#this was way longer than the fob one

[omegalomania]

So Much (For) Stardust 10 Day Countdown Challenge ↳ March 20th: Heartbreak Feels So Good

[hotchscoffeecup]

stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It’s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.

[clockwayswrites]

*writes 800+ words of Another Red but not the part I'm supposed to*

Jason breathed in the heavy clove scented smoke, taking comfort in it. He didn’t smoke often anymore, but if Bruce and Alfred hadn’t gotten him to stop, he didn’t think he ever would. Somethings were just too much part of a person. The smoke swirled up into the night air, caught in the constant breeze a harbor city like Gotham had.

“You don’t have to do this kid, put yourself in danger like this.”

“No, I do,” Rabbit bit out. Jason was pretty sure if he could see the kid’s teeth, they would be bared in a feral smile. “What I can’t do is let people get hurt when I can go and help them.”

“Yeah, and what about your safety? You could die.”

Rabbit laughed like that was some sort of big joke and Jason felt himself bristling at the reaction. Jason knew how dangerous this was— more than anyone else in his family. He’d felt that fear and pain and—

“Yeah, well, Hood, sorta too late for that.”

Jason’s anger left him so suddenly that he felt cold in it’s absence. No—

“Do you know, it’s not the death itself that’s bad,” Rabbit drawled, almost lazily. He finally lit his gifted cigarette. He didn’t take his mask off, like Jason had hoped he would, but ducked his head down and pushed the mask up just enough to take a slow drag. He looked so small like that, hunched over on himself with the bright ember dangling from his fingertips. “The body stopping everything… it’s sorta of quiet. All those functions we don’t think about going on all the time— breath’n and blink’n and beat’n… it’s quite without all that going on. Nah, it’s not the actually dy’n that’s so bad, it’s the fear that comes with it.”

“Yeah.” The admission almost hurt Jason to choke out.

“Yeah,” Rabbit agreed. He took another drag from the cigarette. His free hand was curled over his head, likely to keep his face hidden from Jason, but it just made Rabbit look all the more like a scared kit. “And that fucking fear? That worst part? I live with that all the fucking time, Hood, so nah, I’m not so ‘fraid of dy’n‘gain.”

“At least let me help you avoid it,” Jason said. He didn’t mean to plead but fuck if he wasn’t.

Rabbit snorted and took one more drag before he snuffed out his cig and stood. “Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?”

All traces of the drawling accent was gone and that hint of Gotham was back in Rabbit’s voice.

Jason wondered which was more real.

He reached into his belt instead of pressing the matter— instead of pressing the accent or take on death or talking Rabbit out of this life. Jason knew in every shattered bone of his that it wouldn’t do any good. This life already had the kid by the neck and there was nothing to do about it. It would choke Rabbit out one way or another, just like the rest of them.

The red fob was innocuous against his glove, could hardly even see it in the dim, yellow light of th Narrows. Red on red on red—

“Take it.”

Rabbit didn’t.

“What is it?” he asked instead, leaning forward just a little.

“A panic button.”

Rabbit snorted and flicked the remains of the cigarette at Jason. “I’m not taking a fucking tracker.”

“It’s not a tracker until you activate it. You press and hold the button on each side for two seconds and only if you do that is it a tracker. I can’t activate it remotely on my end or anything,” Jason said. “It’s the same one I give some street kids and sex workers. There’s nothing special about it, it’s just a tracker.”

Rabbit watched Jason with an eerie stillness. “Swear it.”

“I swear, it’s just a panic button. It’s only a track if you turn it on.”

Rabbit still didn’t move. Jason sighed and started to pull his hand back before Rabbit darted forward and grabbed the panic button. The little fucker was quick.

“I won’t press it just for anything,” Rabbit said with a defiant jut of his chin.

“Wouldn’t expect you too,” Jason said with an honest, easy shrug.

Rabbit watched a moment longer before he pulled out a keyring without any keys and put the button in. It hung between a battered food shelter tag and a library barcode that Jason was sure was counterfeit.

“Yeah, whatever. Now go on and get, Hood. Don’t you have a whole city to look after?”

“Fucker,” Jason said fondly and stamped his own cigarette out before he tucked the butt away in a pouch slot. The small part of him that was still very much a Bat wanted to do the same with Rabbit’s so he could try and pull some DNA. Instead he flicked Rabbit off and leapt off the roof to the kid’s laughter.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Stay in the Car

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: Tim disappears from the station, and you and Aaron have to find him. After a heroic leap of faith, you save him in more ways than one.

Warnings: this is inspired by a scene in 6x10 but there's no story spoilers, angst, implied abduction and drug trafficking, injuries, fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

It’s been a slow day in the Mid-Wilshire station. You and your husband Tim were called back to assist with a case, but so far, all you’ve done is sort through paperwork.

“I thought we had rookies for this kind of thing,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“They’re busy babysitting crime scenes,” Tim replies.

You nod as you slide the last form into its proper place. Tim pushes his empty box away and sighs. Now there’s truly nothing to do.

“So, this is where the party is,” Aaron teases as he and Nolan return.

“Yeah,” you agree sarcastically. “It’s a rager, as you can see.”

The detective you’ve been assisting gathers his papers and thanks you quickly. Alone and bored again, you ask Aaron how the streets are today.

“Quiet. Not so much as a speeding ticket so far,” he tells you as he collapses into the seat beside you.

“The Q-word,” Nolan reminds him. “Make sure Harper isn’t around before you use it.”

Tim shakes his head and digs his phone out of his pocket. You tap your foot against his leg under the table, but as his brows draw together, he doesn’t look up at you.

“You alright?” you ask him.

“I have to go.” Tim stands as he speaks, and only spares a glance in your direction.

“Where?”

Tim jogs toward the door as he answers, and you can’t make out part of what he says. It sounds like laundry then, "I love you."

“What’s that about?” Nolan asks.

“No idea. Someone must’ve called for backup,” you guess.

“Probably someone at Hollywood. They’re getting calls.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Aaron nods at you as you stand. When you walk out of the station you see Tim’s truck and his shop still parked in their usual spots. You walk past both vehicles, but there’s no sign of him.

“You lookin’ for the cop that just walked out?” a man on the sidewalk asks.

“Yes, I am. Did you see where he went?” you reply.

“Guy led him to a truck. Figured they were friends or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen as your heart rate increases. Tim wouldn’t have just left while on duty without telling you. To provide backup, sure, but not to get in a truck with a civilian.

“Did you see the truck? Where it went?” you question.

“Nah, miss. Sorry.”

You run back inside and straight to Aaron. Nolan is no longer waiting with him, but Aaron has nothing but time, and you need to find your husband.

“Did you drive to work today?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he answers slowly. “Why?”

“We need to go. Tim just left and might need backup. He’s not on a call, though.”

“Just take a shop.”

“No, Aaron. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with, and I don’t need to spook anyone into killing him!” you exclaim.

Aaron makes no move to hand over his keys, but you need a personally owned vehicle to stay incognito. Tim has his truck keys, so you need to convince Aaron to help you; if not for you, for Tim.

“Aaron, keys!” you demand.

“We don’t even know where they’re going,” Aaron argues.

“And we won’t find Tim if we don’t do something.” You take a deep breath and run your thumb over your wedding band. “I can’t lose him, Aaron.”

“I know,” he assures. “But I’m going with you. Tim needs all of us. Whatever that text was must've been important.”

Aaron waves as he steps past you, and you follow him to the parking area. When he removes a leather key fob from his pocket and you see a Lamborghini sitting in his spot, you momentarily forget about Tim and his sudden disappearance.

“Aaron, we can’t…” you begin.

“Forget about the car. Let’s go!”

You climb into the passenger seat as Aaron starts the car with an obnoxious rev of the engine.

“Habit,” he murmurs as he pulls the gear shift into reverse. “Where are we going?”

“It’s been at least fifteen minutes since he walked out. They could be miles in any direction by now,” you reply.

“But they wouldn’t have gone anywhere, right?” Aaron asks as he looks both ways to turn. “It may have been last-minute, but they had a plan.”

“What did he say when he left?”

“That he loved you.”

“No, before that.”

“Oh, uhm.” Aaron pauses to think as he passes a truck going under the speed limit. “Something about a laundromat, I think.”

“Did he say laundromat, laundering, or laundry?”

“What’s the difference? Besides washing clothes and the illegal money trade, I mean.”

“Landry,” you realize aloud. “He said Landry as in Pierre Landry!”

“Okay,” Aaron replies. “Who is that?”

“Head toward the Hills.”

“Finally,” Aaron mumbles.

“One more favour?” you request.

“Anything, you know that.”

“Drive this car like you want to. Grey alerted dispatch that we took a POV.”

“Now that’s a favour I’d love to do.”

You sit back in the passenger seat as Aaron shifts into another gear. He swerves in and out of traffic as you think of your husband. Tim has to be safe, because you’ll lose yourself if he’s not.

“What exactly is the plan?” Aaron asks.

You snap yourself out of your racing thoughts of Tim to say, “I’ll know when I see it.”

Aaron nods to himself, but you can tell he’s not convinced. Your plan certainly isn’t detailed, probably not even smart, yet you have to trust that it’ll work. It has to work.

“Slow down,” you tell Aaron. “See the brown truck in the right lane, thirty yards ahead?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron answers. “Oh.”

The back window is broken out and the driver is swerving within the boundaries of his lane, but you can’t see why. When the truck drifts toward the car in the next lane, they hit their brakes and lay on the horn. Aaron swings into the lane behind the truck and ignores the people who honk at him.

With the new vantage point, you see a gun in the bed of the truck. As you lean toward Aaron’s dash to get a better look, you see two people moving in the cab. The driver raises a knife, and then they duck down toward the seat again as he swerves toward the barrier between the lanes. The truck moves over a lane, and the surrounding traffic has given him plenty of room to wreck without harming anyone. The new bumper surrounding the erratic (and armed) truck driver provides the perfect opportunity.

“Get beside him,” you tell Aaron. “But not too close. Stay away from his door.”

He nods and speeds up to drive into the lane beside the truck. You toll your window down and unclip your seatbelt as Aaron’s car lines up with the truck bed.

“What are you doing?” Aaron yells over the wind.

You pull yourself through the narrow window to sit atop the door. “Saving my husband!” you answer loudly. “Keep it steady and fall back the minute I jump.”

“But you-“

“Thorsen!” you interrupt. “Fall back the minute I jump. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You raise your hands to the hood of his car and carefully pull your knees up. When your right foot reaches the door, you push yourself to stand and use your hands to stay steady. You count down in your head 3, 2, 1, and then you jump. Aaron hits the brakes and the distance between you and him increases quickly.

When you hit the truck bed, you roll before you catch yourself. With a calculated movement, you wait until it swerves again to push yourself up and toward the broken back window. Pushed against the body at the back of the cab, you reach your arms inside and grab the driver’s arm. It isn’t until you push yourself in further that you actually see Tim. Tim’s eyes meet yours, and he exhales sharply as you pull the driver back against his seat.

“Move,” you tell Tim.

He pulls himself up from the floorboard and into the passenger seat. The driver finds his knife again and begins slinging it aimlessly over his shoulder, aiming for you. Tim doesn’t hesitate to move across the cab of the truck and pull the driver’s hands away from you.

“Tim!” you warn as the truck begins drifting toward the curb.

You keep your arms locked around the driver’s shoulders but watch Tim. He takes a deep breath and leans back. As he shoves his feet against the man’s side, he grimaces in pain but doesn’t stop. The momentum knocks the driver against the door beside him and his foot slides off the gas pedal. You move your left arm to his neck and hold him tightly as you reach for the steering wheel with your right.

Tim slips forward again to avoid a punch from the driver and extends his arm toward the brake pedal. He groans as he pushes it to the floor, and you use all of your strength to pull the driver back and away from Tim. The truck lurches to a quick stop and you turn so that your side makes impact with the broken window frame rather than your face or chest.

Sirens sound behind you and grow louder quickly now that you aren’t moving. The driver reaches for something under his seat, but you grab the gun that slid forward in the truck bed and aim it at his temple.

“Drop it,” you command. “Now.”

Tim groans again as he sits up, but he keeps his eyes on the man you’re holding. You loosen your grip and open the driver’s side door so the approaching officers can get him out and into custody. He takes the opportunity to roll out, but Aaron pulls up beside him before he can push himself up and run.

“That was amazing!” Aaron applauds as he exits his car.

Tim hisses in pain, and you turn toward him quickly.

“That was dumb,” he argues.

“Are you okay?” you ask him.

Tim cradles his arm but nods. You hop over the side of the bed and open the passenger door. Tim leans toward you as you lay your hand on his shoulder.

“Where’s Landry?” Nyla asks as she and Angela run toward the truck.

“Whoa,” Angela interjects. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Driver didn’t say much, but he radioed that he would meet someone at John Anson,” Tim answers.

“Get an ambulance,” Angela tells a passing officer.

“John Anson Ford? The theater?” Nyla clarifies.

You tune out their conversation as you squat beside the truck. Tim’s boots are scuffed from breaking the window, but other than the scrapes you can see and his arm, he seems relatively fine. You release a relieved, albeit shaky, breath as you stand.

“It’s not high season for the theater,” you add. “Landry could be using it as a distribution base for his new product.”

“He’ll get suspicious when reckless back there doesn’t show,” Tim says.

“We’ll send someone in,” Nyla assures him. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“Don’t,” Angela warns when Tim opens his mouth. “Argue with your wife about it.”

She winks at you as she and Nyla walk toward the other officers waiting behind you. The ambulance navigates through the crowd of police cars and officers, and you look into Tim’s eyes.

“You scared me,” you murmur, taking his hand.

“You jumped from a moving car onto another moving car, but you want to play that card?” Tim challenges.

“Are you really okay?” you ask.

“I promise. There is one thing I’d like you to do- two, maybe.”

You nod quickly, and Tim looks over your shoulder at the approaching EMTs.

“Go finish this case, and make sure it’s over.”

“Tim, I-“

“I need to know. And you do too.”

“Okay,” you agree. “What’s the second thing?”

Tim tips his chin up, and you smile before you kiss him gently. He moves his good arm toward your waist, but you step back.

“You’re sure?” you check.

Tim nods, and you demand that he keep you updated as you step back.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you,” he replies. “Get Landry.”

You salute Tim and smile when he rolls his eyes. Tim will give the paramedics a hard time, but he’s safe, and that’s all that matters.

“Grey,” you call as you enter the bullpen.

“Thank goodness,” he sighs. “Everything wrapped up?”

“Detectives are closing the case as we speak, and Landry is already booked and processed. We also grabbed two distributors who already had product on them.”

“Then get out of here.” Wade smiles as he adds, “And take your husband with you.”

You furrow your brows. Tim should be at the hospital still; it’s only been a few hours since you left him with the EMTs. Wade points toward the roll call room, and you see your husband sitting against a table with his arm in a sling.

Without another word, you walk away from Sergeant Grey and toward Tim. He looks up when you open the door, and his shoulders drop when he sees you.

“We got Landry,” you say before he asks.

“I’m fine,” Tim tells you, sensing that you have a question too.

“Good. Ready to go home?”

“As long as you’ll stay in the car this time,” Tim jokes.

He stands, and you hug under his uninjured arm. You feel him relax before his wraps his arm around you and ducks his head toward your shoulder.

“You mean more to me than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“I love you, Tim,” you whisper. “But don’t ever make me do that again. You walked out and then you were gone.”

“Hey.” Tim waits until you look at him to finish, “Never again.”

You kiss him quickly and then step back and take his hand. “I promise to stay in the car all the way home if we can get food on the way.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but the way he keeps you close as you walk to his truck – which you have to drive now – makes you think he really was just as worried about you as you were for him.

[luveline]

PLEASE I NEED MORE STRIPPER READER X AARON

cw reader is able to wear hotch's clothes, adult theme mdni

Your hands ache. You have calluses on your palm, unsightly, but if you were to soak them off you'd bleed. 

The club is practically dead. You can get away with a low effort routine —old men and day drunks don't care what you're doing so long as they can see your chest. The level of undress is your choice (though the girls willing to dance fully nude get the better slots, obviously), and you've been doing this for long enough that it doesn't really bother you when a patron shouts for you to take your bra off. Your hand is slipping behind your back for the clasp when you notice him near the bar. 

Agent Hotchner —you can call me Hotch— usually catches your attention and leaves. A quick nod after he's met your eyes, he'll wait for you to get dressed and meet him out front near his intimidating car. But today he watches even after you smile hello, and someone close by throws a ten at your feet like you'd been smiling for them. He's expressionless. 

It's far more difficult to finish your dance knowing he's watching. He doesn't stay for long, ten seconds at most, but those ten seconds are much longer than he's ever watched you perform before. 

You finish your dance, collect your tips, and trudge back to the dressing rooms. You would've made more money if you'd stripped down. Not much considering the small audience, but some. You can't explain why seeing Hotch had made you stay your hand, maybe because he's one of the only men you know who treats you like you're fully human. You don't want that to change.

It's colder outside than it was when you arrived. Traffic is picking up as people leave their jobs for the day, and the club will be busier in the night hours. You'll stay, hopefully make enough for food this week. 

"Are you warm enough?" he asks immediately. 

"I didn't bring my jacket." You shrug. "I'd rather be out here with you." Than go back inside, no matter how cold. 

He opens his trunk with a click of the key fob and disappears behind the tail end. You can see his arm move, a bundle of black fabric. His arm flexes as he closes the trunk, and his eyebrows have hooked together when he returns to you. 

"Here," he says, "it should fit." 

Just a simple charcoal quarter zip. You shrug it on over your clothes and find yourself immediately greeted by the smell of men's cologne. His cologne. 

"What can I help you with today, Mr. Hotchner?" you ask. You're flirting in that useless way where it doesn't mean a thing, and he knows that, because, as you've come to find about these special agents, they know everything. 

"I wanted to ask you to dinner." 

"Oh, I don't… I don't do the escort stuff," you say gently. 

"I know." He turns his head away from you. "I realise that it's unprofessional. I know it puts you in an uncomfortable position to say no. But I want to take you out for dinner, if you'd let me." 

You stare at him. "I won't sleep with you after one fancy dinner–" 

"It's not like that." He speaks so calmly, so quietly. 

It doesn't make any sense. He's a professional man in a successful career, with a son if you remember correctly, and a circle of peers his own age and status. If he doesn't want to fuck you, if he really wants to take you out for dinner, that's a date. 

"What, you want to be my boyfriend?" you ask, shaking your head, lips pulled down in a frustrated frown. 

"I– well, if things went well, I wouldn't be opposed to it." He laughs. 

"Are you messing with me?" 

"No, I'm sorry. I just wasn't prepared for the question." 

He meets you head on. Face to face and eye to eye, he looks at you with, for once, a completely readable expression. It's a bit startling. The slight lift to his brow and his half-smile, it's an expression that says, If you want to. It puts all the choice in your hands. 

"I know we don't know one another that well, I," —his eyes soften another shade, tenderness like no one's ever given you— "wanted to make my intentions clear to you. I didn't want to continue our professional relationship and then pull the rug out from under you later." 

You know Hotch through car rides, mostly. He's taken you home from a couple of places now, usually after he's asked you questions about someone or something to do with the sex trafficking ring currently being squashed in Virginia. He's nice. You've told him without fretting about the consequences that he's handsome. When you first met, you asked him why gentlemen like him didn't come to see you dance. 

You didn't think the answer was that they might grow to have feelings for you. 

You wonder if he's just lonely. But lonely Hotch could still have a number of women that aren't you, right? 

"Like you'd never get a handle on it?" you ask, subtly teasing.

He reacts to your tone visibly. His smile gets worse, which is to say better, and his voice sounds similarly teasing as he answers, "I tried to. That's exactly what you need, another old man with the wrong idea." 

"I don't think you have the wrong idea, Hotch." 

"But you don't reject that I'm old?" 

You leap to correct him through laughter, surprised at his quick wit, and he leaps to let you know he's kidding through his own. You tell him while things are warm that you'd like to go to dinner with him, if he really means it, and he holds one of your hands like a prince, thumb ghosting over your knuckles, unafraid of the calluses on your hands. He touches you like you're made of glass. 

You try to give him back his jacket before he leaves, but he insists you keep it. "If you freeze before I get to take you out, I won't forgive you." 

Huh, you think as he drives away, waving, the sleeve of his borrowed jacket falling down your arm. Who knew Special Agent Hotchner was a flirt? 

[penvisions]

hello hello and thank you so much for being here in my little corner of the internet! i'm a long time hobby writer that's getting back into the swing of things as hyper fixations take place. currently that includes a wide range of fandoms and most of my works are still in progress (ppcu). i hope that doesn't deter you from checking them out!

i hope you they bring something to you if you decide to check them out, little joys are so important these days

any and all likes, reblogs, comments, asks, shoutouts are so so greatly appreciated ♡ please feel free to reach out if you feel so inclined ♡ i’d be happy to chat with y’all

there is absolutely no pressure, but here is my kofi account if anyone if feeling generous ♡

wanted to pop into this post and highlight that a few of my reader characters range from descriptions of hair and skin color / texture. most of them have been adapted from OFC characters in my mind but i want everyone to feel like they aren't being blindsided when reading or beginning to start my fics. most details can be discarded. i hope this is all okay and happy reading! love y'all so much and just want everyone to have a good time and enjoy reading ♡

-> ao3 link || drabble masterlist

*The Last of Us:

Joel Miller x Reader Masterlist

*Triple Frontier

Frankie Morales x Reader Masterlist

*Kingsman: Golden Circle

Jack Daniels x Reader || Agent Whiskey x Reader Masterlist

*Star Wars: The Mandalorian:

Title: of beskar and kyber Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader) Status: work in progress Summary: You’ve been on the run for as long as you can remember, from a lot of different people and a lot of different things. Everyone seems to see you as either a prize to show off or a captive to exploit. You had been successful in keeping a low profile and evading brief captures. That is until your mother contracted the Guild and the Mandalorian came to possess your tracking fob. Will he be the reason your freedom is no longer something attainable or will he be the one to help you achieve it in ways you never anticipated? 

ao3 link || series masterlist

*Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Title: from grief to grace Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Reader Summary: Determined to work through your heartbreak, you end up spacing out until your boss comes to check on you.

fic link

*Eddington

Title: appointing authority Pairing: Ted Garcia x F! Reader Summary: Mr. Garcia needs a distraction from all the hard work he's been doing and you're more than happy to provide it.

fic link

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hi <3

May I have Cody with f!Jedi reader and the prompt 15 and 35?

(I hope I memorized the numbers correctly 😂)

💕

Hello love @your-local-jedi-commanderThank you for the love and participating, it's so sweet of you.

I hope you enjoy the story.

The General

Warnings: Fighting, blood, wound, medical procedure, bantering, discussions of death and violence, explosions, mud. I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

The battle was enduring much longer than anyone anticipated, it didn’t help that this god-forsaken planet wouldn’t stop raining. Cody crouched down behind a boulder doing his best to provide cover for the General who joined their operation. It’d been three months since they’ve been fighting and they barely made any advancement. 

The blood from the gash on his forehead was trickling down and into his eye, he kept wiping it away, trying to get a line on where you stood and where the droids were; but it was all starting to blur. He closed one eye, aiming as best he could; force, how he missed his helmet, but a stupid mortar shell damaged his HUD and now he had to deal with the elements. A new one was on its way, but it wouldn’t get to him until he made it back to the FOB, so for now squinting and wiping had to do. 

He wiped one more time, taking aim, and fired. Only to see his laser beam, pass by only an inch from where you were, nearly hitting you. You dismantled the droid, with one swing, and spun to look at him, “What are you doing!”

“Sorry, General. My eyes …”

You shook your head, “Commander, do me a favor. Just sit there and look pretty, let me handle this.”

He felt embarrassed by that embarrassing shot. His embarrassment grew, when he saw you call the force and push all the droids away, somehow simultaneously igniting all their grenades. You turned and walked away as the explosion ricocheted behind you, making you look ethereal. Cody wished he had his helmet so he could’ve captured the image.

You didn’t even bother to look back, your only concern was Cody. It wasn’t like him to be sloppy with his shots, he was either in a lot of pain, or his vision was getting worse, which was even more worrisome.

You couldn’t help but worry about the Commander, ever since you joined Obi-wan’s fleet, he’d been a breath of fresh air in the force. With all the violence and death surrounding you because of the war, the dark side of the force swallowed up all that was good. It drained you more than you realized, that was until the moment you met Cody, it was as though someone brought out the sun, and breathed life back into your life. 

As you walked over to Cody, you noticed the gash on his forehead was still bleeding pretty profusely, “Why didn’t you get this taken care of?” You kneeled beside him, your fingers gently prodding the wound.

“I wanted to watch your back.”

You tilted your head as you smiled at him, “And who’s watching yours, while you’re watching mine?”

He smirked as he looked at you, “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” 

You looked him in the eye, wanting to tell him what he really meant to you, even if it was against the code. Even if he wasn’t allowed to have relationships, you didn’t care. You just wanted to let him know, but somehow it never came out. Sure variations of what you wanted to say, made it past your lips, but never exactly what was pressing on your heart.

“It’s not that bad.”

“I beg to differ, Commander.” Your hand slid down the side of his face, as you gently cupped his cheek, it lasted for a brief second, but that brief second could’ve been an eternity for all you cared. You pulled your hand away slowly, reluctantly. 

Cody almost chased the warmth of your hand, feeling your fingers, your palm, your skin on his, made it feel like a dream come true. Ever since you stepped off that shuttle, and joined General Kenobi’s fleet, it was as though life had shown him there was more than to simply exist. It wasn’t just about the war and his brothers. There was you. You brought meaning to his life, something he never quite understood, but was happy to accept. 

Maybe it was when he first saw you take down twenty droids on your own, maybe it was when you used the force to protect him and his brothers, when you shielded them from the explosions, or maybe it had to do with that laugh that somehow made his heart want to lurch forward, and made his stomach flutter, all he knew was at some point he fell in love with you. 

“Come on, I’ll take you back to the med tent. Get you cleaned up.” You guided his arm around your shoulder as you helped him up. 

“I can walk, General.”

“You nearly shot me. Right now, I don’t trust you to take a pee without assistance. Just accept the help.”

“You always this stubborn?”

“Says the quacta calling the stifling slimy.”

“I have to be, have you met my General.”

You laughed that laugh that made his heart feel as though it had wings, he tightened his arm around your shoulder, wanting to pull you in close. “Obi-wan does have a knack for getting into trouble, I will grant you that.”

“You can blame him for my stubbornness.”

“Oh, I will.” 

You pulled him in closer, wanting to take as much advantage of the warmth from his body as you could. Before you helped him sit on a med cot. Although you weren’t a healer, you did make it a point to learn how to perform certain medical treatments on the field. Oftentimes there were not enough medics and one more extra hand, meant one more soldier was saved. So you did what needed to be done. You moved away from Cody to grab a suture kit, placing it on the cot beside him, and grabbing a santizing wipe. 

“Alright, I’m going to need to clean this first.” You prepared him, hoping he understood the pain that was about to happen.

“You don’t have trouble yourself, General, I can wait for another medic.”

“The other medics are dealing with more severe cases, I can handle this. Now, this is going to hurt, okay?”

Cody simply nodded, gripping his knee, as you started to wipe away the rain, the blood and even some mud that had splashed on to his face. His face twisted in pain, you leaned forward and blew gently on the wound, it shouldn’t have seemed as romantic or even as sensual as it did, but somehow the both of you found it to be rather intimate. 

His eyes opened and looked into yours, in that moment he was saying all the things he couldn’t, as he looked into your warm, kind, beautiful eyes. 

You took a shuddering breath, when it felt as though time stopped as you looked into his eyes, you wanted to lean forward, to press your lips to his, to let him know how much of your heart was already his. 

Before the distance could be closed, a noise from outside the tent startled the both of you, when you realized how close you were. Cody could feel his cheeks flushing, as you slowly pulled back looking aside for a second, before you moved to grab the needle and thread. You looked into his eyes one more time, a smile on your face, that told him, you knew.

He simply smiled back and whispered, “Me too.”

The smile on your face grew, before you started to stitch him up. 

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[livingbreathingdreams]

Pedro Pascal Character Fics 💖

• DIN DJARIN • JAVIER PEÑA • JOEL MILLER • FRANKIE MORALES • JACK DANIELS • DIETER BRAVO •

🌸 Slow burn [because I’m a sucker for endless buildup] ⎮ ⚪️ Friends to lovers ⎮ 🧡 Personal favorite ⎮ * There is cheating (by the main characters, which I don't condone, but the story is so good I'm making an exception)

//

Din Djarin

Series

❤︎ A Fresh Start @theidiotwhowritesthings 🌸🧡

When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

❤︎ To the Bone @honeydjarin 🌸

Your soulmate is a bounty hunter, one who intends to collect the price on your head, even if that means bringing you in cold. You can’t run, can’t hide, can’t avoid the inevitable, so you intend to weaponize your silence.

❤︎ home is wherever I'm with you @saradika

When it appears the droid repair will take longer than expected, Din finds himself taking Karga up on his offer for the parcel of land. And when you go to give your new neighbor a warm welcome - you never imagine that it would be the very man you haven’t been to stop thinking about.

❤︎ Of Constellations & Creeds @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa 🌸

Everyone loves the Alpha and Omega Fated Mates for Life troupe so, what if The Mandalorians were a society of Alphas, a dying race because your sisterhood of Omegas are becoming more and more rare by the day? You and Din were mated before you were born, your futures written in the stars–and that pissed you off, both of you. At least in the beginning.

❤︎ of beskar and kyber @penvisions 🌸

You’ve been on the run for as long as you can remember, from a lot of different people and a lot of different things. Everyone seems to see you as either a prize to show off or a captive to exploit. You had been successful in keeping a low profile and evading brief captures. That is until your mother contracted the Guild and the Mandalorian came to possess your tracking fob. Will he be the reason your freedom is no longer something attainable or will he be the one to help you achieve it in ways you never anticipated? 

❤︎ unearthed @grippingbeskar

Royal!Reader, arranged marriage, need I say more?

//

Javier Peña

Series

❤︎ Teach Me Tonight @storiesofthefandomlovers ⚪️

Y/N and Javier both have things to talk about when he visits her apartment one night. Y/N tells her partner about her crush on Brad from the CIA and reveals that she is a virgin and has barely been kissed. She wants to make sure she can impress Brad and asks Javier to educate her on all things sex and seduction.

One Shots

❤︎ going slow @ezrasbirdie sex hurts and Javier is an angel 🌶

❤︎ Favours Repaid @pascalispretty Javier doesn't like leaving a lady unsatisfied 🌶

//

Joel Miller

Series

❤︎ Honeyed @softlyspector Tattoo Artist!Joel AU 🌸⚪️🧡

You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel.

❤︎ a stranger's heart without a home @morning-star-joy 🌸⚪️🧡

Sleeping with Joel Miller was supposed to be a one time thing. When the older brother of your closest friend showed up in Jackson, you hadn't expected him to stay more than a day. You'd both given into a brief moment of passion before he left, and that was the end of that. It didn't matter, you were never going to see him again. Then Joel returns a few months later, and screws up everything about the comforting life you had established in Jackson.

❤︎ Yearling @justagalwhowrites 🌸⚪️

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

❤︎ SOMETHING TO FIGHT FOR @auteurdelabre 🌸* [buckle up this one is devastating friends]

After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever. The only problem is your best friend Maria is dating his brother and their construction company has been hired to renovate where you work. In an effort to support your friend, you’re thrust into the unwanted job of babysitting Joel’s young daughter one night. As time goes on you’re not expecting to find a confidant in Joel Miller but when you do, you wonder how you ever survived without him.

❤︎ Maintenance Request @burntheedges Modern AU 🌸

Hot Construction Guy is the bane of your existence - he seems to only pop up at the worst possible moment for you, every time you see him. There’s no way there could be something more there. Right?

❤︎ Roommates @punkshort Pornstar!Joel AU 🌸⚪️*

Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, things get... complicated.

One Shots

❤︎ Good as New @forever-rogue Joel stitches you up

❤︎ Body of Water @lambsigh body hair insecurity, soft!Joel

❤︎ skinny dipping with Joel @swiftispunk shy/innocent reader

❤︎ give in @futureman Joel shows you how to love yourself 🌶

❤︎ adoration @morallyinept cancer/mastectomy 🌶 [part of BODIES a Collection of Pedro Boy & Real Body Reader One Shots]

//

Frankie Morales

Series

❤︎ the layover @goodwithcheese 🌸

One night can change everything. (Frankie and reader are both parents so children will be present occasionally, Frankie is such a good dad.)

❤︎ Shared Breaths @frenchiereading 🌸

On the first day of school you meet single dad Frankie Morales and his daughter who is enrolled in your first grade class. As the year progresses, what started as parent-teacher conversations grow deeper, your encounters grow more frequent and feelings that you shouldn’t entertain for a student’s parent are becoming harder and harder to ignore. 

One Shots

❤︎ acts of service @swiftispunk you've never had your pussy ate and your best friend Frankie helps you out 🌶

//

Jack Daniels

Series

❤︎ Palomino @fuckyeahdindjarin 🌸🧡

Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

//

Dieter Bravo

Series

❤︎ Celestial Navigation @write-and-buried 🌸🧡

Dumped and drowning in a summer storm, you duck inside a coffee shop to hide from your broken heart. Covered in plants and hand drawn images over exposed brick, it seems like a slice of heaven. The owner brings you a blueberry muffin and a promise; you'll fall in love with him before the new year.

❤︎ Sweet Creature @wildemaven 🌸

A washed up movie star with a failing career, fresh out of rehab and looking to turn his life around. He moves back to his small hometown to take a break from stardom and help his sister out with his niece— He’s traded the high-life for school runs and crafting. What he doesn’t except is to meet you, his niece’s school teacher who couldn’t care less about his extensive filmography or his dwindling fame.

❤︎ starstruck @ezrasbirdie ⚪️

What happens when a lonely dieter bravo actually answers an Instagram message from a fan?

❤︎ A LITTLE SUN @auteurdelabre 🌸⚪️

As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

❤︎ bright lights @ezrasbirdie 🌸 Neurodivergent!Reader

Dieter Bravo is a man so complicated that his personal assistant needs her own personal assistant just to keep up with his demands, and that’s where you come in. Part time, flexible hours, and a free place to live—you can’t imagine a more perfect gig. You don’t even mind the budding crush you have on Mr. Bravo; that is, until your boss falls ill right before awards season, leaving you to pick up the slack.

One Shots

❤︎ Puppy Love @deakyjoe 🌸 Your neighbour Dieter's dog is the only comfort you need during stressful days. Well, maybe her and her owner.

❤︎ Love To Hate @deakyjoe 🌶🧡 You hate Dieter Bravo more than anything. So why are you asking him to sleep with you? coworkers to lovers

[earlgreytea68]

its just one of those days where ive had coffees for closers on repeat

sighhhh

have u ever done an analysis of the song? if not what r ur thoughts?? hope ur having a good day btw xx

Ugh, this song is such a gutpunch. I've talked about it briefly in the context of how it reworks lines from Pete's poem "to you (unfinished, off the top of my head)" in THE MOST PAINFUL WAY POSSIBLE:

He does the same thing with the lyrics he borrows for (coffee’s for closers). Pete’s poem sets the tone for fairy-tale storytelling right at the beginning: “It all started with some friends and a van, a kick drum inside my ribs, preaching electric into a microphone stand.” These beginning images are fond: holding up red cups at house parties, falling asleep together on the grass during festivals, laughing. But Patrick carves those lines out and brackets them with “I will never believe in anything again, we will never believe again.” What an answer to this poem out of Patrick: to take those words and slap them between endless proclamations of not falling for that fairy tale again. Even worse, he tops it off with a rewrite of the “read the charts” line: the poem reads “you can get lonely when u only read the charts.” This feels like more on the theme of “you can get everything you want [but it’s never enough], but it won’t actually make you happy.” You can read the charts, and FOB would be on top of them, but it’s lonely up there, and you need more than that. But the line in (coffee’s for closers) goes: “Only get lonely when you read the charts.” The movement of that “only” shifts the line for me. There are a bunch of ways to read it, but for me it reads like: “You only get lonely when you remember you’re in a band. You’re so busy running around being the life of the party, you’re never, ever lonely unless you’re paying attention to your band.”

The thing is, I consider that poem a fond and wistful love poem from Pete to Patrick, trying to reach across a great chasm, and at first the pain of it is how Patrick initially writes songs that take those lines and rejects them, twists them, spits them back out. Eventually he doesn't. Eventually he soothes the lines back into answering love songs. But in the beginning, he writes songs that are fiery rejections of the mood of this poem, and (coffee's for closers) is one of them. Pete's poem reads all us believers still believe. Patrick in this song writes, over and over and over again, slamming it home, I will never believe again. Take that, Pete Wentz! Never! Again!

To me it's just a brutal song about hating how everything turned out but not seeing a way out of it (I want everything to change and stay the same). The Genius annotation says throw your cameras in the air is about how people always film concerts these days, but I think that's wrong. I mean, maybe, although the song was written in 2008 when cell phone taping was still a fairly new phenomenon. But I think this line is really a rumination on fame, on feeling like everywhere you look there are cameras in your face, and it's not about concerts, it's about your life. Girls used to follow you around...until you got cold, and you were no longer the current big thing, and then it's lonely there in the spotlight, where no one's having a good time, the hands they wave in the air are all cameras pointed at you, hoping to catch the next mistake, and everything that was supposed to be good and great, all those pretty promises Pete Wentz made back in the summer fest days when you fell asleep on the grass turned into this. You've become something I don't even recognize, and I'm just your mascot, some laughable gimmick everyone makes fun of, and you love the mayhem more than the love that was all around you, you threw all that love away like you didn't even want it, and I will never believe in anything again. Change will come, and nothing good is going to come of that, either, because you don't like things the way they are but you know that changing them isn't going to turn out well, either.

This song is just so much. It's so angrily hiatus. It's such a demonstration of how much they had broken down around each other.

But it's okay. Because on the other side of it, eventually, Patrick takes this same poem and makes it into "Favorite Record," so it turns out all right in the end. Happily ever after (below the waist)

[dankmyfarrik]

Eternal Sunshine | Chapter 9: Know Hope

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Summary: An alternate universe where the only thing that happens differently is... well, the Emperor wins. And Luke wakes up with a mysterious scar on his temple.

Read it here:

AO3

Welcome back! Sorry about the delay! This took way longer than I was expecting to finish. But here we are - enjoy!

Chapter warnings: Cannon typical violence, Grogu is put in a dangerous situation but is completely fine.

Word Count: ~7k

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few things happen when a Star Destroyer enters lower atmosphere. 

First, because there are other ships that serve similar purposes more eloquently, a Star Destroyer needing to leave the vastness of the galaxy, and stoop so low is considered a rarity and thus a necessity. A docking Star Destroyer is not an everyday occurrence. 

It begins as dark omen cutting through the sky—small at first, eventually growing to eclipse the suns. Large enough the beast ever so slightly captures the curvature of the planet, it dwarfs whatever landmark of civilization or nature lies below it.

Second is what happens in the mind. 

It's a humbling sight that freezes the blood of the non-imperial. 

Then, the wind begins sweeping the land like a beckoning storm. And that's when the roar of the engines, deep and resonant, echo through the valleys, cities, mountains - whatever is in the way, sending shivers down to the marrow.

The only sensible action then becomes surrender. But most of the galaxy, Din had found, was not sensible. Star Destroyers, more often than not, served as the beginnings of glorious tales, a demon descending to find itself unwelcome.

So when the Descant slowly clambered its way through the docking procedures, the shadow cast on the ground growing larger and larger it was a rarity that the planet below it offered no fight. The fight had been beaten out of it years ago, now it had succumb to the great galactic Empire. 

It was an odd sight, Din thought. The world was beautiful: pristine grassy hills, a bright blue-purple sky, soft tufts of cherry blossoms. Yet the planet was swarmed by the Empire; it was a hive home to parasites. Two worlds of freedom and order.

As a passenger, Din was not permitted to land with the Descant. The Crest, forced to depart with a grumble from underpaid and overworked imps, left the Descant and Natus behind. He would have stayed as long as he could have, even against the beckoning draw of the beeping fob in his hand—seeking the bounty, calling him on. Everything in Din's beingknew it was wrong to leave Natus alone and vulnerable. And Leia. Maybe even the Maker didn't know what they were doing to her. But her orders were clear—say his name. Get through to him. Leave if you must.

A glance behind the departing Crest revealed the Descant was exchanging large creates, and to his horror chained people between the Imperial facility. 

The Crest lurched into hyperspace. 

Stars encompassed the viewport.

It wasn't long before Din was circling Tatooine and preparing his own docking procedures. As he got closer, a black dot, a silhouette of a ship against the pale gold marble, slowly slid into focus. His gloved hands paused on the controls.

The silence in the cockpit was palpable, broken only by the hum of the ship's engines and the faint, rhythmic beeping of the navigational systems. Tatooine sprawled beneath him, a desert planet of endless dunes and scorching suns, a placewhere survival was as harsh and unyielding as the landscape itself—an old, familiar pain. The ship in the distance, stark against the golden sands, seemed almost a mirage, a specter born of heat and light. One of the suns eclipsed the planet just behind the Crest, eliminating the shadows.

The familiar husky voice sparked over the com. 

"If you're looking for the trandoshan, I've just bagged him." Slave One drifted closer. The monitor thrummed and beeped innocently. 

Boba broke the silence again, something abnormal lacing his usually jolly tone. "Djarin… I have something you need to see."

"Fett," Din started, believing this to be the reason, "how we left things—"

Solo. We fought. I left you behind. I think you got hurt. 

All unsaid.

"I know." His brother recognized his tone. "This isn't a trick. I respect you. If I ever come to my senses and choose to finally fight you, it will be with honor."

Slave One latched onto the Crest from where they circled high above the desert hell. 

Din entered Boba's ship still aware of the weight of the blaster at his hip, but his hands didn't itch for it like he normallydid seeking through the scum pits. Din trusted him. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight when the latch door hissed open. 

A small human girl, her hair tight in braids clung to Boba's leg nervously. At the sight of Din she jolted behind Fett further, only leaving room for her wide eyes to peek over, head as high as his knee pad. Awkwardly but with a demonstrated practice, the burly man placed a comforting and familiar hand on her back. She couldn't have been older than four. 

"Now my kar'ta, it's alright. Din is a friend. He has a little one he watches over too."

Din's chest tightened, a sharp pain piercing through at the thought of leaving the kid with the imps for so long. His only solace was knowing there was a protector on the inside.

Instinctively, he dropped to one knee, trying to make himself as small as possible. Even then, he still towered over her.

"Hi kid."

The attempt was pitiful, even to him. But the act seemed good enough to her. Her eyes looking through him, into his soul and he thought he met her eyes through the visor for a split moment but maybe it was just his imagination. She seemed to see what she was looking for and hesitantly stepped out from Boba's shadow. She reached a hand up, and Fett instinctually held his arm out. They locked pinky fingers as she guided herself and Fett closer to Din. She needed to take three steps for every one of Boba's.

"They must have kept her in one of the most secure places in the whole kirffing galaxy." It was too late to fix his language so both the men just winced. "Yet she got out. They had glowing wristbands on her–maybe something for a shock? This little thing. Can you believe those monsters? And she still got out. An'edee!"

She paused, seeing herself in the reflection of the polished beskar. She reached a tentative hand, the pad of her finger brushing Din's chestplate and for a moment, with her small hands on them both, she linked them together, and whatever hurt and unspoken words he and Boba had harbored dissipated into the universe. 

She had a firm face and stern eyes despite her age–a childhood cut too short. She, at four, may already know of danger and death, and her place in all of it. In a flash, Din saw a small boy hidden in a red hood looking back at him—reaching out—screaming for his mother. And with an unheard clang on an anvil working beskar he was back, looking at this freckled, fair girl with hurt soulful eyes. 

And a small scar in the same exact place Natus had his. 

"I'm Rey," she said—proud of every word, "It's nice to meet you."

"They sent me after her." Anger shook his voice as he bit out three words Boba prayed to the Maker she wouldn't understand. 

"Hot or cold."

At these words Din's jaw clenched, drawing blood from his cheek. Boba's fists balled so tightly Din could hear the leather creaking from where he stood. "So she stays with me now."

Fett obviously skipped a lot in between, but enough went without saying.

She will never go back.

"I said the oath," He was full of warmth and pride. "She's my ad'ika."

"I'm happy for you." 

"You're looking at it," Rey piped up softly. Her hand moved some of the hair blocking Din's view of her scar. Now he saw it wasn't red and angry like Natus' cut, it had scabbed and healed over rotations ago—losing a time war and fading into her skin as a small ice-like sliver. "You want to know."

"Yes. Someone I care about a lot has a similar mark."

Boba's helm turned a sliver of a degree, he must now understand the depths of Din's affection for the Sith but he didn't comment.

"They hurt my mommy and daddy," her voice a broken whimper. "I got mad. They wanted me to not remember anymore." Her small, childlike hand touched her scar again.

"There was a nice man in a black mask. He held my hand and told them: no more!"

"Wait," Boba breathed, "Nice man in a black mask? Karking Darth Vader??" The men winced at Boba's language again.

Rey nodded happily. 

"But your scratch, they wanted you to forget?" 

"Yes. Then my head hurt bad. But he helped me."

Din had the start of an answer.

"Thank you," he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him, a tooth missing.

Mission now set, Din quickly turned to leave, Fett caught his arm at the elbow. 

His voice a hiss, "Wait. If you go now while they are docked or anywhere near that hub—it's a death trap Din. They would never give him up easy. You will get swarmed and will lose any trust you ever gained."

Din knew he was right. But he had a thought of those Imps hurting him like they hurt her, with maybe less reservation because he wasn't child—maybe they didn't think that way. No matter, it clawed at him, seared in his mind, urging action. He knew he didn't have long. 

"You heard her about forgetting. Natus—Luke—How many times do you think…"

Fett looked down at Rey.

"I can't leave him. Like you can't leave her. He knows something is wrong. I can't let him forget. Not now." Not when Leia is there too.

"I'm not going to put her back in danger."

"I would never ask that of you."

"I know."

Din stepped through the latch separating the ships. Boba continued, "Reach me if you need a quick escape."

Din nodded, the door between them slid shut, and the ships separated.

—-

Leia had felt the Descant dock with a low rumble and a jolt so subtle it would have gone unnoticed if she weren't trapped in a bright, blank cell. The rumble and the jolt, however minor, were a disruption in the otherwise unchanging monotony, a reminder that the galaxy outside still moved and shifted; she could only pray that the pawns she put in place were strong enough to shift the tide in her direction. It was what she excelled at, after all.

Her intricate braids were held up by a sharp blade that, at a moment's notice, she could brandish or slowly use the tool to chip away through the backside of the door's control panel. She could knock out a trooper, commandeer a pod, and be in lightspeed minutes before an alarm would even sound. Leia knew she would neither fight nor flee, and the opportunity, the ability, and the willingness to do so were more torturous than anything the cell itself could muster.

She mediated some, always keeping her brother and his whereabouts in a quiet corner in her mind. Before everything fell apart that day an eternity ago, he had been a steady constant to her–-and she knew it went both ways. In some way she always had known of their shared blood, drawing to him like a magnet in her head. Now, Leia knew she also still had a home in that quiet part of his mind, but it felt like that home had been boarded up, or the path to the home eroded away.She still felt him. Kept him close.

Thus Leia knew when the Mandalorian executed his part of the plan. Neither of them had been clear on specifics, just–say his name. Get through to him. Find a way. 

Well, the hunter certainly found a way. A blush found its way to her face, the tips of her ears turning a shade of red. Leia was, thankfully, able to tune out their connection momentarily, choosing to focus on… literally anything else. Even her dull box. 

She didn't fail to notice, before tunning him out, his feelings of dread soften and even turn to bright comfort she hadn't felt in a long time. How rare, she thought, love in a place like this.

Leia froze the instant she felt him again. With her absence, he had gotten close; a plume of worry and fear surrounded his movements—that's what snapped her attention to him. Maybe the Mandalorian got through to her brother a bit too well…

The seamless panels of durasteel parted with a light mechanical whirl. The corridor beyond was bathed in more of the cool, sterile light casting sharp shadows on the metal floor. A breeze, carrying the faint scent of recycled air and machinery flooded inwards as her brother stood in the doorway panting, looking like he was living through a nightmare.

"Leia," he paused and sucked in more air, he had been running, "what do I do?"

She jumped to her feet from where she had been failing to meditate. An impending dread was closing in on them both. It was nameless but in the air nonetheless, as real as them both but nowhere to be found. But he was there, seeking her like all the other times before.

"Leave this awful place with me. I have help–lots of it–they are coming soon, we just need to leave and get outside."

"I cannot abandon my father and Master. Or are you suggesting I leave and be with rebel scum?"

He wasn't as far long as she had hoped. Leia pushed down her own panic to speak, needing to be heard more than she needed water or to breathe.

"You've called out to me before. We've met like this briefly, a few times. I need you to remember. Remember me now Luke. You know something is not right."

"I don't know!"

"Focus on what you feel." Her eyes were wide.

"I don't know you!" He pointed a wicked finger at her, his body quivering.

Leia clamped her mouth shut, absorbing the hurt. She took a step forward so that his quivering crooked finger poked her straight in the heart. She could feel his pain seeping through his anger and confusion.

"You came to me just now," she whispered, "why."

His voice made more of a choking sound than actual words. "The Empire is good. I know it to be true. We need order to the chaos. But there are deep and painful secrets being kept from me. Everyone knows but me. And then you show up."

He growled and she didn't dare to stop his flow of words.

"I can't write you off as a fool like my officers would like me to believe. I spoke to a scientist---they are manipulating force users with an operation—I. They are doing something terrible to me, and I don't even know what it is."

"It's true. They are doing something to you, I'm not sure what. But over and over again they make you forget when you remember—when you remember me. They are hurting you." 

Even still, he shook his head like he couldn't fully believe her, "How have I known you all of my life when I've never met you before?"

"I am your sister, Luke."

He dropped his accusing hand with a soft gasp. He knew very few things about this universe and much less about himself, but he knew this to be true.

"And we haven't known each other for very long. Not a lifetime. But I…I feel the same."

Family. 

More than just him and Father. 

"Leia," his voice broken, "help me."

She rushed to him, grasping his face in her hands with gentle urgency and pressed their foreheads together. Energy of the Force bloomed from her, amplifying the beauty of the planet that lay beyond the walls of the Descant. Through this, he tangled his hands into her hair, holding onto her with all his might, a plea for permanence, he would never let go, not when she was this close. Never again. He loved her. 

The floodgates opened, and memories rushed in. The ones with comfort. Feelings of friendship—closeness with faceless people he knew so well. Flashes of family, Leia was there, but so were other people. A home, a stove, cinnamon, nutmeg, warm bluemilk. An old man and woman's faces etched with lines and crinkled eyes—the woman's simile. 

The smile was contagious, it bloomed on his lips, a simple joy. Leia felt it too and she shared her warmth with him in the Force. He wrapped her into a hug, squeezing her somehow even harder. 

More memories followed, a cascade lightheartedness. Laughter—oh, the sound of it was like music, so pure and rare. Someone's laugh, bright and unrestrained, resonated through his mind. It spoke of simpler times, of shared jokes and carefree moments with friends and a droid. He laughed, very light with the memories.

Another laugh, no a cackle, shattered this world–cutting through his mind like the jagged lines on his skin. This wasn't a memory. 

The walls of Leia's cell reeled open with a mechanical hiss. Palpatie—glowing eyes peering from his hood—his clawed hands outstretched at his sides undoing the illusion of the cell. The larger room was lined with data pads, testing tubes, an operating table with restraints cipped open, waiting. 

An interodroid buzzed next to him, and behind that was Pershing, the man didn't look up, he just pushed up his glasses from his hardened stare at the floor. 

Despite the bile, he fell on one knee. Leia stayed tall—lips morphing to a scowl, defiant as the day she was born. They were still so close, he could feel her warmth next to him in his bow.

The soulless cackle continued, and more memories hit him. Bad ones. Sadness, fear. The old couple lay burned, home on fire, the smell of their flesh. Father struck down a cloaked figure, and a horrified scream escaped his own lips.

"Natus, my boy," Palpatine spoke, a squeaky gravely wine, "I came all the way here because I felt your pain."

Natus wouldn't have felt this pain. These memories didn't belong to him, these memories belonged to the other one, the one ripping him in two. The one Leia reached. Luke.

Yet, he still felt the wave of shame and embarrassment that not only was his weakness palpable to his Master, but it was strong enough that it compelled Palpatine to check on him. And to see that he was failing. 

"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered, casting his eyes to the ground. 

Then, Luke reminded him about those memories. Did those memories feel like he was a failure? Certainly not.

"It is my sincerest apologies you had to find out this way, but the princess, manipulative as ever, forced our hand."

"Liar!" Leia cried.

Palpatine continued diplomatically, ignoring the outburst of the girl beside him. "You were sick. Your mind hemorrhaging from a concussion. I had my best scientists save your life. We need to check your mind often…for your saftey. Only the Empire has the technological resources and the facilities for such unprecedented advancements." 

His yellow-bagged eyes grew, "Without me you will surely…" he paused a crawling, tingling feeling, as he placed extra emphasis on every syllable, "...parish."

"Then why not just tell me?" His voice not as strong as he intended. Still on his knees. 

Why didn't you tell me? You told me that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father. 

Your father... was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force. He ceased to be the Jedi and "became" the Sith Darth Vader.

His head throbbed.

"The scientists thought that would hurt you more." As his Master continued Pershing didn't budge, didn't look up. Locked, frozen. "But I am telling you now."

A cold washed over him in the Force.

"You know it's not true, trust your feelings."

Search your feelings. You know it to be true. 

Impossible!

"Nonsense. I have loved you, boy, and cared for you for as long as you can remember. I want what is best for you. Come with me now."

The interrodoid buzzed closer. But it wasn't going for him.

It was after Leia.  

"NO!!!"

Then he was falling. Falling. Falling through the clouds.

He searched the Force, frantic for something not bolted to the ground to throw–to collapse the Descant into itself as to how he had done with the Profundity. In half a breath, he scanned the room, sensing every detail: the muscles and veins of windpipes, Pershing's abnormally fast heartbeat, and his shaking hands on a remote button.

There was a slight hiss; he felt a single drop fall a short distance—the sound soft through his own screaming as the drop mixed with a solution. 

Before his breath could be finished, the Force stopped slowing his perception of time as the sound of screaming durasteelpropelled itself at them, followed by a wall of fire. He felt himself thrown to the floor—reaching out to block debris with the Force. 

With an unidentifiable wail, Pershing and Palpatine vanished into the sea of flames. The chemicals ignited along the walls, shattering—pops and bangs—spitting their glass and spilling onto the floor.

Leia's hand found his, yanking him up and pulling him through the chaos. Flames licked at his feet, his cape singeing, smoldering black firey holes into his pristine uniform. The smoke swirled around them, shifting to shades of green and magenta, as they struggled to breathe, sprinting through the demolished opening.

With one glance back into the room, he saw the operating table, restraints still open, reaching out to them. The broken interrogation droid lay amidst melted, warped surgical tools and scattered syringes, vanishing into the thick smoke.

Trial 3.C—

Trial 14.A stim–

Leia!!! I'm here—

No this is wrong—

Trial 21.D—

Trial 27.B, stimulating superimposed inhibitor chip…Pain. 

He was limping badly. The onslaught of memories couldn't be stifled, and everything and anything was a trigger. He was vaguely aware of the smoldering patches burning in rings into his body as they ran. 

The old couple told him to run. That woman after him. He was smaller then, his legs carrying him as fast as he could through the desert. Sand kicking up as he ran and ran.

Was he crying? He was aware that Leia had taken his communication device and was giving commands into it, but her words didn't register in his mind. 

Bleeding and broken. Alarm shrieking and echoing through the red-flashing halls. 

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured."

"We just need to make it out of the Descant!" Leia cried above the jolt of the speaker.

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate—"

They turned a corner, then another, and another. He kept a strong enough posture to pretend to be in possession of Leia. It worked; troopers practically leaped out of his way—just as they had done every other time he had made the same path with crazed eyes and blood-stained clothes. Because Natus is a monster. 

Horrors he committed came to him. He gasped, and a tear fell. 

They pasted another dozen soldiers all of then running paying them little mind. But it only took one to put two and two together. One com-in and they would all descend upon him.

"Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or—"

A horrible screeching sound ripped through the air, and they followed—leading them to the outside world lit by starlight and burning ships. Hundreds of ties rocketed past them, in the disarray hitting each other, causing multiple collisions in the sky as the tie-fighters desperately returned to their designations, incapable of making a lightspeed retreat by themselves, like cockroaches in the light as rebel fighters loomed down from the heavens. 

An attack of this scale must have taken months to plan. How had he let this happen under his nose? He was thankful.

"Watch out! Go. Go!"

Dazed, he felt as though he were watching himself in a holo--removed from the situation and scenes providing him information seconds behind as he tried to filter through the onslaught of memories.

Leia seized his hand again, jerking him down as a ship hurled itself just above them, slamming into the Descants' hold. Fire and steel tumbled down on them, forcing them to jump blindly, limbs flailing in the air, hitting the ground hard. Tumbling, rolling, damp grass and foliage clinging to him. 

Leia hauled him up once again. 

"Hurry, to the landing spot! We can't slow now—I have you. We are so close!"

Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Descant behind them. Troopers were all but running—loading equipment and prisoners back on board. The red lights still flickering, illuminating them in the hellish light, revealing their chains. 

—-

The Crest fell from the sky with a roar.

Din only had seconds after completing the jump to discover the firefight he had been dropped into. By that point, the Crest was already spiraling downwards with a cracked thruster. 

Din's arms strained with the might of pulling up on the controls. He aimed for a patch of trees; it was the best he could do. If he survived and found the siblings, they would have to steal a ship or make that call to Boba. He wished he had told Leia he would come back for them. He would just need to survive this… controlled crash.

It was the beskar that had saved him. 

When he awoke, ears ringing, approximately ten minuets after the impact. Muscles protesting, he dragged himself out of the shards of transparisteel, treelimbs, and smoldering rubble of what used to be his home. 

No time for sentiment now. 

Once his feet were comfortably on the aborial floor Din toggled through the settings on the visor. He ignored the chaos in the sky with swarming X-wings, ties, and the Star Destroyers beginning the slow ground-quaking take-off process. It remindied him of tired banthas trying to stand as they were swarmed by flies. Maybe his humor wasn't fully gone. And somehow he knew Leia was responsible for all of it.

He instead opted to scan the chaos on the ground. No signs of the twins. Maybe they were still trapped inside. Din's heart dropped. He could see the Executor beginning lift off and the Descant's ion engines in the distance—behind three other Star Destroyers—slowly flicking to life. 

Platoons of troopers, plastasteel armor that reflected red lights, marched to their respective ships. Some set up cannons to fire into the sky, while others brandished jetpacks and launched into the air.

Perfect.

A squad of four flew overhead, keeping a fair distance from each other. Timing was crucial. Din reached out, targeting the lagging trooper with his grappling hook. As the trooper flew just above the trees, Din pulled the trigger. The rope shot out, wrapping around the airborne soldier. Despite digging his feet into the ground, Din was flung into the air. 

"What the?!"

They began tumbling and spinning out of control, going higher and higher. Din managed to unclip the pack from the man's chestplate. The engine cut immediately, and they both dropped. With strength he managed to clip the plastasteel to his back, and the engine roared back to life pulling Din skyward while the trooper kept falling into the darkness of the forest below.

Using the pack's momentum, Din navigated the battle, staying low enough to avoid the dogfight above but high enough to evade ground troops. 

Dawn began to creep over the battlefield, the beginnings of light threatening to rise through the forested mountains on the horizon.

Then he saw him. Gideon holding the kid.

Nothing else mattered. He pushed the jetpack to its limit, rocketing towards the fighter where Gideon was forcing the struggling child inside. The kid spotted Din first, using the Force to slip from Gideon's grip. 

Gideon turned just as Din collided with him, both crashing to the ground, a blur of punches and kicks. Pain shot through Din's back as he hit the fighter.

Gideon clawed to his feet, an awful black beam igniting in his hand. Unlike Luke's crimson lightsaber, this blade seemed to devour the light around it, a void of death. The blade pressed to Din's throat—Gideon chose this moment to monologue.

"Hello Din," his voice cold, a cruel twitch of his lips as he revealed to know his name, "I want to do a favor for you," he flashed his teeth, "Assume I know everything. Your bond to Grogu, your blossoming feelings for that little angsty twat, your deal with Princess Leia Organa…You see, I want to help you Din—"

That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't like Natus either. Force users and their obsessive entitlement stand in the way of the true potential of the Galactic Empire. I will be at the center—"

Din whipped around, kicking Gideons leggs out from under him, sending him to the ground with a thud. 

The man reeled, eyes crazed, slamming the black saber into Din's despairing attempts to block. He dodged and intercepted another blow, Din was forced to be defensive in this fight, taking him out of his element as he possessed more technique than Gideon displayed. 

With a particularly hard swing aimed at his neck, Din dropped himself to the floor, sprang back up, kicking the other man down on the chest, the saber retreated to its hilt clattering across the rough gravel and roots. 

Din scrambled, grasping onto the blade to take away Gideon's advantage, swiftly clipping the hilt to his belt, secure. His. When Din whirled, bracing himself from an inevitable kick from the man who was a tad too slow to beat him to the deathly weapon, a blow never came. Instead, Gideon had the kid, his ears down, in one hand and blaster in the other. 

There was a soft "Patu." The man slowly took a step backward.

Something cold and dark paulsed in Dins blood. He thought he had seen some of the worst things the galaxy had offered in these years since his parents and constantly searching through scum pits. But this was the first time he had ever been too terrified to move. 

With all of his concentration, Din slowly raised his hands, dropping his blaster. 

Gideon spat out a tooth, blood dripping from his lips, and limped another step backward, his cape hitting the entrance of the ship. The engines rumbled, the door closed and began to lift into the air. 

Anger raged in his core. 

One. Din breathed, trying to claw himself back together.

The wind from take-off whipped his cape with the long grass that had been trampled from their fight.

Two.

He felt the rough but tattered texture of the glove face brush against the hilt now clipped to his hip.

Three.

The pack shot a plume of smoke and fire. Din was hidden in the clouds in an instant, following like a hawk above the slowly rising fighter carrying his kid. 

The pack's engine cut as the saber ignited. His stomach plummeted, and with an awful sound, the screeching metal and burning chemicals, the top was sliced off of the fighter, sending it spinning. Going down down down.

He heard the child's delighted giggles.

Din turned to see the kid floating (falling) next to him in the air, ears flapping in the wind, almost like a miniature parachutes. 

"Hang on," he grumbled, placing the kid on his shoulders. 

A hand thrust out of the tumbling wreckage clining to Din's cape for purchase but he jetted off—Gideons hand slipped past the cloth. The burning ship continued to fall, finally exploding in the distance.

No one would be able to survive that. Din thought.

Staying in the air, he turned his attention to the fight below.

—-

"Luke NO!!" Leia screamed feeling helpless to her bones.

After all of the tears, months of planning, years of holding out hope, all for just the smallest glimpse—any semblance of his past self—returned to her. And now she was about to lose him because he was being himself.

He held in his straining hand three Star Destroyers. They jerked and lagged in the air, and their ion engines, with nowhere else to place their energy, began crackling storms, rolling in the clouds. 

Splinters of trees and leaves littered the artificial clearing as the forest had been stripped to its roots—the Force releasing itself in the might it took to keep the ships from leaving. 

A tear of blood fell from her brother's eye, it splattered on his white cloak with the dropps of blood from his nose. 

"I know what will happen to them when the Empire is done with them," he whispered. 

The Executor groaned and there was a sound of thunder. The ships shuttered. 

"Luke! Please this will hurt you."

It was Din. He ran up to them, the child clinging to his shoulder. Din held out his arms as if he were speaking to a rabid, wounded animal. 

Luke looked back to them both, his cape smoldering and burning in places as it lashed around behind him. 

"You above others should know," he strained back a scream of pain, stumbling, "they were loading the lab equipment and people. How many others could there be like me? It's too dangerous! They will just keep hurting."

"They lost their leadership and most of their artillery today," Leia tried to reason, "This attack is a massive blow. We will have secured dozens of those ships; we can let three leave. It will take them a while to regroup. We can take them then. But we need you alive."

Luke shook his head, another tear of blood, "No. I more than deserve this."

He opened himself to the Force, beiging to relax in its presence despite the pain. He was aware that like during the battle with the Profundity his feet were no longer on the ground. His arms stretched open—he may have been screaming but he wasn't sure. 

The ships began to move backwards through the sky. His vision formed foggy and white but he knew he could do this.His energy continued when he was no longer aware of a physical world. 

He heard the pleading voice of the Mandalorian. He felt his connection with Leia. Her love and compassion had never left him despite all this time and all the awful things. He felt clarity. 

Names began to come to him. How fitting he would remember them now.

Aunt Brue. Uncle Owen. 

Tatooine.

Obi-wan--Ben.

Anakin.

"My son, come back to me." 

Father?

Luke's grip slipped for a moment, and he plunged back into the physical world. The ships screamed and shook. 

He turned his head slightly, and sure enough, Vader was there.

"Father, I don't want to fight you. But I cannot let them get away."

"I know," Vader didn't move. Both the Mandalorian and Leia had blasters pinned on him. "You are my son, not a lab rat."

Vader lifted his arm, grasping onto the ships. A breath escaped Luke in relief simultaneously to the choking sound of his father's mechanics. The ships began to pull back further and faster. 

They could do it. Together. 

It was a moment, perfect for a breath but spoiled, when he saw Leia and the Mandalorian thrown backward, clawing at their throats. 

Then there was a cackle. 

"I was there for you in your worst moments. I raised you. This is the thanks I recive? You traitor and stain."

Purple lightning escaped Palpatine's pale hand and long yellow fingernails. 

Then Luke remembered Endor.

A sickly smell of ozone and burnt metal, flashes of sharp purple light. Luke dropped his grasp on the Star Destoyers. Panic seeped into his bones—his heart beating faster than if he received adrenaline to the neck. The blank mask peered down on him. Palpatine's obsessive laughter. And the pain that crisscrossed his body, scaring every surface. His biggest mystery. The secret shrouded in darkness the pain. He couldn't breathe. It was as if he were locked in a Force chokehold—trapped.

His father's mechanics sparked, and he could feel his pain. His father still held onto the ships despite everything. There was a strangled, modulated cry. Lighting traveled the tension in the Force like a current, zipping through his father as a conduit and a massive bolt rung outwards. Hitting one of the battleships. Vader fell to his knees. The energy from the ion engines built with the lighting traveled back to his father, striking Palpatine and expanding outwards. 

Two Destroyers slipped his father's grip, disappearing into hyperspace--the third burst.

More lives called out in the Force. 

Luke whipped his head to see Palpatine's pained face one last time as the figure turned to ashes, blown in the wind. Only the cloak remained.

The last pieces of the Descant sparkled in the sky like a meteor shower. 

He was free.

There was a strangled mechanical breath, and Luke rushed to his dying father.

—

Leia helped Din to his feet; they had all seen much better days. The kid crawled back onto his shoulder, sleep threatening his movements. 

The three of them waited quietly from the dim treeline as Luke held his father in his arms, the dark mask cast on the ground next to them, watching the sunrise together. The Descant's falling particles caught the dawn, reflecting hues ofgold, pink, and lavender over the landscape before blinking out. She saw them exchange a few words, but Leia stayed back—Vader was never her father. 

Anakin disappeared into the Force. 

Luke tried to stand twice, relenting. He fell on his knees—his face to the rising sun, letting the warmth hit him and the memories flood in. There was a joy to it, remembering himself. But each contrasted painfully, a twisting dagger, with a memory of what he had done. 

"What was he like?" Din whispered just above the vocabulator. 

"Kind."

"He was kind before." She gave him a distrustful look. But he continued, "He was. It was buried sometimes, but he was."

"I guess it was something they couldn't take away."

—-

"So I guess this is it." 

The day was bright, too happy for a goodbye. A cargo freighter blazing the resistance insignia took off nearby, blowing the blond's hair. Dozens of ships were now filled to the brim with whatever the Imps couldn't take with them. Leia said it was the largest victory since the desctruction of the Death Star.

The noise was so loud it cut off what he was going to say to Din, so he stopped. They just looked at each other. The words weren't needed anyway. 

Din knew what he needed to do—to say goodbye. Din's hands shook in such an uncontrolled way that it was almost embarrassing as they locked onto the rim of his helmet and lifted upwards, above his jaw. But just before he could look at Luke in the afternoon sun without a screen in the way, his wrists were gently caught. Despite Luke's hands in cuffs, the visor fell back into place.

'No,' he mouthed, shaking his head under the noise of the freighters taking off and landing. 

Don't waste that on me. It was unspoken but heard. Clearly. Like a voice in his mind.

Two guards came and escorted him away up the ramp, and Luke was gone.

END OF PART I

*~*~*~*~*~

Did I just attempt to wrap up the OT, Mando s1 and s2 in 7k words? Yes. I did.

Also what does END OF PART I mean? Absolutely nothing! It makes the most sense in my brain to mark this as the rough halfway point. Yay we made it this far!

[silentglassbreak]

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

-

K listen, I've haven't written any band FF in a LONG LONG LONG time, mkay? But Bad Omens...Noah Sebastian...mmmph. Let's see how far we get here. If you enjoy, let me know. If you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know that too. If you even so much as take the time to read MY SINCEREST GRATITUDES CAUSE WRITING THIS STUFF IS MY ESCAPE. xo

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery.

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Part 1 - Burning Out

Work had been long today. Longer than most days. The customers screaming at me had only taken it's toll so much, but having a God awful supervisor who was hell bent on making me late for my meeting, knowing full well how important my twice weekly meetings were, had completely wiped my energy and patience in one fell swoop. Needless to say, I was in no mood for excess attitude or traffic today. Which is why I found myself cursing at the jackass in the SUV in front of me, taking at least a year to make a right hand turn into the close to empty parking lot where the meeting was being held. It took the last of my self restraint to not lay on my horn and flip a specific finger at the driver.

Finally reaching the normal parking space in front of the unmarked office building, I silently breathed a sigh of relief. I had made it, only 2 minutes later than I should be. I began scrambling for my energy drink and my bag before shuffling out of my car and pressing the fob to hear the beep of the alarm set. My poor beat up Tahoe was doing her best, so I never took my frustrations out on her.

As I crossed the parking lot, I whipped my head around to gauge the spaces, noticing all of the regulars were already here, meaning I was the last to arrive. Sucks, given I'm the meeting organizer. Something caught my eye. A vehicle I didn't recognize, a black SUV. The same one who apparently can't make a right turn to save their life. Newbie? The rest of the offices were closed for the day, so I can't see why else they'd be here.

The building is always so quiet at 6PM, so the tapping of my chucks on the tile floors is louder than I'd like, drawing attention to my obvious lateness. (To who?). Didn't matter. I felt ashamed. These meetings are the most important facet of my life right now. I needed to be more punctual. Maybe next time, I'll tell Supervisor Sam to fuck right off like he deserves.

"Guys, I am so fucking sorry. Douchebag sup made me late...again." I announced as I backed into the door, opening it, and heading straight to the table to pull the Crumbl cookies out of my bag and setting them next to the water cooler and Keurig machine. I always brought sweets. It kept the cravings away.

"No worries Leena, we've just been chatting with the new guy." I turned around to see Abel, my veteran, who was gesturing to someone I didn't know.

I went around the circle of chairs, counting off my regular faces, some newer than others.

Abel, Rodger, Syd, Seth, Ali, Jackson, Mark, and Jillian.

However, sitting between Abel and Jillian was a newcomer, who currently had his back turned, slumped forward in his chair. Brown hair, longer than the hat he wore, black sweatshirt and dark blue jeans. Black sneakers. Hood up. Guarded, uncomfortable. What little of his hands I could see kneading together, they were completely tattooed. Even at Abel's mention of him, he didn't turn to face me.

"Oh! Well good! Great job guys. We can go ahead and get started." I grabbed my clipboard off the table, and rounded the group and took my normal spot next to Syd. By the way her hair was pulled back and her face looked dry and sullen, I could tell we had some things to talk about today.

"Well, my new folks don't typically like to talk first on their first day, but just know, that you being here is only the beginning. And we are all here to welcome you to our group. Right, guys?" I directed my statement toward the stranger, who I now can see more clearly. His face is pale, with the exception of the dark circles rested comfortably above his cheekbones. If I were to take a guess, those had been there a while.

The rest of my group nodded, with several of them giving a quick 'That's right.' and 'Welcome in.'

"I'm Leena, the group coordinator. I can answer any questions you may have?" The stranger just peered at me with dark eyes and shook his head. "Okay, we can jump right in, then."

I could feel Syd next to me bursting to talk, so I looked to her.

"Syd, do you want to get us started today?" She only nodded, wiping some stray tears forming on her cheeks.

Syd was such a beautiful girl. Only 21 years old, it was amazing that she found the strength to come to us so young, and work on turning her life around. Her neon blue hair was knotted on top of her head, and she was picking feverishly at her sleeve of her sweater. I could feel what was coming. I always could.

"I...I fell off the wagon." I only nodded, knowing. She had missed three meetings, and unless someone forewarned me about vacations or work obligations, it almost always meant they were on a bender of some kind.

"Okay," As her tears began pouring, I reached over and ran a hand up her arm. There was a reason I sat Syd right next to me. She had been one of my newest, and biggest challenges. Overcoming the demons was an every day, every moment, every second battle that she was still very much fighting. "It's alright honey. We're all here to support you. No one is judging."

She went on to explain she had began with a mimosa at brunch with her friends, who didn't know she was in recovery. She didn't want them to know, so she tried to just sip. It didn't work. It never does. The one drink lead to a blackout weekend and three days in jail for public intoxication. She lost the job she had just gotten at the local DMV. Syd was going through it. She would need Seth, her sponsor, more than usual right now. He was on the other side of her, clutching her hand as she cried.

Once Syd had finished her confession, and emotionally put her 30-day coin back in the jar, we moved on to Seth.

One by one, through the circle, we heard everyone's stories of recent achievements and sorrows. Challenges and victories. Their ongoing battles. Once Jillian finished telling us about her recent trip to Vegas with her friends, where she managed not to have a single drink. We applauded her, because we all knew how much restraint that took.

I would steal occasional glances at our guest, whose eyes would also glance back at me once in a while, but mostly followed the speakers, never moving in his chair, stoic as cement. This isn't uncommon for people coming here for the first time. It's not easy to do, and it's wildly uncomfortable at first.

However, the circle was now all looking at him, and a look of almost panic flashed across his face.

"Is it on me?" His voice was deeper than I expected, with a clear rasp to it that told me all I needed to know about his history. He belonged here, and we were glad to have him.

I nodded. "How much you tell us is entirely up to you, but all I ask is you at least tell us your name, and why you're here."

He bit his bottom lip, eyes cast at me from across the room, looking up through long, dark eyelashes. "I have to say it out loud?"

"That's one of the first steps." I kept a soft smile on my face. Being warm, and understanding was my entire job here.

Abel's elbow nudged the stranger, who glanced at him, encouraging him. "No worries man, we've all been here."

A hard sigh left his throat, ending with a sharp cough.

"My name is Noah. And I'm an alcoholic."

****

Once the meeting had ended, I was stacking chairs back against the wall, prepping the room for the next meeting, NA. They had their own setup, and would be in here in about 30 minutes. Most everyone had left, with the exception of Abel, Syd, and Noah. Our newest AA member had been pretty tight-lipped about himself, only admitted to being 27 years old, and in the entertainment industry. He didn't elaborate further. That was just fine. If he kept coming, we would encourage him further, but AA was all about getting you through it at your pace. As long as you didn't drink, I was happy.

I was putting away the leftover cookies, planning to take the last couple with me to work tomorrow for a snack. I happened to catch a glimpse of someone leaving the restroom, and I noticed it was Noah. Everyone else had left only a couple minutes ago.

"Oh, hey!" I waved at him to come over. He paced his tall frame over to me, towering over me easily. He had at least a foot of height on me, which was hilarious, given I was a year older and 3 years sober myself.

"Hey, thanks for having me today. I didn't know if you could just come to these things." I slung my bag over my shoulder, smiling at him.

"C'mon, I wanted to chat with you before you left." We made our way out of the building as Angie, the NA organizer walked in past us, smiling at us both.

We reached the parking lot, my green Tahoe and the same black SUV being some of the only vehicles left. It dawned on me that he drove the SUV. Well, he may need a driving lesson, but he seemed nice enough.

I turned to face him before heading for my car. "Have you talked to anyone about being a sponsor? The only requirements I have is that they have been sober at least 6 months. Almost everyone in our group is, with the exception of Syd and Jackson." I could see him chewing his lip, his fingers fiddling with his keys.

"No, I...I didn't think about it." His eyes were looking everywhere but at me.

"Noah?" I asked, trying to get his attention. "Do you know what a sponsor is?"

This drew a short, burst of a chuckle out of him, his lips curling in a sheepish grin while he shook his head. I saw his frame relax for just a second, his arm reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

"I don't." I nodded, chuckling myself.

"No worries! I didn't when I started either." I waved him over to the bench perched just outside the building. He followed me and we sat. "A sponsor is someone to keep you straight. Someone who will keep your head on when you feel like you might fall off." He was listening, eyes fixed on me. "This is the person you call when you want a drink. They'll talk you down, distract you. Support you." He nodded, understanding crossing his features.

"Do they have to be a member of the group?"

"No, not necessarily, but they do need to be sober. A sponsor is no good if they are drinking and setting bad examples."

"Makes sense. I'll think on it." I stood up then, stretching up on my toes to flex my legs that had been sitting most the day. He stayed sat, now looking up at me.

"I do need you to have a sponsor by the next meeting on Thursday, though. Have to have one by your second session. And if you don't have one by then, we can get someone in the group to sponsor you, no problem."

He raised a brow at me, a smirk on his lips. "Didn't you say you only had one rule?" This threw me off. Smartass? It was innocent, I could tell, but a joker. Hadn't had one of those in a while.

I laughed it off. "Well, I only do for your first day. There are only a few rules to AA, but they're pretty much common sense."

He stood then, towering me once again. "Can you tell me anyway? I don't want to fuck this up." We then began walking back towards the cars. When I walked toward mine, he followed. It was dark already, so I didn't mind. This was LA, after all.

"Well, the first is obvious, no drinking." I popped my driver door open and flung my bag in toward the passenger's side. He nodded at me and leaned against the rear door of my truck.

"Second, no coming in drunk. As obvious as that may seem, you would not believe how many people I've kicked out of the meeting for showing up mid-bender." He raised his eyebrows. "As much as I'd like to keep and eye on them, it's not good for the other members."

"No, for sure." His tone was even.

"And lastly," I then looked straight at him, so he knew how serious I was. "don't ever lie to me." I could see him straighten just a little, feeling the seriousness of what I was saying. "If you fell off, admit it. I'm not judging. I did, so many times. But if you lie, you're out." I then took a step closer, if only to make my point, "Because I always find out."

He kicked off from my truck, his body less than six inches from mine. He looked down at me, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Yes ma'am." I felt a twinge up the back of my spine. It was a little warm all of a sudden, and my mouth was dry. I stepped back, and was able to regain my brain.

I smiled brightly at him and swung myself up into my truck. Before I slid my legs in, I looked at him, now almost at eye-level.

"Great! I'll see you Thursday, then!"

[dimity-lawn]

Okay, there’s background context to this, but I don’t really feel like getting into it right now on this particular post. The short version is that a friend of mine wants to us to dress up as Aziraphale and Crowley for Halloween (and future conventions and similar).

Now, of course I couldn’t handle this like a normal person, and I’ve been having too many ideas about what to do, so I don’t believe we need any suggestions on that front, however, you might be able to help us in another way.

Do any of you have any good resources for getting bits and pieces for these two? More specifically, right now I’m looking for a good version of Aziraphale’s fob medal. The ones I’ve found are either less detailed, the leaves are different, or they are no longer available on Etsy, and the same goes for the shop that sold them. Also, if you have any recommendations for a place to find a single breasted waistcoat with a shawl collar (preferably velveteen), I’m all ears. Amazon and Etsy have not been as helpful as I’d hoped, and I’ll probably resort to some other style. There’s an evil little voice telling me to make the waistcoat myself. There aren’t even any sleeves, it says, so it’ll be simple and speedy, I’ll have a wonderful waistcoat in no time at all. But I know better than to trust that voice, and I have too many other things to figure out and put together to have time to do this. Another part of me is tempted to make a cross between Aziraphale’s waistcoat and a 19th century Swiss waist, and rely on the wrap cape I’d like to make to cover up the lack of a full waistcoat, but I feel like that would look wrong unless I wore the cape, and since I’m not certain whether I’ll want to do that, I don’t think I’ll go that route.

I’ll probably post more about this (mis)adventure as it progresses, but right now I’m just starting to figure it out, and at that I’m starting on my Aziraphale costume because I think my friend’s Crowley costume will be easier to do, especially since she takes a much more relaxed and reasonable approach to her costumes than I do.

Thank you in advance for any assistance!

[masterwords]

hi! would you consider writing something with oblivious rossi?

maybe hotch gets hurt and rossi is trying to take care of him and gets angry at morgan for trying to take over or be hotch's emergency contact or something.

could be paternal/platonic/romantic rossi

Sorry this took a freaking half a year to finish! I hope you like it! (Or are...you know...still hanging around this fandom. SO SORRY.)

Summary: When the excitement is over, all that remains is to regroup. Hotch won't get into an SUV so Rossi follows him to the wreckage of Derek's ambulance. Things just keep getting weirder for Rossi after that.

Words: 7.1k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: explosions & injuries (if you've seen lo-fi/mayhem you know)

Notes: YEAH. Another Mayhem fic. Just a whole lot of Hotch being exceptionally Hotch-like. Frustrating and totally mad but we love him right? I am posting the whole fic here (and on ao3) because it's a one shot for once!

***

“I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel,” Rossi said, stopping Hotch in his tracks. He’d been hoping to make his exit in silence, while everyone was occupied, but Rossi was watching him. A little too closely.

“That’s alright,” Hotch replied coolly, his eyes trained on a spot on the floor. A fleck of mica in the linoleum held his attention longer than it should have, a dead giveaway that his marbles were suitably scrambled. They might not have evaluated for a concussion but he definitely had one and there was no denying it.

“I insist. They don’t need our help here and you look like you could use a nice hot shower. Come on.”

Hotch followed dutifully, unable to conjure an excuse on the spot. His mind was a hotbed of misery, he was about two minutes from complete collapse and that didn’t leave a lot of room for quick wit. Rossi smiled victoriously, attempting to make some kind of small talk on the way through the front doors of the hospital. The conversation was one sided. At the curb, parked beside the bright red no parking emergency vehicles only pain was a black SUV. His body turned to static electricity and he stopped dead in his tracks, the ache behind his sternum becoming a rumbling freight train. Rossi pressed the button and the fob set off a chirping noise in the SUV. Hotch didn’t exactly flinch, but his hearing went out entirely and became a high pitched screaming and nothing else.

“I think I’ll walk,” he muttered. It sounded completely nonsensical to Rossi, his speech somewhat slurred in his sudden panic.

“Come on Aaron, you need some rest.”

“I said I’d rather walk.”

“You look like you can barely stand let alone walk…”

“I said I’d rather walk.” He could scarcely hear Rossi, but that didn’t matter. He knew he wasn’t getting into that damn SUV.

“Okay, okay. I’ll walk with you.”

Hotch’s legs were already moving, feet pounding pavement as fast as they would carry him on weary bones and aching joints. Putting as much space between he and that powder keg SUV as he could. The faster he tried to move, the more pronounced his limp became and Rossi struggled to catch up.

“Aaron, slow down!”

“I don’t need a babysitter Dave.”

“I worry. Humor, me would you? Slow down. It’s two miles back to the hotel from here.”

Hotch realized as he moved forward that he wasn’t exactly headed back to the hotel. He knew the way, but he had other plans. Then Rossi would really think he’d gone mad.

Maybe he had. He wasn’t in any position to judge madness, not at this point. He’d spent the day watching people be murdered on city cameras and finished out his evening by being blown up in the middle of Manhattan and then watching the man responsible slice his own throat to avoid being arrested. Now he was touring the streets of Manhattan in a concussed fog looking for a street he knew had to be coming up soon. He knew the city well enough, maybe not as well as Rossi but he could manage. On a good day at least.

At a crosswalk he stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening to the sounds of the city. He’d been hoping to hear the sirens, the commotion, but this was a city that never went quiet and he’d lost his bearings. The smoke was coating the sidewalks in all direction, he couldn’t tell where the plume originated. Rossi caught up to him and stood by his side, awaiting his next move.

“If you’re headed where I think you are, take a left at the next intersection.”

“You don’t need to come.”

Rossi shrugged helplessly. “I’m not going to let you wander around Manhattan alone, Aaron. Not in your state. Besides, I’d like to see how our friend fared myself.”

Hotch didn’t respond, he just entered the crosswalk when the light changed and began heading for the next intersection. Rossi kept up with him but didn’t speak, not for a long time. He was too busy watching him, making sure that he didn’t fall over. Again and again his leg buckled beneath him and Rossi reached out, ready to stop his face from hitting the cement, but each time Hotch managed to right himself and move with even more determination to just get where he was going.

Ahead, a few exhausting blocks further, was an entrance to Central Park. They weren’t where they needed to be, but they were close. The footpath would take them over a small bridge, beneath streetlamps glowing through the smoky haze. As they crested the bridge, he could see the smoldering remains of Derek’s ambulance and it ignited something inside of him. He began running, turning briskly from the pavement into the great sea of grass.

It was more of a painful lope, one leg clearly doing the majority of the work, and Rossi kept on his heels. It wasn’t hard, Hotch wasn’t running fast. “Aaron, we can walk, no one is going anywhere.”

Rossi’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Partially because Hotch’s hearing had almost entirely gone out, partially because he was so focused on that ambulance that the rest of the world had disappeared. He didn’t even hear Rossi’s protest.

He whipped out his credentials when stopped at the barrier, flipping them open with one trembling hand. Rossi followed suit, and without much hesitation they were allowed to pass into the scene. The heat was astounding, charred grass and flickering embers still being snuffed out by the fire department. Hotch’s pace slowed as he got closer, as he took in the full image of desolation. Molten metal, the ambulance he’d driven not long ago reduced to nothing but charred remains.

“Aaron…” Rossi said when Hotch stumbled to a halt. Like he simply couldn’t move forward. “We don’t need to be here. They have it covered.”

The ground was wet, sopping and soggy, his feet were sinking in the mush. They’d been pushing so much water over the ground, over the ambulance, the whole place was saturated and swampy. It smelled like gasoline and the still billowing smoke made him cough.

“Aaron. Come on. Not tonight.”

“Hotch!” A voice rang out through the night, and while he’d heard very little of what Rossi was saying to him, he heard Derek’s voice clear as a bell. He turned and squinted in the direction he thought the voice had come from, trying to see through the stagnant smoke hanging thick around the site. “HOTCH!” Derek appeared then, running out of the plumes of smoke still rising like phantom geysers from the wreckage and Hotch stood dumbfounded as Derek slammed into him. For a split second neither of them worried about injuries, about the clash of ribs and the twisting of arms and the intense relief as Derek buried his face in the warmth of Hotch’s sweaty neck. He smelled like antiseptic and blood, a welcome reprieve from the overwhelming acrid smoke.

“You’re in so much trouble,” Hotch whispered, his nose against Derek’s ear, arms wrapped tight. If they were alone he might have been inclined to allow a kiss but they were already pushing past any professional boundaries that might still exist between them. He caught Rossi staring and turned away, avoiding the intensity of his glare.

“My turn?” Rossi asked, oblivious. Or maybe not. Maybe he was just trying to divert the attention from the emotional meeting before people started asking questions, before he had to start asking questions himself. Derek obliged, hugging Rossi with half the vigor of what he’d just given Hotch but it made people look away, satisfied that what they were seeing was more of a family reunion than a lover’s embrace.

Rossi still wasn’t sure himself. Hotch and Derek’s relationship had always eluded his grasp. One minute they were thick as thieves, sharing a braincell, and the next they were at each other’s throats barely able to even be in the same room. The charge between them was intense and the pendulum swung wildly back and forth.

This case in New York had been no exception. The two of them had been scrapping like cats and dogs, more glares than gazes. Everything had been tense from the first sight of Kate Joyner.

“I’ll call us a car,” Rossi said as Hotch and Derek stood having a silent conversation, just staring at one another in a way that made Rossi feel like an intruder.

“I’ll walk,” Hotch insisted again. Rossi thought he’d be over that by now, that he’d just wanted to get here without being at someone else’s mercy, but there was more to it. Derek and Rossi shared a glance, and all at once without putting words to it, they realized why Hotch wanted to walk.

“I’ll join you,” Derek said quickly. “Rossi, you can go back to the hotel. We’re done here anyway.”

“I don’t mind the walk,” Rossi insisted, but Derek shot him a look that was almost seething. It took him a second to realize he wasn’t being asked not to join them but told. He was a third wheel. “Okay. I’ll see you fellas in the morning. JJ has the jet scheduled to leave at 11.”

“I can’t fly,” Hotch muttered. “The field office has secured me a ride back to Quantico.”

“You?” Rossi asked, suddenly smirking. “The man who won’t get into an SUV with someone he knows and trusts tonight?”

“I’ll manage.”

Rossi shrugged helplessly. Hotch had to be the most frustrating person he’d ever known in his life. Hands down. Not even Gideon could hold a candle to the absolute madness of knowing this man.

“Watch him, will ya?” Rossi asked, looking directly at Derek.

“Of course.”

(x)

Derek woke up before anyone else. He knew because the lobby was quiet, the little continental breakfast room was quiet though freshly stocked with pastries and fruit and hot coffee, the whole place was quiet. If Emily or Spencer had been awake there would certainly have been noise. He threw his bag over his shoulder and wandered the carpeted hallways, taking a few extra minutes to gather his thoughts. The night before was a blur of fire and exhaustion. He and Hotch had walked back in complete silence, a little over two miles without saying a word except to bid one another goodnight at Hotch’s hotel room door. No invitation inside. Hotch didn’t offer, Derek didn’t ask. That hug had taken it all out of them, had quenched the immediate thirst for connection, but there was still so much turmoil between them that they weren’t able to touch the night before.

Sleep had cleared Derek’s mind enough that he could his his way to a resolution and he only had to hope that Hotch fared the same. Somehow he doubted that the other man had slept much if at all. Passed out in short spurts, probably, but not restful sleep.

“Has anyone checked out yet this morning from my team?” Derek asked, now standing in front of the front desk. He flashed his credentials and slapped down the list of room numbers he wanted checked. The young man with horn rimmed glasses and slicked back hair frowned as he clicked away at his keyboard.

“Room 614,” the front desk attendant whose nametag read Miraz said, sliding the paper back to Derek. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

614. Rossi. Where the hell was Rossi going this early? He was usually the last one up and moving, he liked to take his sweet time. At least Hotch had stayed put, he was still in his room, with any luck sleeping. They had hours left.

“I’d like to check out. Room 801.”

“Derek Morgan?”

“Yes,” he said, wondering now if Miraz had even bothered to look at his credentials. Probably not. “You see which way the guy from 614 went?”

Miraz shrugged and his face seemed to say he wasn’t a babysitter, he didn’t get paid enough to care where guests went once they were no longer paying for his services. Derek couldn’t blame him.

“Thanks bud.”

“Hey,” Miraz said as Derek turned to grab his bag from the floor. “Did I see you on the news last night? That explosion in Central Park?”

Derek thought about shrugging, just to give the guy a taste of his own medicine, but he really wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Yeah. That was me.”

“You saved a whole bunch of lives. That’s really cool. Was it scary?”

“Uh...yeah. It was a little scary driving an ambulance rigged to explode through Manhattan. Almost shit my pants when I jumped out. First thing I did when I stood up was check my pants.”

That got a laugh out of Miraz who seemed to lighten up a little. “That guy, 614? I only saw him go out the front door, he was on his phone when he checked out. Sounded like he was going to meet someone. Thanks for doing what you did...my mom lives close to St Sebastian.”

Derek smiled and nodded, lifting up his bag. “You’re welcome. That’s my job. Hey, can I leave a note for the guy in 311?”

“Sure. Here.” Miraz slipped Derek a pad of paper emblazoned with the hotel logo at the top and a pen to match.

“Just make sure you give this to him. He’s gonna look pretty mean...be nice to him, okay? He had a rough night.”

“Was he the guy in the car that blew up?”

“Yeah, kid. He was. You saw that on the news too huh?”

“It’s all everyone was talking about last night. Bet if you went into the restaurant you’d hear it everywhere.”

Derek left after that, feeling better about the interaction than he’d started. His note was simple, just asking Hotch to call him. Somehow he knew Hotch wouldn’t, but he couldn’t control that. He could control his own reaction to the situation. He’d given Hotch space last night – yeah, the case was over and technically they were well within their relationship limits to spend time together behind closed doors once that had happened, but something about the way everything went down told him it wasn’t a good time. To let Hotch have space, to lick his wounds. He needed to come to terms with what happened on his own before he could ever hope to let anyone else in, it was just a part of who he was. And maybe Derek needed some of that himself this time too. He had no regrets, but he did spend a lot of the night worried that Hotch wasn’t okay. That his injuries were worse than he let on. Kate died and Hotch just had a blown ear drum and some shrapnel in his leg? He didn’t buy it.

But they’d walked two miles together and Hotch held up. He limped and there were times it was pretty clear he was dizzy, that he couldn’t hear well or even at all, but he walked nonetheless. It wasn’t nothing.

Derek stepped out into the bright early morning and looked around, wondering where in the hell Rossi went. What was he up to? JJ had gone to stay with Will for the night but she’d already secured the jet, there was nothing to do except just show up and take off.

He thought about calling, but what would he say? There was no real reason he should find himself so concerned about Rossi’s whereabouts. Pushing it out of his mind, he made his way toward the FBI Field Office, intending to talk with them about Kate first, and then Hotch’s ride. He knew Agent Davis had been assigned to drive him back to Quantico, and then make the return trip on her own. Derek thought he could spare her the trouble and chauffeur Hotch on his own. At least then it would be a one way trip and they could have some time alone together. The last thing Davis needed was to have to spend 5 hours in a car with the grouchiest Unit Chief on the East Coast. No one was better equipped to deal with the emotional fallout of the last week as it settled on Hotch than Derek. He was somewhat responsible for it, afterall.

On his way, he called Sean and talked to him. Sean had seen the news by the ragged sound of his voice, by the way he sounded drunk at 7am. “I heard about Kate,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Raw, red sounding words, like he’d been pounding whiskey and cigarettes all night. Derek wasn’t surprised.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“How’s Aaron?” The sound of Sean’s voice hadn’t surprised Derek, but Sean asking about his brother did. It wasn’t like him to be concerned about his brother, at least not before exhausting the attention himself. He must have seen the bomb.

“Rough,” Derek said, quickening his pace. It occurred to him that Rossi might have had the same idea he had, that Rossi might be off trying to reassign Davis himself. “But alive. I’m going to drive him back home, he can’t fly. Was thinking maybe the three of us could meet for breakfast before we skip town.”

“Oh. I uh…” Sean started, and Derek could hear sheets twisting and an inhale, he had a cigarette already. “I don’t think Aaron wants to see me. He didn’t even tell me you guys were in town.”

“You know how he is on cases, bud. Nothing personal. Come on. I’m buyin’.”

Sean’s stomach growled and he knew his hangover would be epic if he didn’t eat...hell, it was going to be epic anyway, but something greasy might curb the bite. “Yeah. Okay. Look my car’s broken down and my bike’s in storage…I pawned my ten speed for rent money a couple weeks ago so I’m hoofing it these days...”

“We’ll come to you. Text me a restaurant and a time, we’ll meet you there.”

He found Rossi outside of the field office looking pleased with himself. The look on his face was concerning and took Derek back to the night before. “Rossi!” Derek called, picking up the pace. Rossi turned and looked at him, waving a little as he did so.

“You’re up early. The jet doesn’t leave until 11.”

“Yeah, I actually thought I’d give Hotch a ride home. Came by to tell Agent Davis she didn’t have to drive Miss Daisy.”

Rossi, with a look of amusement, replied. “Already taken care of. I’ll drive Aaron back to Quantico.”

Exactly what Derek was hoping to avoid. The two of them, while not actively hiding anything, hadn’t really gone public. It never seemed like the right time. It was hard to look at pictures of humans at their worst, the evils of the world, and say Hey guys guess what? We kiss now.

“Would you mind if I did?” Derek asked, hoping he could play it cool. “We kinda had a rough time on this case and I’d like to do some damage control. You know?”

“I don’t think he’s in any condition to be doing damage control, Morgan. Why don’t you save that for next week?” The smug look on Rossi’s face was irritating. Derek wasn’t in the mood.

He’d been so confident, so sure that he could get here in time to seal the deal. Why would Rossi be so adamant about doing it? About spending five hours in a car with Hotch who was bound to be grouchier than a grizzly bear with a thorn in its paw? He was dangerously close to playing his trump card, the only thing stopping him was knowing damn well Hotch wouldn’t want that. Rossi was making it awfully damn hard.

It had started the night before, in the hospital. He was the first to show up on the floor, the first to rush into Hotch’s hospital room. Derek was in the bathroom cleaning himself up, giving Hotch a minute to sit quietly on the bed and just think without distraction – it was all he said he needed, just a minute to clear his head. They were missing something and if he could just get some quiet he might find it, but of course as he quickly came to realize, the joke was on him. There was no quiet to be had, not inside his head. The ringing and the pain were louder than anything in the hospital, and then there comes Rossi jogging into the room shouting “Aaron! Aaron!” and trying to force him to lay down. “You need to rest.” That hadn’t gone over well, not for any of them. Hotch didn’t want to rest, he just wanted Rossi to stop making noise, and Derek just wanted the night to be over. He’d tried to get Rossi to leave, to let Hotch get dressed in peace, but it only turned into an argument outside of his room while they waited for Hotch to finish.

“Just because they’re pointing at you to run the field office up here…” Rossi had started, and Derek looked around helplessly at the team who hadn’t known any of that. “Not here Rossi. Back off.” No, things had definitely not gone well the night before. The scene in the park had been less frustrating but there was still some uneasiness about Rossi, some hesitation there and it had clearly spurred him on this morning. He had little hope that Rossi was going to let him have this without a fight. Not when he looked at Rossi’s little smile that said I win, though what he thought he was winning Derek couldn’t decide.

“We’re having breakfast with Sean before leaving. I just got off the phone with him. He’s expecting us.”

Rossi cocked his head to the side like he didn’t quite understand what Derek said. “You called Sean?”

“He and I have been buddies a long time, man. He knew Kate pretty well...they kinda dated a while back…”

“Kate Joyner? Dated Sean Hotchner?” Rossi could barely believe his ears. She seemed far too smart and put together to date someone like Sean, that was what Derek saw flash over Rossi’s features. He took immediate offense, bristling at the thought that Sean might not be good enough for someone. He had plenty of faults, but he was a good man and he’d never treated a lover poorly. That was reserved for himself, self-loathing a particularly strong Hotchner trait. They didn’t care half as much about themselves as they did others.

“I guess when she was new to the city. I don’t know man, he’s handsome and he cleaned himself up pretty good for a while. But I’m a little worried this is gonna make him relapse. I thought if we...Hotch and I...took him out for breakfast maybe we could help.”

There was a dawning look of curiosity on Rossi’s face that Derek didn’t like, but he supposed it was only a matter of time. “You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say there might be something going on between you that you aren’t sharing with the class.”

“Me and Sean?” Derek asked, feigning ignorance. He wasn’t very good at it. Rossi didn’t smile.

Now Derek just felt like a slimeball. Sure, he’d been angry at Rossi the night before but it wasn’t really angry it was just frustration, exasperation. Rossi was pushing him and it would have been so much easier if he could just fucking tell him WHY because he knew Rossi would respect that and leave them alone but he was trying his best to honor Hotch’s wishes that they be discreet for a while longer. Until the dust settled on his divorce, until they were back on Strauss’ good side...well this sure as hell wasn’t going to put them there and frankly that they ever would be on her good side was starting to look hopeless. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to have a heart to heart with Rossi. He had to lay it out or this game of tug-o-war was never going to end.

“Let’s go grab a coffee,” he suggested, looking at the time. He still had a while before Hotch would get up. Or at least a while before he would be leaving his room. His rendezvous with Agent Davis was 9am, there was time enough to have a meaningful talk with Rossi and still make it. “I think maybe we need to have a chat.”

“If you’re planning to explain the birds and the bees, kid, save your breath.” Rossi said with a smirk and Derek shook his head. He couldn’t believe this man sometimes.

“Well damn. Guess we’ll have to find something else to talk about.”

“I have a feeling you’ve got that covered.”

They walked along listening to the sounds of morning in Manhattan, street vendors and taxi cabs, people shouting and cars honking and music everywhere. The city never slept but it seemed a little extra electric this morning after the terror of the last week, after the excitement of the night before. Newsstands were showered with photos of explosions in black and white and full color spreads, and everyone was telling what they knew or heard. Even in passing Derek could pick up how little of it was true. “I heard it was the President in that hospital…” “No, it was the Secretary of Defense…” “No, it was the Pope…” Derek had to roll his eyes as the stories got more and more outlandish. Still, no one seemed to recognize him immediately though a few people did do quick second takes as he walked by – he thought Hotch might not be so fortunate. His picture was all over the papers.

“Looks like you boys are celebrities,” Rossi said, pointing at a photo of Derek crouched in front of Hotch on the street. It was taken by zoom lens, probably somewhere just past the barricade Derek had worked his way through. Rossi picked it up and stared for a minute and Derek wondered what he was thinking – could he see the look in his eye? That absolute devastation at seeing Hotch bleeding in the street? And could he see the look in Hotch’s eye? Like Derek was some kind of savior? Rossi looked at the photo for a long time and Derek sucked in a shaky breath, glancing around at the crush of people crossing the busy street. “They’re calling you heroes.”

“They don’t know what else to do with their fear,” Derek whispered, still staring at the picture of Hotch. He didn’t know what else to do with it either.

“How about this place?” Rossi indicated a little cafe with outdoor seating that looked like they had room for a few more. Just a few steps past the newsstand. “Looks nice.”

They were seated quickly and ordered just as fast – a coffee and a slice of quiche for Derek, coffee and a croissant sandwich full of meat and cheese for Rossi. Easy and fast, they had their food right from the glass deli counter and began eating. Rossi was going to wait Derek out and watched with curiosity as he picked the egg away from the crust and set the crust aside.

“So that’s how you get a body like that,” Rossi said with a smirk. “You deprive yourself of the good parts.”

“Good parts? Man, crust isn’t the good part. Not when you got spinach and egg and cheese in here. I love food, I don’t love empty calories.”

“Not ever?”

“Did I say that?”

Rossi smiled and shook his head, lifting his sandwich to tear into it. He was starving. The minute his mouth was full, Derek took his opportunity to speak.

“Listen. There’s no easy way to bring this up, and I really probably shouldn’t but here’s the thing. I’m driving Aaron back to Quantico. You can argue all you want but I’m not gonna budge so it’d be a lot easier if you didn’t. I need to be with him right now.”

Rossi, chewing, nodded. He didn’t seem all that surprised.

“This week’s been rough for us and we need some time to talk. Or maybe just to be together quietly. He’s hurting, Rossi. And with the whole Kate...New York job...thing...I don’t know but I’m not going home without him.”

“And if I say no? I do still have the keys.”

“I’ll throw down, Rossi.” Derek grinned at that, knowing damn well Rossi was going to hand him the keys to the SUV without any further argument. It wasn’t like Derek couldn’t just get an SUV of his own to drive back in, that wasn’t really the issue. It was a principal thing. “I know you just wanna make sure he’s okay. I know you’re worried about him, I get it. I’ll take good care of him.”

“I know you will.” That was the first really serious thing Rossi had said all morning. He was glad, in some ways, that Derek was so devoted but his reputation worried Rossi. Maybe he wasn’t the dog everyone made him out to be, but Hotch was in no frame of mind to be dealing with personal drama. Between the divorce and now Kate’s death, he’d had enough. It just kept piling up and all Rossi had wanted to do was try to ease it. He wanted to ask questions that would probably come across as insensitive or prying, definitely pressing for information he wasn’t owed but Hotch had become like a son to him. He cared deeply for him in ways he hadn’t for anyone – there was a time he felt more devoted to Hotch than his own wife. (Wives.) And he was usually welcome in with open arms, this was jarring being pushed to the outside. Not being given an opportunity to help at the hospital and again now, it didn’t sit well.

“Do you remember Adrian Bale?” Derek asked, digging a tomato out of his quiche.

“The bomber who killed 6 Agents and wounded several others, sending Gideon into a tailspin. I recall the case vaguely but I know I checked in on Gideon several times during his leave. I was on a book tour at the time.”

Derek nodded. “Yeah. Well, Hotch was one of the wounded. I sat with him in a hospital room for three days while he battled his injuries. Three days I listened to him cough his lungs up, cleaned up blood, helped him eat and go to the bathroom. Three days. I should have been there when it happened but I was too busy licking my own wounds after a fight with he and Gideon about where I was needed. I thought I should be on the front line, they didn’t think so, I got pissed at them treating me like an outsider. That’s not what they were doing, I know that, but it pissed me off anyway. And I let that anger keep me away when they needed me. Last night was like a repeat. Only this time it feels worse because that first time I wasn’t really mad at him but this time I was. I almost lost something last night and I’m not gonna...not again. Not without a fight.”

Rossi nodded but said nothing, just regarded Derek with a seriousness he didn’t often employ. The restaurant shrank around them, suddenly cramped and tight, and Derek found it hard to breathe. He hadn’t even really said the words, probably didn’t need to at this point. If Rossi wasn’t picking up on it, he might need to look for a new job. He thought Rossi understood completely though, and instead just didn’t like it.

“You’re either not surprised or you don’t wanna invest much in it because you think it won’t last. Which is it?”

“Both, maybe,” Rossi admitted, pulling a piece of ham from his sandwich and eating it. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re good for him, but he’s...his marriage ending is probably not the best time for him to jump into something new, especially not something committed. Measure your expectations.”

“You callin’ me a rebound?”

“I guess in a matter of speaking. Maybe that’s not exactly what I’d call it...but close enough. They were married a long time.”

“No, they were together a long time. They actually weren’t married that long. They got married right after I came to the BAU.”

“Are we arguing semantics now? They had been together since high school, in whatever capacity you’d like to imagine. You don’t just get over that and jump into another healthy relationship right away. There has to be a grace period. A rebound, if you like.”

“Damn Rossi. That’s a little cold don’t you think?”

“Am I wrong?”

Derek considered what Rossi was saying while he sipped the too hot coffee. It burned his tongue. “I don’t know. I think you might be. I know how I feel, and I know how I’ve felt for a very long time. It’s not like this just came on out of nowhere for either of us. It’s been a long time coming. I guess I thought I knew how he felt...before Kate, anyway. Now I’m not as sure.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You saw the way he was with her. I know she dated Sean but it doesn’t take a genius to see the way he looked at her. And her resemblance to Haley was uncanny.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?! They’re practically twins.”

“Because they’re both blonde? That’s hardly fair. You’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am. Wouldn’t you be?”

“With anyone else, maybe. But you know Hotch better than that. That man was made to be married. If he’s with you, he’s with you. He’s not looking at anyone else. You should have seen all the LEOs and lawyers and other Agents who chased his tail, slipped him phone numbers for years and he was either completely oblivious or if he picked up on it he shut it down right away. You don’t trust that, you should probably cut your losses now and move on.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just that I know how he still feels about Haley, how he’ll probably always feel about her and I saw this chick walking around like hot shit with him following behind her looking like a lovesick puppy…”

“Did you ever stop to consider that his motivation was deeply rooted in the fear of you leaving, not attraction to her? And that perhaps her intense interest in him had more to do with trusting him to save her job than it did with sexual attraction? I think your insecurity is leading you down a dangerous path.”

“Damn Rossi. You’re not pulling punches today. How’d you even know about that anyway?” He remembered talking to Rossi in the bar, and he never questioned Rossi’s knowledge then. He’d been too distracted to wonder, to puzzle that out. And the hospital had been the wrong time to bring any of it up. He couldn’t get that look of betrayal on Spencer’s face out of his mind. But now he wanted to know. There shouldn’t have been anyone outside of he and Hotch and Kate who knew and he thought they were going to keep it that way. At least until the case was finished.

“People talk, Derek. And I listen.”

What he meant was he had eyes and ears everywhere. He was connected. He probably knew before Hotch or Derek did. He’d probably been hearing whispers for months, judging by the cocky look on his face.

“It would be a terrible thing, you leaving the BAU. You would hate it up here. A desk job, suit and tie, dealing with all of that red tape. It’s not you Derek.”

“I’m not even tempted. I don’t want to leave the BAU. Only reason I considered it the other night was anger.”

“You tell him that?”

“I plan to...if you ever give me the damn car keys.”

Rossi finally handed them over and paid the tab before telling Derek he should get going. “Hotch will be checking out anytime now. You’ll want to catch him before he decides to take matters into his own hands or you’ll be chasing his tail lights down the interstate. You know how he is.” What Rossi imagined wasn’t Hotch in a car so much as Hotch on foot, wandering along the side of the road in some desolate Stephen King torturous walk, his feet bleeding inside of his shoes and him content to continue just so that he didn’t have to slide into the seat of an SUV.

“Shit.”

Outside the FBI Office, Hotch was talking with someone Derek didn’t recognize. He held himself stiff and tall, Derek could tell his back hurt but he looked shockingly put together and cleaned up. Upon closer inspection, he could still see a smear of blood behind Hotch’s ear and another at the nape of his neck. Clearly he hadn’t showered, just gave himself a wipe down – he probably didn’t get up in time, or maybe he couldn’t manage it. Derek really had no idea.

The sight of Derek approaching was startling to him, Derek could see it on his face. “Derek. What are you doing here?”

“I know you got my note. That kid at the front desk said he’d give it to you.”

“He did.”

“And you just decided to ignore it?”

Hotch’s features melted into a slow, cautious smile. “I knew you’d find me regardless. You always do.”

Derek rolled his eyes and leaned forward to grab Hotch’s go bag before he could. It was easy, he wasn’t exactly moving quickly. Bending at the hips looked painful. “I’m driving you home. Don’t bother acting surprised.”

“I had assumed Rossi might get to it first. He sent me a cryptic message this morning alluding to a road trip.”

“He did but I fought him for the honor. Won fair and square.” Sort of. Maybe he fought a little dirty. Maybe he said some things he wished he hadn’t. Given too much up.

“You told him about us, didn’t you?”

“Had no choice if I wanted to win.”

Hotch nodded and set out to walk toward the car. He moved slowly and Derek knew he wasn’t wrong about that stiffness, his back was messed up. He didn’t seem to move his neck either, instead he shifted his entire body in the direction he wanted to look.

“You’re lookin pretty rough today.”

“Feeling it.”

At least he admitted it, that was a step in the right direction. “Yeah. Me too.” Derek stopped at the SUV and hit the unlock button on the fob, keeping Hotch in his peripheral vision. He didn’t exactly flinch but he did stiffen up some, and his thumb started working a little faster over his nail bed as he looked around. PTSD. Maybe not alarming, not yet, but small signs. Derek didn’t miss them.

“We’re having breakfast with Sean.”

“I know. He sent me a text this morning.”

“Damn. Is there anything I can tell you that you don’t already know?”

Hotch reached for the door but Derek got there first, clicking it open and putting his body between Hotch and the car. Hotch smiled at the gesture. “You could tell me that you love me.”

That wasn’t what Derek expected. Not after his talk with Rossi, not after everything they’d been through with Kate. “If I did that...would you say it back?”

“You’re going to have to try it and see.” Something about him looked so serious, Derek couldn’t resist. He didn’t think Hotch had ever looked like he needed anything more in his life than to hear that Derek loved him right this minute, and how could he deny him that?

“I do. Dammit, I do. I love you Aaron.”

Hotch smiled and leaned forward, his body awkward and screaming in pain, every movement of his aching joints driving him mad but he kissed Derek once softly and then again a little harder. Slowly he raised one hand and cupped the back of his neck, holding him in place. “I love you too. Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Hotch smiled into another kiss. “Good.”

He was broken, his head was pounding mercilessly, his ear was ringing so loud and the sound of the city wasn’t helping any of it but for the moment, just this one moment, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. He was only thinking about the way Derek smelled, and being able to sit beside him for hours alone. They were never alone. It felt like a luxury and he could only wish that he felt better, that he felt halfway decent so he could enjoy it. This was probably the best he would feel all day and it wasn’t good, not even a little, and it was bound to get worse. He could already feel his head swimming and filling with that cottony otherworldly confusion that comes hand in hand with a concussion. The coffee and advil he’d pumped into his system had given a valiant effort at staving off the symptoms but it was a temporary solution to a much more resilient problem. There was no wishing this away, he would have to walk head first into the pain and hope he came out the other side in better shape.

“Your brother’s a wreck,” Derek whispered against Hotch’s warm lips and Hotch nodded. His brother was always a wreck. “I think maybe we all are.”

“Probably right.”

“Let’s go get some food. It’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Somewhere quiet, please.” It was the simplest request he could make. What he really wanted was somewhere to lay his head down, it was already feeling about twice as heavy as it should on his neck. The look in Derek’s eye said he had plans for them today, plans that probably involved talking and hashing things out, but the reality was grim. He needed to sleep.

Derek pressed his hand to the side of Hotch’s head, thumb caressing the cup of Hotch’s injured ear. To his surprise, Hotch didn’t flinch away from the touch. “Somewhere quiet. You got it.” He paused, smiling, and just for the hell of it spoke again. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Dammit Hotch. You’re such an asshole.”

“I know that too.”

“I’d punch you in the mouth if I thought it would change anything…”

“Kiss me instead.”

Derek didn’t need to be told twice.

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Ch 14: Your High Table

Prev

CW: noncon drugging, captivity, whumpee with powers, forced to use powers, vomiting and illness, fasting, creepy comfort and carewhumping

Then began a time he forgot himself, a time he can remember only in bits and pieces. Because it was done so skillfully, so relentlessly, it took him a long time to realize on any conscious articulate level that he was being drugged.

Hazy late summer mornings, long evenings, sunlight on golden floors and a gilded Louis XVI desk, moving slowly as the eternal hands of the clock. He didn’t have his laptop anymore, or a phone. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t focus. Once, he remembered trying to find a landline in the sprawling brick house, but found only a vintage candlestick phone in an office, not in any type of working condition. He held the old round receiver to his ear, cool and silent, and closed his eyes.

He thought he heard voices on the other end, but it was just the beginning of a dream. He came back to consciousness hearing their echo. Even if the phone worked, who would he call? He couldn’t remember Max’s cell. Emergency services would take him, probably, but they would figure out what he was and give him back to Spartan. Or worse. He might be in trouble with the government now, for all he knew. Running away was certainly a breach of contract.

He looked for his phone, but guessed it was in the safe in Erik’s office the size of a vending machine, like you’d find in an old bank. The front and back doors of the house would not unlock. There was a mechanism of some kind preventing it that he could only guess was controlled by an app on Dr Holstrom’s phone or a device like a key fob. Max would’ve pointed it out as a fire hazard. For some reason that thought made him laugh. The first floor windows didn’t open, either. So curious. He didn’t have the energy to entertain breaking one. That seemed absurd, and violent. He was very tired, and mostly just testing his surroundings like one tongues at a sore spot on the roof of one’s mouth.

These ventures exhausted him to the point of delirium, and he could not scry for two days afterward. Dr Holstrom didn’t interrogate him for the reason behind this, probably because the house was full of surveillance cameras and he already knew, but tended to him until he was well enough to work again. 

The cycle was unending. Erik would bring him to his office to scry. Carlo’s senses were heightened. He could smell the bourbon on the doctor’s breath, the mechanical warm smell coming off the computer on his desk, the late summer foliage outside, ripe going to rot. He closed his eyes and listened to an old voicemail recording of Clara Holstrom, trying to focus on her voice instead of the way the magnolia leaves outside the window clicked together like the green carapaces of beetles. Clara was thirty, wherever she was, a Smith graduate with tightly curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a knowing smile, so subtle in most of her pictures it was like she was asking him what he was doing looking for her. 

Clara was hard to find. For weeks he feared she might be dead, and then what would happen to him? He’d never tried to scry anything about the dead, he didn’t know if it could be done. It was like an intricate network of telephone wires, or a web of mycelium under the earth, and he just had to pick through the threads that lit up when he touched them, a map to what it was he wanted. The dead were no longer a part of the network. Sometimes the information he sought came to him like an image, a clip of a movie, a word, a number, a phrase. Sometimes it was a strong emotion, hitting him with full force. That made him sickest. With Clara he got nothing but anger again and again. It felt almost good. Righteous. He shared it with her. But when he came back to the study with Erik Holstrom, he needed to throw up, and his head was pounding like there was an axe in it. 

Dr Holstom pushed him harder than Max during these sessions. “Once more,” he’d say, maddeningly gentle but firm. He’d place his hand on the back of Carlo’s hot neck once he was done vomiting stomach bile into a plastic bag. “Once more for me, now. I know. It’ll be over soon.” And he’d replay the cursed voicemail. He heard Clara’s voice in his dreams. 

But Dr Holstrom looked after him afterward, which was more than Martin Olsen ever did. He’d lay him on the green chaise in his study, covering him with blankets or angling a fan toward him, depending on if he was shivering or burning up. He’d give him sugary juice through a straw, pain medicine that Carlo was afraid to ask what it was but took it anyway, because it worked, and not like Tylenol.

One night Erik brought out an IV pole with a bag of clear fluid and put a needle in the back of Carlo’s hand. He’d whimpered in weak dread as his vein burned with the influx of fluid but stopped a moment later when a delicious, giddy peace washed over him. He no longer felt the throbbing pain in his head, or his churning stomach, or the anxiety of his situation. Later he would remember thanking Erik with an unbridled rush of disgust for himself, but in the moment Erik was inevitable as a god, all-powerful and luckily—by chance— merciful. Someone who cared about him when he didn’t have to. Like Max. 

“Shh,” Erik had responded to his drugged thanks, brushing his hair gently back from his forehead. “I think we are closer to her than you think. I know we are. I so appreciate you and your gift. You are an angel, do you know that? A divine tool. Providence.” Erik kissed the back of his non-IV hand and Carlo had to close his eyes to ride the next euphoric, drugged wave that flooded his every physical sensation. 

One evening he woke up and it was already dark. He stared at the clock on the bedside table for a long time, trying to understand if it was morning or evening. Finally he realized it was evening, and that’s why he could smell food cooking downstairs. It was dark because the days were getting shorter. It was autumn. How long had he been here?

He sat up, doing an inventory of his body and finding he was only a little achy, but not in pain. He felt clearer than he’d felt in weeks and weeks, and it was then he was sure he’d been being drugged. Of course he had. Well, and consistently. But how? He knew there were drugs in the IV Erik gave him when he was done scrying, but it was more than that. He’d wake up midmornings and be unable to keep his eyes open, fall back asleep til afternoon. He’d sit at the table at night and placidly fork whatever food was put in front of him into his mouth. He’d shower in cool water for twenty minutes at a time, getting lost in the way the rivulets came together and separated again on the frosted glass of the door. 

Tonight he dressed and went downstairs to dinner, but this time did not eat. When the doctor  asked him why he wouldn’t touch his food, he answered, “because I need to figure out how you’re drugging me. And because if I fast, I’ll get better results from scrying.”

Erik looked mildly perturbed rather than surprised. He set down his fork and took a sip of his white wine. “Is that so?”

“If I’m fasted, and clear headed, I can probably find her. You really haven’t been doing yourself any favors keeping me fucked up like that.”

“Mind your tongue at my table, child.”

Carlo took a sip of ice water. He was angry, and the little reprimand didn’t sting as much as it would otherwise. “If you compared notes with Martin Olsen, you’d have known that weeks ago. Or if you’d asked me before doping me up so bad I couldn’t remember where I was.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor.” Erik remained polite and composed, but Carlo could tell by now when there was a stiffness in his shoulders, irritation in his jaw. “I didn’t realize how painful your ability is for you to use. My goal was simply to keep you out of pain.”

Your goal was to incapacitate me. “I’ll be fine. I need to fast for a day or two, and then I’ll look for Clara. I don’t think she wants to be spied on. But I don’t really care at this point. If I find her, will you still hold up your end of the deal?”

Erik resumed eating, not bothered enough by Carlo’s antics to miss enjoying a meal. “Of course. I gave you my word.”

Carlo took another sip of water. His stomach growled. Good, he thought. Yes. 

[totemwarriorsealth]

Laughter echoed through the small soldier's lounge at FOB Hawk.

"Not as if you are one to talk," Carmilla said snarkily. The batwoman lounged in a large luxurious chair - bought or pilfered in Coen City. "Falling for the American at first sight?"

"He is from the Columbia colony, he is not American," replied Ellis, exasperatedly - the enormous eagle man sat in a chair, thankfully one rated for Elementals.

"What is it like, already having a Clan, sibsis?" asks Gideon, the pretty, lithe, and callipygian foxman, laying on his stomach on the back of the couch.

"We have gone over this, Gideon," says Jacob, the rattlesnake man sitting on the couch as well, though in a much less flamboyant fashion. "She has always had a Clan."

"Which we all should aspire to," Anastasia chuckles. The immensely tall snow owl woman was leaning against the wall, relaxed and regal looking.

"That is why we are here, quiaff?" asked Garrett, the dolphin man rooting about in the kitchenette. "Get real combat experience, find a Khan for each of our Clans."

"Easier said than done, sibkin," Ilsa replied, tapping her long, curved raptor claws on the floor rythmically. "Where in the hell is Sealth? Busy being a big shot with the Black Watch, no doubt."

"On the contrary. Having my fins torn off by the commander for not exactly doing my job." Appearing would probably be the best way to describe how the orca totem-warrior entered; one moment, the corner of the lounge by the door was empty. The next, nearly 10 feet of cetacean-human hybrid was standing there.

He was dressed for off-duty, or at least, as much as he could be; the cybornetics that connected him to his seakin weapons officer and mech both (even a specially designed neurohelmet could only do so much for someone of his shape) were still present, of course, but the rest of his gear was removed, replaced with a fairly standard (if large) military top and cargo pants. The floorboards bent slightly under his weight as he moved, until he was on proper solid ground; apparently the door to the lounge had a few inches between the floor itself and the ground beneath, but then, that was how it was in an FOB. The buildings were put down on whatever ground could be found and sometimes they didn't quite reach. "The Falcon was...displeased with the way we handled our last engagement. It seems even artillery shells and gauss rounds can move too slow in some cases." There was no frustration or malice in his voice, merely acceptance. His respect for Melissa far outweighed anything else. If she wished he and Tolki to do better, then by the Great Father and Puget Sound itself, they would.

"I may have to wait on my own Clan for a little while longer it seems."

[bitchin-and-bustin]

"What, like partners?"

din djarin x male!bounty hunter!reader

Genre; yeah

Summary; Y/n L/n is a skilled bounty hunter desperate for work, which brings him to Nevarro looking for a job. He's met with a surprise when Greef Karga has him working with a man in shiny armor and fast reflexes.

Warnings; violence, implied PTSD, enemies to friends (sort of), implied mutual attraction

Author's Note; I tried writing this in 3rd person, I don't know how I feel about it, but if you guys like it this way let me know and I'll try writing like this more!

When Y/n L/n was truly desperate for work, he would turn to Greef Karga; magistrate of the Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nevarro.

It wasn't that Y/n didn't like Greef Karga - even though he didn't - he just had a strong dislike for the planet in general. It all annoyed him: the uncomfortably warm temperatures, the ashen ground that stuck irritatingly to the soles of his boots, and the Mandalorian that walked around with his shiney head held high like he was all the shit.

So, when Y/n found himself in a particularly tight debt, he was less than pleased when Greef Karga reached out to him, offering what he claimed to be the bounty of a lifetime. But, seeing that he had no other options - and was rightfully considered skint broke - he swallowed his pride and set his course for Nevarro City.

The people in the city were nice enough, considering they mainly stayed to themselves - aside from the Jawas, of course. It was ones that stayed hidden that Y/n had a problem with. He had caught glimpses of them before; their white, dulling armor flashing in the shadows. He held a great hatred for them, especially since he had fought so hard for so long, and lost so much, to rid the Galaxy of their kind.

At times, it did seem as if it had all been pointless, because Y/n had fought fiercely for peace, and ended up with nothing but a missing piece within him and a huge bounty on his head.

So Y/n L/n no longer went by his true name, instead, most knew him as N/n L/n: a name that Y/n had come up with when he was drunk in the corner of a cantina one time.

In fact, Y/n found himself drunk in the corner of cantinas as often as he could. Something about temporarily forgetting the pain and horror he'd gone through years ago was so seductive to him.

But he never let himself get drunk while he was in a cantina on business terms, as he presently was.

This cantina in Nevarro City was one where Y/n found himself regularly meeting Guild Magistrate, Greef Karga. Walking through the entrance, Y/n did his routine glance around the room, checking for threats, and seeing none deemed too harmful, as a large majority of them were fellow Guild members. Coming down the steps, he was greeted by Stacia, a regular Twi'lek waitress that continuously got on Y/n's nerves with the way she hovered around him like he was a thirst trap.

"N/n." She said in her breathy, flirty voice. "I was wondering when I'd see you here again."

Y/n offered a thin, painful smile. "You know me, Stacia. Always here on work." He attempted to step around her, but she was quick to block his path.

"Here, please, have a drink." She said, holding up her silver tray of drinks between them. "You look like you could use one.

"I don't have money on me." Y/n dismissed.

"Oh, that's not a problem." Stacia smirked  flirtatiously and leaned forward. "Its on the house, sugar."

Restraining himself from from frowning, Y/n sighed quietly. "Fine." He snatched a fluke off of the tray. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I've got a fob to collect."

Without waiting for Stacia to reply, Y/n pushed past her and continued on his way through the cantina. After dropping the fluke of alcohol on a table filled with gamblers, he was quick to head towards the table where the Guild magistrate normally dealed out bounties.

Upon arriving at the table, Y/n found that the seat across from Greef Karga was already occupied. He stopped a few feet away from them hesitantly.

Greef looked up from his conversation and grinned upon seeing the bounty hunter lingering near them. "N/n! I was wondering when you'd arrive! Come, come sit." He pulled up another chair and gestured to it.

Hesitantly, Y/n approached the table. He looked down at the bounty hunter who occupied the usual seat. It was the Guild's own Mandalorian, the one that Y/n wasn't ever very fond of for reasons even him himself didn't really know. Y/n and the Mandalorian had never conversed much, besides the occasion greetings and farewells. The longest conversation they'd had was when Y/n overheard him complaining of a complication with the thrusters on his Razor Crest, in which Y/n had suggested a trustworthy mechanic there in Nevarro City that was worth checking out. Something had compelled Y/n to speak to the mandalorian that day, and the mysterious man had since been on his mind, though the bounty hunter didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"Mando." Y/n nodded in greeting.

The Mandalorian did the same. "L/n."

Y/n sat down in the third chair and looked over at Greef. "Was I interrupting anything?"

"Oh, not at all." Greef assured, but they way Mando's helmeted head cocked made Y/n glance his way.

"Um, I understand you wanted to offer a job?" Y/n asked Greef.

At that, Greef suddenly became a but tense. "Yes, about that..." Y/n narrowed his eyes questioningly. "I was just speaking to Mando here, he's coincidentally interested in the same job."

Y/n sparred a slow glance over at the Mandalorian. "How much could this job possibly pay?" He asked rhetorically and skeptically.

For a moment, Greff deadpanned. "More than you could imagine."

Y/n smirked slightly. "Well, I can imagine quite a lot."

"You get my point." Y/n let out a small sigh. Once again, he glanced at Mando, who he found to be doing the same.

"There's two of us." Mando said. "And one bounty. So, how's this gonna work?"

Cautious and discreetly, Y/n eyed the hand holding his forked long-range blaster in his lap. Then he temporarily became distracted due to the strangely alluring build that was the Mandalorian's thighs. He had really nice thighs. Greef looked between them both, and Y/n snapped his eyes up as he started speaking.

"Go together."

There was a moment of silence it which Y/n and Mando stared at Greef, who seemed awkward in the situation. Finally, Y/n let out a scoff, which turned into a chuckle.

"What, like partners?" Y/n said. He sniggered again. "Yeah...I don't do partners."

"Neither do I." Said Mando, his voice devoid of much emotion.

Greef sighed. "Boys, hear me out." He said. "From what this client has told me, it's not a one man job." Y/n narrowed his eyes slightly and leaned forward to listen. "He claims the target is heavily guarded, that it has many guards, close to fifty, maybe more. If what he says is true, one bounty hunter facing down all of that security wouldn't make it out alive." Greef shrugged. "So, when the client told me this, I thought, who better to trust then my two best bounty hunters, N/n L/n and the Mandalorian?"

Y/n didn't particularly like the sound of his name in the same sentence as Mando's, but he found it enticing at the same time.

"If you both decide to take this fob - and if you come back alive - you two can split the bounty. From what I've heard, the payload will be enough for you both to be set for a long while."

Y/n took every one of Greef's words in, considering them carefully. A bounty of this size, even when split in half, would be enough to pay off his debt, which was his main concern at the moment. On the other hand, he didn't know this Mandalorian, and couldn't trust whether or not he wouldn't just kill him the moment they collected the target.

Before Y/n was able to consider this proposition any further, the Mando spoke.

"I'm in." He said. "If L/n is joining."

Then Mando, and Greef, turned to look at Y/n, who sat under their stares, thinking intently, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants - he really wished the Mandalorian would stop saying his name with that deep voice of his. But then he remembered why they other two men were staring at him, and was faced with the decision of what to do. With the way things were going with him, he didn't have much a choice.

So, sighing in surrender, Y/n gave his answer. "I suppose I'm in as well." He turned and nodded at Mando, who returned the gesture. He focused back on Greef. "Well, let's see the puck."

Greef, while seeming pleased with the arrangement, pursued his lips. "No puck. Face to face. Direct commission." Seeing Y/n's raised eyebrow, Greef nodded, confirming his suspicions. "Deep pocket."

"Underworld?" Asked Mando.

"All I know is no chaincode." He sighed - so quietly that it was almost inaudible - and reached into his pocket to pull out a small white card with a barcode and other information on it. He held it front of them. "Do you want the chit, or not?"

Both bounty hunters stared at the card for a moment. Then, Mando reached out, and quickly took it from the magistrate's hand, then he stood up.

"Are you coming?" Mando asked Y/n, looking down at him.

Y/n glanced at Greef, then stood up. "Wouldn't wanna miss this." He muttered to himself, ticking his eyebrows and huffing in exasperation, and turned to walk out of the cantina with his new partner.

Almost immediately, Y/n wasn't very sure what to think of the Mandalorian. He barely spoke, and was always on guard. And not to mention how he seemed to be a mysterious person by nature. Y/n didn't like mysterious people. There was always something to fear from them. But on the other hand, there was always something so alluring about them, and maybe that was why Y/n kept seeing the Mandalorian tilt his helmet sideways, as if he was glancing at Y/n out of the corner of his eyes and trying to being discrete about it. Well, if that was the case, he was failing miserably.

The two of them didn't speak the entire time they maneuvered through the small crowds in the city's center, and slipped down a barren alleyway. Y/n was alright with their silence, though. It gave him an opportunity to think their situation over.

He thought it was suspicious that they were going to see the contact in person. It was alarming as well. It meant that there was more information that they required for the job, and that there would be certain conditions that they would have to meet. Y/n didn't like when there was rules.

They arrived at the building where the direct commission was supposed to be held roughly ten minutes after Y/n and the Mandalorian left the cantina. It was in a very secluded part of the city, which was never a good sign.

They stopped in front of the blank, grey door and stared at it. Y/n would by lying if he claimed he wasn't on edge.

The Mandalorian reached out and knocked on the metal door. Then not a second later a hatch on the side of the wall opened and a security scanner popped out.

Startled, and whipping his head to face it, Y/n's hand slung his blaster out of its holster, ready to shoot. Before he could raise the weapon, the Mandalorian's hand shot out and caught Y/n's wrist, keeping it down.

Y/n tensed, partially because he realized it was only a scanner, and partially because the Mandalorian had stopped him so quickly and calmly.

The scanner quickly spoke in Huttese, demanding a barcode for access. Letting go of Y/n's wrist, Mando pulled the chit from Greef out of his pocket, and held it up in front of the scanner. After scanning it, the scanner disappeared back inside the wall. Y/n sighed and quickly put his blaster back in his holster.

"You have fast reflexes." Said the Mandalorian to Y/n as they stood there waiting for the door to open.

Y/n glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "So do you."

"Are you alright?"

Y/n hesitated. Then he lied. "Yep. Just startled me, is all."

The Mandalorian wasn't stupid. He knew a lie when he heard one. But now wasn't the time to confront Y/n about it.

The door in front of them creaked rustily as it was opened for them to walk inside. The two bounty hunters exchanged a look, and then Mando stepped into the doorway.

Y/n hesitantly followed him inside and sighed. He had a bad feeling about this.

Please like if you enjoyed! Reblogs are appreciated!

-- bitchin n bustin <3