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the-way-of-words · 4 months

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PolyVerse Cam Boy AU//Jolly

Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x Holly(ofc) with mentions of Noah Sebastian x Holly(ofc), Nicholas Ruffilo x Holly(ofc), and Nicholas Ruffilo x Holly(ofc) x Noah Sebastian

Content warnings: partner sharing, exhibitionism, oral (male and female receiving), mentions of fisting, P in V sex, squirting, light choking, mentions of sex work

Contains sexual situations with fictionalized versions of real people. None of this is real, and we should all know this by now, but if it's still not your thing, hit the back button.

For the lovely @throwingmetothelions who has let me play in her Cam Boy HC sandbox not once, but twice now, since Jolly decided he wanted to have a turn. And thank you to @signs-of-ill-portent for being the best fucking cheerleader and beta ever to grace my life.

tag team: @cncohshit, @jxstthisonce, @kingdomof-omens, @ladyveronikawrites, @deathblacksmoke

if you would like to be added to a taglist, feel free to comment or send me an ask <3

~~~~~

Jolly doesn't exactly know what the whole situation is with Nick, Noah, and Holly. At the very least, he knows she's fucking both of them. Or maybe they're both fucking her. Although, judging by what he heard last night, he's pretty sure they're all fucking each other.

Not that it matters all that much, but it's important he has some kinda story straight in his head when he enters the kitchen almost every morning to the sight of her dressed in someone else's shirt and little to nothing else.

He feels like he's going insane, but who can blame him when he's had to go to sleep almost every night this week, hearing how pretty she sounds when one of them takes her apart? He tries not to listen – he does – but at this point, it almost seems like they're doing it on purpose.

Add to that the fact that he watched every second of that stream they did a couple of months ago, and he's been a very distracted man indeed. It doesn't matter that they cut it off before any actual fucking took place, because he now knows exactly what she looks like writhing with a head between her legs, and it's beautiful. Jolly's dreamt about it; getting on his knees in front of her, throwing a leg over his shoulder while he eats her out, exactly how Nick said she likes it, only to wake either hard as a rock or sticky in a mess of his own making.

It's fine, he tells himself. He just has to stick it out for a few more days until Nick and Holly return to Virginia. He tells himself that he can handle it. It’s just a few more days, a few more sleepless nights, but it doesn't help. Jolly spends all of his next stream barely speaking, as the fantasy of Holly walking in on him takes hold and cums so hard, he's pretty sure he hears his jaw crack.

"So, this is where the magic happens, huh?"

He jumps at the sound of her voice, mouth going dry when he turns away from his computer to eye Holly leaning in the doorway because she's dressed in a shirt she must have taken from Noah’s laundry because it's actually his; he swallows, trying to will away the hardness forming in his sweatpants. The garment swims on her frame, and he hopes to God she’s got something on under it.

"You know," she says conversationally as she kicks away from the door, "I thought about walking in on you while you were doing your stream thing yesterday." His eyes track her as she crosses into the room, cataloging the curves he can’t see, but knows are there. She perches herself on the desk in front of him, staring down at him with interest. "That's your thing, right? You like to be walked in on…watched?"

He thinks it’d almost be funny if her words weren’t actively trying to break his brain.

His fingers drum against his thigh, and he sighs. This is a bad idea, a voice in his head murmurs, and yet he answers anyway. “Uh…yeah.” He snorts. “Yeah, it is.”

Holly nods, humming quietly to herself as her crossed ankles swing softly in the small space that separates them. His mind wanders back to what she said earlier, and he’s curious.

This is a bad idea, the voice says again, but the question tumbles out of his mouth before he can think to stop it. “And what would you have done?”

“Hm?” Her eyebrow quirks, as if she’s confused, but he knows better. Jolly can see the little spark of mischief in her eyes. The one that reminds him so very much of Noah, and he understands now what Nick meant when he said those two were like two peas in a pod.

“What would you have done? If you had walked in?” He shouldn’t encourage this. Not when Nick and Noah are just on the other side of the wall. But he is so desperate to take back control of the situation, and, maybe if he goes far enough, he’ll be able to. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll scare her off and she’ll go running back to them and stop rattling his cage like this. Jolly tilts his head as he stares at her for a beat longer, fingers pyramided in front of his chest.

She doesn’t move when he suddenly rolls his chair closer, smirking as he settles his hands on her knees.

“Would you have opened up these pretty legs for me?” He moves his hands up her thighs until his fingers can slide under the hem of her shorts. “Would you have let me bury my face in this sweet pussy of yours until one of them came looking for you?”

Glee rolls up his spine when Holly’s breath hitches as his fingers crawl higher under her shorts, and he pauses, hands halting until their eyes meet. He raises an eyebrow, wondering if this is all it will take, if now is when she’ll say stop and leave. But she doesn’t. Instead, she meets his gaze head-on, as if daring him to keep going. So he does, his calloused fingers searching until they reach the edge of her underwear. She leans back, spreading her legs wide as he slips beneath the elastic, shock replacing the satisfaction when he finds her folds slick.

“Is that what you would have wanted, Jolly?” she asks, voice low, almost a breathless purr. “Is that what you thought about when you got yourself off last?”

He was, but it’s not as if he’d tell her that. Not when he’s slowly losing this dubious game of sexual chicken they’ve found themselves in. Jolly clears his throat, trying to focus on his goal instead of how warm she feels underneath his hands, how soft, how she smells like soap and hot water and some kind of strawberry lotion that makes his mouth water. But then she shifts her hips, causing his thumb to brush against her clit, and before Jolly can make sense of what he’s doing, he dips it down and into her wet slit.

“Something tells me I’m not the only one that’s thought about it,” he counters. “Tell me, Holly, how many times have you thought about me when one of them has been between your thighs, huh?”

He feels very, very warm all of a sudden, the heat pooling in his gut spreading out to the rest of him, and while he knows he should stop, should take his hands off her and tell her to get out, he can’t. He’s too mesmerized by the feel of her inner walls clutching at his thumb as he slides it in and out of her.

It’s her whimper, a breathless call of his name, that snaps him out of the haze, that finally pulls his hands off of her as he stands abruptly, and maybe if he had any ability to actually think this through, this would be the end of it. But he’s too far gone now. Can’t do anything but take hold of her face with both his hands and plant his mouth on hers.

The kiss is messy and desperate, wet, open mouths and tongues and he can’t figure out which one of them has wanted this more. Is it her, with her hands fisted in his t-shirt, trying to tug him closer? Or is it him, with the way he pulls away from her lips to lap up the taste of her from the sticky trail his thumb left on her cheek? He lets go of her face to suck his thumb into his mouth, and as her sweet musk settles on his tongue, he knows he has to have her.

There are no thoughts of the consequences they may encounter as he shoves his hands into the waistband of Holly’s shorts. He follows them down, planting his knees on the carpet, eyes zeroing in on the small patch of fabric a little darker than the rest.

“Can I?” It’s an out as much as a request, their last chance to stop this before they go too far, and he hopes she takes it. Because he knows once he fully lets himself give in, there will be no going back. But she tangles a hand through his hair instead, nodding to him while she utters a quiet yes. It's all he needs to throw one of her legs over his shoulder and pull her underwear to the side as he licks into her.

She invades his senses, the smell and taste of her all he knows, all he wants, and he wastes no time putting his stolen knowledge to use; rolling his tongue across her clit lightly before he tucks two fingers back into her.

“Oh fuck,” he hears her rasp, fingers tightening in his hair. “Someone’s… someone’s been sneaky--”

Her teasing reproach cuts off with a quiet moan when he crooks his fingers, another following quickly after as a third joins them. He pulls away for a moment, his cock twitching at the sight, and Jolly wonders exactly how many of his fingers she’d let him fit inside her… if she would let him work up to getting his whole fist inside, just to see how she would look stretched around his wrist.

He doesn’t realize he’s voiced his fantasy until he hears a sharp intake of breath. “You’re kinda a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

His eyes slide up to glance at her face, and fuck, isn’t she a pretty sight? Her face flushed, mouth fallen open in pleasure as she watches him fuck her with his fingers.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t let me?” he asks, twisting his head to take a nip of her thigh, “Wouldn’t let me call your boys in here and let them watch me open you up--”

For a split second, he thinks he hears a creak of the floor just outside his bedroom. But then she uses her grip on his hair to guide him back to her cunt and Jolly forgets all about it as he sneaks his tongue down to lick around his fingers, taking pride in the choked gasp of his name right before he sucks her clit into his mouth.

Holly lights up under his touch, pulling him even closer with shaking thighs as she cums. Her release gathers around his knuckles, and he drinks it up; licking and sucking until she’s pulling him away, tugging at him until he rises from his knees…only to plant her hands on his chest and send him stumbling back onto the bed.

“Take your pants off.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, shuffling his sweatpants down his legs and tossing them to the floor while she pulls a condom from god knows where.

The full weight of the situation, the actual wrongness of what they're doing, doesn't hit him until she kneels between his legs. It only adds fuel to the fire, sparking the heat inside his veins in a way that makes him ache. The floor creaks again; he’s sure of it this time, yet when he turns his head, there’s no one there. But that doesn’t stop his thoughts from running as she takes him into her mouth.

The wet heat makes his eyes roll back, her tongue pulling bitten-off curses from his mouth as she swirls it around his cock head, and he wonders briefly who it is, standing with their ear to the door, hand on the doorknob, ready to walk in…he groans, squeezing his eyes closed. Or maybe it’s both Nick and Noah, taking turns to creep into the doorway and watch their girl with someone else, and he’s struck with the idea that maybe this has been the plan all along.

But then Holly’s pulling off and rolling the condom down his length, straddling his lap, causing all coherent thought to cease as he slips inside her. She takes him in slowly, lips parting in a quiet sigh as she lowers herself at a snail’s pace, thighs flexing beneath his hands when she rises, only to sink lower with every pass until she’s fully seated.

Holly pauses, her eyes fluttering closed as she rocks back and forth minutely. It makes his hips kick up on their own accord because even through the latex he can feel how wet she is, the tight clutch of her cunt pulling him under her spell even further. It’s almost as if he’s adrift, and the weight of her on top of him, the feel of her softness against him is the only thing keeping this from being a dream.

She gasps, a noise caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan, as she steadies herself on his chest, “Easy, tiger. I need a minute.”

“I'll try to behave,” Jolly snickers, deciding to let his hands roam as she continues to grind against him.

He grips her thighs, enjoying the way her flesh gives under his fingers when he thumbs at the flowers inked into her skin just below the crease of her hips. His hands trail under her borrowed shirt to caress the skin of her waist and she shivers, goosebumps forming in their wake as his hands slide up her torso to her ribcage, going further still until his thumbs reach the curve of her breasts. The full flesh fills his palms perfectly, and what he wouldn’t give to have her fully naked, to see all of her as she undulates on top of him. But he still doesn’t quite know where the line is, so he settles for teasing the sensitive buds of her nipples, pinching and rolling them until they stiffen.

He hears the telltale noise of movement outside the door once more just as she begins to rock her hips back and forth, working up to a slow, steady rhythm that has arousal pooling at the base of his spine already; he cuts his gaze to the doorway, where he’s met with Nicholas’s heated stare. But before the panic can fully take root, the other man smirks, nodding in their direction as if telling him to keep going…and that’s when all the pieces start to fall into place.

There's a reason they haven’t come looking for her. This has been a game all along, and that gives him an idea.

“Do you think any of your boys are watching, sweet girl? Hmm?” Jolly asks. His hands slip from her chest to her waist, clutching her tightly as her hips twist devilishly.

She smirks, lowering down to her elbows, her breath hot against his ear when she whispers “What makes you think they haven’t been watching since the beginning?”

He should probably be upset at the idea of being played like this. But instead, all it does is make him want this more, and if they want a show… who’s Jolly to deny them? He holds her steady, thrusting up into her roughly one last time before lifting her off him.

Confusion colors her face. “Jol--”

“Turn around,” he interrupts and she follows his direction immediately, settling on her hands and knees as she faces the door.

He’s quick to fit himself against her, eager to find his way back inside her tight heat. One of his hands slips under his t-shirt, caressing the ridges of her spine on its way to rest between her shoulder blades. It only takes the littlest amount of pressure for Holly to get the hint, and she lowers her chest to the bed, arms stretched out in front of her.

He groans when he pushes inside, the tight clutch of her cunt trying to pull him deeper as she parts for him. He wants to take it slow, savor it, but when he spies Nick outside the door again his hips snap forward sharply, and he buries himself as deep as he can go. It’s almost as if he’s on autopilot, his body chasing the pleasure he knows hers will provide. His hips pull back before rolling forward, setting a satisfying rhythm as he drapes himself over her back.

She was right earlier. He is a kinky fucker, and a kinda nasty one at that, which means he is not above slithering a hand underneath her to cup her throat, using that hold to pull her face up from where it’s buried in his duvet to meet her boyfriend’s gaze.

He can tell the exact moment the two lock eyes: a sharp gasp falls from her mouth as she throws herself back to meet his thrusts as best as she can. The wet, slick sound of her pussy hurtles him closer to the edge, and fuck, he wishes he could see her face as the pair stare at each other, but watching Nick watch her is a good consolation prize and he takes it willingly.

He can see the sheer want in his friend's face, his jaw slack as he stares unabashedly, taking in every bit of what's happening in front of him, his inked hands press against his groin, tongue poking out to wet his lips before he swallows. Nick's hands fall to his sides, clenching into fists, and Jolly's curious.

“What about after this, huh?” he pants into the shell of her ear, tightening his grip on her neck until he can feel the flutter of her pulse, “Are you going to crawl back into bed with your boyfriends and let one of them inside you?”

“Fuck,” Holly curses when he relaxes his hold, “o--only if you don’t make me cum again.”

Jolly smirks when her inner walls start to quiver around him, even if it makes it harder for him to hold on, and he waits until Nick’s attention is on him before he replies.

“Well, I’d hate,” he gasps, “to send you back to them unsatisfied… shit, Holly--c’mon, touch yourself for me.”

He buries his face in her hair, unable to look at Nicholas any longer once she starts to play with herself, but he can still feel the burning weight of his friend's gaze as he chases his own end. It prickles at his insides, driving him closer and closer until Holly seizes up. Delight joins the ecstasy coursing through him when her release bursts forth, wetting the both of them before it drips onto the bed beneath.

Light explodes behind his eyes as he digs his teeth into her shoulder, smothering his groan into the freckled skin as he lets go. His hips stutter and jerk as he gives her all he has, rutting into her until he’s spent. He feels fuzzy, a pleasant hum spreading through his bones when he lets himself slump onto the bed. Holly follows, coming to rest on her side, throwing a leg over his and he’s just about to tug her close and pull her into a kiss when Nick appears at the side of his bed.

Jolly rolls to his back and focuses his eyes on the ceiling as if to give them some sort of privacy, trying to not give in to the awkward feeling settling in his stomach now that it's over.

“I didn't know you could do that.” To his surprise, there’s not a trace of jealousy in Nick’s voice when he breaks the silence, it almost sounds like awe, if Jolly were to put a name to it.

“I, uh, did not know that either.” Holly laughs and pride swells in Jolly’s chest.

“Well, Noah's going to be sad he missed it…He had to take a call from Matt just as you were getting started. Something tour-related, I guess, couldn't wait,” Nick says, preoccupied. Jolly sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye, watching the man’s hand travel up Holly’s thigh to her center. Her legs part without him having to ask, yet she still makes a surprised noise when his fingers delve into her center, “He got you all messy, didn’t he?”

It makes him feel a certain kind of way, being talked about like he’s not there. “I’m right here, you know.”

Nick snorts. “You gonna participate in the conversation then, or just stare at the ceiling pretending to not be here?”

Holly’s hand is warm when it settles on his cheek, pulling his attention from the light fixtures to the two of them instead. They both smile and Jolly finds himself smiling back.

“So… this isn’t going to be weird then? We’re okay?” he asks.

Holly and Nick trade a glance before the man huffs another laugh. “Wouldn’t have done this if we thought it was going to be weird…” Nick studies his face, “But are you okay with it?”

“Fuck, are you kidding me?” he laughs, “I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before.” He means it, and if things aren’t weird for them, then he can’t say that things are weird for him either… especially if it means this is going to happen again.

The next time he streams and Holly’s in town, he makes sure everyone can see how Noah watches before he walks in on them and Jolly doesn’t think he’s ever made that much money for a single session.

And even though he doesn’t quite understand exactly what the four of them are doing, he’s gonna enjoy it while it lasts.

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localowlhousefanatic · 6 months

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Tag game!

so, i just discovered that the fanfic question id ussualy answer around this time is out of commision, so im making a tag game! for some reason the only thing i can think of is a poem-ish thing (it rhymes, thats the poem part.) for a list, so thats what we're going with! First ill give you an explanation of the question, before providing my own answer! With all of these, feel free to add a link to the story uyou're pulling from

something old

(here, please provide a bit you wrote a bit ago from an older fic taht you like! Is the question referring to an old fic you like, or a bit? you decide!)

my answer:

As she tugged on the cord next to the window, Masha couldn’t help but be reminded of a stage play by the way the warm, orange sunlight hit their mother- like a spotlight turning on at the lifting of the curtain. The angle also didn’t help, Placing Masha in such a position that mom was framed as a silhouette, like they were watching from the wings at the opening moments of a play.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/47992501)

something new

(here, provide your favorite bit from among the three most recent things you've either published or worked on. Why three? Idk, maybe this post works by fairytale logic now)

my answer:

That isn’t to say that there’s no blue around her- there’s plenty, just not the Blue that matters. Theres the Blue streetlights, casting a light that’s almost negligible in the screaming buzz of neon billboards and signs, some of which are blue. The light- so sharp and loud its almost toxic- Cuts through the rain, and bounces off of the layer of water covering the street, and fills the thin mist that’s gathering above the ground, giving the entire street the feeling of being a mix of nightclub and dream. There’s blue everywhere around Red, but it only serves to remind her of the overwhelming need inside her- it’s like handing a cold person a candle, providing just enough warmth to dangle the possibility of comfort in front of them, but not nearly enough to stave off the cold.

Something borrowed,

(sharing time! share a bit from, or a fic, you enjoy from someone else. please credit your sources though)

my answer:

This is just a really good fic. Its also by a really good writer, who deserves all the love

Something Blue

If youve been wondering why ive coloured the headers up until this point, heres your answer: the blue bit.

(please either share a bit/fic you wroite taht made you, teh author , sad. And for those of us who dont do taht often, just provide something you think of with something blue. This might be getting a bit weird now, sorry.)

whoops, ive used my blue bits already at the top. Well, i did just remeber teh one other time i focussed on the colour blue. behold,

The girl that was looking back at them was dressed impeccably, Masha noted. She was wearing a long royal blue trenchcoat, the type you would expect on a noir detective. Gods, I want that coat. They also noted the fact that it was a crumpled mess. A coat shouldn’t be so messy and yet look so good on someone, they thought with a pang of jealousy. The coat wasn’t the only thing that was a mess though. The girl wearing it looked like she hadn’t slept in a while, indicated by light bags under her eyes that she obviously hadn’t tried to conceal.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/47040430/chapters/118509421)

im sorry for the slight mess that was this post, i hope you people can have fun with it. I think that im supposed to give you numbers here or something, but i dont know that many writers here, so ill just tell you to tag who you want

following my own advice: @topheecoffee @queereldritch @oh-cramity-its-amity @sky-neverending @bonpocalypse @usernamemybeloathed

and for a riskier tag, @captainimprobable

#tag game #fanfiction

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peak-power-cbd-gummies · 1 year

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saoirseuwu · 3 years

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I had this cursed idea

please do not use without credit ^^

#dumbasticart #dream smp #dream smp fanart #ranboo #ranboo gif #ranboo fanart #i made this in like an hour #cuz im way too lazy #but i really wanted to make it #cuz i liked the idea #also i forgot my sign #but you think if i am lazy to make the whole thing better #ill go back and add my sign frame by frame?#answer is nope #it may come bite me in the butt but #i can hope #i hope you like

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mairah-shaikh · 3 years

Text

Astrological observations [ Sun edition ]

{☀} — Note !

These observations won't resonate with everyone. These are just my observations, don't take them too seriously.

[⛅] — Sun in Aries individuals have plum / fuller lips.

[⛅] — Sun in Aries individuals are the ones hitting or head locking their friends. They might even have the habit of jumping on their friends back.

[⛅] — Sun in virgo individuals are honestly crackheads. They are very fun and goofy to be around. They are very different from the stereotypical virgos.

[⛅] — Sun in Pisces/sun in 12th house people might go through a lot of pessimistic thoughts daily. They honestly, have to go through a lot on a day-to-day basis.

[⛅] — Sun in Leo people have a very infectious laughter. Something about them just makes me wanna give them a thousand hugs. They are the cute crackheads 🥺

[⛅] — Sun in cancer people can get along with everyone. You can go argue with a wall.

[⛅] — Having sun in Taurus or in a Taurus degree will give you a naturally buff frame. You all naturally look taller/huge than others, it's just something about your physique.

[⛅] — Sun in the 8th house, especially if negatively placed, may indicate that your father might have to struggle a lot to gain his property. This might also indicate a loss of property.

[⛅] — When negatively placed, Sun in the 8th house can indicate that your father might have had to face many illnesses throughout his life.

[⛅] — Sun in 8th house, when negatively placed, can indicate that your father might've taken numerous loans. Their job or income might've been unstable.

[⛅] — Sun in 9th house might indicate that you had to visit religious places once in a while, either by choice or not.

[⛅] — Sun in 9th house individuals, especially when your sun is in an air sign or fire sign might have been forced by their family to follow a religion. These people are honestly not that religious, but they are definitely spiritual. They might believe in God but they don't really believe in a religion.

[⛅] — Sun in 9th house people might believe in the ideology of 'not everyone is the same'. They hate it when people start judging others. And they are very open-minded and might even call people out for being close-minded.

[⛅] — Sun in 9th house people are very polite individuals, they rarely raise their voice. They are very respectful. This is heightened if there is a strong Libra energy somewhere in their chart.

[⛅] — Sun in 2nd house people might be accountants or they have a career related to finance and management.

[⛅] — Sun in the 2nd house also indicates that these individuals might have a list of their monthly expenses, especially if there is an earth sign like Capricorn to this mix.

[⛅] — If you add a sign like Capricorn to the sun in 2nd house, then these people stress a lot about their finances. They can't help it, even if they have a decent salary, these people will still get stressed over a new expense.

[⛅] — Sun in Gemini / 3rd house / Gemini degree individuals have a good taste in everything.

[⛅] — Sun in 7th house individuals try to put themselves down a lot of times. They will excel in their studies, career, etc, but they always feel unsatisfied. They might not be that confident too.

[⛅] — People take advantage of individuals having Sun in the 7th house. These people don't know how to stand up for themselves. They might feel obliged to do what others say, not caring if it bothers them. People question their authority.

[⛅] — People having sun opposite ascendant, look very naive and easy to fool. They don't look very confident. They will constantly ask others about themselves. They might take other's opinions to heart. These people will be good at everything but still won't feel confident about themselves.

[⛅] — Sun square Saturn beat themselves up for not achieving their goals. Like for example, they will aim for 90+ in their exams and if they get 85 in it, they will start beating themselves up for it. They might punish themselves by constantly reminding themselves of their failures while completely disregarding their achievements.

[⛅] — Sun square Neptune individuals constantly lose themselves while taking care of other people. These are the ones putting others before themselves.

[⛅] — Sun opposite Pluto individuals are very defensive. They will start feeling defensive when someone says something other than what they believe. Like for example, let's say that they made a post, which was very informative and everyone agreed with it. But then a person comes and says something totally opposite of what they were saying, that's when these people get angry and defensive.

[⛅] — Sun trine Jupiter people are very generous. They will go out of their way to ensure that others have to face no problems. They find it hard to say no to people, especially their close ones. They might also be this generous with strangers.

[⛅] — Sun in 1st house people are usually very well-liked among people. They have the kind of beauty that shines. Something about them is just bright and loud. These people are very expressive. Self-expression is their strongest weapon. They truly shine when they are expressing themselves.

[⛅] — Sun in 1st house people might look like their fathers. Or they might consider their fathers as their biggest source of inspiration.

[⛅] — Sun in 3rd house individuals look a lot younger than their age.

[⛅] — Sun in 3rd house individuals might have started their careers at a very young age.

[⛅] — Sun in 6th house individuals might be healers. Their work might heal people. Their life or work might inspire other people, even if it's a small number of people. People might look up to them.

[⛅] — Sun In 6th house might also indicate that your father was a public server. Your father might have healed people. People might've looked up to your father as an inspiration.

[⛅] — Sun in the 12th house might indicate that your father had some kind of addiction.

[⛅] — Sun in 10th might indicate that your father was very well known. The kind of well-known can differ.

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allisie · 3 years

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hiii before i ask i just wanted to say i love ur work sm <333 is there anyway you could write a fic where tom is sick and the reader has to take care of him? take care!!

The sick Riddle

Tom riddle x reader

NB// Another installment in the tom riddle series we got going on.

Tom was never good at acknowledging things that didn't affect him personally, and that continued on into our relationship. With the help of whiskey and a significant with a kinda shitty immune system, Tom got accustom quickly.

Instead of ignoring signs of an upcoming illnesses, he began to pick up on then more than I did. After a particularly long and grueling illness, I watched as Tom got sick. Working himself until he was bed ridden. For the fist time in his life tim felt what it was like to be the patient in the bed.

"Is this what hell is like, being bed ridden and feeling as my skin is being heated inside out. Oh, god the pain," Tom monologed as he stared at the ceiling, his hand draped dramatically over the pillows," bind my wrist and feet together, throw me in the ocean and watch it boil a million times over."

Standing in the hallway, I stared at the tired slytherin. That layed on top of the seemingly endless pillows and banklets. His hair stock to his forehead.

"Tom you are being so dramatic its not that bad baby, it's only gonna be a few days of you resting. Then your back to normal."

"Emmery is gonna forget my face, she is gonna grow up without a father, the cruel twist of fate. Tarnishes this houses name for another generation." Tom continued with out a hitch, ignoring what ever I said. Not missing an opportunity to add a few fake sniffles to his performance.

"Do you want me to get her for you." I offer pointing to the cracked door behind me.

Turning his head to look at me, tom drops his dramatics and states with a monotone voice, "You wake that tiny demon up we are gonna have problems. You can get me a glass of kisses instead."

"Sorry no. If I do this will be a never ending cycle,"

"I am okay with that, just another thing for us to share in our life together," Tom persists, leaning himself against the bed frame, a lazy smile on his face. His hands doing a small grabbing motion. Walking over to his side, I wrap my hands around his neck and hugging him. Wrapping his arms around my waist, Tom turns his body pulling me down with him.

"Yeah no," I say letting out a laugh at Tom's pout.

"I never denied you when you were sick," Tom counteracts.

"Thats because we thought you didn't get sick,"

"I don't this is a temporary thing. Once in a lifetime. All I want is a kiss, please. You love me don't you,"

"Of course I love you. I couldn't love someone else even if I tried. But your sick,"

"Oh, come on,"

Tom riddle Masterlist

Sorry if it wasn't what you wanted, I tried its been a while.

#tom riddle x oc #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle imagine #harry potter au #tom riddle x y/n

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lavandermin · 3 years

Text

when it storms | kazuha

pairing | kazuha x reader

word count | 1.9k

genre | light angst, soft, first encounters

The skies had been cast over with rolling clouds of dark grey. Where the sun and moon used to glow so reverently, there now only fell a heavy rain in their wake.

It was fortunate for the land, your father had commented after a few days of downpour. The rain season was hardly this generous in recent years, and with the nation currently closed off there was an uneven flow of imports due to adjustment. More paperwork, longer shipment times. The people would have to endure less patron flow as the rain kept most indoors, but harvests and plenty of crystal clear lakes would be a sight to behold in the coming months.

This is good, you convinced yourself. Perhaps the dry storm seasons won’t be as many.

The streets outside slowly became less and less active with the usual flow of people. You stand against the door frame of your family’s restaurant, watching the never-ending sea of grey clouds above. The rain is cold against your skin as you stick out a hand curiously. It feels refreshing, pleasant.

“We’re closing up a little early today since the rain is starting back up again. Bring in the sign that’s outside. It would be a shame if it got blown away by tonight’s storm,” your father said as he wiped down the counters and put away clean bowls.

With a nod you happily went outside, umbrella in hand. The rain pattered quietly and rolled off the sides of its protective roof, surrounding you with a soothing atmosphere. The day had dwindled to a lethargic close, and with a languid fondness you watched the last few shopkeepers huddle back into their shops and homes.

The streets emptied out within minutes leaving muddy streets behind. The smell of wet earth hung in the air nostalgically.

Maybe it was fate, that double-take you took. With one last gaze out across the rainy-soaked street, you noticed them. The figure was so still—statuesque— that you wouldn’t have noticed them through the rainy mist if it hadn’t been for the bright crimson of their clothing that stood out.

Had they nowhere to go? Or were they someone who enjoyed standing in the rain? Better yet… How long had they been standing there in the pouring rain?

The question made your heart sink just thinking about it.

From within the building, your father’s voice called out with amusement. “Y/n, come in quick or you’ll get soaked. I don’t want you getting chilled and falling ill because you wanted to watch the rain.”

There was a squeeze of your chest when you turned back to the rain—a pang of guilt that gripped onto your mind. Rain fell relentlessly hard as it picked up, and it filled your mind with concern for that stranger in the rain.

Your body only partially turned toward the door, a quick hesitation stopping you in your tracks as you took one last look over your shoulder. That person… would probably get sick at this rate. Something in the way they stood rigidly against the elements held no joy for the downpour. No childlike amusement like the one you held for rainy days.

“I’ll be right in,” you reassure. “I forgot I left something outside.”

Peering your head quickly through the door frame, you see your father wave you off with a patient smile.

“Be quick.”

With a nod, you wait until you see him disappear up the stairs to the second floor to turn in for the night. You are quick on your feet making your way down the street of shops and houses. The patter of your boots on the rapidly-forming puddles pushed your aching legs forward, umbrella tightly gripped in hand.

The stranger was still unmoving as you approached, steps sounding out with the splash of water with each step. You were sure he heard you, yet he did not turn to meet you as you drew near.

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here in the rain, stranger,” you lightheartedly commented as you stopped next to him, holding your umbrella over him just enough to still partially shield you from the rain.

His eyes remained on the grey sky above, only now torn away slowly from the trance. There was a sorrowful haze that gripped those misty, crimson eyes.

“Do you think the rain is beautiful?” he asked.

This sudden question took you by surprise. The way he looked out at the sea of clouds held anything but sympathy for the grey skies that rained mercilessly.

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to this mysterious stranger. Unexpectedly, though, you felt at ease in his presence.

“I think the feeling of it is beautiful,” you responded, looking at the sky with him.

He hums at this answer, seemingly contemplating it. The answer comes from someone who spends their life indoors, and he understands it. Somehow, these small differences in experiences from person to person brings a little comfort to him. To know that not everyone’s simplicities of life are plagued by grief soothes his soul.

Brief silence overtakes you both as you stand in the downpour.

“Do you not like the rain?” you quietly ask after a while. There’s a worried crease in your brows as you look at him, and he cannot help but feel like he gravitates toward your warmth.

Only the harsh patter of the rain on your umbrella and flooding of the streets fills the silence for a beat as he remains in his thoughts.

“It’s been a while since I heard that question directed at myself,” he chuckles. The small smile that graces his features doesn’t reach his eyes, but answers fondly all the same. “When I was younger, I loved the rain.”

There’s weight in the words as he speaks them. You choose not to pry into the emotional scars tied to his answer.

“Are you travelling?” you ask, changing the subject.

He gives you a smile, and you notice how his snow-white hair clings to his face from the rain. It leaves a pleasantly warm feeling in your chest—how gentle he looks.

“Something like that.” Though his answers are vague, you aren’t one to pry—not when his eyes hold a distant sorrow in them. “It’s best to head inside. You could get sick out in the rain.”

“Come indoors with me, then,” you offer simply. With a warm smile you add, “If you’d like.”

He blinks at you, watches as you hover the umbrella closer over him. The rain is soaking most of you by now, and your smile is radiant— innocent in it’s bright sincerity as you offer him a roof over his head.

It makes this kind gesture all the more difficult to refuse.

“Kazuha,” is all he responds with, a thankful smile softening the gloom that surrounds him as you both hurry back down the muddy street. You introduce yourself just as briefly and lighthearted.

With a motion to the bar counter, you tap your hand on its surface to offer him a seat while you close up the shop and disappear into the kitchen. Kazuha wordlessly takes a seat, the warmth of the restaurant enveloping him pleasantly. His hands grip the towel that now rests around his shoulders a little tighter.

Within minutes, there’s a steaming bowl of noodles placed in front of him. “You’re too kind. I couldn’t possibly—“

You wave him off, plopping down on the seat next to him. “If the food is available, why not share a meal?” you interject simply, settling down next to him to begin eating your own noodle dish. “It’s hard to cook small portions when you’re only ever used to making large amounts for hungry customers. So, please, help yourself.”

“Thank you.” And Kazuha means it. “I’ll take my leave once I’ve finished.”

The look you give him is a little incredulous.

“In this rain? It’s an awfully harsh storm we’re expecting tonight.” You set down your chopsticks, looking at him fully with wide, concerned eyes. “You’re free to stay in the guest room until the storm passes. I would feel terribly guilty to leave you out in the rain.”

It’s silent, and you’ve both left your food untouched as Kazuha becomes a little tense. There’s something weighing on his mind with how he avoids your gaze, hands anxiously clenching and unclenching in his lap.

He reaches into his pocket, clutching something in his palm shielded from your view.

Now you’re curious.

His voice lowers, soft and cautious. “I don’t want to put you in danger with my presence.”

The smooth metal of the vision’s frame clangs quietly as Kazuha places it on the table, sliding it towards you.

“I’m a wanted man.”

There’s no response from you for a brief moment. Visions are rare to see nowadays, and even more dangerous to have. Your fingertips smooth over its surface momentarily, eyes sparkling with intrigue and wonder.

“The vision… Why is it missing?” you wonder silently.

Kazuha looks down. “That’s—“

“You don’t have to explain anything. This doesn’t make you a bad person,” you quickly defend. It takes him aback, caught off by the sudden emotion that makes your eyes twinkle. “Stay.”

“It would put you in da—“

“I don’t care. Your life is important. I’ll help you.” There’s a fire in your eyes as you hold his gaze, face serious. Your expression softens as you place the blank vision back in his palm with a reassuring gentleness. “I won’t lose another person to them.”

There are details that both of you do not know, information left out of each other’s backgrounds and circumstances. But one thing reigned true—there was goodness in his heart, and in yours, too. Perhaps this is what convinced him to accept your generosity.

He’s smiling, gentle upon his expression as he picks up his chopsticks once more.

“You aren’t the first to put your life on the line for me,” he adds quietly. The atmosphere has relaxed once more as you both continue eating through idle conversation in the dim restaurant lighting.

You hum, mouth full of food. “And I’m sure I won’t be the last. But,” you bite your thumb, pondering. “I’m sure you’ve been running for a while.”

With a quiet sigh, he answers, “Longer than I thought I would last, if I’m being honest.”

There’s a glint in your eye, and you’re deep in your own onslaught of thoughts. There’s an underlying anxiousness that falls upon your shoulders. Kazuha wishes he could read you better.

For the remainder of the quick meal, you hold your tongue but he can see the gears turning in your head. The bowls are emptied, hunger satisfied, and you show him to the guest room through hushed voices.

“Kazuha,” you call quietly before leaving the room you prepared for him. Your voice lowers further, barely above a whisper and you make it a point to sidle closer to him. “If you had the chance to escape Inazuma… would you?”

His eyes go a little wide for a moment. “You couldn’t mean…”

“I have a plan.”

And in that moment, he gazes at you with reverence and trust. His heart would be safe in the palm of your hand. You wait for his approval to continue with the idea. The smile he flashes you is contagious, and you are a beacon of hope in this tumultuous uncertainty.

He sits on the sleeping mat you've prepared, patting the spot next to him where he plopped down. “Let's hear it, then.”

In the late hours of the night, two hushed voices debate their best chance of escape.

“I have a close acquaintance, captain of her own fleet from Liyue.”

#kazuha #genshin #Kazuha/reader #kazuha x reader #genshin fanfic #drabble #light angst #inazuma #I just really love this maple boy #beidou #if you squint #drabble collection: coffee break for two #soft #first meeting #mii writes #short and sweet #inspired by that sad kazuha audio

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troquantary · 3 years

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Cutting Hair as Punishment in the Twilight Saga

Okay, I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts around this into a sort-of-essay format for a while, because I find it disturbingly mean-spirited: Meyer has a pattern of using hair-cutting as a form of punishment for characters, especially female characters, who fail to embrace Bella and the Cullens with open arms. I’m talking particularly about Leah and Lauren, both of whom, while not outright antagonists like Victoria or James, are situated along with Rosalie as “against” Bella throughout the series. The Quileute pack, meanwhile, is situated largely “against” the Cullens, meaning Jacob and the rest of the pack get the Haircut of Shame, too.

(Also, I’ve been creeping through @panlight ‘s blog because I thought she had a recent post relating to this -- I was probably thinking of this submission and her addendum, which does discuss Meyer’s “punishment” of certain characters, but that post was about characters suffering for not waiting for True Love, or daring to do the Devil’s Tango before marriage. Still, it’s on-theme and very much worth reading, like all her stuff!)

So here’s the general outline: first I’m gonna talk about the shapeshifters and how their overall lack of choice frames cutting their hair as something forced on them and therefore punitive. Then I’m going to discuss Meyer’s FAQ response where she reveals that Lauren was tricked into cutting off most of her hair over the summer before New Moon, and how this adds an extra fun misogynistic element to the hair-cutting theme with respect to Lauren and Leah. I also use way too many words to do it, sorry.

Punishment | The Shapeshifters Are Given No Other Option

I don’t have the background or knowledge to discuss the significance of long hair to indigenous culture and identity in detail, and my understanding is that different tribes ascribe different meanings to it. What I’ve read it about it suggests that, generally, long hair represents strength of one’s individual spirit and of the community. It’s a source of pride, and is only cut off voluntarily in extraordinary circumstances, often as an expression of grief, or to mark a significant life change.

This sort of works in the context of the shapeshifters all cutting their hair -- phasing into a giant wolf, discovering the existence of the supernatural, and assuming the role of protectors is a major life event for these characters. But the negative associations make it a troubling choice on Meyer’s part, and that’s without even getting into the problem of her imposing her own worldbuilding onto the legends and culture of a real tribe. Because of the lack of choice involved in becoming a shapeshifter, the whole situation feels like a scenario in which the Quileute characters have their hair forcibly cut -- a degrading and traumatic act that (depending on their particular tribal belief) might symbolically sever them from their sense of cultural identity and connection with the rest of their tribe.

It all kind of begs the question: why does Meyer even have shapeshifting work this way? What narrative utility is there in having the length of their hair in human form determine the length of their fur as wolves, thereby compelling the shapeshifters to cut it so it isn’t a physical impediment? It’s another sign of the changes in Jacob, sure, but he’s already being uncharacteristically cold and distant, plus suddenly has the physique of a fit twenty-five-year-old; Bella already knows something’s very wrong. His short hair is just another jarring thing for Bella to notice and mourn, like the loss of Jacob’s “baby face” and general sunniness.

It does work as a symbolic thing, representing another sacrifice Jacob has to make and the change in how he now has to perceive himself -- but he’s already got a literal giant wolf form to represent that change in identity/self-perception. Forcing him to cut his hair too just feels like piling on. My argument here, which I hope will be supported when I discuss Lauren and Leah further in, is that it’s not just piling on, but actively punitive -- because much like Leah and Lauren are “against” Bella, the pack at large is “against” the Cullens pretty much through the end of the series.

The Quileute pack is definitely not a Cullen fanclub. The entire purpose of their existence is to destroy vampires, and the truce they have with the Cullens isn’t friendly. They still don’t particularly like or trust the Cullens even after allying with them in Eclipse, and in Breaking Dawn Sam is fully prepared to go to war against them to enforce the treaty. Bella expresses frustration with Jacob and the pack for not appreciating the Cullens more, yet is curiously less willing to scold Alice, Edward, or Rosalie when they call the Quileutes dogs and complain about their smell. (I think she might reprimand Edward for it at some point, but I don’t remember the exact passage.) Bella even starts throwing around “dog” and “mutt” as an insult herself -- I think we know whose side ol’ “Switzerland” is on, here, and whose side Meyer is on as well. The Quileutes aren’t exactly enemies, and in fact are crucial to the Cullens’ survival in both the newborn and Volutri conflicts, but they’re punished nonetheless because they aren’t wholeheartedly Team Cullen from the get-go.

So to explain why I’m so convinced that there’s a link between hair-cutting and punishment in particular, let’s talk about Lauren. There’s a definite gendered element to it this time, too -- by being tricked into cutting her hair, Lauren isn’t just diminished/shamed, but rendered (*thunderclap*) unfeminine.

Lauren Was Rude To Bella Like Twice, Let’s Humiliate Her

I think Meyer’s answer to the question “What happened to Lauren’s hair?” on her FAQ page speaks for itself:

Ha ha. I had fun imagining this one—I only wished that it had fit into the book somewhere. Lauren fell victim to the “model discovered in the mall” scam. An alleged modeling agent approached Lauren in a mall in Victoria, B.C., and told her she was a natural model. Lauren ate it up. The agent told her that if she did something edgy with her hair, and took some high quality head shots, her future was assured. Lauren followed the instructions—dropping fifteen grand on the pictures taken by the agent’s partner—and waited for her career to begin. She’s still waiting. Snort.

It’s pretty obvious that this was done spitefully. Here’s the list of Lauren’s crimes against humanity Bella at this point in the series: 1) she was jealous of the attention Bella was getting as the new girl; 2) she talked behind Bella’s back once, saying Bella might as well just sit with the Cullens now (and she isn’t wrong); 3) she eyed Bella “scornfully” the day of the La Push beach trip; and perhaps most damningly, 4) she’s blonde.

Post-haircut, she has the gall not to be thrilled that Bella’s deigning to speak to the lowly non-Cullens again, then sides with Jessica after Bella uses Jessica to make a point to her dad, is shitty company, and then risks getting them both raped and murdered in Port Angeles so she could get off on her hallucination of Edward’s voice.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge that long hair is tied to patriarchal notions of femininity and attractiveness. Women with short hair are still derided for being ugly, or assumed to be lesbians in a derogatory sense, or simply considered less feminine and therefore less desirable/worthy (because a woman’s worth depends on her desirability, after all). For many women and girls, losing their long hair -- whether because of illness, or gum getting stuck in it, or whatever -- is very upsetting and a hard blow to their self-esteem. Just look at Alice as an example of Traumatic Short Hair; her hair was shorn like that because she received electroshock “treatments” in an asylum. (Although in Alice’s case, I don’t think her having short hair is punishment, but a facet of the traumatic backstory all female characters in Twilight have to have for some reason. Plus, she started the series with short hair, which distinguishes her from the pack and Lauren, who were tricked or compelled into cutting their long hair during the series.)

But Lauren’s so bitchy, so she deserves it, right? Ha ha, she was mean to Bella and cared about her appearance too much, so now she’s ~ugly!

Leah Has It the Worst and It Makes Me Want To Burn Everything

The misogynistic aspect of hair-cutting as punishment is taken up to like, twelve with Leah. Not only does she suffer for being “against” the Cullens along with the rest of the pack (and Bella, too, so extra sinning), but she suffers uniquely for being the only female shapeshifter. A bunch of teenage boys regularly see her naked body against her will. Her previously devoted boyfriend imprints on her cousin/best friend, Sam dumps her and can’t even explain why, and the whole pack -- including her own brother -- resents her for being upset about it, even though she can’t help the lack of mental privacy. Because of that same lack of mental privacy, she has to hear every gripe the boys have about her, plus every enthralled thought Sam has about Emily while she’s still deeply wounded by their breakup.

She blames herself for her dad’s death, because she phased at the wrong time. We don’t get any indication that her fellow shapeshifters or the elders are trying to reassure her otherwise.

And of course, because she’s a shapeshifter, she has to cut her hair. In addition, because Leah’s a woman, this has the same misogynistic connotations as it did with Lauren. In Leah’s case, though, the de-feminization is compounded by her sudden infertility. It’s clear that Leah attaches her sense of womanhood to her fertility, rightly or wrongly -- she bitterly calls herself a “genetic dead end” in Breaking Dawn and thinks of herself as a freak. She feels like there must be something wrong with her, some un-womanly flaw, that made her one of the shapeshifters at all.

Then, just when Jacob starts to see her as a human being worthy of compassion, he imprints on Renesmee and doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything else anymore. No more bonding with Leah, no blooming friendship to help her heal and come to terms with the new realities of her life. (This is one of those dropped threads that aggravate me to no end -- what was the point of having Leah opening up to Jacob, or starting Jacob on the path of realizing he was being a dick to her this whole time and that she’s a person with value, if he was just going to spend the rest of the book as Renesmee’s love-zombie and never think about it again? Disgusting.)

Leah was a lot more forgiving of Jacob than he deserved at that point in the story, for all the good it did her -- I think she’s mentioned maybe once in Book 3 of Breaking Dawn. At least she got her god-tier moment of yelling at a deranged, pregnant Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella...

I’m just going to note, for no particular reason, that in Breaking Dawn we get to hear explicitly that Bella’s got hair that falls “almost to her waist” and that she looks like “a freaking supermodel” because she’s so “beautiful and pale.” It just strikes me as a telling contrast at this point.

#twilight renaissance #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #leah clearwater #lauren mallory #jacob black #the wolf pack #long post #i felt myself getting petty about bella okay -- i'm aware it's happening but i have no self control #i also know i sidestepped the racial element to this and it's because i don't feel qualified to speak on it #so any additions from more knowledgeable people on that score are much appreciated

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elia-de-silentio · 3 years

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Vanitas and affection: a complicated relationship

In light of recent chapters and waiting for the next to deliver our new dose of pain, I've decided to make a bit of analysis on how Vanitas relates to affection.

Vanitas enters this world, and gets the first of a long series of traumas. A classic: mother dies in childbirth, the baby is blamed for existing. Vanitas had internalized this thinking from his father ... or maybe it was a reasoning he made on his own (he says that his father 'must have hated him', but does not recall the man actually telling him so), and his father did not correct him - either because he subconsciously agreed or because he wasn't the most emotionally attuned man in the world.

After all, the only thing certain about Vanitas's father is his tendency to self-sacrifice: he abandoned his birth family and respectable profession to follow the woman he loved in her travelling caravan, even if he didn't like the rest of the people there; he gave up his life to save his son.

And this latter part is what furthers Vanitas's trauma, as he will feel an extra dose of guilt for causing his father's sacrifice.

After the death of his family, he is taken by the Chasseurs to be trained and become one of them. His strong hatred for vampires fueled him, and it's likely he was quite good at fighting, given what we see of him now. But alas, he caught the attention of Moreau.

Vanitas's damnation was his high empathy. As Luna will later point out, he would be able to escape; but Moreau had faked his death by killing a kid that looked like him, thus triggering his trauma of 'other people sacrificing for his sake'.

And then, he thought that even if he escaped, someone else would be tortured in his place. The reasoning is actually more based in self-loathing than reality, as attested by the existence of n.70 and 71; so he turned his reason for being there into trying to get more torture and lift it from the other children whenever he could.

Then he gets saved. Well, he likely doesn't perceive it like that, because Luna is a vampire, especially the Vampire of the Blue Moon whose blood Moreau injected him to try and turn him into a vampire. Nevertheless, there appears to have been a somewhat peaceful period between the escape from Moreau and the start of the series: we see Luna take care of him and Misha, giving them shelter, teaching them about malnomens and trying her hand at life lessons; we see little Vanitas do most of the chores, even if with a standoffish attitude; we see little Misha basking in the happiness of a somewhat stable and nice family situation.

Then something terrible happens.

It is revealed that due to Moreau's experiments, the kids are not exactly human anymore, but they aren't vampires either; their body can't substain this state of being, and they will die if they aren't turned into kins of the Blue Moon. Misha accepts, Vanitas refuses, wanting to stay human. Next thing we know, they are both kins of the Blue Moon with Marks of Possession, and Luna is dead.

As of the time of this writing, it is not clear exactly what happened; we know that Luna died, and that Vanitas played some role in it. Misha outright accuses him of killing her, but the framing of the actual events is quite ambiguous.

Vanitas, on his part, seems to have conflicting feelings: he says he wants to take revenge on Luna for drinking his blood, but when he's half-delirious, he mutters that he didn't really hate her; he appearently made Misha some promise that he didn't keep, and he is crushed by guilt as a result.

But whatever happened, his consent on the kin-making was ignored (just like it always happened in Moreau's laboratory) and another person that was close to him died either at his own hand, or because of him. And he gets some other trauma on top of an already long list.

Moreover, he was surprised to find out that Misha was alive. So, for some time, he believed the person who he loved like a brother was dead. Add good old grief to the mix.

So, we get to the Vanitas of the very first chapters of the manga. An outgoing, cocky individual ... a mask. After all, every time he has shown his actual feelings of anger and grief, it didn't turn out very well for him in the end, did it?

It also allows him to annoy and gross out people, specifically Noé and Jeanne. Nobody really likes his arrogance and pushiness, so they won't give him the affection he doesn't deserve.

Then, the aftermath of the Bal Masqué. Vanitas is provoking Ruthven, and Noé goes unexpectedly to protect him. To take risks for his sake. This already scares him, but then Noé has the gall to go and try to understand him! His reaction has to be more extreme: he flat out tries to attack Noé with a knife and tries to get him away, whereas he had been pretty much stalking him up to this point. But Noé refuses; and Vanitas is maybe just a little comforted and moved, enough to stop trying to push him away.

Then there is the Catacomb Arc, where a new character is introduced: Roland. He doesn't show spite to Vanitas, but still sees him with condescension, denying that he is acting out of his own free will. And this, to the former Chasseur who was left by the rest of them in Moreau's clutches, is untolerable. Roland means well, but he's going at it the wrong way.

After the fight with Roland, there is another argument between Vanitas and Noé. Vanitas does exactly what Noé had done before: shields him. This sends Noé on a sermon about how Vanitas, as a human, is weak and shouldn't take such risks, which infuriates the other boy: he bites back by calling Noé overconfident, citing the Ruthven accident as an example. This confuses Noé, because didn't he want him to become his shield?

I suspect that this was both Vanitas tendency to sacrifice himself for others, and a sign of tentative trust towards Noé. He does the same thing the vampire did for him ... and got rebuked, and called weak for his trouble. Noé's attitude is too patronizing to be seen as an actual sign of concern,and his already bad mood sours considerably.

Well, there is to say that after a similar crisis repeats itself a chapter later, complete with anti-vampire slurs on Vanitas part, Noè amends ... by using him as a fake hostage against Roland, which is still better that treating him as if he was weak.

Now, Noé might be naive in a lot of regards, but he is not stupid. From that moment onwards, he gets that Vanitas will be treated as an equal. He won't force him into dangerous situations, but he won't even treat him like he's too frail for it. He will be incouraging, but not condescending. And the result is that he actually snaps Vanitas out from his trauma-induced flashbacks, and gets him to be more open and trusting than he has ever been.

In the Gevaudan arc, Vanitas's emotional connections get shaken on two fronts: Noé 's and Jeanne's.

In this arc, he is the one to encourage and support Noé. He gives him advice on how to handle Astolfo; he gets worried about him when he's captured by Chloé (even if he expresses it in his own way).

He saves Noé from getting lost into Jean-Jacques's memories, listens to what he has to say, and concedes to what he wants, where at the start of the manga he was all 'my way or the highway'. He even almost (almost) admits that he was worried about Noé!

He still receives some actual support: demostrations of Noé's spirit which are good for the soul, and a proclamation that he believes in what Vanitas thinks about the origin of Malnomen, the first time a vampire says something like that. Vani plays grumpy, but he is obviously very shaken, in a positive way.

He finally shows Jeanne some actual support: he is cold to her after he was unwillingly vulnerable in her presence due to his illness, but pushes that aside rather quickly, in order to help her realize what she truly wants (saving Chloé instead of killing her) and that she's right to want it. He reminds her that she's a person, not a tool.

And she's grateful for it, and has definitely no qualms about expressing it. The result is that our hero spends days in blue screen, to then have a complete freakout at the possibility of being actually in love with Jeanne. He's so out of it, he ends up oversharing his feelings of being undeserving of love to a Roland who he doesn't like and a Olivier he has never met before. Still, it's the first time he flat-out says his issues.

This brings us to his rooftop conversation with Noé. I really liked the vampire's behaviour here: he was comforting in a sort of roundabout way, à la Vanitas. He said that he is happy Vanitas is the way he is, even if he still doesn't like him very much. Translation: you're a way better person than you think you are, and you deserve to be loved. This is coming from a totally unbiased place, I'm not a weird person who would like you or something.

And this is the last conversation we see between the two of them: as of the time of this writing, Noé has been compelled to drink Misha's blood, and Vanitas has just arrived on the scene.

Vanitas has seen his self-loathing perspective challenged and has changed a lot in the span of a rather short time, and I really don't know how he'll react to Noé learning the details of his past; he sure won't want any form of compassion. Personally, I suspect he'll be very cold to Noé for quite some time, possibly even trying to drive him away, before a reconciliation.

Thanks to anyone who bothered to read my ramblings!

#vnc #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vanitas no shuki #vnc vanitas #vnc meta #vnc analysis #vnc noe #vnc jeanne #vnc luna #vnc mikhail #elia's recaps

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crescentsteel · 3 years

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room.

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?”

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation.

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up.

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers.

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways.

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy.

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer.

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you.

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity.

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident.

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.”

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?”

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty.

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night?

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing.

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury.

“Can you get your face away from me?”

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps.

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him.

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you.

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private.

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.”

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima.

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night.

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why.

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him.

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it.

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort.

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare.

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves.

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent.

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking.

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball.

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump.

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again.

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire.

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first.

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one.

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball.

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours.

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one.

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot.

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego.

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is.

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return.

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time.

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it.

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag.

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.”

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen.

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin.

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain.

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his.

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day.

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously.

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing.

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?”

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on.

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one.

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper.

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it.

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on.

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong.

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining.

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence.

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder.

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout.

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old?

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain.

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are.

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you.

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes.

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened.

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit.

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining.

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion.

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time.

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing.

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break.

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?”

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain.

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses.

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan.

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about.

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth.

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed.

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not.

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing.

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you.

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits.

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won.

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely.

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you.

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice.

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out.

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess.

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything.

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open.

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain.

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project.

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even.

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question.

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either.

“I don’t know,” you surrender.

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition.

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table.

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more.

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago.

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable.

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present.

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last.

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat.

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up.

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation.

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face.

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first.

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered.

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness.

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review.

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t.

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff.

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up.

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface.

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima smut #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader #tags pls work

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. ��He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #young hotchniss #Aaron Hotchner #Emily Prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Aaron x Emily

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sunflowerspecter · 3 years

Text

haley (a.h.)

summary: hotch doesn’t know if it’s time to move on. then he meets you, and your daughter haley.

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical mentions of murder, canon-typical mentions of drugs

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

words: 3.6k

note: hey? i’m back! with another fic! after like four months! woo. i’m also almost at 400 followers which is pretty wild so cool cool. this is absolutely unedited and i’ve been working on it for literally ever, but i doubt you expected more from me anyways (the plot is also kind of sketch) anywayss, here it is my loves!

~~~oOo~~~

“JJ!” you yell, crossing the bullpen quickly. She turns to face you and smiles widely, throwing her arms open.

“Y/n!” she calls as you fall into her arms. “Oh my god, it’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”

“My team’s going to be working with your team for the next couple of cases!” As the communications liaison for Operations Support Branch (OSB), you and JJ used to collaborate often, until she was transferred and changed positions. You and her don’t get to see each other half as often as you want, but sometimes you bring your daughter, Haley, to spend time with Henry.

“Wait, really? Why weren’t we alerted?” she asks. Behind her, a tall man with dark hair steps towards you, and you already know who he is. SSA Aaron Hotchner.

“Because the decision was just made this morning,” he says. He offers his hand and you shake it. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner.”

“We all call him Hotch,” JJ adds quickly.

“Y/n Y/l/n,” you say to him. “I’m the communications liaison for the OSB. I’m the only one here right now, my team is heading up as we speak.” You turn to the elevator, where your boss, Sam Holmestead, is standing, talking to Derek Morgan, someone JJ had introduced you to. “Holmes is over there.”

“Great,” Hotch says, “excuse me.” He nods at you and begins his way over to your boss, and you watch the entire way.

“Ooh,” JJ sings, giving you a friendly laugh.

“Oh, shut up,” you say, but you’re laughing too. “Now, I heard there’s a case.”

She nods. “Come up to the conference room, we’ll introduce your team to my team and give you all of the details.”

In the room, you, Holmes, and the two others from your team that were joining you— Gary Long and John Wilson— stand at the back, while the BAU all gathered in their seats.

“These four are from the OSB,” Hotch says. “Strauss wants our team to collaborate with some members of the OSB on the next few cases, so they’ll be travelling with us,” Hotch says. “JJ, want to make introductions?”

She nods, then says, “Sam Holmestead leads the team, and this is Y/n Y/l/n, Gary Long, and John Wilson.” She turns to her team, then, and says, “This is Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, and David Rossi.”

Greetings are exchanged, and then it’s back to business. “Two young women were kidnapped and then killed in Tallahassee, Florida,” Garcia says. “Each one was taken from a parking lot, then held captive for a week, and then killed. A week after the first girl was killed, the second one went missing. She was found dead yesterday. Other than their throats being slashed, they were otherwise unharmed.”

You blink down at the pictures. You’ve seen things before, awful things, but this was just… so much worse. You feel better about your squeamishness when you look over and see that Wilson is as white as a ghost.

“So, what does this guy get from the kill?” Morgan says, one elbow on the table.

“It’s rather clean, as far as murder goes,” Prentiss quips. “No stabbing, no bruising. Even the cut is clean.”

“How long did it take her to die? This could be seen as merciful,” you say, glancing at Holmes, who nods at you.

“I’m guessing just a few seconds,” Reid said, looking through his file and finding the coroner’s report, then nodding and glancing up at you.

“Garcia, do these girls have anything in common?” Hotch asks, and your attention goes straight to him (because he’s talking, and you’re polite, obviously).

“They both attended Florida state and now work in insurance. Different companies,” Garcia says.

Hotch nods at her, then says, “Wheels up in 30.”

~~~oOo~~~

The jet is larger than you expected. And nicer, too. You take a seat between JJ and Morgan, and see Garcia on Skype on the table. The rest of the group files in, and you begin discussing the case.

“So, what’s this guy's deal? What’s he doing with these girls for a week?” Morgan says.

“There aren’t signs that they’re tied up, or that he blitz-attacked them,” Prentiss adds.

“Maybe he kept them locked in a sort of cellar. He wouldn’t need to tie them up.”

“Did he drug them?” Holmes asks. Reid looks over the report, then nods.

“Actually, yes, both girls had methylenedioxymethamphetamine and methamphetamine in their system,” Reid says.

“MDMA and meth?” JJ says, crossing her arms.

“Wilson, you still have contacts in Florida, right? See who’s dealing both of those these days,” Holmes says, and Wilson nods, pulling out his phone.

“MDMA is really hard to get a hold of,” Wilson says, “I’m sure it’s easier in Florida, but still, this guy has to have some way of getting money in. Lots of it.”

“Okay, so how does he insure he doesn’t hurt them with the drugs?” Prentiss says.

“And what purpose does it serve? What fantasy is he living out?” Rossi adds.

The plane hits a bit of turbulence, and your stomach flips. “Is that normal?” you whisper, and JJ laughs, nodding.

“You’ll get used to it,” Morgan says. You nod and give a short laugh.

“The likelihood of being in a plane crash is about one to 5.4 million,” Reid says, “and even so, it’s improbable that turbulence will cause a crash. Even commercial airlines are built to withstand forces 1.5 times stronger than anything experienced in the past—”

“Reid,” Hotch says sternly, but softly, “focus, please.”

“I didn’t know the BAU made cyborgs,” you say, squinting your eyes at Reid.

Prentiss nods at you, throwing her arms up. “That’s what I’ve been saying! Someone finally understands.”

“Sorry,” he says, eyes widening. “I’m curious as to whether these girls were using these drugs before or after he took them.”

“You think they were using before?” Hotch asks, and Reid nods.

“I just don’t know why he would give the girls these drugs.”

“I’ll ask the families,” JJ says.

“When we land, Reid, start setting up a geographical profile. Prentiss and Morgan, check out the dump sights. JJ, talk to the families, and make sure the press doesn’t get the information about the drugs. Rossi, take Long and go check out the abduction sights. Wilson, reach out to your contact. I want Y/l/n and Holmestead to help me with victimology,” Hotch says, looking around.

“Yes, sir’s” went around the group, and you flip to look at the victim pages.

Holmes leans across the table and looks at you. “What do you think?”

You shake your head. “It’s strange,” you say. “They hardly have anything in common. Yeah, they went to the same school, and yeah, they both work in insurance, but two very different jobs.”

Holmes shrugs, then nods. “I agree. Were they friends?” He looks at Hotch for guidance, who shrugs.

“We’ll have to find out. Garcia, have you made any connections?”

Garcia looks up on the screen, then says, “Actually, another girl has just been reported missing.”

“It’s only been a day,” JJ says, and looks at Hotch.

“We hit the ground running,” he says, and you all nod.

~~~oOo~~~

Working with the team goes a lot smoother than expected. Your teams bond together instantly, and you all work quickly and effectively.

Unfortunately, even a day and a half after the third victim's abduction, you’re no closer.

“In his comfort zone, there are 14 warehouses, 13 abandoned buildings, 25 apartment complexes, and too many residential areas to count,” you say, looking over Reid’s shoulder as he writes on the board.

“He could be anywhere,” Hotch mutters, standing beside you.

“What are we missing?” Rossi says, and you turn and slump into a chair, sitting at the table with the team. Hotch sits next to you, a pensive look on his face.

“How did he choose each girl? Are these premeditated or spur of the moment? And why did he escalate his time frame?” Morgan says, looking around the table.

JJ rushes into the room. “The third girl's body was found. And he left a note.”

The table stands. “Reid and Y/l/n, stay here and analyze the note. JJ, keep the press occupied. No one releases the note. We don’t address it yet. Everyone else, at the crime scene.”

You nod, finding it a little odd that he left you with Reid (sure, you aren’t a field agent, but the rest of your team is going somewhere), but you stay nonetheless. The team files out and you turn to Reid, looking down at the scan of the note.

“The paper looks old,” Reid says, and you squint.

“It’s not old, it was made to look that way. See how it’s not torn or wrinkled, but it’s yellowed?”

Reid nods and looks at you, for a moment, surprised. It passes quickly, and he’s looking back at the text. “Typewriter, and it’s in third person. It just describes the crime.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, and Reid shrugs.

“It could mean any number of things. Could be living out his fantasy, could be any number of mental illnesses.”

You nod, crossing your arms. It’s going to be a long night.

~~~oOo~~~

The fourth girl was taken in the wide open. There was a witness. With a description of the vehicle.

“There are more purple Volkswagens in Tallahassee than there should be,” Garcia says, “but only one registered to someone within the comfort zone of our guy.”

He doesn’t know you’re coming, and the arrest is smooth, and the girl is safe.

The plane ride back is quiet—everyone is mostly asleep. You sit by Holmes, talking idly about how the court is probably going to rule on the case. Hotch is awake and across from you, but you can tell he’s listening.

“How’s the little one?” Holmes says, and you laugh.

“As rebellious as ever,” you sigh. “She wants to be a superhero when she’s older.”

Holmes laughs, leaning back in his seat and pushing his hand through his hair. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t have kids.”

You elbow him. “Like you could get someone to reproduce with you, anyway.”

He gasps, grasping his chest, feigning pain. “Low blow, Y/n, low blow.”

“Whatever, old man,” you say, leaning back. “How long are we working with the BAU?” you ask, glancing over your sleeping teammates.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says. Then he lowers his voice and whispers in your ear, “You’ve caught the BAU’s dear boss’s eye, I think.”

You giggle (you giggle) and say, “No way.”

“Yes way.”

“I guess he’s cute,” you say in a whisper. “But that’s a conversation for the morning. I’m exhausted.”

You look over at Hotch, writing his report and talking quietly with Rossi. You wonder what’s going through his mind.

“You know she wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life mourning her,” Rossi says quietly. Hotch nods.

“I know that, I do. I just, I wish there was a sign.”

Rossi puts his hand on his friend's shoulder. “There will be.” He looks over at you, eyes shut, head on Holmes’ shoulder. “Meanwhile, you’ve been looking at her quite a lot.”

“What?” Hotch says, taking in a shaky breath.

Rossi chuckles, shrugging. “I think you know.”

~~~oOo~~~

“Hey, sleep today, but tonight you should come out with us,” Garcia says as you gather your things from your makeshift desk. You landed at 4:30 in the morning, and after finishing your paperwork, you were ready to sleep for the entire day.

You hesitate, then shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Garcia squeals, “Yay!” You laugh and nod.

“What time, and where?”

“How about I pick you up?” she suggests, and you nod.

“Actually, that would be great,” you say. She smiles, and leaves you in your office. Your daughter calls you as you're leaving the building, and you meet Hotch in the elevator.

“Mommy!” the little girl cries happily into the phone.

“Hi, hon! I’m on my way home right now, what are you doing up this early, baby?”

She giggles. “Auntie and I have a surprise for you!”

You freeze. “Haley, what did you do?” You feel Hotch stiffen beside you, but you don’t ask him about it.

“Nothing! Bye, mommy!” she says before you can tell her no, and she’s hung up.

“Children,” you mutter. Hotch nods.

“What’s your kids name?” he asks, barely looking at you.

“Haley,” you say. “She’s four next month.” He hums, and you ask, “Do you have any children?”

“Yes,” he says. “Jack. He’s seven.”

The elevator door opens, and you almost think you’re disappointed.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asks, and you nod.

“Yes, thank you.”

The walk is silent.

“See you tonight?” you say.

He shakes his head. “Probably not.”

“Why not? Could be fun.”

He hesitates, meeting your eyes. Then, he says, “I’ll think about it.”

You smile, getting into your car. “Have a good one, Hotchner.”

“You too, Y/l/n.”

~~~oOo~~~

Haley is asleep by 8:00, your sitter is at your door by 8:15, and Garcia is at your door at 8:30.

Black dress, red lipstick. It isn’t too fancy, but if Hotch shows up, you’ll look nice. (Not that you care, of course. As far as you know, he’s married).

“You look so pretty!” Garcia says once you’re in her car.

“Thank you! You too!” you say, and then she starts telling you stories from the team. How Reid will go off about Halloween, how Prentiss faked her death, how Morgan and her flirt endlessly (which you picked up on), how Hotch’s son, Jack, is doing soccer.

You, in turn, tell Garcia about Wilson’s wife, Mary, and how Holmes once fell down a well while working on a case and was stuck for an hour and a half, and how Greg has this terrible habit of accidentally befriending the worst people.

You reach the bar laughing, and you find the table everyone (except Hotch) is sitting at. You and Garcia join them, and conversation becomes easy. Until, a few minutes after your arrival, Hotch takes a seat beside you.

“Hi,” he says, and everyone greets him.

“We were just talking about how we could run off and buy a house in the woods and live a secluded life together for the rest of time,” Prentiss says, and you let out a laugh.

“I’m sure that will work out wonderfully, especially with three children,” Hotch says.

“And the house has to be big, there’s a lot of us,” you add.

“And we work for the government, they’ll be suspicious if we all quit at once,” Greg says.

Spencer shrugs. “Not to mention the cost of living would be expensive, and we’d be out of a job. Plus, there’s no one to replace us.”

You lean over and boop Spencer’s nose. “We’re irreplaceable.”

“Don’t count on that, Strauss has been after my ass since the moment I stepped in that office,” Hotch says.

Rossi mutters something into Hotch’s ear, and your stomach does backflips. JJ turns to you. “Is Haley still into dance?”

You shake your head. “That was a short lived hobby. I think this week it’s art.”

“Henry is the same way! He doesn’t stick with one thing for more than a few days,” she laughs. “Hotch, what about Jack?”

“He’s stuck with soccer pretty consistently, but he also can’t decide if he likes drums or drawing on the wall more.”

You and JJ laugh. “Where’s Will?” you ask JJ, raising an eyebrow.

“He stayed home with Henry, but he sends his love.” JJ looks over at Hotch. “I presume Jack is with Jessica?”

“Yes,” he says, huffing a laugh, his eyes darting to yours. “I really should be paying that woman.”

“Is Jessica not your wife?” you ask, glancing from JJ to Hotch. They share a look, and JJ turns to Spencer, picking up on his and Emily’s conversation. Your attention is now fully on Hotch, who sighs.

“No, Jessica is my sister-in-law,” he says, and he opens his mouth to say more, but then hesitates. “My wife died a few years ago. Her name was Haley.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Oh, oh I’m so sorry.” You meet his eyes, but he shakes his head. “My husband died a few years ago too. Right before Haley was born, actually,” you say, laughing humorlessly.

He nudges your shoulder lightly, then says, “Look at us, two widowed single-parents.”

“A pair we make, Mr. Hotchner,” you say, and he nods.

~~~oOo~~~

As you’re leaving the conference room after a briefing, Holmes pulls you aside. He watches as everyone leaves the room, and says, “This will be our last case with the BAU.” You blink at him, disappointment filling you.

“Why are you telling just me?” you ask, crossing your arms.

Holmes shrugs, looking out the conference room window. You follow his gaze to where Hotch and Morgan are talking in front of Hotch’s office. “Because you might want to shoot your shot before you never see him again,” Holmes says. You try to ask him what he means, but he’s already left the room.

You sigh, picking up your things and getting your bag, going to stand beside JJ and Emily as you make your way out to the jet. You trail a step behind them, your mind racing. What did Holmes mean by that? Your heart dropped a little bit at the thought of never seeing the team you had been working with for the past six months ever again. Surely, you will. JJ and you are close friends, and you had grown close with the rest of the team too, right?

“What’s on your mind?” You startle at the sound of his voice, looking up to see Hotch looking down at you, his brows drawn together.

“Oh,” you say. “Nothing.”

“You can’t lie to a profiler.”

You laugh. “Holmes told me this is our last case together,” you tell him, looking ahead, where JJ and Emily are boarding the plane.

“It is,” he says. His voice is even, steady, normal. There is nothing to suggest he is happy for your departure or upset about it. He is neutral.

“Shame,” you say, “I was sort of getting used to working with you guys.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you board the plane. You sit in your usual seat and he sits beside you; that’s how it always is. It feels wrong, today.

“It’s not like we’re just going to disappear, though,” Hotch says to you, just so you can hear. “You know where I work after all.” You huff a laugh, your heart rate increasing more than you’d care to admit. “On top of that, we have no idea how long this case will last. Maybe it goes horribly wrong and you’re stuck with me forever.”

“We better solve it quickly, then,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him. He scoffs, and you shake your head. “But, really. I’ll miss working with you.” After a second, your eyes widen and you add, “All.”

He nods, shifting in his seat. “I’ll regret no longer having your team’s expertise.”

“Our teams are good together, for sure.”

~~~oOo~~~

After the case, you try not to look too blue as you step onto the jet for the last time. You and Holmes are the first ones on the jet, and when you sit across from him instead of your usual spot, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Do you know where we’re going next? What our next assignment is?” you ask. He shakes his head, and you look down at your hands.

“We won’t be travelling with the BAU,” he says, “but we will be working at headquarters for the meantime.”

“That’s going to be an adjustment,” you say, looking over at him. “Watching the team leave, not going with them.”

He nods. “But at least you’ll get to see him.”

“You mean them,” you say, furrowing your brow. “The team.”

As the words leave your mouth, Hotch walks on board. He nods at the two of you, his facial expression blank. He sits in his usual spot. He looks small.

“No, I said what I meant,” Holmes said, shrugging. “Maybe you just didn’t want to hear it.”

You don’t reply, looking over to where Hotch is sitting. You look to Holmes for permission, and he nods at you. You make your way over to Hotch, sitting next to him.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi,” he says back.

A beat.

“So—” you both say at the exact same time.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You go first,” he says.

“I’m going to miss you. The whole team,” you add, “but especially you.”

He flushes, giving a sort of smile as he shifts in his seat, nodding to you. “I’m going to miss you too.” You hold your breath, and he says, “But I figured, you know, there’s not really any reason we can’t still see each other. After this. We could get coffee sometime.”

You grin, bumping your shoulder against his. “Are you asking me out, Hotchner?” you whisper quietly, jokingly.

“Maybe,” he says, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “If you say yes.”

“Well,” you say, looking up and tapping your chin. You meet his eyes, and he’s staring at you like your next words are the most important thing in the world, “I would be an idiot if I said no.”

He smiles, big and wide like you’ve never seen and it goes straight to his eyes. ��Then it’s a date.”

“Then it is,” you say, smiling right back at him.

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hehe thanks for reading xx

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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silverstarsheep · 4 years

Text

Oh man, it’s a fic for the “Coffee Shop AU,” which is lead by @doodledrawsthings.

I started this really early on and wrestled with it a lot, so things changed and shifted a bit since I started writing it. Looking at the new stuff vs. old, I’m surprised what details I got accurate, and not at all surprised at what I got wrong. Quite a lot of it is super super SUPER inaccurate, sorry.

This is more or less my take on Luka’s transformation, so... Take it for what you will, haha.

I also finished it a while back, but never had the guts to actually post it for one reason or another--I may as well post it anyway, since it’s gotten this far.

Word count: 6,749

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Luka nearly flew out of the restaurant and into the cooler-than-normal evening air, stumbling down a few of the steps leading to the door. The sound of rain could be heard all around him--it hadn’t let up since he arrived. Standing underneath the awning with his umbrella cradled in the crook of his right arm, he stuffed both hands into his pockets, puffing out a frustrated sigh. His face was burning hot, and his chest was tight with indignation.

He should have known that a call to “make amends” from Vanessa was going to be a big, fat lie. Luka’s brow creased, and he stared at the damp pavement beneath the bottom step, silently wondering why he had ever thought that such would have been the case. During the legal battles of divorce and custody, that vile woman more than demonstrated her ice-cold and vitriolic feelings towards him.

Maybe, deep down, he still felt something for her... And he did truly want to make amends. Too bad the same wasn’t true for Vanessa.

Popping his umbrella open, he finally trotted down the rest of the stairs and to the sidewalk. It was about time that he went home, but along the way he needed to pick up little Harriet from her friend’s house. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind walking in the rain, but somehow he doubted she would.

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but shiver. Frown creasing his features further, he thought to himself, “Wasn’t it supposed to be in the 70′s tonight?” If only he had worn a thicker sweater... If it got any colder, he would have been able to see his breath!

To make matters worse, in the corner of his eye Luka could make out little white dots bouncing around on the ground. Pace slowing a bit, it wasn’t long before he was hearing heavier objects hitting his umbrella. Hail?! For pity’s sake, can’t he catch a break for just a second? Holding the umbrella tight, he started to run down the sidewalk, having to skid to a halt when he realized that he had nearly overshot his friend’s house.

Bounding up the porch, he knocked on the door, drumming his fingers against the umbrella’s handle. The door opened, however instead of being met with her caregiver, he was instead met with the very small, curly-haired Bonnie. She stared up at him with her big, purple eyes for a moment, then gave him a toothy grin.

“Hi!” she chirped. She looked over her shoulder, “Ms. Tina! Mr. Luka is here!”

“Tell him to come in, please!” he could hear a woman’s voice call from inside. Tina must have been making dinner.

The smell of steamed vegetables hit his senses in just the right way, causing his stomach to growl a little. However as he took in a deep breath, Luka’s throat felt rather sore. Not wanting to assume the worst, he simply brushed it off as him having raised his voice a bit too much when he spoke with Vanessa. The conversation did get quite heated, after all--but with Vanessa, one could say that she was always chilling.

Bonnie motioned for him to come inside as she skipped into the living room herself. The home was comfortably warm, a welcome change from the cold, wet outside. She flopped back onto the floor right next to Harriet, who was lying on her stomach and holding a purple crayon in a crab-like vice grip. She looked up and smiled.

“Oh, hi, dad!” she kicked her legs up into the air and drew both arms to her chest, “Did it go okay with mom...?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Luka replied with a sigh. He didn’t reply at first, trying to think over his response. Standing in the door frame he shook his folded umbrella off over the porch, then placed it inside beside the door. He could feel Harriet’s eyes piercing into him.

“Sorry to say, it didn’t go so well,” he finally stated, his shoulders slumping significantly. His daughter was young, but he knew she was smart. There was no sense hiding it, but the look of disappointment on her face made him feel regret tweak at his heart.

Bonnie spoke up, “She didn’t use any of her,” the girl wiggled her fingers in a “mysterious” fashion, “Eeevil magic on you, did she?”

Blinking, Luka couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh, no... She didn’t!” he grinned, “But if she did,” he grabbed his umbrella and brandished it like a sword, droplets of water scattering about, “I would’ve fought her off!”

When the two girls giggled at his display, Luka relaxed a bit. For Harriet, laughter was a powerful tool in these harsh times. First and foremost, making her happy and keeping her healthy was his biggest goal.

Just as he set the umbrella back down, Bonnie’s caregiver, Tina, stepped into the living room. She gave Luka a warm smile, “Hey! It sure sounds like it’s coming down out there, did you manage to stay dry?”

“I’m mostly dry, but it started hailing on the way here!”

Tina blinked, her dark brown eyes wide, “Hail?” she asked in a doubtful tone, “This time of year?” she made way towards the still open door and peered through it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, “Wow! Isn’t that something...” she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, “Well, I can’t let you walk home in that...”

“It surprised me, too,” Luka huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would it be too much to wait it out here?”

“Not a problem at all!” she flashed Luka a bright smile, “I can add some more to the dinner if you’d like to stay! Once Honey gets here, we can have a nice, big meal!”

Closing the door, Luka shot a glance to his daughter, “What do you think?” he asked, having to clear his throat, “Wanna eat dinner here?” his throat was starting to feel worse. Was he suddenly coming down with a cold, or something?

The girl threw both arms into the air, nearly tossing her crayon in the process, “Yeah!! Ms. Tina’s food is the best!”

Tina laughed in a merry way, then started for the kitchen once more. She muttered quietly to herself as she thought about how many more vegetables to steam, how many patties to fry... However she stopped in her tracks when Luka gently flagged her down.

“Need any help?” he asked. There was a sudden weight on his shoulders, as if someone had put a thick blanket over him. Despite this, he didn’t want to impose on such a good friend, especially after she had so kindly watched his daughter!

The woman smiled brightly and gave a wave of her hand, “Oh no! It’s a real simple meal tonight, but it’ll be delicious all the same,” she motioned to the couch, “Why don’t you watch the girls? That’d be a mighty help.”

“S-sure,” he replied, clearing his throat again, “But can I,” he cleared his throat again, this time ending with a small coughing fit, “Mmh, can I get a glass of water?”

Concern creasing her brow, Tina replied, “Well sure... Are you alright?”

With slow and careful movements, Luka took a seat, “Hm... All of the sudden, I’m not...” he rubbed at his face, it was burning hot, “I’m not feeling so great...”

“Dad, your face is all red!” Harriet remarked in shock.

“Goodness, she’s right!” Tina leaned over him, gently placing her hands on his arm and back, “Maybe you should go home and rest up!”

Brow creasing, Luka rubbed his forehead with the base of his palm. He took a moment to answer, but eventually nodded. Going home would be best... If he was getting sick, he didn’t want to risk making anyone else ill.

“Okay, Bonnie,” Tina said with a clap of her hands, “Get your shoes on.” when Bonnie rushed to her room to grab a pair of socks, Tina turned back to Luka, “Don’t you worry, I’ll drive you over. It’s not far, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk there, especially in hail.”

Luka merely nodded in agreement, however he looked to Harriet, “Hey, kiddo... You wanna spend the night here...?”

She shook her head briskly, her ponytail slapping the side of her face, “No! I need to make sure you’re okay, dad!” she said firmly. She went to the door to grab her shoes. Well, looks like that was settled...

Once Bonnie and Harriet had gotten their shoes on, the four of them piled into Tina’s mini van, and were off.

Trying to keep himself awake, Luka attempted to make small talk, “So... How’s it been fostering Bonnie?” he asked.

Tina smiled, “It’s been going wonderfully, but...” she sighed as they reached a stop sign, “We’re nearing the end of the 13 month care...”

Luka gripped his seat belt with both hands, “Have you and Honey... Considered adopting her?” he asked in a hopeful tone

Smile faltering, Tina seemed to hesitate before easing on the brakes, “Yes, but... Getting the paperwork cleared has been a struggle. Honey and I haven’t had any luck...”

“Ah, sorry... Maybe I can help you clear things up a bit?” Luka offered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“I’d appreciate that, and I’m sure Bonnie would, too!” Tina chimed with a toothy grin, “You need to put all that law studying to good use, huh?”

With the vehicle thoroughly pelted with hail, and a couple blocks later, they pulled into Luka’s drive. The father-daughter pair said their goodbyes and quickly retreated inside, however the hail was finally starting to subside. Now that they were home, it was time to get Harriet some supper.

Frankly, he wasn’t feeling very hungry himself, but one way or another he had to make sure that his daughter ate. He shambled into the kitchen and pried open the fridge--the seal was oddly tighter than usual--where he produced a frozen kid’s meal. Harriet stood in the door frame, watching him with worry in her eyes. She wrung her little hands nervously.

“Dad, I can make it myself!” she urged. She knew how to use the microwave...! It was just a little hard to know how many zeros to put on it when cooking something, and she often forgot to stir it halfway through... But she didn’t mind eating it a little cold! Honest!

Luka pulled a knife from the drawer and started poking holes into the film. He glanced over his shoulder with a weak smile, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” he said with a low voice. Using his head, he motioned for her to go to the bathroom, “Why don’t you kick off your shoes and wash your hands?”

Hesitating, Harriet bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to leave her dad alone... But if she was quick about it, then it wouldn’t be a problem! Maybe she could even grab her stool from the bathroom so she could reach the microwave buttons, and kitchen sink. Then she could make her dad a meal, too! The girl rushed deeper into the house without another word.

In the bathroom, Harriet made quick work of washing her hands, knocking over the soap bottle in the process of dispensing some of the foam onto her hands. She’d pick it up later! As she rushed to rinse her hands, she noticed her dear owl plush, Professor Popcorn, sitting by the sink. She had to rinse off his dear little beak this morning, and she must have left him there when she heard she was going to visit Bonnie.

Wringing her hands dry on a towel, she picked him up carefully, “Professor!” she cried, “Dad’s feeling sick, what do we do?”

She tried to imitate the voice her father would use when speaking for the owl by making her voice sound deeper, “Hm, I say that a hot bowl of soup will fix him right up!” she waved the plush around gently to make it look like he was talking.

“You’re right, Professor Popcorn!” Harriet confirmed with a nod, “Dad loves chicken soup, and we got a can of it! I can heat it up in the microwave!”

“I’ll help you read the instructions!” she had the professor conclude, manipulating his wing to adjust his glasses.

Meanwhile, Luka’s time was starting to get harder. His vision was getting hazy, his head was spinning, and his entire body felt sore. Dark splotches obscured his vision, and it almost looked as though his own arms were starting to turn dark.

Rubbing at his forehead with his knuckles, there was a loud clatter as the knife tumbled out of his hands and fell to the floor. Thankfully it didn’t land anywhere near his foot, however it was curious; he had a tight grip on that between his finger and thumb.

Pain snaked its way through his body as he leaned over to pick it up, causing him to grit his teeth and close his eyes tightly. He froze in place, one hand pressed against the counter top as one reached for the ground. Sweat began to pour from his brow in droves, drip, drip dripping onto his arm and the floor. At that point he had dared to open his eyes, and his stomach did a back-flip when he saw the state of his hand.

It... Wasn’t his hand anymore, or at least, it didn’t look like his hand. It had been replaced with a paw-like two-fingered hand that was a deep shade of purple. Said purple was slithering up his arm with snake-like tendrils. Losing his grip on the counter, Luka only managed to gasp as he fell roughly onto his knees. He looked to his right hand, which was much the same--thumbless and purple. No wonder he had dropped the knife! The purple substance had reached well past his elbow there.

The lights above flickered as fear struck his heart. With clumsy movements he tried to manipulate his new “hands” to try and scrape and push the purple stuff off of him, but all that succeeded in was sending droplets of purple onto the tiled floor. His arms remained unchanged, and the color only seemed to pick up the pace as it soon reached his shoulder and crept up his neck.

Bowling over as pain overtook him, Luka wrapped both arms around his stomach and pressed his forehead against the now-damp floor. His jaw was locked open, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his vision was filled with a golden light as tears streamed from them.

Fabric ripped and shredded as his form shifted and grew. The lights buzzed as they flickered wildly. A mane sprouted from his neck, ripping and tearing his shirt further. It didn’t take long for his entire body to be shrouded in the purple tone. Finally, when his legs began to twist together, Luka let out a scream.

The kitchen lights burst. The house was shrouded in darkness.

When the lights began to flicker, Harriet clutched Professor Popcorn close to her chest, gasping in fear. She hated it when the power went out! She closed her eyes as the lights buzzed.

“D-dad?!” she cried. That was when she heard his scream, and her heart fluttered. She yelped when the lights went out, and without thinking about it she jumped from her stool and rushed into the hallway. However her pace slowed, her hand gently guiding her along the hall when she heard an inhuman panting from in the kitchen.

It sounded like there was some kind of monster in there... But monsters weren’t real, right? Dad always told her that she had nothing to be afraid of under her bed or in her closet... So the only thing that should be in the kitchen was her dad....

Right?

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and every fiber in her body was telling her to run away, to hide under her bed until the power came on, or her dad coaxed her out... But despite her wanting to scream at her legs to stop, they carried her all the way to the kitchen door.

The house was dark, but there was just enough light for Harriet to see. In the kitchen, however, it was as if something had absorbed all of the light. It was pitch black, and she couldn’t make anything out--even the window had turned black.

Harriet fought back her tears. She was so frightened that she could barely speak, but she just had to make sure her father was ok. She finally managed to speak up again with a squeak, “Dad...?”

Something in the darkness moved. She could hear it shuffling about. Slithering around like a giant snake. Her grip around her plush tightened, and her heart nearly sprung into her mouth. A set of bright, golden eyes appeared in the darkness, illuminating a bit of the kitchen with yellow light. She could just make out the shape of the eye’s owner--big and purple, with a scruffy-looking mane. It had a long, long body, and two arms that propped it up.

Around it were scraps of clothes and little puddles of a dark liquid. In the dim light she couldn’t tell what color those were, but her imagination quickly filled in the blanks--blood.

It was blood. It was her father’s blood. Whatever monster this was had ripped her dad to ribbons and ate him, leaving nothing but his shredded clothing behind.

Harriet’s mouth dropped open, but nothing escaped her throat but air. Tears were streaming from her eyes. The monster opened its own mouth, revealing its wicked, sharp fangs. More golden light spilled out into the kitchen from the beast’s maw. Its breathing was raspy. It shuffled about and moved its mouth as if trying to speak.

“Ha... Harri....” it croaked. It almost sounded like her father. Chills washed through the girl’s tiny body, and her hairs stood on end, “Ha.. rriet...” oh peck, it knew her name!

It reached out to her with inhuman fingers. Frozen in place, Harriet hadn’t a single clue what to do. Her legs continued to refuse to listen to her--now that she wanted to move, they were suddenly cemented to the carpet. She whimpered pathetically.

Hot fingers brushed against her cheek, the tips of claws gently caressing her face. Harriet inhaled. Then she shrieked. As loud as she could she screamed bloody murder, and the monster shrank back in shock. Her legs finally listened to her, and she bolted for the door, which she flung open and didn’t think to close behind her.

“W... Wai... Wait!!” the monster called. But it fell on deaf ears.

Not only did Luka’s body ache, but his heart did, too. He never wanted to frighten his daughter, he never wanted to make her feel unsafe or in danger. But now, it almost seemed as though he had no choice. Whatever form he had taken on mortified the poor child, and now she was running into the late evening streets, completely unprotected.

He had to go after her. He had to make sure she was safe, and he had to let her know that her dad was still here, despite not looking the same anymore. He attempted to push himself upright, however he quickly realized that he no longer had legs. When they had twisted together in such a painful manner, they had fused together to make one long tail. There was no way he could chase after her like this!

He’d just have to drag himself, then. With his arms he began to haul himself past the tile, over the carpet, and through the door. As he lowered himself off of the porch, he realized that his body was remarkably light. He had no issue dragging himself across the ground, and now that he was on the stairs, he felt as though he were...

Floating?! He could float? There wasn’t any time to question it... He’d just have to take it as a blessing in disguise and hope that he could use it to his advantage. He pushed himself off of the ground, and much to his surprise, he remained in the air. Twisting his body this way and that like a snake, he quickly found that this mode of transportation was much faster than crawling around like a newborn. As he got the hang of it, he could pick up the pace.

Man, he hoped no one would see him like this...

Rounding the corner, Luka looked this way and that until he caught a glimpse of Harriet, who was bolting down the sidewalk towards the park. He gasped, “Harriet!” his voice boomed. It echoed and carried throughout the subdivision, causing a few dogs to start barking in shock. Even Harriet was surprised, and she tripped over her own feet and smacked into the pavement.

Luka clapped a hand over his mouth. Goodness, did his voice carry! He was sure to be seen now. Before he could catch up to her, his daughter had picked herself up and was running with new strength across the road to the park. Her beloved owl doll lay limp on the cracked pavement.

“W-wait, please, wait!” Luka called, pathetically trying to moderate his voice, “Hatty, please!” he hoped that the fond nickname would cause her to pause, but she kept on running. If he could have seen her face, he would have noted that her eyes were screwed shut. Thank goodness no cars were coming...

Making haste to pick up the doll, Luka was hot on Harriet’s tail. He could hear a few people poking out of their houses nearby, which only made him speed up. He quickly hopped over the brick wall and started his search for Harriet, looking in, around and under anything that she could have been inside of.

Finally, he found her huddled in the corner of one wall, concealed by a bush coated in flowers. She was shaking like a leaf and trying her hardest to hold back terrified sobs. Coiling himself inside the bush, he hoped that it would be enough to hide himself as he tried to console his daughter.

“Harriet?” he cooed. His voice was still too loud, even as he tried to whisper. It didn’t sound right, “Harriet, it’s me--it’s...”

She pushed herself further into the corner, turning her head towards the wall. She sobbed quietly, and Luka’s lower lip trembled.

“Sweetheart, please--please don’t be...”

This time Harriet sobbed louder, hiccuping into her knees. Luka shrank back a little looking at his empty hand. Could he really console her like this? When he looked and sounded like a monster? He then looked to the plush he held in his right hand. Professor Popcorn... Maybe this could help.

Holding the owl out, Luka tried to hide his face behind the plush as he put on the special voice he always used for the dear old professor, “H-hey there, kiddo! It’s me, Professor Popcorn!” the owl waved his little wing, and Harriet lifted her head. Luka dared to crack a weak smile, “I know things are really scary right now... But I just want ya to know that everything’s gonna be O-KAY!”

Harriet turned, staring intently at the doll. The way he moved, the way he spoke... It was exactly like how her dad would talk when they played together. Sure, his voice sounded a little... Scary, but the tone, the inflections... They were all the same.

“And that I love you...” Luka’s voice started to seep into Professor Popcorn’s, “Very, very much...”

Harriet dared to look up. Through the branches and leaves she could make out the monster’s face, his eyes glowing faintly. As he took on a gentle expression and leaned forward, she could almost see her father’s face in its features...

“... Y-you... Dropped him while you were running...” Luka continued, “I know how much you hate it when his beak gets dirty.”

Tears were spilling from her eyes again, and she shuffled about anxiously. Was it? Could it be?! Her eyes darted up and down his body, doubts still sprouting in her mind. But all the same, she wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true, because it was an awful lot better than her dad being gone.

“Da... aad??” she hiccuped. Luka smiled weakly and nodded. With a loud sob she jumped into his arms, pressing her face into his scruffy-looking purple mane, which was surprisingly soft. She buried her nose into it, drinking in his smell. He looked different, he sounded different, but now she knew, this was her dad.

Wrapping his hands around her tiny frame, he gently rubbed the back of her head, whispering into her ear, “Shhh... It’s okay, it’s okay...” he took in a shaky breath, “I’m still here, dad’s still here...”

Harriet continued to sob. She must have been so frightened. Guilt stung at his chest, knowing that he was the cause of her terror... However he nearly jumped when she started to spurt out apologies. He backed away, his brow creased.

“What are you apologizing for?”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Harriet hiccuped again and sniffled, “I... I thought you were a m-monster,” she replied, “An... And you ate my dad... I ha-hated you for a little bit...”

Carefully cradling her shoulders in his hands, Luka shook his head, “No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, Hatty. I... I’d be scared, too.” with one finger he wiped away a tear, “But you know, you’re very brave,” he added, “You looked me in the face now, and realized I wasn’t a monster.”

A little smile appeared on Harriet’s lips as she continued to sniffle, “E-even if you look like a monster,” she whispered, “I... I still love you, dad.”

Scooping up into his arms, Luka gave his daughter a tight squeeze. There was some relief that washed over him, knowing that his daughter still loved him despite all of this, however worry had started to snake its way into his mind. How was he going to care for her when he looked like this? He hadn’t even seen his own reflection yet, but considering how Harriet reacted, he wouldn’t be able to even face his best of friends...

Suddenly, there was a jab at his lower end, as if someone had prodded him with a stick. Crap, he had been seen! Tensing up, the length of his body coiled tighter as he held Harriet closer to his chest, protecting her from sight and harm with his torso. He must not have concealed himself enough. Curse this snake-like body!

“A-alright!” a man’s voice demanded, “Come out, y-you... Beast!”

Luka’s body went cold. What was he to do now?! Fear had pooled in Harriet’s eyes once again, and she clung to his mane as tightly as she could. He could feel her little body trembling.

“Come out or I’ll shoot!”

He realized he didn’t have a choice. He popped out from the bush, scattering leaves and flower petals everywhere. A group of ten or eleven adults had gathered, a few of them with children who were cowering behind their legs and clinging to their pant legs. The group gasped audibly, backing away as they erupted into distress.

“Oh gosh, it’s got a kid!” one shrieked. This caused a few screams within the group, and Harriet to try and hide.

“SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!”

“No, get animal control!”

“Roger, just SHOOT the thing, already!!”

The man in front, who was holding a hunter’s gun, was quite literally shaking in his boots. He aimed his weapon, but his moment of hesitation gave Luka enough time to react. He wanted a distraction, a diversion of some kind, and when he screwed his eyes shut he somehow willed it to be. The area was suddenly plunged into darkness as if the sun had been blotted out. Both his daughter and the group screamed, but it was more than enough of a distraction as he leaped over the brick wall and flew off in search of a proper hiding spot.

The two emerged from the darkness as if it were a bubble. Blinking rapidly, Harriet peered over her father’s shoulder, finding it curious that the darkness was in such a concentrated area.

“D-did you do that?” she squeaked.

Glancing over his shoulder, Luka was equally surprised at what he had done. Frankly, he didn’t want to even think about it, “I-I guess so...” he replied. He dreaded the idea that powers came with this monstrous form, but as he lifted them above the treetops in hopes that they’d look like a bird or lost kite, he realized that his say didn’t matter.

Harriet continued to grip his mane for security, her eyes drifting to the land below, “Uh... We’re getting kinda high...”

“Sorry, I don’t want them to catch us,” he glanced at his daughter, “Is it too high?” he tightened his arms around her.

“N-no... I kinda like it.” she admitted. She fell silent for a few moments more, watching the city go by beneath them. She eventually asked, “Where are we going?”

Luka bit his lower lip, “Not sure... Somewhere to hide until the neighborhood calms down.”

“Um... Why not that old movie theater they closed down?” she suggested, “That should be big enough.”

“That sounds good.” Luka whispered in reply. It’d have to do for now, seeing he could sneak in through one of the doors. Or at the very least, they alleyway would suffice as a hiding place.

Locating the old movie theater, Luka had to squeeeeeze his way into the alleyway, between the brick walls. Was it just him, or had he gotten larger? He felt so big and obvious already! There was no way he’d be able to fit inside the theater like this, so he just hoped no one would be coming into the alleyway, especially this late.

He lowered Harriet to the ground, “We’ll stay here for a while...” he whispered.

“Dad, we’ve gotta get some help!” Harriet cried, however she tried keeping her voice down, “We need to find someone who can turn you back to normal!”

Luka’s tail twisted itself into knots, and his expression turned dour, “I don’t know anyone that can fix this,” he sighed, looking at his hands, “And going out now, with everyone in a tizzy about a monster... That’d be asking for trouble.”

“What about Ms. Tina and Honey?” Harriet persisted, “They might be able to help! They’ve got a real big basement you can hide in!” she threw her arms in the air to demonstrate.

“Harriet...” he placed a paw on the top of her head, “... No, I’m sorry. I need to lay low for a while. At least let things calm down. It’s hard telling if anyone would believe me.”

“Bonnie would...” she pouted in reply.

Heaving a sigh Luka paused to think, placing his free hand to where his chin would have normally been. If he was going to be laying low for a time, he couldn’t keep Harriet with him, now could he?

If anyone found out that he was a monster, there would be no chance of him being able to keep Harriet’s custody. After such a long and difficult battle, that made his stomach churn. The idea of Harriet falling into foster care, or even worse, falling into the custody of Vanessa, made his stomach do back flips. What was the best option here? His expression grew grim, a frown etching itself deeper and deeper into his dark features.

“You okay, dad?”

“Hey,” he spoke up, “Why don’t I drop you off at Tina’s house? She and Honey can take care of you for a while.” he paused, “Until I can get this all sorted.”

“What?!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes widening, “No! No way!” she pushed her father’s paw off her head and pressed her hands against his chest, “I’m staying with you!”

“Harriet--”

“I don’t want to leave you!” her fingers wrapped around his fur, “And, and--you’d be lonely without me!” tears welled in her big blue eyes again, “You need someone to scout for you, to see if there are people around! What if something happened, and I never saw you again?!” the tears spilled over her cheeks and down her chin.

“Hey, hey...” Luka cooed, placing his all-too-massive paws on her shoulders, “Okay... Okay, you can stay with me...” he hoped that he wouldn’t regret that decision.

Smiling, Harriet wiped her tears away, “Mean it?”

“Yeah.” Luka nodded, “I mean it.”

Lying on the ground, Luka allowed Harriet to climb into his crossed arms. They remained silent for a time as he waited for enough time to pass. He wondered if anyone would be checking out their house. He certainly hoped not, but he could imagine that most of his neighbors would recognize Harriet as the “hat kid from down the street” without much problem. He sighed.

Harriet’s stomach growled, “Dad,” she gently tugged at a tuft of fur, “I’m hungry.”

Lifting his head, Luka frowned. Shoot, he didn’t finish making her that frozen meal, did he? And he didn’t have his wallet, either, “Ah, sorry kiddo... You’ll have to wait a couple more minutes before we can try to go home.”

“Hm...” her little face scrunched up in thought, “Oh, I know! There’s a restaurant nearby, I think! I can dig out some food from the trash!” before her father could object, she jumped out of his arms and ran off.

With a quick motion, Luka grabbed her by the back of her shirt and lifted her in the air, “Oooh, no you don’t, kiddo!” she squirmed a little but quickly gave up, “I’m not letting you get a stomach bug, or eat a rat or something.” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Folding her arms over her chest, Harriet pouted, “Aw... What if I wanted to eat a rat?”

Lifting himself into the air, he plopped her back into his arms, “Well, you’re not gonna.” he glanced to the sky, which had gone completely dark, “It ought to be late enough for everyone to go back home...” . At least he’d be able to hide fairly well in the dark of the night.

There were a number of police cars around the neighborhood. Luka’s body had gone cold again, not wanting to think about what would happen if one of them spotted him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and then slid across the subdivision, keeping low to the ground and hiding in any shadows he could find. He crawled over fences, through backyards, and around houses until they finally reached their destination.

Their house was still pitch dark. A few police cars had just pulled away from the front--had they investigated the home? Luka chewed on his cheek, hoping that they had gotten everything they needed by now and were all gone.

“Dad,” Harriet whispered, “There are people in the front, how will we get in?”

Eyes drifting along the back wall, he decided that they’d just have to break in. How odd was that? Breaking into your own house... Well, it had to be done. Hovering to the windows, he attempted to peer inside of one, however his glowing eyes were all that reflected back at him. He scoffed in disgust.

“You ok?” Harriet asked.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” he asked. When she nodded, he held her up to the window, “Take a look inside, and let me know if you see anyone.”

Cupping her hands around her eyes, Harriet looked through the window with a scrutinizing stare, “All clear!” she said. The pair repeated this process a few more times until they eventually concluded that the house was empty. What a relief!

“Okay, hold onto me,” Luka said. Once Harriet’s arms were wrapped around him, he located her room’s window, and pried his fingers underneath the frame. It took a bit of work, but he eventually managed to pry it open with a loud grunt, “Okay, go inside, and get your clothes.”

Harriet frowned, “We can’t say here anymore...?”

Drooping a bit, Luka shook his head, “Sorry... We can’t. Not with everyone suspicious of it, now.”

Despite her feelings, she complied and crawled through the window. As she went to find her suitcase, she turned to the window, “Can you help me...?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Luka wasn’t sure he’d fit in her room, let alone through the window. But, he’d give it a shot. Pressing his head through the window, he found it to be quite the tight squeeze, but after a few attempts, he managed to get inside, knocking over a lamp in the process. The bulb shattered upon impact with the ground.

“Oh!” Harriet cried. Realizing she rose her voice a bit too much, she shrank back a little and lowered her voice, “Did you get smaller?” she asked. It wasn’t a significant change by any means--he was still massive--but he fit in her little room better than he did the alleyway.

“I don’t know,” Luka shrugged with a furrowed brow. Picking the lamp off the ground, he didn’t really know what to make of this. But there was no time to dwell on it! They had clothes and food to pack!

Harriet passed her favorite outfits over to her father, who carefully folded them into a purple-colored suitcase. A tight fit, but Harriet managed to find space for a few toys by cramming them in the pockets. They grabbed her back pack, dumping Harriet’s kindergarten books unceremoniously onto the floor. With a larger duffel bag in tow, the pair went into the kitchen to pack more supplies.

Harriet’s bag was filled with the lighter supplies--money, bandages, Luka’s phone, a lighter, and a number of other necessities. As he took a few items, such as bandages, from the bathroom, that was when he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection blankly at first, then his expression twisted into one of disgust. He turned away, not wanting to look at it any longer.

Back in the kitchen, the duffel bag was filled with whatever non-perishable foods Luka could find, as well as a pot or two. He double-checked everything in the bags, then slung the duffel over what shoulders he had. He had to tighten the strap to make sure it stayed in place.

Luka couldn’t think of anything else to pack, especially anything that wouldn’t weigh them down too much. He was certain that he’d think of more on their way out of the city, but at this point it was best to just get the both of them to someplace safe.

With everything in tow, Luka scooped Harriet into his arms, and slipped into the night, his sleek purple body blending perfectly in the dark. As he rose into the air, he ran a few options in his head; where they could hide, where they could find shelter, where they could get food... It was going to be terribly difficult for his little daughter, and he so desperately wished that he could have simply left her with a trusted friend instead.

Harriet spoke up when they were high enough to soar over buildings, pulling him from his thoughts, “Hey... Dad?”

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“... Do you think mom was the one that did this to you?”

Luka fell silent, his tail jerking a bit. It was odd; until now, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. But as his stomach churned, he could only conclude that it was true. The drink Vanessa offered him, the sick feeling he got after leaving the restaurant, the horrific transformation. It all added up. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned deeply.

Five years later, Vanessa was just as petty as when Harriet was born.

“You know, I think you’re right.” he finally sighed, “Somehow I don’t think she’d be very willing to reverse it. For now, let’s just... Get somewhere safe.”

A pang of guilt flashed in Harriet’s eyes as she gently placed her hand against her father’s chest. She slowly nodded in reply, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Solemnly and in silence, the pair flew to the horizon, uncertainty following them like a storm cloud.

#doodledrawsthings #ahit 'coffee shop au'#ahit coffee shop au #sheep of the epic story

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httpsohnpouts · 3 years

Text

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐞 | 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: ceo!sangyeon x coworker!fem.reader (ft. playboy!jacob)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: cuss words here and there, mentions of alcohol

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.0k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: happy new year! dedicating my first fic of 2021 to my love, yu, @lsangyeons. ily just as much as i love sangyeon. cute ass couple right here. mwah. i hope you like it.

“you’re late.” your boss uttered as soon as he heard the click of the door and the clack of your heel on the floor of his office, “i’m also here, could have easily stayed home.” that. that, is something he didn’t like. he liked being the boss - not the other way around - not being the one given orders; that’s his job. that’s what irritated him about you, the fact that he spent his whole life not taking shit from anybody and proffering to be the man on top- the one who was superior- in a non narcissistic manner, but if the shoe fits then so be it.

ever since you stepped on the premises of his building, the building worth millions i may add, every little thing you did aggravated him. the way you would always be far in front of other staff in your departement, always one step ahead of them in terms of skills and traits, how you never failed to show up to work (whilst you were late occasionally due to your form of transportation continuing to be unpredictable) but nonetheless, you made up for it in the end with your customer reviews and daily late nights at the office with your contact lenses far gone hidden beneath the endless chocolate bar wrappers and your glasses framing your face instead, as paper upon paper consumed your undivided attention. he could also mention the fact that he noticed how you, regardless of your relationship with, never once was unprofessional and always looked their best at all times.

“you know, if you put as much effort into your work as you do getting under my skin you’d be promoted.” sangyeon cleared his throat and loosened the top of his tie, eyeing the way you lightly placed a stack of documents on his desk, taking a seat that sat just in front, “boss, don’t act like i’m not the most hard working person in this very building - besides you of course - and i put just as much effort into my work as i do at being your most favourite employee.” you retorted as the male opposite found himself unable to form a word, something you did to him more often than not.

it’s not that he was a pushover and let you do as you pleased, teasing him was off limits to everyone and they knew that. all the while you knew, of course you knew, but that didn’t stop you from making it a part of your daily routine. you could say he just had this form of admiration towards you, no, not admiration. you know that feeling as to when you find yourself being completely and utterly whoo-ed over by someone without even having to do anything remotely intimate, like parents watching their child perform their first school performance of twinkle twinkle little star, or, when you’re completely in love with someone that you just adore everything they do and say; proud of them and their accomplishments. you could say that’s how sangyeon felt. except, he wasn’t in love with you.

“you sound in love to me dude.” sangyeon’s close friend, jacob, claimed as he took yet another swig of his drink, lazily seated within the leather booth in the far corner of the bar the two were currently at.

the male scoffed, his face crinkling in disgust from the bitter aftertaste of the liquor in his hand, “and what makes you say that huh? mr playboy himself”. the latter let out a chuckle at that, sangyeon’s dig doing nothing but proving his point.

“i gotta know what love is to be able to stay away from it my dude - it’s simple, i don't want that shit. therefore i learned the signs and get rid before it gets serious,” jacob winked as he ended his speech, leaving sangyeon in a whirlpool of his thoughts, “if i just sat through your whiny ass for forty minutes, expressing your undenying love for this girl, you better act on it before i actually strangle you with your own intestines.”

whilst sangyeon knew his friend was joking, and rather, he was sure he was exaggerating the feelings he held for you, he knew he had a point, “the worst she could do is say no, right? I say go for it.”

and he did, setting his ego aside, something he would never imagine doing in his lifetime - let alone for a girl of whom managed to capture his heart and occupy his mind twenty-four seven - and within twenty minutes after bidding his farewell to his companion, he was at your front door.

even if he wanted to back out, he had no choice as you stood clad in your pyjamas, rubbing your eyes as he cursed himself for not realising that of course you'd be asleep at this time. hell, he didn't even think about what he was going to say to you, he could have saved himself by throwing a bouquet of flowers in your face to make up for his jumbled thoughts and his mismatched sentences but in his flurry to confess to you before his confidence (and alcohol) went out of his system that he didnt think of anything but going to see you.

“hey boss, are you okay?” you croaked, breaking the silence that fell upon the two of you.

“i’m sangyeon.” he announced suddenly, being put on the spot, all of his confidence leaving as quickly as it came, rubbing the back of his neck upon realising how stupid he sounded.

your brow lifted, what the hell is he saying? And quite frankly, sangyeon thought the exact same, come on dude, you got this.

“i know you are. are you okay, boss?” you said, pressing the back of your hand to the males forehead, coming to the conclusion that he isn’t ill, intoxicated but okay.

“how do i say this? I want you to stop calling me boss,” he demanded, cutting you off before you could even respond to such a command, “and i want you to go on a date with me.”

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Damsels, by SisterSpooky1013

Chapter Two: Assignment

Read chapter one here / Rated E

Tagging @today-in-fic

Tense. Awkward. Ambiguous. There are many words she might use to describe her relationship with Mulder at the moment, none of them particularly pleasant. As things between them become more intense, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that their feelings for one another are beyond those of friendship, partnership, or even family. The problem is, neither of them seems willing to risk an overture bigger than a New Years kiss, an offer of wine and cheese, a night of baseball, or even a request for a sperm donor. The little gestures that say they want more pepper their interactions, but the grand gesture is yet to be seen. They’re in a standoff; guns drawn, but no one is willing to fire the first shot. Stalemate. Conundrum. Catch 22. Stuck.

An idle Tuesday afternoon spent completing case reports is both a treasure and a torture. The smell of his cologne when he leans over her desk to point out a typo makes her dizzy with desire. His boyish smile at his own cheesy jokes begs her to kiss his pouty lips. Just the shadow of his presence, his tall frame looming over her like a safe harbor, makes her ache. She wants to be near him, but being near him is a test of every shred of self control she possesses. How she has not yet climbed into his lap on his flimsy office chair is a minor miracle.

For this reason, being called into A.D. Skinner’s office for an impromptu meeting is a welcome reprieve. Mulder is perplexed as to why they only requested her but she shrugs him off, promising to fill him in on the details when she gets back if he finishes the case report he’s been toiling away at for the better part of the day. He gives her a coy smile that makes her belly do flips as she pulls the door closed behind her. Each step she takes away from the basement releases her from the pull of his nearness and she’s able to breathe easier, but knows she’ll start to miss him within the hour.

When she arrives in Skinner’s office, she’s surprised to find that A.D. Kersh is also present. A most unpleasant surprise, given their history.

“Agent Scully, please take a seat,” Skinner directs her, and she sits in the empty chair beside Kersh. This is normally a situation in which Mulder would be by her side, which adds to her discomfort.

“Agent Scully,” Skinner begins, “you’ve been requested to assist in a special investigation being handled by Kersh’s team. It’s an undercover operation.”

Scully’s eyebrows lift in surprise and confusion. “Is Agent Mulder also being requested, sir?” she asks, wondering if this would be a repeat of Arcadia. Though if they went undercover as a married couple now, things may play out a bit differently than last time.

“No,” Skinner continues, “you, and you alone, have been specifically requested. Agent Mulder will not be needed for this investigation.”

“Can I ask why?” she queries, characteristically being respectful of the authority of the men in the room, while also skeptical of Kersh’s motives.

Skinner looks to Kersh, silently signaling him to take up the explanation.

“Agent Scully, this case requires an undercover operation in search of a missing young woman,” Kersh explains in his deadpan, unfriendly demeanor. “Mila Chamberlain went missing from her New York apartment four months ago. Her parents have connections with the bureau by way of a scholarship they fund. They believe that Mila is being held against her will in Philadelphia by a man named Ricky Dean. Our investigation so far has been stalled by the fact that Mr. Dean has a very tight circle and no one is willing to talk. At this point we believe an undercover agent is our best opportunity to locate Mila and extricate her from the situation she’s in.”

Scully listens quietly with her hands folded in her lap. When Kersh finishes, she looks to Skinner to gauge his response, then back to Kersh. She has a feeling there’s something they aren’t telling her.

“What’s the assignment, sir? What is it that I can provide or do that the agents in your division can’t?”

Kersh looks at Skinner and waits.

“Agent Scully, Ricky Dean is the owner and operator of a large and very successful gentlemen’s club in Philly,” Skinner explains, forcing eye contact that clearly makes him uncomfortable.

Scully juts out her chin and looks at him expectantly. It would appear that she has to pull teeth to get the details of this case. “What is the assignment, sir?” she asks again, clear irritation in her voice.

Kersh pipes in. “We need an agent to go undercover as a dancer, Agent Scully, to get close to Ricky and the other girls who work there. To locate Mila and extract her from the club.”

Scully’s mouth falls open slightly. She has to be missing something. “A dancer? Forgive my candor, sir, but am I to understand that you’re asking me to go undercover as a stripper?” She works very hard to keep the edge out of her voice.

“That’s correct, Agent Scully,” Skinner replies. “If you recall, when you signed on as a Special Agent with the FBI you agreed to investigate and solve cases by whatever means necessary.” It seems that Skinner has rehearsed this well. He’s ready for her objections and has prepared rebuttals, though the flush on his neck gives away just how uncomfortable this conversation is for him.

“I do understand that, sir, however I can’t help but wonder why I specifically am being selected for this assignment. I’m assigned to the X Files. This is not an X File. Surely an agent in A.D. Kersh’s division can assist with this.”

Skinner shifts uncomfortably in his seat and avoids her eyes. She looks at Kersh, openly frustrated. “Sir?” she asks.

Skinner speaks, looking at his desk. “We require an agent with a certain…look. Age demographic, physical…features. They have to be able to get a job at the club without the opportunity for a plant. They have to walk in off the street with the certainty that they’ll be hired,” he raises his gaze to look at her. “There is no one on Kersh’s team who fits that description.”

Now it’s Scully who blushes. They’re assigning her to this case because they think that she, of all people, can get a job at a strip club. She swallows hard.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m very uncomfortable with this assignment.” She looks back and forth between the two A.D.s, directing her plea to whichever she might be able to sway.

“And with all due respect, Agent Scully,” Skinner replies, pulling rank, “we are asking you as a courtesy. Need I remind you that you are not at liberty to pick and choose which assignments you take?”

That’s it. There’s no option to back out or say no. All she has hope for is to try to negotiate some of the parameters. She looks at her hands, which she hadn’t realized she was wringing in her lap. Her skin is now mottled and red.

“I understand, sir. If I may, this sounds like a very…sensitive situation. One in which other agents being aware of the assignment could compromise the case.” This is her very professional way of saying that if the guys in the bullpen get wind that Agent Scully is on assignment as a stripper, they will surely pay a recreational visit to the club. She’s been through a lot and there are many challenges she knows she can overcome, however her coworkers seeing her in such a degrading situation is not something she is capable of surviving.

“Of course, we’ve considered that as well. No one other than myself, A.D. Kersh and the lead investigator on the case, Special Agent Wiley, will be aware of your assignment. We have and will continue to go to great lengths to protect your privacy on this, Agent Scully.” Skinner has softened just a bit now that he got past showing Kersh that he can compel his agents to toe the line as well as any A.D., even unruly ones like Mulder and Scully.

“What about Agent Mulder?” she asks, lifting her gaze. “I don’t mean to be dramatic, sir, but if he finds out about this, he’ll…I’m honestly not sure what he’ll do but I don’t imagine it will be pleasant.” She pictures Mulder storming the strip club, throwing her over his shoulder and hauling her out of there like she’s a wayward teenager. That’s the only scenario even worse than the assignment itself.

Skinner nods solemnly. “Yes, I’ve considered that as well. You’ll tell Agent Mulder that I assigned you to assist with a case at Quantico and that you’ll be away for a few weeks. Tomorrow morning you’ll be transported to your temporary residence in Philly and you will cut all contact with him, and I do mean ALL contact, Agent Scully. I’ll deal with him after you’re gone.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I need to know right now?” She feels nausea creeping up her spine.

“That’s it for now, Agent Scully. Report to my office at 0400 hours tomorrow. You’re to bring nothing. Not your wallet or your service weapon, and definitely not your cell phone. Everything you need will be supplied to you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

She stands and leaves his office, a lump forming in her throat as she blinks furiously against the tears that threaten to break loose. Once in the hall, she makes a beeline for the ladies room and spends the better part of 20 minutes calming herself down. This is a living nightmare. She can’t even begin to think about what she’ll be asked to do. What absolute depravity she’ll need to bear witness to, much less participate in. Only two people other than her doctors have seen her in anything less than a bathing suit in the last 7 years; Ed and Mulder. The idea of taking her clothes off in front of anyone, much less men there for the express purpose of ogling her, makes her physically ill. There’s a strong possibility that she’ll deliver a right hook to the first guy who lays a hand on her and get herself fired, which might actually be the best case scenario.

And Mulder. She has to lie to Mulder. Even if she gets through the initial lie, she’ll have to come clean eventually. What will he think of her? This might seal her fate with whatever is going on between them. Knowing that she has done this, that she has degraded herself so completely and defied her own morals in such a profound way, could change how he sees her irreparably. After talking herself down from quitting on the spot several times, she leaves the bathroom and heads to the basement.

Mulder has his feet propped up on his desk, the completed case file stacked neatly in the corner as he flips through a stack of photographs. When she pushes the door open, he smiles broadly and she feels a clench in her chest.

“Hey, you’re back. That was a seriously long meeting. The case file is all done, so what’s up?” he asks, bringing his feet to the floor and propping his elbows on the desk.

“Oh, nothing exciting.” She’s already unsure if she can fool him. “They need some help at Quantico, a big case with a heavy autopsy load, and Skinner is going to reassign me for a few weeks.”

He looks at her quizzically and she feels her pulse quicken. “Really? What case is that? I don’t think I’ve heard anything about it.”

“Uh, I’m honestly not sure, he didn’t give me much information, just said that I needed to report there tomorrow.” She busies herself with organizing the papers on her desk, taking mental note of the fact that she won’t be returning for quite some time.

“Scully, you were gone for like an hour, he didn’t give you any details?”

Her brain scrambles for an excuse. “Oh, yeah, I was only in Skinner’s office for about ten minutes. I ran into Agent Vincent in the hallway and chatted with him for a bit.”

Mulder narrows his eyes while she does absolutely everything other than look at him. “Agent Vincent? I thought you hated that guy. You called him, and I quote, ‘dumber than a bag of hair.’”

Her fight or flight response kicks in and she whirls to face him, irritation bubbling to the surface. “I said I talked to the guy, Mulder, not went on a date with him. He asked for some help with a case he’s working on. Am I not supposed to speak to anyone but you?”

He puts up his hands in defense. “No, I didn’t say that. Sorry. Forget about it.”

“I’m gonna head out early, I don’t feel all that well. Can you make sure these reports get submitted with yours?” she asks, setting her four completed reports on top of the one he’d finished in the same timeframe.

“Uh, yeah, of course. Are you getting sick?” Concern clouds his features; he’s always so worried for her health.

“I’m fine, Mulder, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She collects her briefcase and coat and makes for the door.

“No you won’t,” he says as her fingers grasp the handle.

She freezes, thinking she’s been caught. She turns to look at him, but his expression is neutral.

“You’ll be at Quantico, right?” he offers.

She exhales deeply. “Right. Yes, I’ll be at Quantico.”

“Maybe we can get lunch. Email me when you know what time you can sneak away,” he says, leaning back in his chair and picking up a baseball from the surface of his desk.

“Okay, I will. Goodbye, Mulder.” She takes a long look at him, not sure when she’ll see him again.

“Later, Gator,” he replies nonchalantly, tossing the ball in the air and catching it as she pulls the door closed behind her.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #x files #x files fanfic #case fic

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watarigarasu · 4 years

Text

October 31st – Ghost Stories

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 2,379

Warnings: None

Author’s note: Modern!AU. My last story for the event is also the longest, I hope you enjoy it! Participating was a lot of fun, thank you so much for running it, Jessica, I look forward doing more events in the future! <3

You were never particularly fond of the centuries-old manor you used to live in with your fiancé. No amount of splendid decorations nor modern architectural solutions could stop the overwhelming feeling of being constantly watched, of every single of your steps being followed, of the shadows disappearing in the corner of your eyes whenever you were trying to catch them.

It was odd, considering the fact that Thranduil seemed to not notice any of those things, no ill energy, no suspicious rustles in the middle of the night coming from the floor below your bedroom, nothing strange. He was never the man you would consider as insensitive, on the contrary, under the cold mask of calculation there was a compassionate soul, the one you fell in love in many years ago. It did not took a lot of time for him to ask you to live in his house together—the great, luxurious mansion appearing to you like some kind of untouchable dream. And yet, there you were, sleeping in the soft embrace of the man you loved, in the place people could only dream of.

With the invisible eyes watching your every step.

“Is something bothering you, my love?” Thranduil asked one day, stroking your hair in a caring manner as your cheek rested upon his chest, the book still open in his hand. “You seem tense.”

At first you said nothing. It was the beginning of a wonderful, sunny day, the leaves of a maple tree behind your bedroom’s window shining brightly in gold and orange, the smell of tea and coffee prepared by the cook downstairs reaching your senses and causing your stomach to grumble in need. It was supposed to be your Saturday, the day where none of you were supposed to work and simply enjoy your time together.

If only not for the dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered and played with a long strand of his platinum hair, twirling it over your finger. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“I understand.” You felt his chest throb when he spoke and then the Adam’s apple to move when he swallowed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Bad feeling rather.”

“About?”

You frowned. Clarification of your worries was way harder than it seemed and immediately you thought that maybe getting into this subject was not the wisest idea. Supporting your weight on one elbow, you rose up and looked him in the eyes. There was a genuine concern, a will to help, and you wondered how people around you could be so blind to still consider him as ruthless.

“It’s just a stress,” you explained vaguely and kissed the corner of his lips. “No need to worry about, let’s go get breakfast, shall we?”

Whether he did not want to push you or respected your opinion, Thranduil did not ask any more questions. Still, he managed to successfully occupy your mind with kisses and delicious breakfast.

Walking up the stairs, you greeted the maid and headed forward to the dressing room to grab a coat before joining Thranduil on a stroll through the gardens. Although the weather seemed appealing from behind the windows, you quickly found out that it was rather cold once you stepped outside. Blowing wind tossed the fallen leaves all over the estate, giving the gardener a plenty of additional job.

Thankfully, spending the peaceful, completely normal morning with your fiancé was enough to make you lighten up a little, forgetting about the unpleasant incident. Perhaps you truly were overreacting; it was not the first time when your empathy gave you a wrong impression of what was going on around you and if you could only focus on something else, you could quickly realize that there was nothing to be afraid of. You were safe and there was a bright future ahead of you, full of wonderful surprises, marvellous adventures and never-ending love.

Smiling to yourself, you turned right on the first floor and went through the corridor, taking a mental note to take a pair of gloves and a scarf for Thranduil also, before you stopped abruptly and held your breath.

Cold sweat rolled down your spine as your mind was desperately trying to understand what you have just witnessed—to no avail. Frozen in place, you could only stare blankly at the portrait hanging on the wall, the one which has been there since the times of Thranduil’s grandparents. It was all the same as you remembered it; golden frame, heavy movements of brush against the canvas, mostly brown and copper colours used, green armchair appearing as soft and comfortable, roses blooming from the corners, however, now there was one detail missing.

The armchair was now empty.

“I swear to you, I’ve seen it,” you confessed, your trembling hand hidden in Thranduil’s, warmed up by his natural heat, as you led him to the first floor. “She was not there, the lady from the portrait disappeared as if she just casually stood up and went out of her painting. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true.”

Thranduil remained quiet, following you with the long steps until you finally reached the said portrait. Unexpectedly, you felt a wave of relief washing down on you as you realized that the lady was still not present, since you were afraid that once you will go and get your fiancé here, she might come back and therefore make you appear as a lunatic. You were not convinced if he would believe you in the story only.

His answer, however, was as stoic as he always was.

“I see…”

For a long moment, you were staring at the painting. With him by your side, there was new courage in your heart and eventually, you took a step forward, looking at the canvas from a different angle, hoping to maybe see her hiding behind the painted armchair. Naturally, she was not there and the painting was as flat as you could expect.

You peeked over the shoulder when you heard Thranduil walking away and quickly followed him.

“What are we going to do about it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” You blinked in confusion. “There’s a living portrait in the house and we’re supposed to just ignore it?”

“What else should we do?” He raised an eyebrow and this question shushed you successfully.

Indeed, what should you do? Look for her? Where, on the on the other paintings, like in Harry Potter? Put the portrait down, so she would not have a place to come back to? Burn it? Every idea seemed to be more ridiculous than the previous one so you only shook your head in resignation.

You would gladly take a walk in the garden now, but first, you had to add few drops of bourbon to your coffee.

The lady came back on her painting next morning. She was sitting on her armchair in the same position, with the same, soft smile on her lips and you started to wonder whether yesterday happened at all. Thranduil confirmed your inquires to be true and although you still felt like in a dream, the life was going on. This time, however, everytime you passed the painting by, you were eyeing the portrait carefully, looking for any signs of movement, any proof that you were not crazy.

You and your fiancé equally.

She did not move for the next week but it was getting harder and harder to be glad about it, since various objects from the home started to disappear and appear in the same places some time later. First, your favourite mug, then Thranduil’s tie, a shoe, a key to the basement, porcelain figurine, 5th volume of the book series, a vinyl record and a single candle from the candelabra. None of the staff knew what happened and surprisingly, they were as shocked to discover the things reappearing as you were previously.

“Did that happen before?” you asked Thranduil one evening, while sitting by his side in the enormous living room by the fireplace. “Before I moved in, I mean.”

You did not have to explain the details to him, so he would know what were you talking about in an instant.

“Sometimes,” he sighed, still looking at the screen but now paying no attention to the film’s plot.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Why should I?” Corners of his lips turned up in a weak smile. “To scare you off with the ghost stories about my house being haunted?”

Fair point.

“Have you ever tried to… talk to it?”

He sent you a curious gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean trying to communicate. I’m no expert but things like that usually happen when they want something. When they’re lost or scared or lonely. Maybe that’s the way of getting our attention so we can do something about it, while we’re still here.”

Thranduil did not answer for a long time, staring blankly at the screen, completely lost in his own thoughts. When you started to wonder whether he will talk about it with you anymore tonight, he finally spoke again, his voice slow and quiet, barely a tone above a whisper.

“My wife died many years ago. This place changed so much since she left, no current staff remember her and with every passing year, I’m remembering her less and less myself.” Rising a glass, Thranduil took a big sip of the wine but you decided to not interrupt him. It was the first time he has ever started to speak about her so elaborately.

You were aware that he was a widower, he has informed you about that at the beginning of your relationship, just in case you had anything against it. Still, he never spoke about her again as if he was avoiding this topic as much as possible, and you knew better than to start it. She was the love of his life and although at first it unsettled you, seeing the painful, tired expression on his face when he finally brought the subject proved you that there was nothing to be afraid of. His love for her was eternal but it did not lessen the depth of affection he had toward you.

Love was not a pool to divide between the people in certain parts, it was always different and always whole to give.

“She loved this house,” he continued. “She loved her son and she loved me. This place was filled with her love, completely. And truth be told, once she was gone, the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced was waking up one day and realizing that she’s not here anymore. As if she never existed, as if she was just a projection, a fleeting dream, a whisper on the wind… I could no longer touch her, feel her, hear her voice. She was as far away as the stars upon the sky, unreachable, unimaginable.

Then, things like that started to happen, sudden disappearances but nothing harmful, just a simple jokes. Silly games. At first I couldn’t believe my own sight either but it was true and it was not evil. Moreover, it was as if she was still there, a soft reminder that I wasn’t mad, dreaming about her love, and the memories we shared were real.

I missed her every day and please, don’t hate me for that, but I believe I’ll miss her forever, too.”

It was rare to see the tears in his eyes and the sight was enough to make you feel your eyes burning also. Gently, you hugged him, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and stroking his hair, the bittersweet grief squeezing your heart harder than ever before. You loved him more than anything; you were willing to leave your homeland for him, to withstand his difficult, distant personality and eccentric behaviour and to devote the rest of your life for him knowing, that he will never be truly yours.

Holding him in your arms, weeping the tears of sorrow, you loved him more than ever before.

The last thing which mysteriously disappeared in the house was never found.

You were sitting with Thranduil by the long table and enjoying the delicious dinner, listening to the music playing and making plans about your upcoming wedding. Before the meal, you were looking through the album featuring variations of cakes, the one which included so many propositions that it was hard to pick at least five better than the others. You had a feeling that the preparations will take much longer than you previously thought, but the vision of marrying your fiancé was more than appealing.

“I’m afraid to even start a conversation about the decorations,” Thranduil added. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to simply hire someone to take care of it.”

“We’ll see. I don’t want anything to be missing on our special day.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll personally supervise the preparations.”

“That’s a relief.” You sighed dramatically. “Speaking of which, I have some good news for you. The earring, the one I was supposed to wear on the wedding, was found.”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side.

“Was it?”

“Yes. It was in the casket, just where I left it.”

“I’m glad then.” He smiled genuinely. “It would be a shame if I had to buy you multiple new pairs, just in case they got lost also.”

You giggled at that statement, knowing that he was capable of doing this just to make sure that nothing could interrupt your special day. Sometimes, you were starting to think that it was him who was more nervous about the whole act than you, even though he managed to hide it well most of the time.

Taking a sip of your tea, you eventually decided to not tell him about the last thing which seemed to be missing. There was no need to worry him, especially since you were certain that this one will not be found anytime soon. Your insecurity was, after all, the last thing which you wanted back, and the gentle smile of the lady in portrait ensured you that there was nothing to be uncertain about, not in the house, nor about the love of your future husband.

#13daysofspookywritingevent #13 days of spooky writing event #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit

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