office.

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you call Garcia.

"BAU Sperm Donation: You jack 'em, we pack 'em. How can I help you my pretty?"

You don't have time to laugh, though you so badly wanted to. "Pen, I need to to pull everything you can find about James O'Malley. He's the-"

"School principle of Opportunity Elementary. He's 37 years old, comes from a highly religious background- Papa Bear was a Priest. He- oh boy. Oh no. This is not good." You hear computer keys clacking on the other end before you prompt her to keep speaking.

"Yeah, Pen? What's not good?"

"This guy," she clicks her tongue, "And his entire recent history when you deep-dive in my Fancy Google. This guy is on review for child molestation and rape charges."

You slam your fist against the nearby wall and curse lowly, "Do you have any large property in his name? Anything big enough to have some sort of shrine, or altar? Also, with enough room to... oh God... cleanly chop off a-"

"Ah! AH! Stop! I get it. I'm looking."

After a moment she sighs, "Bingo! 142 Walnut St. right outside of the town that the school is in. Twelve minutes and forty-three seconds from your current location. I'll ping the directions to you and notify the rest of the team. They are slightly further away, so you and your partner should get there first. Hurry, Y/N, he might have another kid there."

"Bye, Pen." You hang up and start running to the SUV, surprised to see Hotch there, already waiting in the passenger seat. You wonder why he hadn't sat on the other side and remember about the key in your pocket.

Getting in, you slam the door, not bothering to buckle and say, "Take my phone and pull up the directions from Pen. That's where our guy is going, she think he has another child based on video footage from this morning's video feed of the back entrance of his office."

Hotch surprisingly doesn't argue, instead doing exactly as he was told while you sped in the direction you had come from before.

Withing ten minutes you had made it to the house, not saying a word to Hotch as your mind ran through all of the possibilities of what you'd find. This was your first child case since you moved to the BAU and honestly you weren't handling it very well.

When you made it to the barn, you snatched your gun from your holster and kept it aimed towards the ground. Motioning to Hotch you signal that he should go left and you will go right.

Clearly, he didn't like you making all the calls, but he was so upset about losing the guy the first time around that he didn't have it in him to command you down.

Beginning your move-in, you start to circle the barn just how you had told Hotch and kept your gun up as you crept towards the final turn to the back of the barn. Out of the corner of your eye you see the rest of the team start to jog over to the barn from the forest behind the bar, they must have decided to use a different entrance as hopes to catch O'Malley off guard.

Taking a moment to steel yourself you keep your back against the side of the barn before spinning in a quick step to raise your gun again and aim at the final possibility of where he could be-

But it was just Hotchner.

"L/N, he must be inside, turn back the way you came and we'll go in together." His voice is stern as you nod in compliance and turn around, raising your gun as you see a little boy. With a gun trained on him...

It's Joey. Joey is there dead in front of the church, a big cross burned into his chest... his five year old body.

That's all you see, just like that day so many years ago. That's all you see, so you jump forward in front of him and you-

Fall. You fall. And you can't tell why.

Blood, there's blood under you. Who's hurt?

"Y/N! Oh my God, Y/N!" Anything between your name being said the first and second time is lost in your fuzzy ears.

You don't realize why the voice is yelling at you until you feel the burning, fire-like pain, radiating up your left side.

After a moment, you feel hands on your shoulders, one of them moving to slap you in the face a few times to get your eyes to open, which they did.

"Hey, you need to stay awake. Okay? Y/N! Open your eyes. Look at me." Emily transfers her hands to your hip, pressing down on the wound there roughly. Your body instinctively crunches up to get away from the new, uncomfortable pain, but Emily presses down on your chest, keeping you to the floor.

You try to mumble something, but the second your mouth opens, it's as if you completely lost your voice.

"Shh, Y/N, you're going to be okay, you just need to keep your eyes open okay?

"What the hell, Aaron?! You were standing right there, man, why didn't you go to her?! She was fucking shot and you just stood there! You're our leader, start fucking acting like one!" You can't pick out all the words, but you can tell that it's Derek's voice and you smirk to yourself.

The last thing you heard before passing out was Derek ripping into Hotchner like you'd been waiting to for months.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mutlichapter #hotch #hotch x reader #angst #fluff #whump #aatt #after all this time masterlist #chapter four

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years ago

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Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Title: Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~14K

A/N: This one is a doozy lols. Solnyshko is Russian for sunshine.

Men of Irreverent: Casting

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Nice shot." You hug Spencer, his bony frame shaking just slightly as he laughs at your comment. "Bet you don't make fun of my marksmanship again, huh?" he jostles you as the two of you stand off to the side while Derek and Aaron wrap up with the SWAT team leader and ensure that both Novak and Cavanaugh are set on their way to the hospital, with appropriate protection in place while they await their CIA handler. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you smirk, before looping your arm through Spencer's as he leads you out to the car. As you pass by Agent Novak in a gurney, he nods at you in thanks. You offer a smile back, trudging through the field surrounding the warehouse. Spencer doesn't say much else and you know he's trying his best not to overwhelm you. You'd seemed shell shocked when Derek had gotten to you and it was only now, when the adrenaline was seeping out of your system, that you felt more capable. You lean against the car with Spencer, your mind fogging up as you careen through everything that had happened. You hadn't seen Clyde yet, so you imagine he's at Quantico. You'll have to ask Aaron about that. It's a wonder they'd managed to actually find you, but you'd never really doubted the team, no matter how much the odds had been stacked against them. Aaron had been the one to take out Ramos. He hadn't trusted any of the SWAT guys to do it. Not when it came to you. He wouldn't trust anyone else with that. Not that he had told you, but you had known even before you got to him. You see Derek and Aaron walking towards you, Derek pulling you into a quick hug before getting into the front driver's side. You expect Aaron to go around to ride shotgun, but he follows you in as you enter the back of the car, leaving Spencer to go sit up front. When you're buckled in, you look over to him. His eyes can't seem to leave you and you're struck by the thought: he'd been genuinely scared. The car rumbles to life as Derek pulls off onto the road and with one quick glance forward to ensure that neither Derek nor Spencer are paying you much mind, you close the distance between you and Aaron in the back. You press up against him and claim his mouth, a silent reassurance that you are indeed alright. He knows what you're doing and he lets you kiss him, the silent ambient noises of the car drowning out the two of you in the back. If Morgan or Reid noticed, they wisely kept their mouths shut and their eyes trained on the road in front. He can taste you – taste your apology, your regret. He feels your shoulders relax under his touch as his hand comes around to hold you to him. As you withdraw for a breath, he can't help the curve of his mouth from slipping into a small smile. "Does this mean we're back together?" he murmurs against your lips. He's not expecting a response beyond a laugh or agreement, but instead he sees confusion flicker onto your face as you move back to look at him properly. "What are you talking about?" He explains then. How Strauss had come to his office with the paperwork. How he'd seen your signature on the first page and she had expected he would sign the second. How he had indeed signed it, trusting that you had your reasons.

You feel your breath leave your lungs in utter disbelief. He'd thought…he'd thought you'd ended it. Just like that. He had signed it out of sheer faith and then gone home to Jack and pretended like nothing had happened. You can feel the pinprick tears in your eyes as you come to understand some of what he too must have gone through in the last couple weeks. You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth dry as you sniffle and clear your throat. "I – I didn't know," you tell him softly, your hand grasping his in the darkness. You'd never known he would have to sign something too. You'd only been shown that first page. You thought that would be it. That just you telling Strauss would be enough. Had you known – "Oh honey, I am so sorry." Your whispered apology is followed by your mouth on his once more, lips ghosting over his face, pressing to his skin. Physical atonement for the agitation and concern and worry you had no doubt caused him. Had you known that he too would have had to sign something, you would've spoken to him. Would've forced yourself to explain what was going on, as much as you could've. Perhaps you should've known better but back then, fresh after the day Clyde had taken you, your mind had been in disarray and you'd acted on instinct alone, doing your best to shield both him and Jack against any blowback from your assignment. You'd acted out of fear. Aaron only nods, drawing you in closer, tucked so close to him, you're practically in his lap. He's reacting to it a lot more calmly than you'd expected. No berating at you not thinking things through, because of course he would have to sign something too, and why wouldn't you just talk to him. Maybe, implicitly, he understood how much of a mess you'd been back then, trying to do whatever you could to remove the trail leading from you to him and Jack. Making sure that if anyone were to come after you, they would be safe.

You can feel his lips at your hairline as you push closer into him, running your fingers down his back, finding that pressure point that has him relaxing entirely under your touch as he holds you. The silent understanding that this – the two of you – was unshakeable. You'd left him and trusted him to find you. He'd let you go and trusted you to return. *------------* Clyde thought you were the mole. That you've been planted at the Bureau under your father's orders. Aaron and the others had filled you in on that as you'd neared Quantico, with Aaron still fretting that you needed sleep and rest before dealing with any of this. If it were up to him, he'd have you hooked up to an I.V. and put on bedrest. As it stood, it was not up to him, so now you're sat in a glass conference room, awaiting the rest of the team. The second you had arrived back at the Bureau, a couple agents had met you all in the parking garage and the four of you had been led past McKinney's office and to this room. You imagine the rest of the team will be joining you shortly, as you all had been the closest. It's really starting to sink in – Clyde thinks you're the mole, he'd talked to McKinney, you were escorted here by agents. You'd tried to protest when they'd met you in the garage, but one look from Aaron had you silent. He wants you to go along with this and not cause problems as long as possible. Buy time to figure out what was going on and what Clyde's angle was. It's only been a minute since you all were let into the room, Morgan and Reid were sat in chairs around the large table while Aaron stood leaned against it. He watches as you look out the glass walls, your eyes squinting, and he can tell you're thinking through what to do next. Aaron finds himself uncharacteristically calm regarding the situation – now that you're back, it shouldn't take much to convince McKinney just how ridiculous the entire notion of you being a mole really was. He isn't being naïve. He's aware that Easter potentially could have a case, given everything you've told him about your deal with your father. However, as it stands, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't the truth, and he can't imagine any proof that would show otherwise. "Can I borrow your phone?" Aaron starts at your sharp voice, your hand reaching out towards him almost impatiently. Brow furrowing in confusion, he's about to ask why, but the urgency on your face has him handing the device over before he can. He watches as you move away to the opposite side of the room, unable to step outside with two agents still standing guard. He shares a look with Morgan, who only shrugs as the two of them await the end of the call. With your head turned away to prevent Reid from watching, there isn't much more that they can do. You wrap up your call quickly, unsure how much time you have before Clyde and McKinney arrive, when you hear the door opening behind you. "Hey Cap." Your heart stops. No. It wasn't – You turn slowly, eyes widening as you see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. A soft gasp escapes you as you take him in. Then before you know it, you've barreled over to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his encircle your shoulders, tucking your head into his chest. Only one word comes to your mind, making its way down through you and settling against your ribs – Solnyshko. John presses a kiss to your hairline and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. Because if Aaron's arms were home, then John's were the lake house growing up. The one you think of fondly with the rose tinged glasses of nostalgia. Back to warm summers and too much sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your hands. To the thrill of jumping off the pier, scared and screaming and thrilled all at once. To the soft touches and gentle kisses shared on the patio with boys whom you would move on from but always remember. To the child you were, wide eyed and curious, wanting to have it all. He's a different kind of home. "We thought we could use an extra hand." You turn around at Aaron's deep voice coming from behind you, and there's a smile on his face that you're not sure how to interpret just yet. You can feel tears clouding your vision as you look at him, John's warmth still surrounding you, his arm still holding you near as he keeps you by his side. He'd called him. He'd called John. For you. Of course he had. Thank you, you mouth at him, catching just the hint of a second smile on his face before you're tackled by Penelope, who shoves John to the side. Behind her, you can make out Emily, JJ, and Rossi entering the room as well. "Oh my goodness, sugar! You're alright! I mean of course you are. We knew you'd be alright. We never doubted it, did we?" she asks Derek frenetically, whom you assume is behind you, but doesn't wait for a response before continuing her frenzied inspection, her hands running over your arms and hair, making sure nothing was out of place. "But you're alright, right? I mean when we saw what Easter did to you on that video – so, so awful. Who would waterboard someone? I mean, sure, you can learn anything on the internet, but that is still abhorrent. But don't you worry because I'm hunting down the other guys that were there with him, so we'll take care of them and of course the Director already knows, because Hotch showed him, and – " You break away from Penelope, trying to keep pace with her mile a minute voice, trying to understand everything she'd just said, trying to figure out what video… There's a sharp inhale that you hadn't realized was your own. Your lip quivers, eyes wide as the sinking, dreadful realization reaches you. In the background you can just barely make out John's voice asking what video she's talking about. You can't do anything but shake your head in horror. No. No. That's not. No. Aaron. No no no no no. He's looking at you and you know. He knows. No. You can't breathe. You can feel the air leaving your lungs but none seems to be making its way back in. Through the din you can make out Penelope and Derek moving towards you to make sure you're alright. John is still standing right where he'd landed when Penelope had pushed past him. Aaron. He'd seen. He knows. Oh God. Behind you, the door opens once more. You don't turn around to see who it is. Not yet. Aaron watches silently as you freeze, your shoulders tensing. He'd stopped himself from grabbing you right as the door opened, not wanting to give any visual to McKinney and Easter alluding to yours and his personal relationship. He knows better and he allows the part of him that knows the political play here, to overrule the part begging him to go to you. To seize you into his arms and draw you away from this room, this building. Take you home where none of this could touch you. No one could hurt you. Instinctively, your hands graze over your stomach, stopping momentarily before continuing up to your face and wiping away at the tears that had fallen. He sees you take a deep breath. Then another. Lips pressed tightly. Hands made into fists. It's like watching a metamorphosis in reverse – the unbridled, frantic panic and fury slip away, replaced by a cocooned version of you, held tight and wound together, guarding your soft spots within. "If everyone could please take a seat." Director McKinney enters the room after Easter who had already made himself at home near the front, a stack of folders and a tablet in his hands, his eyes curiously looking over the lot of you inside. You, still turned around and facing the other way, and every other person in that room, holding their breath and waiting for you to turn back. At the sound of McKinney's voice, you push through, forcing your mind to shut out the pieces of information that were not helpful in the moment. Aaron had already talked to you on the way up about not doing anything to get on McKinney's bad side right then, and you know that refusing to acknowledge his presence while you had a breakdown in the corner wouldn't earn you any brownie points. So, simply put, you didn't have the luxury to absorb it all. You couldn't think about the fact that they knew – that Aaron knew – about what Clyde did, why you had gone to Strauss, the baby. Your baby. His baby. Your baby. You didn't have the time to let it sink in, to take him aside, to give you both the time to fall apart. You couldn't. Not now. Later. First this. Later. With that, the steel trap clamps down, caging it all away. Turning, you grab the first chair in front of you, while everyone else who had been crowded near the doorway shuffles in. Aaron quickly settles down to your left, a brush of his hand to your shoulder and a softly muttered Later that was meant for your ears alone, but was caught by John as he claims the chair to your right. As you look up, you see Gladys trotting in after McKinney, a righteous look on her face as she carries what looks like a bundle of cloth and a mug into the room right behind her boss, and walks over to set both items down in front of you. With a quick motherly brush of your hair, she leaves as quickly as she came in, defiantly avoiding McKinney's eyes. It's quiet as everyone settles in, the shuffling of clothing and people, accompanied by the groan of government budget issued chairs. You reach out for the bunched up fabric on the table in front of you and unravel it to reveal a regulation F.B.I. crewneck. You're quick to slip out of the stiff leather jacket you still had on from a day prior, revealing a strappy top beneath, which you cover up, basking in the warmth the sweater provided. Gladys had also brought you a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens and you reach for it gratefully, taking a quick sip, the hot liquid burning a molten streak down your throat in the best of ways.

From the corner of your eye you can see the regret in Aaron's posture as he sees you enjoy the most basic of comforts offered by someone else. Something he should've considered. You're able to offer him only the slightest of assurance with your eyes – he'd found you, that's what was truly important. *------------* "Who is this?" McKinney asks, gesturing towards John once everyone was seated and Clyde was preparing to speak at the front. You exchange a look with Aaron and John both, realizing that perhaps John's presence wasn't entirely Bureau approved. "I am exercising my right to retain private counsel," you speak up before either one of them could. "That –," McKinney begins, only to be interrupted by Spencer, " – is allowed per Section 56 Code 19 of the Employee Handbook. All agents retain the right to employ private counsel in the event of accusations levied against their person as a function of their role within the Bureau." Reid rattles it all off quickly and not for the first time, you find yourself jealous of his eidetic memory. Yours was good, but not nearly like his. You shoot Spencer a grateful smile, before meeting McKinney's eyes once more. "You're paying him?" The question comes from Clyde, eyebrow raised, in a tone so derisive that you have to wonder if he had ever liked you at all, or if the man had spent the past number of months that you two worked together, silently seething at your very existence. You don't have to look at Aaron to know that he's already pulled out his wallet, when he hands you a twenty dollar bill. You slide it across the table, over to John, never once turning away from Clyde's critical look, your own unwavering under his scrutiny. He had no idea who he was going to war with. McKinney looks between you and Clyde, before sighing and nodding his okay. "Very well." He turns towards Clyde to give him the floor. Your eyes narrow as you take a sip of the hot chocolate again, careful to not show any discomfort outwards. Beneath the table, you can feel Aaron's hand resting against your thigh, the heat of it reminding you that you aren't alone. McKinney had let you have them all here with you, likely in reaction to that video, if Aaron had indeed showed it to him. He had the kindness to not make you be alone with the man who had tortured you. If Clyde was going to be accusing you of anything, he'd have to do it front of everyone. On your other side, you feel John shift, his knee skimming against yours before settling down to be right against it, a silent pledge – he's there too, and he isn't leaving. *------------* "I believe we all know why we are here," McKinney starts, his hands interlaced together on the table, a serious set to his brow. He's doing his best to keep this entire procedure civil. You know he's doing you a favor by allowing you to be there when Clyde offers up his accusation formally. He's offering you the opportunity for rebuttal before any of it is written down and documented. Saving you, potentially, from an entire formal review. Part of you wonders who that is meant to protect however – you, Clyde, or McKinney himself? You nod to indicate that you understand, meeting McKinney's eyes. Walter McKinney – as you'd come to learn – was a fair man and his rise in the Bureau had been no fluke. He knows that the reason you'd brought in the BAU at all was because you hadn't trusted anyone – not even him. You have to believe that when the two of you do eventually speak alone, that he would understand why. Clyde clears his throat, turning everyone's attention to him and the screen. Him, you were extremely wary of. You had been immediately after he'd tortured you, of course. However, he'd managed to convince you, that for him, that had been standard operating procedure. He'd been able to use your own fear and insecurities to convince you to go along with it. Were he not sitting across a table, gearing up to accuse you of treason, you might have allowed that one act to pass – he had simply been trying to make sure you were prepared for the worst. Not anymore. "I would've preferred this meeting be held behind closed doors," he begins, tilting back in his chair and keeping one eye trained on you at all times as though he thought you'd try and pull a disappearing act, "However, no matter. I will be walking through the evidence gathered against Agent L/N, proving that she has been a plant working against the Bureau since the very beginning." His declaration is followed by silence from everyone else in the room, and were it not for the seriousness of the accusation, you might've laughed. The screen at the front of the room flickers on, and a black and white surveillance quality photo of an airstrip appears. You're disembarking with your father at your side. You're eighteen, your hair up in a ponytail, John's Columbia Law School hoodie, rumpled from far too many hours on an airplane. Beside you, you feel him tense as he too realizes exactly how old this photograph is. How young you were in that. It's from that summer, so very long ago. When he and Julian had gone on that trip, just the two of them. You'd gone with your father. There's a man standing by a car at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane. For the first time in over seven years, you set eyes on Volkov again. "For those of you who may not be aware, the man in the photo is Alexander Volkov. Volkov is wanted by many Eastern European governments, and is notoriously on the books for the Russian government, despite no official ties. If you recall the bombing in Sokovia, five years ago, you're looking at the man responsible." Easter had been part of Olympus. He hasn't confirmed it, but that was the only thing that made sense. You look around and know that at least both Aaron and Emily had reached a similar conclusion. Nothing else would explain him having surveillance photos of you from a decade ago. In the wake of Clyde's explanation, you can feel Aaron's eyes on you from your left, but you don't dare look at him. The rest of the team is taking his lead and not saying anything in response either, for fear they might say the wrong thing. Ultimately, it's John who speaks up. "She's eighteen there, practically a child. What exactly is the purpose of showing us this?" Clyde's eyes narrow as he realizes that this won't be quite as easy as anticipated. If he'd expected Aaron or the others to display any shock or revulsion at his revelation…well, he really didn't know your team that well, did he? "It sets the foundation," Clyde counters, his hand once more on the controller. "A pattern of behavior, indicative of less than honorable intentions, bad company, and plenty of opportunity." With that, he clicks a button on the remote, replacing the photo with another one. This one is of just you, exiting a building on Harvard's campus. You have to be in your second year – your hair is dyed because Matthew liked it better that way and you'd given in to his request. You're carrying books in your hand as you walk, hair whipping around in the wind. It's you, but it looks nothing like you. With a deep internal sigh, you sink in further into your chair. You had a better idea now of where this was going. "This was taken outside the Lowell Lecture Hall. You were seen entering and exiting the building the entirety of the Fall semester, right in time for the Math 55 lecture," Clyde announces, his eyes issuing a challenge at you to explain this away. Unfortunately for him, his jab doesn't quite land with the audience, as Rossi raises an eyebrow at him. "What does a Math class have anything to do with this?" However, instead of Clyde, it is Reid who answers him. "Harvard, oddly enough isn't known for its advanced math program but it is known for one particular class," Reid explains quickly, his eyes flitting over you with some curiosity. "When you're good at math - good enough to get into Harvard - you take a math class called "Math 15". When you're better than that you take "Math 25", but when you're the best, the absolute best, you take "Math 55": Honors Advanced Calculus and Linear Algebra. Graduates are immediately employed by the U.S. Government because they're too dangerous to work anywhere else. More specifically, they're employed at the NSA." Reid's spiel is met with mixed reactions. Rossi shifts back in his seat, hands crossed in front of him, an oddly smug look on his face. The rest of the team looks mildly surprised as they process what Reid had said. Aaron sits beside you, unshaken, and John of course had already known you had attended the class. Clyde clears his throat, shifting forward in his seat. "Thank you, Agent Reid," he says to Spencer in a clipped tone that has you bristling in reaction. "Doctor." He looks up at your interruption, brow quirked in question. "It's not Agent. It's Dr. Reid," you clarify, your lips pursed, jaw tight. "You took this class?" McKinney asks, finally breaking his silence since Clyde had begun. You swallow, meeting his eyes. He was still your mentor. What he thought about you, still mattered. You can feel the attitude you'd just given Clyde waning ever so slightly. "I audited it. For all anyone knows, I would've flunked out." "No, you wouldn't," McKinney replies quietly, his gaze appraising. His dark eyes holding all the knowledge on you that he'd amassed in the past year of being your closest supervisor within the Bureau. He has no doubts when it comes to your capabilities. "Why didn't you just enroll in it?" You shrug nonchalantly, the large crewneck shifting off your shoulders slightly as you do. "It's a large commitment. I didn't want to be beholden to every assignment. I already had a lot on my plate." It wasn't a lie. Not exactly anyways. McKinney looks like he doesn't quite believe you. You thrive with having too much to do. "Is that the only reason?" he digs, his eyes firmly on you, watching for anything, any sign. You let out a short breath of exasperation which you manage to disguise, deciding to just give them what they wanted. "I didn't exactly want to be on a list of people considered dangerous by the US government. I wouldn't have said yes to working for the NSA. I wanted to be a lawyer." Your eyes cut to John and he meets them, because you both know – you had wanted to be a lawyer because he was. It had been part of the plan. Your plan with him. Your justification is met with some more silence and you can tell, that for McKinney, the deck is slowly starting to stack against you. He now viewed you as intentionally deceptive regarding your abilities and usefulness to the government. As ex military, to him, that was on par with avoiding the draft. "Attending closed session classes that you weren't actually enrolled in wasn't the only thing you did in college. You also made quite a few friends, didn't you? You aren't exactly a stranger to relationships of convenience." As Clyde speaks, the screen changes once more behind him and a photo from the ill fated engagement shoot that Matthew's mother had insisted on pops up. Your hair is curled, you're wearing a long burgundy gown, standing beside Matthew in front of Lippman House, where the two of you had first met. You're smiling, both of you. On your hand sits an incredibly prominent ring, the stone shining brilliantly in the sunlight. This time, both John and Aaron tense, and your mind, unwanted, goes back to the video that he'd seen. There's a chance – if they'd caught what you said to Clyde's lackey towards the end. There's a chance that Aaron knows about Matthew. About what he'd done. You can't look at him. Instead, you look across to Derek, who's shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightly balled up on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and body tense as he looks from the screen, to you, and then to Aaron beside you, before meeting your eyes again. He doesn't have to say it. The way his eyes go from Aaron and then you and back to Aaron, says it all. Fuck. "My personal relationships are not up for discussion," you assert slowly, the feeling of all eyes on you causing your skin to break out with goosebumps. "You don't get to decide what is and isn't relevant here," Clyde rebuts, venom in his voice. "Is this how things are done at Interpol? Because in polite society, we don't simply ambush people." John's tone might be light but his posture spoke to how much he was holding back in making just that small comment. You know, that if you gave the go ahead, he would obliterate Clyde. "Don't worry Mr. Hawthorne," Clyde smirks. "I'm certain over the course of this discussion, we will arrive at the matter of you as well. Pretty sure I saw some your face in the stack as well. Or, is your objection to the fact that you were never anything official – just used and tossed aside when it was convenient?" This bastard. The fury you feel at him talking to John in that way. For him to insinuate that he knew anything about you and John. For him to talk down to John like that. You open your mouth to tell him off, but before you can, you feel the dig of John's fingers at your thigh and you look up to see him shake his head. He knows that you wouldn't let something like that about him simply pass. He's telling you that he knows what you were, and that Clyde – well, Clyde could go fuck himself. John didn't want you tossing your cards down just for him. Hold on to them. You're going to need them. You press your lips together tight and bite your tongue, your hand reaching for his under the table, fingers intertwining with his. He squeezes your hand gently – once, twice, thrice – just how he used to, before letting go. Aaron watches the interaction between you and John, before turning his attention back to Easter, who waits for a beat more, trying to bait you into lashing out, before he moves on. The screen changes once more, to be replaced with a photograph of you with three boys. You're on what appears to be a yacht, the blue ocean spanning out endlessly behind you. You're seated on the shoulders of a tall man with short, dark hair and light brown skin, his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you steady atop him. Your hair is back to its natural shade and it cascades past your shoulders, hitting the top of your bikini clad breasts, your white bathing suit stark against your sun-kissed skin. Beside the two of you, are two other men – one with darker hair, standing nearly as tall at the first while the other – a stocky blond – sits atop his shoulders. The four of you are grinning, smiles carefree and happy as can be. The kind of loose joy that is really only found amongst college students indulging in spring break a little too much. "You know, Clyde, just because you don't have friends of your own for show and tell, doesn't mean you can use mine." The smartass comment is out of your mouth before you could hold it back and you know you'll pay for it later as Clyde elects to ignore it in the moment. From your left you feel Aaron's eyes on you briefly before darting back to the front. Well, you were definitely going to pay for it in one way at least. "Patrick Kane," Easter's laser points to the stocky blond man, before the screen changes to reveal just a photo of him. "His father is part of the Irish mob and runs their international businesses out of Europe. He himself now owns leadership of the faction out of London." Kane was going to love that he had been part of your indictment with the Bureau. He was sure to get a particular kick out of it, considering the number of times he got in trouble because you and Ricky decided to burst into his classes and stage a kidnapping. But well, it was usually warranted. Impromptu trips to the Hamptons took precedence over Psych 101.

From the corner of your eye you can see Penelope appraising Kane with some interest and you have a feeling you're going to be talking to her about all the boys afterwards. The screen changes again to reveal Ambrose Hastings - Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. However this time, the photo of him is shown only briefly before its replaced with another one that has your breath catching. Hastings is seated with you in his lap, your lips slotted against his, a large hand wrapped around your back, holding you close to him. "Ambrose Hastings and his father own the largest weapons contracts internationally, for those of you who many not know. Just friends, huh? " Clyde's taunt has your eyes flashing with rage. How on earth had he gotten this photograph?! You know for a fact that this wasn't posted anywhere. It's from the trip to Monte Carlo for your twenty first birthday. You're wearing the black dress with the deep slit up one side, a tiara sitting at the crown of your head. Ambrose's large hands splayed across your thigh and his lips keeping yours warm, as was your pattern anytime you and Matthew were on a break. John has come to the same realization as you. This is not a photograph that you or anyone in the group would've leaked. Which meant that Easter had acquired it himself. There's a grim set to his shoulders as the two of you exchange a look, before he speaks. "What did you do, pay off the waitstaff for that?" When Clyde doesn't say anything in response, you have your answer. He had. He had set up someone on the yacht to get anything they could on you. The feeling of revulsion that crawls through you at that realization – he had been watching you, even in spaces where you should have had the assumption of privacy. "This is a cheap ploy," John continues, now that he had the confirmation on exactly how far Easter had gone to gather his so-called evidence against you. "You think you can slander Agent L/N and make inappropriate digs to provoke Agent Hotchner. However all you've accomplished thus far is displaying your inappropriate invasion of privacy into the life of a young woman, which would normally be grounds for a harassment suit." The barely veiled threat is in John's words. If Clyde doesn't have anything real to share, and soon, he will bury him. Before Clyde has a chance to say anything more, there's a knock at the door, and Gladys peaks her head in to interrupt. "Excuse me," she starts, her hand against the door to hold it ajar ever so slightly, "There is a call from Director Richards." "See if I can return the call later today," McKinney tells her quickly, before turning back to the table to continue the discussion. "Actually sir, the call is for Agent L/N," she clarifies, her eyes meeting McKinney's firmly before shifting over to you. You can feel the sharpness of McKinney's gaze on you as he wonders why Richards is calling you directly. With a quick look around, you stand with a nod towards Gladys. "I'll take it outside, thank you." With that, you quickly walk around the table and out the door, following her to McKinney's office, where she's routed the call for you. In the wake of your departure, the room is quiet. John turns to Aaron, one eyebrow raised in question. "Director Richards, as in – ?" Aaron looks quickly towards McKinney, whose eyes are fixed on the door where you'd left, before he nods at John in confirmation. Director Richards, as in, the director of the CIA, had called and asked for you personally. *------------* You're gone for ten minutes which might as well have been an hour, for as long as it stretched out. Easter tried to engage McKinney into a side conversation twice, before giving up and sulking at the front. Prentiss and JJ's eyes flit from the door, to Easter, and then one another, the two of them engaged in a silent conversation he wasn't privy to. On his right, Aaron can see John and Garcia engaged in a hushed conversation as she types away at her laptop, seemingly looking up something for him. Aaron meets Rossi and Morgan's eyes, both of them carrying the same question that was in McKinney's stalwart gaze that had locked on the door you'd left through and not wavered in the ten minutes since. Why on earth was the director of the CIA calling you right now? How did he even know you? Despite your offer from the CIA, Aaron can hardly imagine that the Director himself would be involved, so even that kernel of knowledge that he has over the others doesn't offer any clarity in the moment. At just past ten minutes, you can be seen making your way back, quickly bypassing the two agents still standing guard, one of them opening the door to let you in. You're met with McKinney's pointed look as soon as you enter, demanding some sort of explanation. You clear your throat and offer a polite smile. "Both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh are recovering well," you reveal, standing demurely in front of Director McKinney, who eyes you with a guarded look, no doubt simmering at the notion of one of his peers deigning to circumvent him and go directly to one of his agents. "Director Richards asked that I pass on his gratitude for the Bureau's role in the rescue and recovery of his agents. He will be reaching out to you again, later, in order to thank you properly." McKinney nods slowly, giving you permission to return to your seat, despite knowing that that had hardly been everything Richards had spoken to you about. A thank you did not take ten minutes. A mere thank you, would not have gone to you directly. Not if you didn't have some sort of personal relationship with Richards that he wasn't privy to. There is a palpable shift in the room as you reclaim your seat, making a show of taking your time to settle back in properly, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the center of the table and then unhurriedly opening it, taking a delicate sip, closing it, and then setting it back on the table before shifting in your seat to where your elbow rests on the arm of the chair closest to Aaron. Your posture is slouched, where before you had been a stiff board. As you lean closer to him, deliberately tilting your head to appear that much more near him, Aaron gets a whiff of that smell that is undoubtedly you. You, without a proper shower, but still you. Yes, it is quite obvious that you and Director Richards had spoken far beyond a simple exchange of gratitude. The tides have changed. *------------* Easter attempts to continue as though nothing had transpired, resuming his position at the helm, the image of you and Hastings kissing – which Aaron had carefully avoided looking at for the past ten minutes, because far be it from to judge you on your past, no matter who it was with – replaced by one of the final boy. "Ricky Costello, part of the Costello family. Son of Frank Costello." Easter doesn't bother expanding further. There wasn't an agent on the eastern seaboard that wasn't familiar with the Costello family. So this was the kid who had punched van Doren in the face. Aaron liked this one. He liked him a fair amount more than Hastings, that was for sure. Across the way, he sees Rossi's eyebrows raise with some surprise, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He isn't entirely surprised by that. He'd always known that Rossi had ties with the Italian crime families. Easter clicks another button and a series of surveillance photos replaces Costello. They are all black and white, with the date on the corner indicating that they are all from last year. You're getting into your car, with Costello helping you in, the two of you smiling at one another. "Would you like to explain what you were doing, speaking with Ricky Costello last year? This was after you started working on Atlantis." You remain nonchalant, taking another sip of the hot chocolate that was bound to be cold by now, but you'd never deny yourself chocolate in any form. You casually smirk up at Easter's question, answering it only with a shrug. "Were you giving Costello information regarding Atlantis?" Easter probes, his frustration with your changed demeanor highly evident. He had preferred when you were at least somewhat taking this seriously. "Is a connection with the Costello family all it takes to accuse someone of treason nowadays?" you drawl, eyeing Easter from behind the rim of your mug, before leaning forward and setting it down on the table. "In that case, there might be some other people you want to have a talk with." Aaron is fully expecting you to be hinting at Rossi with that line, though why you'd throw him under the bus was a mystery. However, he watches as you stare resolutely ahead. Except, you aren't looking at Easter. You definitely aren't looking at Rossi. No, you're looking at McKinney. McKinney who, if Aaron isn't mistaken, looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable in the wake of your statement. McKinney who shifts in his chair ever so slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left imperceptibly quickly – something that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, but unfortunately for him, he happened to be seated in a room full of profilers. Huh. "Let's move on, shall we," McKinney instructs Easter, avoiding your eyes and everyone else's in the room. Easter's mouth falls open in disbelief at the turn of events. Your presence, which you'd kept buttoned up for the first half of this meeting, now permeated the room, and Aaron is reminded all over again of your interview. How he had initially sat back, waiting for you to stumble. How you'd gone one by one, getting to or through to each of them. How you'd called out even his bluff. You were commanding, charming, and serene all at once, and he'd marveled at how one person could possibly embody all those things at the same time. "You shot me!" Easter accuses, grasping for something, provoked by your calm attitude, and believing that to be his hole in one. The one thing that could not be denied. His one piece of evidence against you that couldn't be brushed aside, threatened away, or dismissed. "Yes, you got me there," you chuckle lightly, and Aaron almost feels bad for Easter. Almost. Across the way, Morgan has a smirk on his face that likely matches his own. You shift forward, placing your hands on the table in front of you, your eyes trained critically on Easter and Easter alone. "I shot you twice, actually. Once, two centimeters above the center of the heart and another to the left, one centimeter below the fifth rib. Both shots take advantage of the portions of the vest designed to be thickest and also are far enough away from any major arteries to avoid you bleeding out to death in the event that the vest isn't enough. Even if both shots had made it to their destination, you would have had at least thirty five to forty minutes, at minimum, before you were in any real danger of not recovering. If you don't believe me, I suggest you ask a doctor." With that, you lean back once more, giving both Easter and McKinney the opportunity to offer a response in opposition. After a few seconds, when neither one is forthcoming, you sit up straight once more. "Why were you dismissed from Project Olympus?" *------------* You watch, your eyes directly on Clyde as he falters under your gaze. You can tell that your question had caught McKinney by surprise as well. McKinney, who had looked at you differently ever since the call with Richards. You would have to thank the man later. His call could not have come at a more opportune time. With Clyde unable to answer the question, you decide to answer it for him. "Is it because you wasted resources and defied orders by continuing surveillance on me because you were convinced that I had something to do with my father's business?"

“How would you know that?” McKinney asks, though his eyes say that he already knows. He is merely confirming in order to have your answer on the record.

“Director Richards was on Olympus as well,” you answer. “He was highly surprised when he learned that Agent Easter was overseeing the investigation into the Atlantis disappearances.”

McKinney nods, having expected that, you’re sure. You already know he’s trying his best to piece together what little he could about your conversation with Richards. No doubt, it’s something he’ll question you about in more detail when it’s just the two of you later on.

You both turn back to Clyde expectantly, still waiting for him to chime in with an explanation. Director Richards’ word would be taken at face value and McKinney wouldn’t question it. Not for this. "Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention – every single person on that assignment – they should've seen what I saw,” Clyde seethed, pushing up from the table and standing up, his body trembling with caged fury. “He took you along to meetings. He introduced you to his contacts. You were being initiated, tested. Of course I kept an eye on you! It would have been negligent not to." You shake your head in disbelief at exactly how unhinged he sounded. How incensed. This wasn’t a man who had proof. This was a man who had believed his theory for a long time, and was unwilling to part ways with it. "And what did you see?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. "I saw a girl who was making connections - with everyone. Sons of the mob, the mafia, and the cartels. Saudi princes and daughters of Russian tycoons. Up and coming Chinese heiresses. If there was a single person with even the slightest of pull on that campus, they knew your name. They considered you a friend. You're telling me that's the move of someone who wasn't establishing themselves to take over the reins?" "What can I say? I'm a friendly person."

It wasn’t clear to just you. It was clear to everyone that Clyde didn’t have proof. None to speak of. "If you'd spent even half as much time and effort into watching her father that you did into watching her, maybe you would have learned enough about him to know that he would have never made her his plant in the Bureau. A plant is someone dispensable. You don't put what is potentially your best asset in the hands of the enemy. Far too much danger of them turning," John declared, his face betraying how astonished he felt at Clyde’s obsession with you. Of all people, he’s had some experience in men who become unhealthily attached to you. It never ends well for them. "Not to mention the fact that you cannot possibly think very highly of me,” you continue from where John left off. “If you think my grand plan was to bide my time within a faction of the Bureau with minimal ties to core operations, wait four years to enter into a relationship with a Unit Chief, compared to whom, my clearance level is actually significantly higher,” you state, before turning to place a hand on Aaron’s arm. “No offense honey.”

Aaron barely conceals his amused snort at that, the smirk that had taken residence on his face ever since you flipped the tables on Easter, firmly in place. "That's true,” John agrees, and you can tell that he’s enjoying the return to your typical repartee that the two of you have always had. The one that most outsiders find intimidating to keep up with. “If you'd wanted to infiltrate the Bureau, that role in White Collar was much better suited.” "You’re right,” you nod. “And it would've taken me only a couple of months to get everything I need. Agent Barton would've been an easy mark. I'm just his type."

Aaron watches as Easter appears to regroup and the Director looks deep in thought as he works his way through the quick back and forth performance you and John had put forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees John lean in to you, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he whispers something into your ear. You lean back sharply, your face the picture of disbelief as you think through whatever it was that he’d said to you.

Clearing your throat, you nod towards Garcia. “Agent Garcia, could you please pull up the first case I ever logged? It would have been during the third month that I was a trainee.”

From the front of the room both McKinney and Easter’ brows furrow, along with the rest of theirs, wondering what you were getting at. It’s Morgan who voices what they were all thinking. “What does your first case logged have to do with this?”

Your eyes flit from Morgan to Easter, barely stopping at McKinney, before you wordlessly direct Garcia to proceed with pulling up the case. “My third month while I was a trainee, someone broke into my apartment. Nothing was taken, but I could tell that someone had been there, so I dusted for prints and logged it. I ran it against the system but it didn’t turn up with anything then. The thing is, trainees only have access to the domestic IAFIS database.”

At that, your eyes flash dangerously towards Easter and the implication of what you’re saying has Aaron’s hackles raised. Easter sits straighter, just the slightest bit tense as Garcia pulls up the case and then runs them against Easter’s fingerprints.

The blaring negative result for a match has your jaw tightening and Easter sporting a smug smile that Aaron truly can’t wait to have wiped off of his face forever.

You take a breath, knowing that running it against the entire system would take far too long. Eyes narrowed, you look towards Easter once more. “You don’t really like getting your hands dirty yourself, do you?” you muse, your voice low and contemplative as you appraise Easter’s reaction to your conjecture.

“Garcia, compare the prints against Eli Black, Harold Woodshire, and Stefan Dupont.”

Garcia starts to pull up the prints of the Interpol agents you’d provided, when McKinney jumps in. “Agent L/N, don’t you think you are perhaps being just a little paranoid?”

Garcia looks between you and McKinney, the two of you engaged in a standoff that he was unlikely to win.

“Run it,” you instruct, knowing that Garcia’s loyalty to you far outweighed anything that McKinney could say to her in that moment.

The entire room waits with bated breath as Garcia runs the prints against the names provided. It’s tense as Easter’s eyes flit nervously between the screen that Garcia had commandeered away from him, and both you and McKinney, still looking at one another, your gaze staunchly defiant.

The system blares, stopping at Eli Black – a 100% match. They all look to the screen and Aaron’s stomach clenches as they look at the face of the man who had beaten you and strapped you down in the video, his eyes just as pale and emotionless in his Interpol I.D. photograph as they’d been when he’d put his hands on you.

There’s a tight smile on your face, your eyes shifting away from McKinney’s without comment, fixed on Easter once more. “I didn’t actually go to law school, but we happen to have two lawyers in the room right now. Remind me,” you say, a quirk of your eyebrow in John’s direction, “what’s the fourth amendment, again?”

John has a dark smirk on his face as he realizes you’re finally giving him full permission to do whatever he wants to, and in that moment, Aaron can quite easily see how he had the highest conviction rate in the entire New York state D.A.’s office. “The Fourth Amendment strictly prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures,” he states, the forced calm of his voice just barely masking the thundering rage that was coming off of him in waves, his chest expanding as he sits at his full height, towering over the table.

“How much you want to bet, that wasn’t a sanctioned search?” you quip, mirroring his expression, your tone hinting that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had paired up to dress someone down in prime fashion.

“Easy enough to find out. All we’d have to do is pull up the logs on warrants,” John replies, his eyes locked on Easter, daring him to say or do anything to further paint himself into a corner.

There’s a beat while Clyde seems to process everything that had just happened. Absorb how the script had been flipped around on him. McKinney was looking at him with a great deal of concern and you know that Clyde can see it on the Director’s face as well – any credibility that Clyde might have had with him was quickly dissipating. The combination of that video and everything that had come forward, along with the lack of concrete proof and now this, had McKinney finally arriving at a decision regarding the validity of Clyde’s accusation. "Then why?” Clyde asks, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe anything that had transpired. “Why would someone of your pedigree and connections ever deign to be a federal agent?”

You close your eyes for a moment, having put together the final piece that had always plagued you. You don’t have to guess at whether or not you’re right. You know you are.

“Because you knew. People like you, knew. You knew that he murdered Julian and you chose to look the other way. Pinning him for killing some kid didn’t matter to you. Not when you could potentially be the people to bring down him and his empire. Why settle? Because you knew, and the second he decided to turn on me, you’d let him get away with that too. Because I refused to be yet another casualty of my father’s greed.”

You can feel the tears glistening in your eyes and you’re quick to blink them away while Aaron finds your hand on the table and grasps it firmly in his, his thumb caressing your palm comfortingly. He hadn't known that you'd truly feared this level of retaliation from your father, and your desperation to get onto the team takes on a new layer of meaning for him.

You clear your throat before continuing, taking stock of every single person seated around that table that was here because of you. JJ, smiling at you kindly while throwing her dirtiest looks at Clyde. Spencer, who had chimed in repeatedly and who you knew was about to pester you about Math 55’s coursework endlessly afterwards – after all, there had been a reason you’d never told him about it. Rossi, smugly claiming you as his own, his gaze proud as can be. Penelope, who was still wordlessly apologizing for bringing up that video earlier, and who you knew was going to ruin those guys’ lives because of what they had done to you. Emily, who was glaring daggers at Clyde and likely planning out the various ways she could torture him right back. Derek, who would have your back in any situation, any circumstance, no matter what. Aaron, whose hand was warm against yours and who had let you handle this yourself because that was your guys’ agreement. At work, you were your own person and he would allow you to navigate and deal with everything by yourself, until you asked for his help. Aaron, who would go out of his way to do anything for you at home, who would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were alright.

“Because, you’ve seen what this team does in order to protect our own. Joining them ensured that I couldn’t just disappear.”

*------------* There’s a long silence, during which all you’re really aware of is the seconds hand on the clock ticking away. Clyde isn’t looking at anyone. McKinney is switching between looking at you and Clyde both and you can feel him assessing everything said and shown. Weighing the proof or lack thereof. Thinking through the implications of Richards offering up the information on Clyde’s dismissal to you personally.

Beside you, Aaron has shifted and dragged your hand back with his, placing both in his lap so he can hold onto yours tighter. You can’t help but feel your heart tremble ever so much as his thumb drags itself back and forth over your palm, paying extra special attention to the deep indentations that have been left over the past couple of days, and especially the past half hour.

When you’d said that this team protects its own, what you’d really meant was Aaron. Of course the rest of them would protect you too, in a heartbeat. But Aaron protects differently. He does what needs to be done. Not what you ask him to do. Maybe at the time, you’d resented him for lying about Emily’s death. Over time, you’ve come to realize that he had done whatever needed to be done to make sure that she would be safe. He’d known the team would hate him for it and he’d done it anyways, because who cared if you were upset with him or not talking to him as long as it also meant that Emily was safe and alive.

To your other side, John has shifted so he’s leaning closer to you, his elbow on the arm of your chair, and you know that he – out of them all – had known how truly afraid you’d been in New York. How you’d lived in constant fear of your father finding out what you and him were doing and turning the full brunt of his fury towards you. You wouldn’t have survived that. Not then.

After a few more minutes, McKinney stands, and you know he’s arrived at a decision. “There remains the matter of the actual mole,” he states, bypassing any discussion on anything you or Clyde had said. With that one statement, he was declaring your innocence while electing to ignore everything else. You shouldn’t have expected any different from him. For him, all that mattered was ensuring the sanctity of the Bureau.

You squeeze Aaron’s hand before your hand away, back to the table, and with a nod at McKinney, turn to Clyde. “Where’s my locket?”

However, instead of Clyde, it’s Aaron who answers you. “I have it.”

You turn back towards him and watch as he shifts to bring out the chain and pendant from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the table in front of you gently.

Why Aaron had the locket instead of Clyde, was something you’d have to ask him later. For the time being, you focused on answering the Director’s question.

“When I was with Jansen, he revealed some details regarding the mole which were enough for me to create a preliminary profile,” you divulge, reaching and picking up the locket. “Rossi, can I see your wallet?”

Rossi gives you an odd look, but leans into his pants pocket and retrieves the wallet, tossing it to you from across the table.

You flip it open and search though, looking for the thick metal card, while everyone’s eyes are on you. When you find what you’re looking for, you fish it out.

“I just need to double check a couple of details, but if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who in the Bureau is the mole,” you say, as you latch the metal card into the bottom two prongs of the pendant, and with some leverage from the table, manage to flip them open.

Aaron looks at you and you mutter a quick Sorry, honey to him, before sliding the stone out of the setting to reveal a black memory card behind it.

Everyone watches as the memory card is taken out of the base of the pendant, having sat there behind the deep emerald stone, unbeknownst to them all. You slide it over to Garcia, who eagerly takes it off your hand.

“When we started looking at everyone on the project team for Atlantis,” you start again while Garcia is working on getting the information in the chip loaded to her computer, “we tracked financial statements primarily, to see who was receiving or had funds available to them which they shouldn’t. Additionally, I did an assessment of assets – mostly real estate and artwork – as that is often used to hide illegal assets. Most people checked out, others had some assets that were questionable but nothing that rose to the threshold that we were using for our assessment. However, during my conversation with Jansen, he told me that the mole in the Bureau was effective because he didn’t take monetary payment.”

“What kind of payment does he take?” McKinney asks curiously, now leaning in across the table. He’d seemed mildly taken aback when you’d broken the pendant to take out the microchip you’d hidden, and now that you were being forthcoming about your suspicions, seemed more than willing to listen to what you had to say.

Clyde sat sulking at the front.

You clear your throat, a grimace taking form as you recall your conversation with Jansen. “Apparently, little girls make for compelling payment.”

JJ has a sharp inhale and Garcia momentarily stops typing as your words sink in.

“Once Agent Garcia is able to fully read in the data, we can reassess the real estate holdings. We’ll be looking for property which could be used to easily conceal the presence of children.”

When Jansen had told you how his plant was paid, you’d had the bone chilling realization that your late night excursions over a month and a half ago had not been a mere coincidence. What you’d feared had come to fruition. The smell of smoke still lingers in your brain.

“Who do you think it is?” Rossi asks as you toss his wallet back to him.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s the only one that fits the profile of a child molester.”

McKinney appears beyond shocked. Pierce was at the level directly below him. He’s the favorite to take the reins of the entire Bureau in the upcoming decade. They’ve worked together for years and are at least friendly. Yet, he doesn’t question you. He doesn’t tell you that you might be wrong. Instead, he turns resolutely towards Rossi.

“Dave, due to the changed circumstances, I ask that you oversee the investigation and if warranted, subsequent arrest of Agent Pierce.”

Rossi nods, so McKinney continues as he sweeps up his files from the table and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does, effectively drawing your indictment to a close.

“Agent Easter, I will be speaking with the Interpol Director regarding your actions and composure on this assignment. I believe the three of us will have much to discuss together. Agent L/N, you have the entirety of the BAU, with Agent Rossi, to assist you in closing this out. Ideally, the two of us will sit down on Monday and discuss your role in all of this as well, beginning with the disclosure of classified information to outside parties without requisite clearance.”

You sigh internally, squeezing Aaron’s hand once more as he opens his mouth to likely speak up against McKinney still trying to read you the riot act. You’d expected as much. He wasn’t the type to let that slide – especially not with you rubbing his nose in Richards calling you directly.

"Yes sir," you nod.

Having said all he had to say, all of you watch as McKinney takes his leave with a sweep of the room, the door shutting behind him.

*------------*

In McKinney’s wake, everyone looks at Easter, who appears incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be assessing whether or not he was meant to stay. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“You know,” you speak up as Easter approaches the door, and Aaron watches as you break the man down with your gaze alone. “For someone who thinks I’m capable of any number of atrocious things, you sure didn’t seem to have a problem with pissing me off.”

Your words are said with a casual overtone as you remain seated, the perfect air of ease about you, designed to draw a rise out of Easter, who had one hand on the doorknob, having turned around at the sound of your voice.

At your words, he scoffs. “What is that supposed to be? A threat?” He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts back into his quietly assured self.

Your lips purse ever so slightly and your eyes flash, before your mouth widens into a smile. The kind of smile that would have grown men running for the hills. “No. That wasn’t a threat,” you clarify, shifting to sit up straight once again. “This is. You come near me or mine again, and you will find out exactly how much I learned from my father.”

Easter looks like he’s ready to dismiss your threats, rolling his eyes and turning around.

“Передай от меня привет Даниэлю.”

He turns sharply, his face paling at whatever you’d said to him. His eyes search yours for any doubt, any hesitation. He appears to have seen the staunch truth in them, as he only swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding, and if Aaron wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremor in his hand as he once again opens the door, and this time, manages to exit the room.

You close your eyes, your shoulder slumping, a deep sigh workings its way through your body. When you open them, all eyes are on you.

“Pen, once the files are available, you’ll want to start with Pierce’s properties in the countryside,” you instruct softly. “Anderson is already watching him,” your eyes cut to Aaron and he realizes who that phone call you’d made earlier had been to. You had asked Anderson to go and watch Pierce while you dealt with Easter and McKinney, knowing you needed to reestablish your credibility with the Director before you could make any accusations of your own.

Garcia nods and the rest of them remain silent as you turn to Rossi. “Can I have twenty minutes?” you ask, the fullness of your voice hinting at just how exhausted you must be.

At Rossi’s nod, you push up from the table, and with a squeeze to John’s shoulder, make your way out of the room with Aaron at your heels. He knew to go with you. You didn’t have to ask. Not with him.

*------------*

As the team watches you and Hotch leave, Morgan turns to Emily, eyebrow raised. “That was Russian, wasn’t it?”

She nods, however Hawthorne also agrees with a quiet Yes.

At that, her eyebrows raised at him in some surprise. He was a New York State District Attorney. Language skills weren’t exactly a part of the job description. “You know Russian,” she asks, the lilt in her voice hinting at her surprise.

He chuckles, a smirk on his face as he looks up at her with those ocean blue eyes, amusement dancing in them. “Who do you think taught her?” All at once, Emily can entirely see how you and him had once worked so very well together. It had been clear since the moment they'd entered the room, Hawthorne wrapping you up in his arms. There was a quiet electricity to your interactions with him – a palpable connection which easily transcended everything else. There was a casual ease to your demeanor with Hawthorne that you and Hotch rarely allowed yourselves while at work, and Emily has to once again admire how well Hotch had maintained himself throughout the entirety of the meeting. He'd allowed you and Hawthorne the lead in retaliation against Clyde, knowing that drawing any additional attention to you and him wouldn't help your case. He'd bided his time, biting back any number of choice words he must've had for Clyde, letting you take the reins on it all, because it was your meeting, your case, your indictment. Anything she might have believed about Hotch when it came to him being controlling and overbearing had fallen apart, having witnessed exactly how well he took a backseat when it was important for you that he do so.

“So what did she say to Easter,” Rossi asks, drawing both of their attention away from one another.

Emily takes it upon herself, even though she had no idea what your words had actually meant. “Say hello to Daniel for me.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Morgan asks, his brow crinkling, gaze fixed on where you’d sat next to Hawthorne.

They both shrug.

“So um,” Garcia starts, shifting everyone’s attention to her as she looks hesitantly between Rossi and Morgan, who raises his appraising look at her next, compelling her to just spit it out.

“When John and I were looking into that other location – the one that burned down with the triple homicide – I saw that the same night, three kids were left outside the Philadelphia precinct. All three were young girls around eight to ten years old and they said they were being held somewhere by bad men.”

At Emily’s prompting, she continues, “The thing is, when asked how they got away, the kids said that they heard some fighting and then some lady came and got them and dropped them off near the police station. All of their descriptions of the person who saved them...they match Y/N.”

There’s a stunned silence before Morgan decides to speak up. “Baby girl, are you saying she took down three guys all by herself, snuck those kids out, and then burned the entire place down without leaving a single strand of DNA or anything else behind?”

Garcia shrugs, an uncertain expression on her face. However, they can all tell that that is exactly what she believes happened. “If anyone could…,” she trails off as they all look at one another before turning to face Rossi.

Rossi sighs, his face torn for a momentarily, before arriving at a decision. “Well, like you said, the Philadelphia police already called it a case of gang violence and shut it down. I don't suppose it is our place to go and create problems where none exist."

At his words, Emily meets Morgan and Hawthorne’s eyes, realizing that perhaps out of everyone in the world outside of herself, Hotch, and Morgan, Hawthorne was the one most likely to understand that you could and would do exactly that, and get away with it.

*------------*

You make your way down the stairs with Aaron at your side. You just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That was it. Aaron knows not to say anything. You don’t want to talk. Not then.

You make your way down to the locker rooms before you turn and speak. “You mentioned you’d brought my other bag.”

“Yeah, it’s in my locker,” he confirms, watching you with apprehensive, yet loving eyes.

There was no one else in the locker rooms owing to the lateness of the hour. With a quick look around, you begin to take off your shoes, undoing the buckles on the boots and toeing them off, before sliding the pants off of your hips and then quickly removing the sweatshirt along with the rest of your clothing.

Aaron is quick to shuck off his own clothes as you walk into the shower and turn it all the way to the left. He can already see the steam rising off of your skin when he slips in behind you, picking up the shampoo bottle from the ledge in the corner and dumping some out into his hands.

The hot water felt like baptism by fire, but it was the only thing helping you feel clean, as two days worth of dirt and grime slid off of you and swirled its way down the drain. You can feel Aaron behind you as his bare chest rubs against your back when he leans for the shampoo and then works it into suds in your hair, allowing you to simply be.

The slip and slide of his hands, as he takes soap and scrubs against your skin. His large hands gliding against your shoulders and back, down your legs, making sure to get every inch of you clean. You let him. You can feel the exhaustion seeping through you as your mind slips into a fog, leaving you aware only of the heat of the steam, the water, and him.

Once Aaron has ensured that you’re as clean as can be, he shifts so you’re fully under the stream, the last of the shampoo leaving your hair. That’s when you finally feel the weight in the pit of your stomach turn to lead.

You allow that steel trap to open ever so slightly as you lean back against him. The fact that he'd had to see you go through that, had to find out from a video of you being tortured, that you'd been pregnant and lost the baby. It was far too much for him to have gone through on his own. Your heart breaks at the thought of him sitting with the rest of them and watching that. Having them all find out at the same time as him, when he should've been the first and only one to know.

Your tears mingle with the water from the shower, your shoulders shake and your body quakes and slumps, held up by his arms alone, holding you tight across your chest and waist, tight to him as the sobs wrack your body. You can feel his lips against your shoulder as he dips his head down to slot his face against yours. He’s hard and warm and all around you, the only thing standing between you and total collapse.

*------------*

The two of you had gotten dressed slowly, taking far longer than the twenty minutes you’d asked Rossi for. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy still, your hair falling to your shoulders in damp tendrils as you grasp his hand and the two of you make your way back upstairs using the elevators.

“There’s a chance McKinney still fires me,” you mumble, leaned against him and the back of the Elevator wall both to hold yourself up.

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at you with his warm brown eyes. “He isn’t going to fire you,” he insists, despite not fully believing it himself. He too had caught what McKinney had said to you prior to his departure.

You aren’t appeased by his words, but he hadn’t expected you to be. The elevator continues to climb back up the floors slowly. Right before it reaches its destination, you worm your way away from him and hit the emergency stop button, halting the elevator and plunging it into darkness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, feeling his way around the elevator until he finds you again.

“If I’m getting fired on Monday,” you whisper, leaning up so your mouth is right against his ear, drawing a shiver through his entire body, “then there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that, your lips find his, insistent and soft, begging his open with your tongue running along the seam of his mouth. With a moan, he gives in, hands finding your waist and pulling you up further against him. He can feel the smile in your mouth, mixed with everything else – the fear and fury, the regret and pain undercutting everything else.

If this is what you wanted before you were potentially fired – then well, of course he’d give it to you.

*------------*

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room, the team is well situated, with Rossi and Morgan engaged in conversation while the rest of them crowd around Garcia. John was in the corner, just getting off of a phone call and Reid had managed to find some pretzels it seemed like – or he merely always had them on him – because he was munching away, leading to Aaron becoming incredibly aware that none of them had eaten since that sandwich the day prior. Hell, he wasn’t sure when the last time you’d eaten at all. His eyes must’ve lingered on the pretzels for a while too long, because JJ had leaned into her bag and lobbed a package of chips towards him.

Aware of your return now, the team turns to you and Aaron, with John being the one to break the silence with a soft smile. “Mom says hi” he says quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aaron can see the flash of guilt in your eyes. "I'll call her," you promise. When you'd left John, he hadn't been the only one you'd left.

He smiles and nods. "She'd like that."

With a glance around, and with no one else saying anything else, he continues, his smile morphing into a wicked grin. "So, you and Hastings, huh?" His voice teasing in that manner that only truly good old friends can get away with.

"Matthew and I were on a break," you clarify primly, shoving at his arm. His grin remains unchanged, causing your eyes to narrow, before a realization seems to hit you as you groan and slump back into your chair. “Don’t tell me you and Julian had a bet on that too,” you grumble, though Aaron can tell you aren’t really annoyed. You’re merely playing along.

“I won, if you must know,” John grins wider. “Seeing as you’re his next of kin, you owe me twenty.”

You scoff. “This better be written down somewhere. I’m not signing off twenty thousand to you just because you said so.”

Behind John, Aaron can see Morgan and Garcia’s jaws drop as they realize that twenty dollar bets were not the norm in your circles. You played for much higher stakes. Always had.

“Oh you’ll get your proof,” John winks at Prentiss, hinting at some sort of inside joke between the two of them while you and him both settle in, you stealing some chips from the bag in his hands, before swiping the bag entirely with a sweet smile that he was in no condition to refuse, ever.

“Hey,” Prentiss asks, drawing your attention away from John, “who’s Daniel?”

Aaron watches as your face turns dark ever so slightly, your eyes hardening as you meet Prentiss’s gaze, and Aaron realizes that the quietly enunciated Danielyu that he’d caught when you’d spoken to Easter in Russian had meant something more.

“Mr. Have-No-Attachments has a son,” you tell her, your jaw tight.

They’re all quiet as your revelation sinks in. You’d brought up Easter’s son while –

“You threatened his kid?” JJ asks, slight surprise on her face as she looks at you, her eyes flashing with the concern that they all always had. Their children being dragged into danger because of their line of work.

“He threatened mine.” Your retort is quick and to the point and if Aaron was being honest, he really really didn’t care that you’d threatened a child at this moment, because you were right. He had threatened yours.

When no one says anything further, you nod at Rossi and then turn to Garcia. “Let’s get to work.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #irreverentseries #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n

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causeiwanttoandican · 4 years ago

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The Times

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/nothing-was-ever-good-enough-meghan-left-staff-shaking-with-fear-hb37gbvn8

‘Nothing was ever good enough . . . Meghan left staff shaking with fear’

Valentine LowFebruary 11 2021, 5.00pm GMT

The Duchess of Sussex has always prided herself on being a good boss. When she was in the American TV series Suits, she would sometimes buy the crew pizza. At Kensington Palace there was the occasion, recounted in the pages of People magazine in February 2019, when she paid for an ice-cream stand for staff. “They were remarking how it was the ‘best day of work ever’,” a friend said.

Some of those who worked for Meghan after she joined the royal family have less fond memories. Staff were bullied, according to sources, and some reduced to tears. One said they were humiliated by her on a number of occasions. According to the complaint revealed by The Times today, two PAs were driven from the household. The duchess denies any allegations of bullying.

The first sign that anything might be amiss came when a story appeared in a diary column in a national newspaper saying that Meghan’s personal assistant had left six months after the royal wedding. A week later the assistant was named in another paper as Melissa Touabti. “Meghan put a lot of demands on her and it ended up with her in tears,” a source was reported as saying.

Touabti was not the first member of staff to leave. Before her there was another PA, a young woman already employed by the palace. She did not stay long after Meghan arrived.

Both PAs signed non-disclosure agreements. There is no suggestion that Meghan tried to prevent them from speaking. Lawyers for the duke and duchess stated that she had no knowledge of the agreements and that they believed staff to be comfortable and happy.

In late 2017, after Harry and Meghan’s engagement was announced, a senior aide spoke to the couple about the difficulties caused by their treatment of staff. People needed to be treated well and with some understanding, even when they were not performing to their standards, they were told. Meghan is said to have replied: “It’s not my job to coddle people.”

There is no doubt that Meghan could be a demanding boss. There were a number of people, allegedly including Harry himself, who suggested that those early problems were partly to do with cultural differences in management style. As Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand put it in their book about the couple, Finding Freedom: “Americans can be much more direct, and that often doesn’t sit well in the much more refined institution of the monarchy.”

However, The Times has spoken to insiders who have argued that it was about more than just American straight-talking. The duchess could be sharp with those she felt were letting her down, sources claim. One former staff member said: “I had unpleasant experiences with her. I would definitely say humiliated.”

After Jason Knauf, the couple’s communications secretary, made his bullying complaint, another member of staff was worried about spending time with her the next day because she feared that Meghan was about to find out. “This is why I feel sick,” they said.

Another time there was a row about whether Meghan had been told that the media would be present at an event. When she rang the aide, they rang back but she did not pick up. “I feel terrified,” the source said. “I can’t stop shaking.”

Another source said: “There were a lot of broken people. Young women were broken by their behaviour.” The source described one member of staff as “completely destroyed”.

Even before the wedding, staff were feeling the strain. One told a colleague the couple were “outrageous bullies” and said they were considering resigning. The colleague replied: “That’s so dreadful. And they are bullies.”

The harsh treatment was not confined to junior staff. One source claimed that Samantha Cohen, the couple’s private secretary, had been bullied. Another said: “They treated her terribly. Nothing was ever good enough. It was, ‘She doesn’t understand, she’s failing.’” In fact, the source said, Cohen was “a saint” and the best organiser of royal tours they had known.

Lawyers for the duke and duchess said they remained close to Cohen and grateful for her support and dedication, acknowledging that she had come out of retirement to work closely with them at a busy time. They deny bullying her.

The Sussexes’ autumn tour in 2018, when they visited Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Tonga, was stressful for staff, sources say. A senior adviser did his best to reassure them, saying: “You are dealing with a very difficult lady.”

The issue boils down to whether Meghan was a demanding boss with high standards, or a bully. Did her team fail her or did she ask the impossible?

In court papers for her successful privacy action against The Mail on Sunday, her lawyers said that when she was distressed by the negative stories in the media about her, her friends felt frustrated by the instruction from the palace communications team that they should respond “no comment” to allegations. That left her friends “rightly concerned for her welfare, specifically as she was pregnant, unprotected by the institution and prohibited from defending herself”, they said.

An alternative view, sources say, is that Meghan craved rejection from the moment she walked into Kensington Palace, and that nothing that anyone did would ever be good enough.

The palace knew that when Harry married a woman who was biracial, American and divorced, they had to go out of their way to make sure the marriage was a success: if it was not, the royal household and their supposedly hidebound ways would be blamed. “Everyone knew that the institution would be judged by her happiness,” a source said. “The mistake they made was thinking she wanted to be happy. She wanted to be rejected because she was obsessed with that narrative from day one.”

Lawyers for the duchess said this was entirely wrong. The duchess wished to fit in and be accepted and had left her life in North America to commit herself to her new role.

More than one source has expressed their view about her wanting to be a victim. One claimed: “She wanted to be the victim because then she could convince Harry that it was an unbearable experience and they had no choice but to move to America.” Lawyers for the duke and duchess denied this was true. Supporters of the couple have argued that Harry and Meghan were frustrated in their attempts to live their life in a different way.

Finding Freedom quoted a source close to the prince saying that “nothing could convince Harry that some of the old guard at the palace simply didn’t like Meghan and would stop at nothing to make her life difficult”. In her legal case against The Mail on Sunday, the duchess’s lawyers denied that the couple collaborated with the book.

One source claimed that most of the tensions in the household at the time concerned the Sussexes’ relations with the media. “The way I see it, their view of not getting institutional support was that they were not getting permission to blow up the institution’s relationships with the media.” Again, lawyers for the duke and duchess deny this.

One conversation confirmed to The Times seems to reveal how much the palace was prepared to go out of its way to help Meghan. Before the wedding, the couple had a meeting with a senior aide who told them that the palace was doing everything it could to help and there was no need to think she had to take on her role in a particular way, a source said. If she was passionate about the acting world, they could help her to think about finding a role within the film industry.

The source said: “The entire place, because of everything about her, and because of what Harry’s previous girlfriends had been through, was bending over backwards to make sure that every option was open.” They said Meghan thanked them, but said she had no wish to carry on acting. Instead she wanted to concentrate on her humanitarian and philanthropic work, and to support Harry as a member of the royal family.

That might have been that, except of course it wasn’t. Part of the problem, according to the source, was that everyone in the palace was so genteel and civil; too genteel and civil: “When someone decides not to be civil, they have no idea what to do. They were run over by her, and then run over by Harry. They had no idea what to do.”

The duchess issued a detailed statement last night stating that the allegations were a smear campaign and an attack on her character.

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cloudyempress · 4 years ago

Text

Storge || K. Muzan + Upper moons

✦ Fluff, comedy, manga spoilers, child!reader, reader is Muzan's daughter.

- This was originally published in wattpad.

Storge (noun); familial love, the love of a parent towards offspring and vice versa.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

They called you Little Misfortune. Spending time with you was a nightmare worse than disagreeing with Muzan. Your seven year old self could only think of their faces as a canvas to use the paint your father regularly buys you. A few minutes babysitting you was the equivalent of being in rainbow land and hell at the same time. And if you had a single, microscopic scratch at the end of the day, they would suffer severe consequences.

Kokushibo hated how much you'd tug his hair and make fun of his eyes, along with your hideous loudness. Hantengu ran away from you when he realized how deadly adorable you could be, forcing him to become tiny so you could put him inside your dollhouse. Gyokko had to put up with you breaking his pots and making disgusting faces whenever you saw him, also having to praise your artwork even if he disliked it. Gyutaro found you incredibly annoying, but loves when you disagree with him being ugly and laughs when you prank Daki. Talking about her, she's the upper moon that hates you the most since you gained all the attention from Muzan and you generally bothered her. Akaza was the nicest out of them, so you'd crawl onto his arms whenever you were scared or feeling tired. Finally, Douma loved you, finding it funny when you blushed at how cute he was or how much you adored playing with him.

Being born a demon, which was a extremely rare case (specially being born from a human and having a lot of human features like aging), you had gained your demon blood art early. This meant more trouble for the Upper moons, you could make them lose control over their arts and breaths (in the case of Kokushibo and other demon slayers).

It was a chaos when you first used it. Hantengu's turn of babysitting you turned into you getting lost in the Dimensional Infinity Fortress, Nakime not being able to know where you were and the rooms moving and shifting randomly. Once Muzan found out, he rushed the other upper moons into an emergency meeting.

"Why are you so incompetent? First the lower moons, and now you as well? Can't you just guard a fucking child?"

Everyone was in complete silence. They knew better than to mess with Muzan when he got angry about something happening to his dear daughter.

"I'm going to say this once. Find (Name) before I disband you. Now."

Not wasting time in saying 'yes', they all left to find you. As the fort was chaos, most of them got smashed into a wall or pushed to the ground. Luckily, Kokushibo had enough instinct to avoid those, quickly finding you eating a giant jar of your favorite ice cream with lots of oreos and sprinkles. You were stuffing your face with it and humming songs, until you noticed that his towering figure was standing next to you, his accusatory six eyes piercing through your soul. You stopped everything you were doing, standing up and taking a defensive pose.

"Come, (Name). Muzan-sama is..."

Before he could continue, you took out pieces of a flute from your dress' pocket and waved them in the air high enough for him to see. Kokushibo frowned in anger and confusion, wondering how you got your hands on his brother's flute, which he usually keeps on him.

"No! I won't give in to a hairy spider like you! I used to have nightmares about you, but now I am not scared!"

"Spiders have eight eyes, (Name)."

But you didn't listen, sticking out your tongue and throwing the pieces in the air, running away the second he shifted his gaze to them instead of you.

The fort was filled with your giggles, sounding like a music only two people liked but the others had to endure it. They just didn't stop until you found Gyokko's freshly painted pots, his colors begging you to smash them into the ground. You climbed the table and shoved them to the edges, then began jumping to see if they would fall or resist the vibrations of your weight against the table. They didn't, falling into the floor and becoming tiny pieces of what they once were.

"DAMN CHILD! HOW DARE YOU DESTROY THE GREAT GYOKKO'S ART?"

"Oops!" you turned around with a cheeky grin adorning your face.

Gyokko launched at you, gritting his teeth.

"I did you a favor! Now you'll have to throw them out in the trash, were they belong"

Before his hands could reach you, a wall as fast as lightning hit him so hard he ended up in another room altogether. You shrugged and kept running around.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro and Daki walked together, both complaining about the situation. He mainly listened to her whine while she rambled on how pointless looking for you was.

"Can't somebody shut up that horrying child laughter?" she screamed at the ceiling.

Gyutaro crossed his arms, he lacked the energy to explain to her how an annoying child worked. He knew it too well from taking care of her.

"I don't get why Muzan-sama wants her when he has me." Daki spread her hand in front of her face and started counting with her fingers. "I'm gorgeous, strong, loyal... and I'm not an stupid, loud-as-fuck child!"

"Ume" Gyutaro called, as the both of them kept walking straight.

"She's a pain! She takes all of Muzan-sama's precious time away."

"Ume" he stopped walking, Daki kept her pace as she was fixated on finding things to hate you for.

"She couldn't even speak properly when we first met her. All she does is cause trouble for us, that's why nobody likes her!"

"Ume!"

She turned around to face him, a vein popping out of her forehead.

"What?!"

"At least I'm not as stupid as you, miss whore! Daddy told me you were annoying yesterday."

All her hairs perked up when she heard your voice. She turned around to find you a few meters away from her, a bit shocked from hearing you insult her that way.

"Who taught you that word?" she placed her hand above her chest, surprise evident in her expression.

"I did" Gyutaro said, a smirk appearing in his face. He waved at you ignoring his sister's terrifying anger. "Hi there, little misfortune. Everybody's looking for you"

"You're not going to stop me?"

He shrugged, going back to his usual annoyed expression.

"Not me, but my sister is"

Daki jumped at you, almost not giving you time to react properly. You spit the gum you were chewing to put it on her hair. Her eyes widened in horror as she tried to take it off, letting you off her hands.

"Fuck you, (Name)! Come back here you damn brat!"

Gyutaro helped Daki take off the gum, you running away from them. The last thing you heard as you escaped was Gyutaro offering to cut off the damaged part of her beautiful long hair.

Your legs were short and you got tired of running after a few minutes. You collapsed on the ground to take in some air.

"Oh~ Are you tired, (Name)-chan?" Douma's playful tone made your eyes shine at the realization that he was there.

You nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks. You were not only exhausted, but also feeling guilty of accidentally stepping on tiny Hantengu on your way there. It wasn't your fault he was terrified of your childishness and Muzan's rage, but you didn't notice he was in the way and stepped on him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry for causing all of this! Is just that Hantengu didn't want to play with me and I felt lonely! I don't want to be alone! Now everyone hates me!"

"Shhh... It's ok. You're an adorable little princess, nobody hates you."

He ruffled your hair as your teary eyes stare at his rainbow colored ones. They were both beautiful and calming for you, those colors made you think pretty things when you were sad.

"You don't hate me?"

"Of course I don't!"

"Then, will you marry me when I grow up?"

He chuckled, ruffling your hair again. Your cheeks were burning from embarrassment.

"Yes, su—"

Half of his head was suddenly cut off by a hand. You frown at Akaza, who seemed very angry at seeing Douma that close to you. Douma's head regenerated fast, his charismatic smile never leaving his features.

"Why are you proposing her marriage?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. What the hell is your problem? I'm not going to let you put strange ideas into her innocent mind."

Akaza opened his arms at you so you could climb into him, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Little misfortune was feeling lonely and hated, so I simply made her feel happier. Now let me hold her" Douma tried to take you to him, but Akaza's grip on you was stronger.

"You try to make her feel happier by proposing? Also, you only eat women, why would I let you near (Name)?"

"Well, she's not human!"

"Can I marry you too?" you ask above the discussion, your voice silencing the both of them. You pulled away a little bit from Akaza's hold to look at him in the eye. "When I grow up, can I marry you too?"

Akaza's concerned look grew bigger by the second. Douma had an amused expression, holding in laugher. Akaza's gaze shifted from Douma to you, not knowing what to say. His face told a different story than you had intended. You leaped away from them, tears floading down your face again.

"Then I'll be alone my entire life!"

You started escaping again, covering your face with your hands. The upper moons attempted to use their arts to get you back, but failed as yours contradicted their use.

Douma sighed, then turned towards Akaza with a smile from ear to ear.

"You're not a great liar, are you?"

After running around all day, your energy was so low that you could barely walk without dragging your feet. Loneliness was the strongest and most shocking feeling you'd gotten in the seven years you had been alive. No mother, no siblings, only a father who'd mostly be working and babysitters who hated your guts. Facing the ground, lips curved downwards, you clearly weren't expecting crashing with something. Or more accurately, someone's legs.

It was Muzan, his stern expression changing into a softer one when he saw your defeated state. He opened his arms to engulf you into a hug, so you jumped at him with the strength you had left.

"I'm sorry, I felt lonely!"

"Why is that? You always have an upper moon to take care of you" he walked towards your room as he caressed your hair.

"But they hate me!"

"They don't hate you. Kokushibo's always worried about your health and safety. Gyokko and Hantengu try to enhance your talents in art since they know how much you love it. Gyutaro likes to make you laugh, and while Daki acts as if she hates you, she sew you a stuffed animal for your birthday by herself knowing that other stores didn't buy the plush you wanted. Douma plays with you all the time, of course he loves you. And Akaza is always there to keep him from crossing the line. They don't hate you, they are your family." he tucked you in your bed, a smile reaching his lips before you closed your eyes in order to sleep.

He leaned in to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

"As I love you too."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

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27dragons · 4 years ago

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Title: Lost and Found by @27dragons Card 4027 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900820 Square: A2 - Found Family Ship: Winteriron Rating: G Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, AU - no powers, domestic fluff Summary: It sure is convenient that Peter and Harley are old enough to keep an eye on their sister while Tony and Bucky do their shopping. Right up until it isn’t. Wordcount: 527 for the @tonystarkbingo

Tony spotted Bucky as they were approaching the mall food court from opposite directions. Grinning, he put a little extra pep in his step to catch up to his husband. “Did you find the pants you wanted?”

“Sort of. They didn’t have ‘em in my size, but I placed an order for a couple of pairs. They should be in next week. How about you, did you find something for the wedding?”

Tony nodded. “Found the most gorgeous wine decanter, Pep’ll love it.”

“Awesome. Ready to find the kids and get some ice cream?”

“You bet. Boy, am I glad the boys are old enough to keep an eye on Morgan. Can you imagine what a nightmare it would have been, having to bring her along for the tedious shit?”

“You’d’ve had to buy a lot more than a decanter once she got bored, I can tell you that,” Bucky agreed.

Tony was chuckling as they rounded the corner into the food court, and then he stopped laughing completely. Peter and Harley were standing in the middle of the food court, apparently arguing... and Morgan was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is your sister?” Tony demanded, lengthening his stride.

Both boys looked up with identical oh shit we’re in for it now expressions.

“It’s not our fault!” Harley said quickly, taking half a step back.

“She wanted to play hide and seek,” Peter said, gaze flicking from Tony’s face to just over Tony’s shoulder, where Bucky was probably putting on his scariest angry-Dad face.

“You encouraged Morgan to go hide in some random spot in the mall?” Bucky growled. “Have you taken leave of your senses entirely? She could be anywhere!”

“No! We made her promise to stay in the food court!” Peter protested.

“And we were the ones hiding, not her! She was It!” Harley added.

“And we hid in, like the most obvious spots possible, but she didn’t find us! And when I looked, I didn’t see her anywhere!”

“And we were just trying to figure out how to go look for her, but--”

“Attention, shoppers,” the mall’s PA system crackled, “will the family of Morgan Stark-Barnes please come to the customer service desk? Repeat--”

“That’s just at the other end of the court,” Tony said, already heading that way. Bucky and the boys followed at his heels.

Sure enough, there was Morgan, holding the hand of a security guard. She made a little excited hop when she saw them and pointed. The security guard let go of her hand and she ran to them, brushing past Tony to grab at her brothers’ shirts. “Found you!” she laughed. “Now you’re both It!”

Tony’s mouth fell open. Bucky was pinching at the bridge of his nose as if to stave off an oncoming headache.

“Morgan, did you... did you deliberately report yourself as lost so you could win at hide-and-seek?”

“Yep!” she said proudly. “Can we get ice cream now?”

Tony exchanged looks with his husband.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, sighing. “But while we eat it, we’re gonna have us some very serious talk about what is and is not allowed when we’re at the mall.”

#tonystarkbingo #bucky barnes #tony stark #winteriron #family fluff #my writing #pique queue

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years ago

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Forgive Me

Summary: It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.

Word Count: 4.8k+ Words

Pairing: Natsuo x Reader (21+)

Warnings: blood, death, gang organization involvement, gun use, sexual content, explicit language, and angst

A/N: First, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN MAN NATSUO TODOROKI!! And I also want to say thank y’all so much for 2k followers! You make my heart ache. To celebrate, I wrote this self-indulgent mafia au fanfic that nobody asked for. I honestly just wanted to write Todorokis involved in organized crime.

All the Japanese in here is from Google Translate. It most likely butchered it, so I’m sorry about that. I tried.

Some things to mention: *Yakuza: Basically, the Japanese mafia *Oyabun: The leader of the organization *Onna-Oyabun: The spouse of the leader. It really translates to the “wife.” I tried to keep things gender neutral, however, I couldn’t find a gender neutral term for this. Please forgive me!

Thank you for ridin with me, y’all! Enjoy this one, hotties ❤️

Forgive Me

All Natsuo had ever wanted for you was normalcy. Call it wishful thinking—his siblings called it naivety. However, there was nothing more the young successor wished for than for you to have the life you deserved. One filled with love, laughter, and smiles. Not tears, blood, and bullets.

He wanted you to be able to come from work or class with a head full of things for the two of you to gossip about over dinner and ice cream. He wanted to be able to cancel his day and take you to that one amusement park you always talked about. He wanted the petty arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes and whose brownie recipe was better.

Natsuo wanted that for you. Not this.

Your shared room suddenly felt cold and rigid as he stood by the doorway. The sight of your body curled into the sheets, hoping the mattress would swallow you up, made his heart ache. There was no movement except for the slow rise of your breathing as you stared at the wall next to the bed.

Natsuo’s grey eyes focused on the bandage patched to your ear and was brought back to the events prior. An event that had been the reason why he couldn’t have spent the evening in your arms.

[Earlier]

Since having been introduced into the Todoroki lifestyle, life had been hectic. You had been ripped away from your normalcy and propelled into the yakuza* game. It was seeped in cruelty, darkness, and evil that would make you spend nights shivering.

Ever since you had been engaged to Natsuo, your exposure only grew worse. Your fiancé would spend nights apologizing, but you’d only quiet him with a kiss and a small joke.

It wasn’t his fault. His older brother, Touya, was “deceased”. It was against tradition for Fuyumi to have it, and Shouto was too young. He would have to be the next Oyabun* and, despite his unwillingness, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

But that wasn’t something to dwell on. Especially today. Today, you had plans to go shopping with Fuyumi and Shouto and end the night with some well-deserved quality time with your husband-to-be. You had rarely seen anyone due to yakuza activity, so this was something you were looking forward to.

You smoothed down your outfit, adjusting your watch in the mirror. You gave yourself a nod, liking what you saw.

Natsuo came from around the corner, eyeing you with a glint you knew all too well. He apparently liked what he saw too.

“Hi,” he said, smiling into your kiss.

“Hey,” you grinned. You flattened the collar of his shirt where his tattoo peeked from his neck. “You look good.”

He was quick to respond. “You look better.”

“You flatter me,” you chuckled. “Did you pick where we’re eating for dinner later?”

“I made reservations for the seafood restaurant you like so much. The one with the lights by the ocean.”

“Oooo with the parmesan crusted flounder and the stuffed oysters?”

He hummed a yes and laughed as you did a little dance expressing your excitement. You couldn’t wait to stuff your face. While being classy of course.

“What time?”

“6:30. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that should give ‘Yumi, ShoSho, and I enough time to shop around.” You turned to the mirror to put some last-minute touches to your hair. “We still have to find an outfit for your mother’s event Friday. You know your brother’s a lowkey diva about that stuff so it’s gonna take hours.”

A sudden slap on your ass made you yelp and just as you were about to cuss him out, Natsuo captured your lips in a kiss that made your knees buckle. He slowly explored your mouth, committing every taste to memory. Your hands massaged the nape of his neck and it had him growling in your ear.

“Why don’t you skip the shopping today and we can start on dinner now?” he suggested, loving the moan he got from you as he sucked on your neck.

As much as you adored the offer, you weren’t going to pass up the chance to get out of the house. You’d been cooped up in there for too long. Not even his dick could get you out of this.

You pushed him off of you, laughing as he bit the air between you, trying to put his lips back on you.

“Nat—Natsuo. Stop it. I promised them I’d go shopping today, so no. Besides, I’m already running late. I was supposed to meet them at 1 and it’s 1:30.”

“But you just look so good, baby.” He managed to pull you flush against his chest, mischief in his eyes. You gave him a look when his hands went to go grab a handful of your ass. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you're just an hour more late,” he said, going back to lay claim to your lips.

If last night’s sex was a testament to anything, you’d be here for much longer than an hour. If you didn’t get your ass to the car, you’d be stuck at home and his siblings would have your head.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me, I’ll tell Fuyumi you’re keeping me hostage again. She’ll sick Shouto on you,” you threatened.

At the thought of his sister and brother’s nagging, he rolled his eyes and backed off. “Ugh, you’re such a killjoy. Fine, whatever.” You hummed in triumph and turned to walk away. Natsuo gave another hard slap to your backside again and you sent him back a glare that made him smirk.

“Natsu,” you warned.

“You better get in the car quick before I really decide to keep you here.”

“Keep it in your pants, horndog,” you bit.

“Keep that ass away and we won’t have problems,” he playfully retorted.

You smacked your teeth but hid the growing smile on your lips. That man would be the death of you.

…

Despite your wishes, you ended up being an hour late. Natsuo tried to play innocent underneath his siblings’ threats but stopped the act once they pointed out the growing hickey on your neck.

He was waved off, much to his chagrin, when he told the three of you to be wary of your surroundings and reminded you of the security guards that would be following close by. He finally left for his meeting with few choice words and a kiss promising his return.

Fuyumi grabbed your arm and gave you a smile that was contagious. “Now that Natsu stopped hogging you, we can finally hang out!” she cheered. “The outlet just opened up a few new stores we’ve been eyeing for a while now!”

Shouto nodded in agreement. “I’ve been waiting all week to use my father’s credit card.”

“Didn’t you buy a fur coat yesterday—”

“That’s besides the point.”

Once Shouto took your other arm, the three of you spent your time going from store to store. At first, the objective was to find outfits for the party Friday, however you three had become easily distracted with the sight of a smoothie stand.

A couple hours had gone by, and not much was done. Although you might have wasted time (and money) shopping at miscellaneous stores, neither one of you cared.

It had been so long since you laughed so freely. With Endeavor across the ocean, things were steadily heating up. Enemies took his leave as an open shot and the Todoroki siblings were obliged to reinforce why their family reigned supreme. Due to that, it seemed no one could go a day without stressing over something.

Between that and Natsuo’s near-obsessive mission to keep you safe and away from the details of the yakuza, you were forced to stay in the house twiddling your thumbs with constant security around you.

Feeling so useless drove you crazy. No matter how many times you tried to get your fiancé to let you help, he would always give you a firm no. Fuyumi and Shouto tried their best to keep you out of it as well. Even Dabi warned you about wanting something so dangerous.

It was frustrating, but you tried to understand. Regardless, having the chance to hang out with your friends like old times was a saving grace and you’d enjoy it to its fullest.

Eventually, you three made it to the boutiques and clothing departments. Shouto had already gotten a suit tailored so it was left with you and Fuyumi.

Your soon-to-be sister-in-law found an extravagant gown that stole your breath. The crimson dress hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating the softness of her feminine figure and the coolness of her kind eyes. It was beautifully bold statement speaking to the fire within Fuyumi many seemed to miss. But no one would overlook that spirit with a dress like that. Her measurements were taken, and the dress was quickly swiped off the rack and sent to the tailor.

Your clothing didn’t come easy. Fuyumi was indecisive and Shouto was a harsh critic.

“Hmm, that one’s too much.”

“Nope, not enough.”

“Too loose.”

“Too tight.”

“No.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m pretty sure someone from the Nanu family wore that in 2016. Next.”

It had taken nearly an entire hour before the three of you found your outfit. Something that had caught your eye was soon being shimmied over your body. When you stepped out of the dressing room, you were relieved when Fuyumi nearly cried and Shouto’s bi-colored eyes twinkled with satisfaction. The material was comfortable on your body and the pigment made your skin color brilliantly glow. It moved and swayed like it was meant for you. It just felt right.

“That’s the one,” Shouto smiled.

“You think so?” you asked, checking over the detailing.

“You’re going to steal the show, as always, Y/N,” Fuyumi gushed. “The most beautiful Onna-Oyabun* the yakuza have seen this generation.”

At the mention of the word, you casted your eyes downward. “Right. I’m going to be the new Onna-Oyabun,” you sighed.

The two Todorokis caught the heaviness of your tone and looked at one another in sadness. They were privy to the burdens of this family and the titles that came along with it. Your reaction wasn’t abnormal, but the despondent gleam in your eyes was still hard to sit with.

“Y/N—”

The sound of Shouto’s phone cut off his words. As he listened to the quiet words from the other line, his eyes began to harden. The store clerk kept you busy, but Fuyumi noticed his sudden rigidness.

Her brother’s eyes flicked towards the door and she caught the sight of more their bodyguards surrounding the boutique, hands on their weapons.

There were a few more words said before Shouto spoke.

“Anata wa mōru o torikakonde imasu. Natsuo wa 5-bu de soto de aimasu.” (Keep the mall surrounded. Natsuo will meet us outside in five minutes.)

Fuyumi met her brother’s eyes once more and understood the situation.

“So, the seamstress said she’ll tighten around the waist and add more fabric to the end. It’ll be ready by tomorrow evening,” you said to them.

Shouto excused himself while Fuyumi walked towards you, a practiced smile on her lips.

“Perfect. Now let’s get you changed and out for your date. Natsuo will be here any minute.”

…

The car ride to the restaurant was filled with your rambling about the day and Natsuo’s usual teasing. When he got into the car after speaking with his siblings, he seemed very tense. So you were happy you were able to get him to relax. Work must’ve put him on edge, and you were determined to let the rest of your night come stress free.

When you got there, he helped you out of the car and you made your way to the door. You were surprised to see who was standing by the entrance.

“Dabi?”

“Hey there, doll,” he said behind an easy smirk. He kissed the back of your hand. “Still see you’re with this punk. Tragic.”

You tried to hide your giggle as Natsuo punched his brother’s shoulder.

“Back off, brick-face. Lookin’ like a burnt raisin.”

“You wound me,” Dabi faux gasped.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

Although Dabi kept his eyes on you, he felt his brother’s stare on his face.

“Just doing some patrol. Heard you were coming around and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi to my new favorite Todoroki,” he responded coolly.

You quirked your brow at that. “Did something happen?”

Dabi opened the door. “Nah, nothing you need to worry about. You just enjoy your dinner for me, yeah?”

Before you could say anything more, you felt the man behind you place his hand on your lower back and guide you into the restaurant. You didn’t miss the order he hissed to his brother before closing the door behind him.

You had to learn Japanese one of these days, damn it.

As you stood in line to be seated, you eyed your fiancé.

“I know something’s going on,” you spoke.

Natsuo didn’t even flinch. “What do you mean?”

“Why’s Dabi here?”

“You heard what he said. For patrol.”

“Patrol for what? He doesn’t just police the area for no reason.”

“It was just on some small case we’ve been working on. No biggie,” he shrugged.

You frowned at his play of innocence. You were getting kind of tired of this. “You know how much I hate being kept in the dark…”

“It’s nothing you have to concern yourself with, babe. I’ve got it handled.”

“Natsuo—”

“Y/N, please.”

You watched his shoulders sag a bit from the heavy sigh that left his mouth. If you hadn’t been watching, you would’ve missed the fatigue that flashed across his face. To see someone usually so upbeat look so tired made your chest ache.

You knew you were being pushy, but all the secrets were piling up and your curiosity was starting to become insatiable.

“I…I just want to help,” you softly admitted. “I don’t mean to be annoying.”

“You’re not being annoying,” he answered in a heartbeat. Natsuo pulled you close and kissed your temple, feeling comforted by your smell. “I know all these secrets drive you crazy, but I’m trying to protect you.”

You placed a hand on his cheek to which he placed a kiss to your palm. “And I want to lessen your burden. We’re in this together, baby. You don’t have to handle all of this alone anymore.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. He stared into your eyes for a moment before gently smiling down at your hopeful gaze. “How ‘bout this? We forget about all this yakuza stuff whiles we’re here, and as soon as we get home, I’ll fill you in on my meeting today. Sound fair?”

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but it was a step in the right direction. Besides, you could see how eager he was to forget about the topic. The focus of this night was about having fun, so you would drop it for now.

You pecked his lips and nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

“Bet.”

The hostess met you two just as you pulled away from one another. She led you to your table where you had a clear view of the beach behind the crystal glass. Your waitress, an older woman with a smile that felt safe, got you settled in.

“My name is Jane and I’ll be serving you today. May I get your drinks?”

Natsuo looked to you. “Wine?”

You made a thoughtful face. “Yeah. Sure. Something on the sweeter side.”

“Bring us Moet Chandon Dom Perignon. 2008.”

“Yes, sir,” she bowed before going to retrieve the drinks.

You frowned in confusion, the bran unknown to you. That was before your eyes scanned over the wine listing. You choked on your spit.

That bottle could pay rent.

Rich people were crazy.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Something in my throat,” you coughed.

After the waitress brought your drinks and you placed your orders (you both ordered enough for eight but what’s new?), you and Natsuo spent your time talking and laughing.

It was like old times. He was the jokester, throwing out horrible pick-up lines with a terrible pun to match. You’d tease him, snickering when he’d whine about how sensitive he was.

You missed this. A lot.

Your previous grievances left your mind. Like he said, for now, you’d forget about the yakuza. The carefree smile on your fiancé’s face, the one that reminded of you of just how young he really was, was beautiful. He was only 23 and dealing with so much. You wanted this expression of freedom to remain for as long as possible.

“The ‘Saw’ series wasn’t even that scary. It was just really gross,” you said.

“Fair. But the one with the teeth was kinda scary. Saw 3 I think? I couldn’t sleep for like, five days,” Natsuo shivered.

“Okay, yeah. That one was…ew,” you agreed. “But remember ‘The Human Centipede’? Now that was some creepy shit. I couldn’t eat cereal for a month.”

Natsuo visibly paled, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Nah for real, bro. I’ll never watch that shit again. I feel like it was some big, grotesque, sexual innuendo.”

You gave him a flat look.

“What the fuck, Natsu.”

“No, listen! Remember the part where they took the hammer and—"

“Your food, Mr. Todoroki and Mr/s. L/N,” Jane interrupted. A questioning look flashed across her face but you two just stifled your laughs.

The other waiters laughed as they stood behind her with the food in their hands.

You were eyeing the hell out of those oysters.

“Here we have the lobster bisque, the shrimp tacos, the stuffed oysters—”

“I’ll take that one, please!” you excitedly clapped.

“Excellent choice.”

“And you say I’m a child,” Natsuo snorted.

You threw a glare his way. “Little boy, if you don’t—”

And just as your day had been filled with laughter, the sound of one bullet tore through that illusion.

It was as if the world had stilled for a moment. Then, there was screaming and the onslaught of gunpower. There were so many men in dignified suits running in and out of the restaurant. You hadn’t even blinked before two waiters dropped to the ground, piled beneath the food they were holding.

Two shots rang near your table, and you felt a string of fresh blood paint the sides of your face and a burning sensation on your left ear. Two hands held the table and the back of your chair, body a shield from the bullets.

You slowly looked up and saw Jane’s bright blue eyes wide with surprise. There was a moment of silence as her bottom lip wavered, wanting to say something.

However, her last breath slipped through her lips as you watched the life dull in her cerulean irises.

That bullet was meant for you. That bullet was meant to kill you and instead…instead…

When she fell onto you, dead, that’s when you screamed.

At some point, Natsuo had gotten you into his arms. His body was ice cold as he used his quirk to protect you and carry you out. He was shouting orders and curses while trying to coax you out of your numbness. However, you couldn’t hear anything.

The stench of blood was strong. You saw how the bodies of innocent men, women, and children laid piled on the floor. They bled out; their lives taken from them before they even had the chance to think about it.

You closed your eyes when you saw blue and red flames lick the ground. You had seen enough.

Somehow, you had gotten outside and away from the warzone. Natsuo carried you into the car.

“Doraibu!” he thundered. (Drive!)

The driver took off with speed that made our backs hit the seats. Once he hit the main streets, miles away from the scene, Natsuo took his hand off the gun and quelled his quirk.

His phone lit up and it wasn’t long before he blew up at whoever was on the other end. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him use a tone so mean and angry. He roared into the phone, his words foreign to your ears. However, you couldn’t concentrate on that.

The shock of what just occurred struck your body numb. The ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped since the first bullet. You could still smell the blood and the bodies. Jane’s lifeless eyes would haunt you forever.

The same bullet that tore into her heart was meant for you. Whoever shot that, was aiming to kill. Kill you. But instead, Jane had taken that place. For what reason, you didn’t know. But she did.

You didn’t know which one was worse.

Bile rose in the back of your throat and you let out a shaky breath.

You could do nothing else but hold your head.

Natsuo had gotten off the phone and looked over at you in silence. His grey eyes stormed with pain from the way your shoulders hunched over in grief.

He reached for you. “Y/N, sweetheart—”

You flinched away as his fingertips ghosted your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you seethed.

He quickly withdrew his hands.

“Are…are you okay?” he slowly spoke.

The glare you gave him made him avert his eyes in anguish.

“Am I okay? You’re asking me if I’m okay!?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not hurt,” he thickly swallowed.

“Are you serious, Natsuo!? I just saw twenty people die in front of me and you’re asking if I’m okay!??”

Guilt drowned him, but you just couldn’t seem to care at the moment as rage took over your body.

“I asked you to tell me what was going on. I’ve been fucking begging you to keep me up to date so I can just be prepared for when things like this happen!”

“I know.”

“If I had just known someone was trying to take me out, I would’ve stayed the fuck home, but you wouldn’t tell me and now there’s people DEAD!!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Fuck your sorry!” you roared. “Fuck you, Natsuo! Sorry won’t bring those people back!”

Your voice was beginning to grow hoarse but screaming felt good. It was the only thing that felt real even as it took you to hysteria.

“I know those bullets were meant for me! They wanted to—to—oh my God!” Your breathig grew erratic as it all dawned on you. “I’m supposed to be dead! They wanted to kill me! I can’t! I can’t do this!”

Natsuo felt his heart break with every sob that ripped from your mouth. He wanted so badly to hold you and take you away from all of this. However, he knew better.

For the entire car ride and throughout the time it took for the nurses to patch you up, you hadn’t allowed him to touch you. You even ignored him until he was forced to leave you to rest.

When he told you he loved you, it hurt like hell to see you wordlessly disappear behind the bedroom door. That pain was what later fueled him back to the scene of the crime and into doing things to the captured enemies he would never utter to anyone that wasn’t there.

Fuyumi and Shouto couldn’t look him in his eyes for the rest of the day. It was Dabi, as heartless as he was, that told him it was enough.

He would give anything to give you what you deserved, a life without pain and death. But that’s not how it worked. Not in this life.

He knew that, yet, he had been selfish and took you for himself. Now, this was the result. Your life in unremitting danger because of who he was.

The agonized screams of dry ice burning away flesh constantly played in his head. It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.

[Present]

Natsuo’s heavy stare caused you to shift. As he changed into pajamas, you looked at the clock. It was 2am.

You hadn’t realized it was so late.

You felt a heavy dip in the bed and watched your fiancé carefully settle into the sheets. His face was clean of blood and dirt, so he must've showered before coming back home.

A pregnant pause filtered between you two. As you continued to stare at one another, you could see his façade slip with each passing second. The blank front he was so skilled at putting up melted as his eyes continued to pass over the bandages. His eyes sunk and the skin around them was dark with wear. He looked exhausted.

The anger that had once bristled inside of you had given way to melancholy a long time ago. You felt so empty and lonely with the dark thoughts that circled in your head. Sleep wasn’t an option if you wanted to avoid the nightmares that would plague you.

The two of you scooted closer to one another. Natsuo was the first to speak. He spoke in a voice so small, you almost missed it.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you whispered.

Soon enough, you were in his arms, chin on his shoulder as he peppered the junction between your neck and collarbone with kisses. You relished in his hands exploring your body, missing how he just seemed to swallow you up.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed.

“I love you too, Natsuo.”

Much of the night was spent reminding yourselves of the other’s touch. Natsuo drew your lips captive, his tongue overtaking you with dizzying pleasure. You couldn’t keep track of where his mouth was. Whether it was on your lips, on your stomach, or in between your legs, you savored how good it felt.

Soon, his low growls and moans were hot against your ears. Your nails ran down Natsuo’s back as his hips swam into you, taking his time to rememorize how you felt around him. The bed creaked along with your moans. You threw your head back and gripped whatever you could hold of him during your lovemaking.

It seemed you’d reach your high over and over again. You could never get enough of each other. There was something intoxicating about how his tongue would roll over yours as he pounded into you, staking claim over your body as he gave himself to you until he couldn’t.

When your bodies couldn’t go any longer, you just lied underneath the sheets. Natsuo lied on top of you, head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. You pushed back his sweaty bangs, staring down at him.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until his thumbs went to swipe past your cheeks.

“Damn it,” you hiccupped.

Natsuo let his vulnerability slip. “I know they’re just words, but I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said. His voice cracked and it was your turn to catch the tears that fell from his eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was just…”

“Just what?”

A fresh wave of images from today filled the forefront of your mind. Those pictures did something to you. A switch was flicked.

Your voice caught in your throat and your eyes pinched as more tears filled them. However, these were not tears of fright, rather tears of animosity. The anger you thought had left you had turned into something worse. Something much darker.

Natsuo saw that look many times before in his own reflection. Vengeance. Pure, unadulterated, vengeance. And as much as he hated it, it was the gas that incited his own flame.

“Natsuo,” you spoke like you were about to tell a secret. You slowly swallowed the ball in your throat.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what it is you want.”

The words that left your mouth felt different, but you would never regret them.

“Whoever it was, whoever was behind this, I want them gone,” you instructed, voice stone cold. “For every child lost, I want ten of their heads. For all our men they took, I want their bodies burned. For the life they took from Jane, I want their blood on the street. Today, they took their stance when they tried to kill me.”

You held his face and fell into his gaze with hard eyes. In those grey irises, you saw a man that would stand against an army for you. It gave you the courage to say your order.

“And for that, I want the entire yakuza dead.”

The glint in his eye matched your own and you knew there was no turning back. Natsuo nodded without a second thought. There was nothing to think about. He’d give you the entire world or burn it down at the flick of your hand.

“Yes, my Onna-Oyabun. Your wish is my command.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss.

“This is war.”

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liibrii · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2: Tattered

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say. Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see.

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.”

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast

#ojiro aran x reader #ojiro aran imagine #aran x reader #ojiro aran x y/n #aran x y/n #ojiro aran #aran haikyuu #inarizaki x reader #hq #haikyuu #inarizaki #haikyuu x reader #ojiro aran x you #aran x you #libri scribbles #all that is gold

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