#BITCH IS THIS JUST ARIZONA???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kendyzzlewp · 9 months ago

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you can do it with a broken heart

summary: jackson broke up with you for no reason, so now you try to survive residency while working at the same place. but you’re a real though bitch, you can handle your shit

tags: fem!reader, jackson avery, angsty, ttpd

tw: mentions of su!c!de

—-

“You seem… okay.”

You looked at Meredith who was staring at you with a concerned expression. You shrugged, spitting the toothpaste from your mouth into the sink.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, grabbing a towel and wiping your face from any minty residue.

Meredith narrowed her eyes on you. “Well,” she said, entering the bathroom fully. “Avery dumped you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of him. You shook your head, forcing a smile. “So? It’s not the end of the world. He’s literally just a guy and I dumped him.”

Alex entered the bathroom, pushing past you to get to the sink. You locked eyes in the mirror and he shook his head.

“Pretty boy was not just a guy,” he grumbled, grabbing his razor. “He was like your person or twin or whatever it was you called him.”

Meredith hummed in agreement, sitting on the toilet with her eyes fixed on you. “He wasn’t just a guy, he was your guy.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach twisting like a wet rag at the topic of conversation. It had been two weeks since Jackson decided to end things after months and months of the stupid will they, won’t they dance. It wasn’t even a viable reason, he needed to focus on plastics and you needed to focus on cardio. It wasn’t you, it was him. After the boards things were going to be different.

Blah blah blah.

“I’m fine,” you said in a failed attempt to convince both of them and maybe even yourself.

Because you were the complete opposite of fine. You were completely ruined. They were right. Jackson wasn’t just a guy, he was the love of your life. Your best friend and one random fight escalated to the point where you turned back to strangers.

Derek popped his head in the bathroom, catching your eye with a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, pushing past him to get to your room. “Perfectly, fine.”

——

“You gotta fake it, till you make it,” Arizona said as she masterfully dissected a burst appendix. “Break ups suck. The important thing is though that you win, you have higher ground.”

You had the faking part down, now making it? That’s a whole different story.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your eyes on the cavity in front of you. That seemed to be your new phrase lately, it had variations but fine was becoming your old faithful.

For some reason, you decided to look up at the gallery. Your eyes meet green ones. So green yet so blue at the same time. Like a watercolor painting of a beach paradise. You swallowed the lump that blocked your throat. Knowing the intercom was turned on by the red light, you decided to prove it once and for all.

“I actually have a date,” you lied, your eyes darting back to Arizona’s hand as she finished sewing up the kid.

She looked up at the gallery with wide eyes before landing her eyes on you. “A date? With who?”

“Um…” you racked your brain trying to come up with a convincing answer, your eyes briefly meeting Jackson’s. “A lawyer…yeah.”

Arizona dropped the subject when the monitor started beeping wildly, the attention shifting towards the patient. You look up at the gallery again. He was gone.

You’re fine.

—

“He said he’d loved me all his life,” you sobbed one into your arm one night at Joe’s. Lexie rubbed your back sympathetically. “He lied.”

She sighed, passing you another napkin. “You are going to be just fine,” she said, taking your drink away. “No more tequila for you though.”

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”

——

“It’s kind of ironic,” Alex said one day, watching you repair an aortic aneurysm in the gallery. “She wants to fix hearts for a living but can’t get her own shit together.”

Cristina mumbled an agreement, her eyes focused on the surgery. April shook her head, feeling sad for her friend.

Meredith shrugged. “She says she’s fine,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “If that was me, I would’ve drowned myself in the bathtub by now.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. “That was you and you did almost drowned.”

“She’s on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Lexie said, her eyes focused on a medical journal. “It’s a matter of time.”

“Avery is a dumbass,” Alex stated, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the residents.

All of them were blissfully unaware that Jackson was standing at the entrance of the library. His eyes focused on you as you performed your magic. The way you laughed as you bantered with Altman. His heart sank.

He really was a dumbass for letting you go.

You sat in the gallery with the rest of the group, your eyes focused on the surgery below. You mentally took notes. You hadn’t slept in days, food would not stay down no matter how much you tried.

The anxiety ate away at you constantly. The emptiness follows you everywhere you go. The hospital became your home as you dreaded going to bed alone.

Jackson entered the gallery, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You still couldn’t be in the same room as him, no matter how cool you tried to play it. With a curt nod, you stood up.

As the tension mounted within you, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over, causing you to sway slightly in your place at the gallery. Cristina, noticing your unsteadiness, reached out a hand to steady you.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.

You forced a smile, nodding weakly. "Yeah, just a little tired," you replied, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Lexie glanced up, furrowing her brow at your demeanor. "Are you sure?" she remarked, her voice tinged with worry.

Before you could respond, Meredith interjected, concern evident in her eyes as she set her half-eaten apple aside. "Maybe you should take a break, get some fresh air," she suggested, her tone gentle yet firm.

“I just need to leave,” you whispered, hurrying out of the cramped room.

You’re fine.

—

“Hey.”

You looked up from your study notes. Jackson stood in front of you, shifting from one leg to the other. His hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.

Your heart was pounding. “Yeah?” You cautiously asked, closing your notebook.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “You looked rough in the gallery earlier.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. Anger, hurt, longing—each fighting for dominance as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"I'm fine," you replied, the words coming out more sharply than you intended. "Just a rough day."

Jackson's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the turmoil raging within. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know you. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Meredith told me you barely go home nowadays.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. "Talk?" you scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm. "About what, exactly? How you broke my heart?"

His eyes widened, a pained expression crossing his features. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."

"Best for both of us?" you repeated, incredulous. "How is dumping me, without a single good explanation, the best for me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, refusing to let him see your pain. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like everything's okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm not your consolation prize, Jackson."

He reached out a hand, as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the pain of his betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I thought it would be easier this way."

"Easier for who?" you shot back, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Not for me, that's for sure."

With a heavy sigh, Jackson took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever need me."

As he turned to walk away, you felt a pang of regret, a part of you longing for the comfort of his presence. But you pushed it aside, steeling yourself against the pain. You had survived his absence once; you could do it again.

You’re good. You can do it with a broken heart.

#jackson avery #greys anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy drabble #jackson avery x reader #reader fanfiction #female reader #jesse williams

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taylor-titmouse · 3 months ago

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idk if this is weird but part of my appreciation for your work comes from sharing it with my partner. we're both trans guys and have a lot of fun together, and it's three times now that i've shown him something of yours to be like "hey, what do you think of this? want to try something like this out?" he's had prolific bitches in his time so he finds it kind of funny since none of my emerging kinks are really all that out there, but your work helps me explore more things and gives me an avenue to easily show him things i like. we both love roger & the arizona dogs and get a lot of gender euphoria out of it in differing ways--thx for giving a couple dogboys really delicious food :)

aw :) don't worry you aren't the first person to tell me you enjoy my work with a partner. i think you aren't even like. the tenth. there are people who read my books out loud and do voices for each other.

i'm glad i could feed you. also 'he's had prolific bitches in his time' is a fucking hilarious turn of phrase

e: y'all just let me leave "enjoy my work with my partner" in there for 40 minutes

#tt asks

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guillotine-drop · 11 months ago

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Rating POSTAL Dudes by how good they smell:

POSTAL - 9/10: I think his habitual reclusion and distrust of the world would probably mean he’s showering constantly, moreso than any other Dude, especially if he thinks there’s a ‘Hate Plague’ going on. I think he smells basic; very simple routine, just enough to make sure he feels clean, so at most he’ll smell like some generic 3-in-1 body wash and shampoo/conditioner, maybe something slightly nicer just for himself (some decent $15 aftershave for that menthol scent and cooling relief).

POSTAL Redux - 3/10: Exact opposite of his original incarnation, this greasy son of a bitch isn’t scared of shit he just wants to throw explosives at ostriches and parades. Barely showers, constantly stinks of stale sweat, old blood, cheap leather and cheaper cologne, punctuated with the scent of burnt gunpowder. Borderline noxious.

POSTAL 2 - 4/10: Smells just as bad as Redux Dude but gets the edge here because every now and then he goes outside and uses the neighbor’s hose to blast himself. Shockingly uses deodorant, still not enough to be perpetually leather and denim clad in the great state of Arizona. Almost constantly reeks of sweat and has the recognizable yet faint scent of stale piss wafting off of him, accompanied by the scent of even staler crack and pungent fast food. Almost pungent enough to drown the rest out. Almost.

POSTAL 3 - 2/10: If you were to raid the wash cart after a double overtime football game, steal every jockstrap in the place, wring the sweat into a bucket, and then bring it all to a boil, you’d have somewhere in the realm of what a clean P3 Dude smells like. On average, however, this man has managed to combine the overwhelming sensory nightmares of cat piss and cheap spray deodorant into an almost lethal concoction, ONLY made breathable by the strange and overpowering smell of gasoline that seems to seep from his pores. Approach with caution and for the love of god: do not bring bleach or matches near this freak.

POSTAL 4: No Regerts - 5/10: Despite looking like he crawled out of a dumpster after a bad divorce or a fantastic honeymoon, P4 Dude is shockingly passable in terms of being able to stand next to him for a prolonged period without gagging or killing him. Having learned the efficacy of not being encased in leather in the desert, he’s managed to bring his pungency down several notches. Still reeks of sweat most of the time, and the smell of burger grease and pepperoni follows him like a specter of death, but the piss scent stopped clinging on as hard. He’s also upgraded from hose showers with no supplies to sink baths with tiny gas station travel soaps. It’s an improvement, trust me.

Brain Damaged - 2/10: Take a look at his living space in the title screen, then watch the game’s cutscenes. Just soak it all in. Now that you’ve done that, you can understand that his rank ass smells exactly as bad as you might think it does. If it can come out of his body, it’s probably soaking some part of him. If you think any of the clothes on him have been washed, you’re wrong. This man smells like if someone firebombed an outhouse and pissed on it to put it out. The best thing for him would be getting blasted with a firehouse and a box of laundry detergent. Please.

The Other Dude - 1-10/10: Entirely depends on how the BD Dude would imagine he smells depending on the situation.

POOSTALL Dude - 6/10: Despite the name, this one actually smells pretty decent. The clearly larger coat with the rolled sleeves implies some level of understanding about how not to smell like swamp ass and sweat soaked leather, and truthfully, he looks like he bathes semi-regularly, a rarity amongst these guys.

POSTAL Doe - 9/10: I admit fully and entirely to my lack of impartiality to this one, but I’m willing to stand by it even if I lose my Stink Judge License: first of all, sleeveless leather trench coat AND a crop top mean less overheat which means less sweat. Second of all, visually cleaner than pretty much any of the dudes which implies some kind of self care regimen. Third, and most importantly, girlstink counts positive. I will not be turning in my badge or my gun.

Movie Dude - 8/10: This may be controversial, but despite the squalor he lives in and the fact that hems a cuckold and that his life sucks and that he can’t get a job and that he’s a loser- I digress. I think Movie Dude is in the top echelons of Dude Stink solely because I think he’d have a breakdown if he smelled bad. This man uses Dr. Teals. He stinks like a mix of eucalyptus and peppermint. If ever there was a Dude who had a skin routine, he still wouldn’t, but he’d definitely think about it one day. I think by the end he gets an extra point just because he gets a little hotter the more deranged he is. Overall very pleasant but I still wouldn’t give him $4.

John Murray - 2/10: Hasselridge seems to have a very… interesting relationship with what is and isn’t normal, so unsurprisingly, Johnny Boy would probably smell pretty rough. Considering how dingy, run down and shitty everything in that town appears to be, I can’t imagine anyone else is smelling like roses either. Just avoid the entire place, not least of all because of the zombie thing.

Shtopor - 0/10: Bad.

Nottem Portant - 5/10: Despite the misanthropy, dollar store Nathan Explosion thing and the absolutely abysmal gameplay, Mr. Hatred is actually extremely middle of the road on stink. Sure, he doesn’t smell great, but shockingly he washes his ass despite the whole ‘death to humanity’ thing. He does get point deduction for not washing his hair though, grease mop motherfucker.

#yeah dude #postal #postal dude #postal redux #postal 2 #postal 3 #postal 4 #postal brain damaged #poostall royale #postal movie #eternal damnation #corkscrew rules #hatred #I stand by most of these. your guess as to which one(s) is the outlier

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doctorstethoscope · 1 year ago

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You Are In Love || Aaron Hotchner x Reader

hiiiii friends <333 just wanted to write a little somethin'-somethin' in honor of 1989 TV, hope you all enjoy and everyone say thank you @hotchs-bitch for beta-ing

contains: minor angst, food consumption, reader wears a dress

word count: 4.6k

It’s late, you realize in the middle of your third yawn in as many minutes. You should be back in your tiny, musty hotel room, trying to get a few hours of sleep before your investigation kicks back off in earnest in the morning. You’re in the middle of some desert town in Arizona, where nothing like this string of murders has ever happened before; you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.

Hotch is too, and that’s a big part of the reason you’re still here, you’re not too proud to admit.

“Go ahead back to the hotel,” He’d told you a few hours earlier. “You can hitch a ride with Reid and Prentiss.”

“I could go,” you said, a playful lilt in your tone you could only let out when the two of you were alone. “But then who would make sure you ever went to sleep tonight?” You asked cheekily. You and Hotch were still a relatively new thing, only about four months into seeing each other. But given how well you already knew each other and how much time the two of you spent together, it felt like much longer.

You’re adjusting into your seat, preparing to read over your case summary one more time when all of the overhead lights in the precinct go out, leaving you and Aaron in the dim glow of the emergency lights from the floor. You reach out for his hand instinctively, and he takes it in yours, looking over at you as he gives it a reassuring squeeze. He shifts into Agent Mode almost simultaneously, scanning the room for danger even as he looks to calm you. He’s relieved from duty a few moments later when Chief Morrison, who you��d met earlier in the day, enters the room and flicks the switch.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says. “We don’t usually have the buildings fully staffed this late into the night and the lights are on a timer.”

“That’s not a problem,” Hotch answers easily, his hand subtly unlinking itself from yours. “We were just leaving. We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Don’t you ever sleep?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

“We make do with very little when something this serious is at stake,” Aaron explains. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Chief Morrison leaves the two of you to pack up your things, and Aaron leads you out the door of the precinct with a comforting hand placed to your back.

********

“Do you ever think about our first date?” You ask Aaron in the confines of his office one night as the two of you are preparing to go home.

Aaron’s brow furrows, not entirely understanding your question. “I mean, sure, I think about it occasionally, and about all the dates after, and how much I enjoy all of the time we spend together. Why do you ask?”

“I just… it feels silly to admit it now, but I was so nervous, I feel like I almost hardly remember it. Like time was moving so quickly that I didn’t have time to commit it all to memory, and I wish that I had,” you tell him as you extricate yourself from the couch in his office and meet him in the doorway.

“D’you want me to perform a cognitive interview?” he jokes as he helps you into your winter coat, smoothing the wool over your back and then fastening the buttons for you. You could do it yourself, you both know this, but he’s tactile, and his touch is so tender and so warm that you could never push his hands away when he cares for you like this.

“No, I think that’s one line that you and I shouldn’t cross,” you tease him as he checks to make sure the coast is clear before the two of you walk out to your car.

“You wore a very beautiful castleton green silk dress, and gold sandals. We split a bottle of wine at Le Clou. You laughed charitably at a stupid joke I made, and I made it my life’s goal to hear that sound as often as possible. I could barely finish my dinner because I didn’t want to stop looking at you. We took a walk after dinner, and we talked about everything and nothing at all, and after I drove you home, I walked you to your door and kissed you goodnight. It was a perfect evening,” he refreshes your memory as you walk through the parking garage.

“Sounds like it,” you smile up at him shyly.

He smiles back down at you. “We’re just getting started,” he whispers into your temple before dropping a kiss there to punctuate his sentence.

********

“Did you like boarding school?” You ask Hotch as he speeds down the freeway in Ohio.

“What?” He asks, a little bewildered.

“You went to boarding school, right? For a couple years in high school?”

“Yes, I did. That’s not the source of my confusion,” he shakes his head. “We’re trying to find an arsonist and you want to know how I felt about boarding school?”

“We’re an hour into this drive, still have an hour in front of us, and the radio sucks in Ohio,” you groan. “Indulge me.”

“Did you like high school?” He asks, as if that’s an answer.

“I mean, I didn’t hate high school,” you shrug.

Morgan calls with a new lead, interrupting your conversation, and you shoot him a glance over the center console, one that says this conversation isn’t finished, even though you had to put it aside to work for a few hours..

You end up separating once you reach Morgan– Hotch goes to investigate the lead and you head back to the site of the most recent burn to see if you can lose anything. The next time you see him, the two of you are preparing for a late-night stakeout at what you suspect will be the unsub’s next location.

“We’re locked in with eyes on the back door,” Hotch mutters into a police radio as you settle into the passenger seat. It’s set to be a long night.

“Hold on,” Hotch says to you as he twists in his seat, reaching for something in the back. “I brought coffee,” he says, producing a thermos and a couple of cups. He pours one for you and you drink it gratefully as he makes his own cup. It’s good– too good, almost.

“Did you put my creamer in here?” You ask.

“They had some at the station, I asked if it was okay if I used it,” he explains.

“You drink black coffee, Aaron Hotchner. It’s a known law of the universe. The sun rises from the East. The tide comes in with the moon. Aaron Christopher Hotchner drinks black coffee.”

He shrugs. “I’m not that picky, really.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re too good to me,” you say, leaning back into your seat as you take another sip of your coffee. You’re fiddling with your necklace, watching the street lights reflect off of it and make patterns on the ceiling of the car when he speaks up again.

“I didn’t really like boarding school at the time, but I think it was good for me.” He answers your question from about 12 hours earlier.

“Tell me about it,” you smile, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze.

********

You’re sitting in Aaron’s bed reading a book when it hits you for the first time. He emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, steam billowing from the open door to the en suite. You’re trying to be subtle but you can’t help but sneak a peek as he rifles through his dresser drawers for some suitable pajamas— not that you’d mind at all if he forewent them entirely. He tosses his clothes on the bed and changes quickly, and while you resist the urge to stare, you can feel his eyes on you. He comes to your side of the bed and leans over you.

“Look up,” he instructs gently, and you comply. He brings one gentle finger to brush over the skin just underneath your eye, concentrating with all of the attention of a man who regularly holds people’s lives in his hands as a part of his job. “Eyelash,” he explains, showing you the culprit so you could blow it away. You look at him as you do so, his face so full of something that is equal parts content and exuberantly joyful that the thought comes to you before you can stop it, loud and consuming in the silence of your bedroom.

“I think I might really love this guy.”

********

You wake up first the next morning, which is entirely unlike you. Your stomach grumbles loudly a few moments later, giving you a clue as to why you’re up so early. You slip out of bed as silently as you can, grabbing Aaron’s discarded button down from yesterday to throw over your shoulders as you pad down to the kitchen.

You may have gotten a little too ambitious with breakfast, you realize as you smell the toast burning. At least the bacon and pancakes are unharmed, you think as you turn towards the toaster, jumping a little when you see Aaron there.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” you say as he plucks the crisp toast out of the toaster.

“I can be pretty sneaky when I have to be,” he teases you with a little smile before giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“You don’t have to eat that, there’s pancakes,” you tell him as he reaches for the butter.

“I don’t mind it,” he shrugs. “Did you start coffee?”

You shake your head. “It’s better when you make it.”

He smirks at you, tapping at your hip to silently ask you to move so he can get to the coffee pot and start it. “Did you still want to go to the National Portrait Gallery this weekend?” He asks as the two of you sit down at the table.

“I do, but I know it’s not your thing. I don’t mind if—”

“I want to go with you. I told you I’d come,” he reminds you.

“I know, I just didn’t want you to think I was holding you to it,” you say, a little foolishly, knowing that there’s no one out there who makes Aaron Hotchner do something he truly doesn’t want to do.

“I’m a man of my word,” he reminds you, reaching for your hand and squeezing it. “It doesn’t have to be ‘my thing,’” he insists. “It’s important to me because it’s important to you.”

He keeps a hand on you the whole time you walk through the gallery– whether it's on your hip, around your waist, or entwined with your own. He’s certainly not the first man to hold you, but it feels… different, when it’s him. Like you’re being treasured, rather than possessed. Like you’re a partner, not an accessory. It feels nice.

“We’ve got a good thing going, you and I. Don’t you think?” You ask him as the two of you leave the gallery.

“I’d certainly say so,” he smiles. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“It’s been a really, really lovely five months,” you tell him.

“It feels like there’s a but coming,” he says, a twinge of anxiety in his tone.

“Not so much a but…” you try to assure him. “I’m just… scared. Not of you, I guess, but… I’ve been more guarded in other relationships. And I’ve still gotten hurt. I don’t want to be that way with you– but I can’t help but feel like the more I let you in, the more I’m ensuring it will hurt when you leave.”

Aaron stops in his tracks, pulling you into a quiet spot in a park alongside the sidewalk where you’d been walking.

“I have a couple points to make, the first and most important of which is the idea of me leaving being a sure thing,” he says, and he doesn’t sound mad, just concerned. You feel a little guilty anyways. He takes your chin in between his pointer finger and his thumb, tilts your gaze up to look at him. “I wouldn’t be here now if I was looking for a path out,” he promises. “We can’t stop other people from hurting us— as much as we both wish that all were true. I won’t pretend I haven’t thought about how wrecked I’d be if you left. But all we can do is trust ourselves to be able to pick up the pieces if we do get hurt.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, and it does make you feel a little bit better– at least that he’s had some of the same worries.

“And I’d ask you to trust me, too. I’m sorry if past partners have made that hard for you,” he says. “But I intend to be gentle with you, and to stay, even when it gets hard. For as long as you’ll keep me around.”

You rise to your tiptoes and kiss him, right there on the sidewalk.

********

“Are you insane?” You yelled. It had started as a civil conversation, or at least something resembling it, at least, about Hotch’s unilateral decision to enter a known hostage situation without backup. You need to calm down, you know this. The team is still in the bullpen, just down the stairs from his office, and the glass isn’t soundproof.

“Please don’t speak to me that way,” Aaron says, so calm that it triggers another level of rage you didn’t even know you had locked up.

“I’m sorry, Aaron, but I’m going to need more of an explanation for today than ‘I had it handled,’” you demand.

“No, you really don’t. I am your superior, and I made a call. It’s your job to respect it, and if you can’t do that, I can sign your voluntary request for a transfer,” he spits out, and you’re almost too stunned to speak.

“I cannot believe you even suggested that,” you hiss out. “I cannot believe this. You may be my boss, Aaron, but I thought I was your partner.” You call out as you swing his office door open, realizing then that the whole team had been listening. That was absolutely not how you wanted them to find out about the two of you. You rush down the stairs, brushing off JJ when she tries to comfort you, making a beeline for the door. It’s only when you get to the garage when you realize that Hotch drove you in today. Goddamn him. You call an Uber, heading back to your own apartment for the first time in weeks.

You knew it, you think to yourself as you dig into the pint of Phish Food that you’d bought yourself for dinner. You knew that he’d hurt you if you let him in far enough. That’s just how the world works; it’s a cycle of letting your guard down and learning why you shouldn’t. God, maybe you do need to transfer. You have no clue how you’re going to go back to work on Monday.

A knock on the door of your apartment distracts you from your train of thought. It’s probably your neighbor, Mrs. Landingham, wondering why you haven’t been around for weeks. You swing the door open, expecting to find five feet and two inches of sweet old lady, and instead revealing a much taller man who clearly knows he’s in the doghouse.

“Can we talk?” He asks with pleading eyes.

“I’d really rather not,” you grumble.

“Please,” he begs, and you relent, stepping aside to let him in. “I was unfair in the office. I’m sorry.”

“It was pretty unfair of you to walk into an active hostage situation with an armed unsub, too,” you grouse as you put the lid back on your ice cream and put it in the freezer, allowing him to follow you to the kitchen.

“You’re right. I owe the whole team an apology for that,” he admits.

“The argument can’t just be over because you’ve decided that I’m right about everything,” you complain.

“You weren’t right about everything. But you also didn’t have all the information, and you’re owed that,” he explains.

“I’m listening.”

“The woman… her name was Haley, and she had a young kid inside with her, and I just…”

He trails off, and suddenly any fiber of anger you had left within you evaporates into thin air. “Oh, honey,” you say, moving to wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re right. I knew, of course, but there was so much happening so quickly and I didn’t put all the pieces together.”

“That doesn’t mean I was right. Especially as a leader, I should have been able to put that aside.”

“And as your partner, I completely understand why you couldn’t.”

“If you still want some space, I completely understand. I just couldn’t go to bed knowing there was so much unsaid here.”

You shake your head. “Take me home, please.”

********

You envy Aaron’s ability to just fall asleep anywhere. He tells you it will come with time, that enough nights on the road and away from home due to the job will toughen you up, make it possible to doze standing up if you have to. For now, you were left staring at the ceiling of yet another hotel room.

His gentle snores from next to you help to soothe the wounds a little. You’d been together for a little over six months now, and you both agreed that things were serious and that it made sense to tell the team. Now that the cat is out of the bag, there’s no need to sneak around or spend the night in separate hotel rooms.

Aaron stirs, and you look over at him, wondering if you should pretend to be asleep yourself. You decide against it, or, rather, you’re too enamored with the way the lines of his face all relax in sleep to remember to close your own eyes before his open.

“You’re not sleeping,” he says, halfway between a statement and a question.

“I tried melatonin, but I think I may need something a little stronger,” you admit.

He makes a little face, one that you think is maybe him finding you endearing, and starts to sit up. “I packed Z-Quil for you, it’s in my backpack.”

“Don’t get up,” you tell him, slipping out of his grasp to reach for his backpack. “You’re too good to me.”

He waits for you to be back in bed, back in his arms, before he speaks again. “You’re my best friend. You know that?”

He’s gazing down at you with so much tenderness that it almost hurts; the words he’s not saying are so clearly spoken by the look in his eyes that you can’t possibly help but defuse the tension with a kiss and a joke.

“For the perks I’m giving you, I’m one hell of a best friend,” you tease.

********

The lack of sleep catches up to you the next day after the case has closed. It’s early, only about 7pm when you’re flying home, but you just can’t keep your eyes open. You’re not quite getting restful sleep; you can still hear Rossi and Reid’s chess game and you’re aware of how silly you must look curled up into the jet window. However, you can’t be bothered to care, especially when you feel Hotch drape a blanket over you– you know it’s the one he keeps stowed in one of the cabinets by the kitchen. It smells like his fabric softener. You tuck the corner of the blanket into your chin and smile.

You sleep soundly for the rest of the flight home, and Aaron doesn’t even let you stop back in at your desk; he just brings you to his car and leaves you nestled in the passenger seat for a moment so he can drop both of your things off.

“This is silly, Aaron. You don’t need to baby me,” you tell him when you get back to the car.

“You slept for maybe five hours in the last three days. I certainly do need to baby you,” he insists as he pulls out of the parking lot, putting the radio on low on the acoustic station that you like.

Despite your insistence that you’re fine, you fall asleep again on the ride home, and you don’t have any energy left to argue when he tells you to just head up to bed when you get back to the house. He detours into the kitchen but you don’t think much of it, knowing he must be hungry. You rouse when you hear him at your bedside table a few minutes later— in the dark of your bedroom, you can see that he’s left a peanut butter and jelly and some saltine crackers for you— knowing that you’re likely to wake up starving in the middle of the night. You roll over, reaching for him the moment he lowers himself to the bed and pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder.

********

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this to a holiday party. We need to take Jack to Alaska. Or the North Pole. We can’t have Christmas in weather like this,” you pout as you adjust the spaghetti strap of the dress you put on for the FBI’s holiday party.

“This is Virginia. It happens,” Aaron tries to console you as he places a hand on the small of your back to lead you out the door and to the car. “Besides, there’s snow in the forecast for Christmas Eve.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you grumble as you settle into the passenger seat of Aaron’s SUV, peering at the display. “It’s literally in the mid-sixties, Aaron! It’s balmy. We may as well live in Florida.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, just takes your hand in his and brings the back of your palm to his lips to place a brief kiss there before bringing your joined hands back down to rest on the center console.

You meet up with the rest of the team as soon as you get to the party, finding the BAU’s assigned table and sitting for dinner. Aaron makes the rounds to shake hands with some of the higher-ups before the first course, but you’re more than happy to sit and chat with the girls while he did so.

After dinner is always dancing, which usually started slow and got rowdier as the night went on and the upper brass filtered out. You’ve just wrapped up a dance with Rossi when Aaron wraps a hand around your wrist.

“Come with me,” he says, urgent but not anxious.

“Come with you where?” You ask.

“Just come on,” he says, guiding you gently towards a door. He guides you to the courtyard, towards the gazebo. You can hear the music from the ballroom faintly in the background as he places a hand on your waist to lead you in a dance.

“Are you scared to dance with me in front of people?” You asked with a sarcastic little smile.

He scoffs. “Just you wait.”

“Wait for what, exactly?”

“You are so impatient,” he teases as he dips you by the waist. As he lifts you back up, you see what you were waiting for— big, fat, snowflakes, falling slowly towards the ground. They melt as soon as they make contact with the ground, but that doesn’t matter.

“Oh,” you let out a satisfied little gasp. “It’s just perfect,” you say as the two of you spin again.

“Told you It’d be worth it,” he smirks.

“How did you know this was coming?”

He shrugs. “Christmas miracle.” You level him with a glance and he comes clean. “I can read a radar map, angel. We’ve got maybe one more song before this turns to rain.”

You look around, taking it all in before you have to run for cover. “It’s like we’re in a snowglobe,” you smile.

“Like I said,” Aaron repeats. “Christmas miracle.”

********

You don’t like to brag, but your coworkers were all badasses. You went toe-to-toe with serial killers, interviewed convicts, got into the heads of the world’s worst individuals. But you all had the exact same soft spot, and her name was Penelope Garcia.

Which is how the monthly BAU Book Swap came to be. You all circled up in the conference room and talked about what you’d read over the last month, and pulled a name out of a hat to see whose book you’d go home with.

“Hold on!” you say as Garcia prepares to start. I need a highlighter, give me one second.”

Hotch’s office is closer than your desk, so you trot down the hall and pull at his lap drawer. As you do so, you look up at his desk space, seeing a new addition— a picture of the two of you from a recent weekend away in a silver frame. You let out a deep sigh of gratitude as you grabbed a blue highlighter from his stash and headed back to the conference room. “Sorry, carry on,” you said as you reached for Aaron’s hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze.

You ended up pulling Spencer’s name out of the hat, and you almost hold your breath as you wait to see what he’d read this month.

“I read the Odyssey,” he tells you, and you swallow thickly before he continues. “But, honestly, I didn’t really like it that much. So I brought a copy of the Hobbit for the swap.”

“I have to admit I’m a little bit relieved,” you tell him. “What didn’t you like about it?”

“I just had a hard time buying into it,” he admits. “I mean, are we really supposed to believe that the love of one person started an entire war between Greece and Troy?”

You look at Hotch across the room, deep in conversation with Morgan about his pick. “I believe it, Spence.”

********

You’re making dinner together when the words start to slip out of you. “Can I say something?” You ask.

“Of course you can,” Aaron says, looking up from his chopping. “Something good, or something bad?”

“No, no,” you dismiss any worry he might have. “Something good. I, uh. It feels almost silly to say it. Especially now, with nothing going on, just the two of us making dinner,” you ramble. You’ve tried to phrase this perfectly in your head a million times. “I wanted to tell you exactly right,” you say. You weren’t planning to just let it tumble out of you as you stirred a pasta sauce. “Except, I’m not sure if I even need to say it out loud, because it’s just so… known? Between us. Like I don’t even need to say it, because it’s so obvious. But it feels like one of those milestones, one of those things that’s supposed to make me feel exactly as nervous as I feel right now, so I guess I’m supposed to tell you—”

“I’m in love with you, too,” Aaron says as he sprinkles a little bit of basil into the sauce you’re stirring.

You’re too stunned to speak for a moment, the only sound you’re able to make is a confused “What?”

He stops in his tracks. “I am so sorry– was that not what you were—”

“No, no, it was,” you insist.

“I should have let you go first,” he apologizes.

You laugh. “No,” you assure him. “No, that was perfect. I’m in love with you,” you say it aloud for good measure. You know that you don’t have to.

tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fic

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mewhenimanangel · 2 years ago

Text

everywhere ʚɞ miles morales

pairing: 42!miles morales x reader

synopsis: miles finally asks to take you out.

wc: 2.3k

warnings!: swearing, kissing, making out, google translate spanish

prev ʚɞ

it'd been a week since miles invited you over and thanks to him, you got your grade up. the week had been full of flirting, whispering and laughing during class, texting all the time, him and his friend joined your table at lunch, and him finding any excuse to touch you.

in physics he kept his knee touched against yours, he would "drop" a pencil or whatever so he could hold your thigh using it to support himself while reaching for it. when he sat behind you in math, you would feel him touching your curls or your shoulder every now and then. when you would pass a paper back to him his fingers always reached out far enough to touch yours.

it was thursday afternoon on the walk home from school, safiya didn't come to school that day so it was just you and miles. "no because why did she say that like is that bitch really insane" you laughed. "shit is crazy for real" miles agreed, grabbing an arizona. you were currently in lenny's bodega heating up a beef patty - the last one how ironic, debriefing with miles about your day at school. "no fighting bout it this time?" lenny chuckled, ringing you guys up. "nah, he willingly agreed to share this time" you giggled.

you continued walking, both of you munching on your respective halves. you said something that made the both of you laugh and miles just stared at your smile, he wants that image stained in his brain. "alright, what. stressing me out with the staring" you joked, feeling a little awkward. "nothing" he laughed off before continuing. "will you let me take you out?" he asked you. all of a sudden you were nervous and looking around with a doofy grin on your face. "okayy. where?" you threw your trash in a nearby bin.

"it'd be a surprise. actually not really a surprise but on saturday, would you come?" he asked. "yeah i'll go on a date with you" you smiled. he pressed his lips together to hide the big smile that was growing on his face. he laughed out "okay alright, cool. i'll let you know the time" "okayy bye" you kissed him on the cheek and went up your block.

ʚɞ

it was friday night and you were rummaging through your closet for an outfit to wear. you groaned out a sigh and grabbed your phone opening miles' contact.

you pressed face time and waited for him to pick up. "yeah?" his prowler distorted voice answered. you looked at your phone to see him on what looks like to be a roof, prowler gear on. "oh shit sorry, didn't know you were doing your prowler stuff." you said, about to hang up. "nah it's fine, m'not busy right now" he told you, prowler voice turning off. "need something?" he asked you. "miles where are we goingg" you whined. "its a surprise, you can't handle surprises?" he chuckled. "i don't know how to dress for surprises. i don't know what to wear" you sighed. "you look good in everything, don't over think it."

"yeah well i wanna look good for you" you rolled your eyes. he scoffed "you literally always look so good, chiquita relax." suddenly there was a loud bang in the distance and he shot his head over his shoulder. "you'll figure it out. aight i gotta go" he said, prowler voice back on. he quickly hung up and you sighed, going to the kitchen to make a chicken wrap for dinner. this was a 3 am you problem.

ʚɞ

you got in the shower to shave, exfoliate, and scrub your body. getting out of the shower, you put on a face mask letting it set before you came back to do your skincare routine. you sat in your mirror to put product through your curls, deciding to let them down past your shoulders.

you finished your makeup and got dressed in the outfit you'd picked after a few hours of searching. you decided on a short strapless black dress and a gold chain belt that hung around your hips and chunky loafer heels. you decorated yourself with two layers of gold jewelry and your mom's earrings she'd given you.

you admired your look in the mirror before leaving to go in the living room. your dad looked over at you and furrowed his eyebrows "where you going all dressed up?" he asked, pausing his show. "i literally told you i was going out tonight" you scoffed, grabbing your purse. "with who?" he asked you. "miles.." you answered in a small voice. "that damn boy again?! y/n you're not-" daddy please, you literally already said yes. plus he's downstairs already. please please pleaseee" you begged, leaning over the chair in his face.

"ughh alright fine! but that location stays on all night and when i call, you answer. aight?" he bargained. "yayyy thank you daddy" you gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running to grab your purse and jacket. "okay i gotta go byeee" you ran out the door, and down the building stairs. you were about to open the door but miles was on the other side about to do the same thing. "oh hey. was gonna come and ask if you were still coming" he joked. "sorry, stuff with my dad" you smiled.

he took the time to really take you in. the way your curls perfectly framed your face, the way your gloss made your lips shine, the way your necklaces graced your collarbones, the way your dress hugged against your waist. "wow. you look amazing..you look like elegant and shit" he chuckled, feeling a little nervous. "here, they're for you" he smiled, handing you a bouquet of red roses. he reached out to hold your hand, leading you down the street. "ahh thank you" you didn't know what to say, compliments made you awkward.

"you look reall good too by the way" you checked him out. he wore a pair of grey pants with a black short sleeve top and jordans, black jacket over it. "tried my best to look as nice. i don't be dressing like that"he shrugged. "well you look very nice anyway" you squeezed his face.

"can you tell me where we're going now?" you asked him going down the metro stairs. "rockefeller" he answered with a smile. "to do what?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "skating" he answered leading you to a seat. "aw i haven't done that in so long. i used to go with my mom" you told him. "i know, safiya told me." he rubbed a thumb over your knuckles and only now did you realize neither of you had let go.

"you're such a sweetheart, i never would've guessed" you said. "what do you mean?" "i don't know. like i would've never thought we'd be going on a date. or that you would be so thoughtful" you shrugged. "i'm full of surprises, chiquita" he said with a smug look on his face. "yeah whatever" you giggled, resting your head on his shoulder.

you were still hand in hand walking to the entrance to purchase your tickets. “okay well now i feel overdressed” you sulked, taking off your heels. “nah you look good. don’t be afraid to show everybody else up” he got in his knee in front of you and helped you put your feet into the skates. thank goodness you wore socks. he looked up at you and the action felt so intimate while he gently placed your right foot in the skate.

soon after he put his skates on and put your bag and shoes in a locker. he took your hand again and helped you walk out on the rink. you were immediately losing your balance, throwing an arm around his shoulder to hold you steady. “aight i swear safiya told me you used to do this all the time.” he laughed. “only sometimes! and i never actually learned” you giggled.

unlike your clumsy and struggling to find balance movements, miles was smooth and moving with ease, hand on your waist to keep you up right. “how do you know how to skate” you asked him. “unlike you, i actually tried to learn” he joked.

for the majority of the time you stayed close the walls using them to move without making a fool of yourself. miles slowed down to match your pace, practically showing off how easy it came to him.

“alright come on” suddenly he was in front of you and grabbing your hands to pull you out in the middle. “alright wait wait wait wait” you frantically put your hands on his arms. “aye you need to learn chica. hold my hands and watch my feet” he told you. you followed his instructions as he pulled you along, yet yours remained unmoving.

he laughed “you know you gotta move yours too right. just copy how i’m moving mines but in the other direction”

he was in control but you followed his movements and eventually got the hang of it, enough to even move on your own. “atta girl, it ain’t even that hard” he smiled at you and you geeked at his praise. he grabbed your hand again and turned your body in a little twirl. which wound up with you falling into his chest nearly sending him to the ground. “aight so we not that far yet” he laughed. he looked at you before pressing a kiss on your lips.

you continued skating until your time slot was up and you got your things and left. “hungry?” he asked you. you nodded your head and responded with a small mhm before he led you down the street to a cozy restaurant.

you sat down and he ordered a plate of appetizers for you both. you talked the whole time throughout the meal, laughing your ass off. he excused himself for a moment and you kept your eyes on him watching as he found your waiter and told him something.

he came back after a minute and sat down and you guys got back to talking. after a few minutes your waiter came back with two plates, one with a raspberry brownie with fudge and one with strawberry caramel cheesecake - your favorite. he put the plates down and sent a wink to miles before walking away.

you looked down at the plate and it had the words ‘will you let me be your boyfriend?’ written in caramel drizzling. you gushed and bit your lip to hide the huge grin that spread across your face “ohh my god i thought you were literally never gonna ask” you giggled. “is that a yes?” “yes, it’s a yes” you smiled. he leaned over to the table to kiss you, hand placed on your cheek.

you finished your desserts and miles paid the bill before you left the restaurant. you practically couldn’t stay off each other on the walk to the subway station, you arms were wrapped around his and when you complained that your feet were hurting he leaned down so you could climb on his back.

you sat down on the train and he rest a hand on your thigh while you laid your head on his shoulder. “still got one more thing to show you. you down?” he asked. “yeah, for whatever”

you got off and he led you back to his graffiti site. “now how i’m supposed to climb that fence in these heels” you twisted your mouth to the side. he chuckled. “i’ll go over first throw them over the wall and i’ll hold them till you get over duh”

you followed his instructions and hopped the fence before leading you down. there was a wall, once blank now decorated with your face, detailed and big across the wall. you looked so beautiful through his eyes. he moved up next to you and took your hand in his. “ughh you are so..” you didn’t finish your sentence you just put your hands up to his face and brought your lips to his in a heartfelt kiss.

he wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you in closer. his other hand moved to push your curl out of your face and at the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. his hand slid down to your ass making your lips part slightly and his tongue slid in your mouth. the blaring sound of your ringtone made you jump and you sighed seeing it was your dad calling. “hey baby, you on your way home yet? it’s getting late, think you’d better come inside” he told you.

“okay i’ll see you” you answered, hanging up the phone. “it’s my dad, he wants me home” you sighed. “alright let’s go” he said.

you hopped the fence again making your way out of the station. “your feet still hurt?” he asked you. “a little bit” you answered. “well then hop on madame” he joked, leaning down so you could get back on his back.

you talked the whole way home, literally talking his ear off as your chin rest by his shoulder. “sorry if i’m talking too much” you said. “no it’s okay i like listening to you.” you smiled and buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the giddy expression on your face.

he got to your apartment building and gently put you back on the ground. “i’m really glad you asked to be my boyfriend.” you told him. “i’m really glad to be your boyfriend” he smiled. you held his face and pressed your lips against his before pulling away. “goodnight miles” you said. “good night, hermosa” he said back, easing away as you walked in your house.

taglist ౨ৎ

@prettypink-princesss @itsnotino @r3d0n33 @iluvprowlermiles @jmsanchoo @stevenknightmarc @melllinaa @444morales @noetophat @bigdikzaddy

#NIA WRITES ࿐#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales #earth 42 miles x black reader #spider man: across the spider verse #prowler miles #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles fluff #black reader

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loverslantern · 9 days ago

Text

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: John realises where the demon will strike next so they head there to stop the next killing.

Warnings: Cannon violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Salvation

(Masterlist, Previous chapter, Outfit Board)

The room is filled with John’s research. The walls are covered with post-its, pictures, newspaper articles, weather charts, and hieroglyphics all about the yellow-eyed demon. There are papers strewn across the desk with the Colt and shelves of hefty books lining the walls. “You know to anyone else this would look like a psychotic break,” I think aloud, examining the wall of information. “Well—”

“Whatever stupid comment you’re going to make, don’t,” John cuts me off. I make a face he cannot see, mocking him.

“This is it,” he continues. “This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we’ve been searching for this demon right? Not a trace, just…nothing. Until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail.”

“And that’s when you took off,” Dean concludes. He hasn’t stopped pacing since we got here.

“Yeah, that’s right. The demon must have come out of hiding, or hibernation.”

“Alright so what’s this trail you found?” he asks.

“It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground,” he explains. “It's going after families, just like it went after us.” “Families with infants?” Sam asks, leaning against a counter. “Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday.” “I was six months old that night?” “Exactly six months,” John echoes. “So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?” “We don't know that Sam,” Dean defends. “Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean,” he bites back. “For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault,” Dean says, his voice lined with frustration. “Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem,” he shouts. “No, it's not your problem it's our problem!”

“Okay. That's enough,” John commands, standing abruptly. Immediately they stop, backing down as they take breaths.

Sam breaks the momentary silence. “So why's he doing it? What does he want?” It’s an almost impossible question especially when one will never be good enough, it doesn’t bring people back nor make you understand. The most it can give is a direction on how to stop it if that. “The answer can range from chaos junky to wanting an army,” I answer.

“I wish I had more answers, I do,” John adds. “I’ve always been one step behind it. Look, I’ve never gotten there in time to save…” He looks down with a frown on his face. “Alright, so how do we find it..before it hits again?” Dean asks. “There are signs. It took me a while to see the pattern but it's there in the days before these fires; signs crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. And then I went back and checked...and…” “These things happened in Lawrence,” Dean finished.

John nods, “A week before your mother died. And in Palo Alto...before Jessica. And these signs, they're starting again.” “Where?” Sam asks “Salvation, Iowa.”

********

The roads seem endless as we head to Iowa; land stretching for miles. John's black truck leads the way through countless hours and misty roads until he suddenly pulls off onto the shoulder. Call it a learned habit or whatever else; either way we exit the Impala with haste, meeting a distressed John outside his vehicle. “God damn it!” he curses, kicking the dirt by his tires.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“Son of a bitch!” he curses again instead of answering.

“What is it?!” he tries again.

“I just got a call from Caleb,” he explains.

“Is he okay?” Dean asks, worry on his face.

“He’s fine. Jim Murphy’s dead.”

“Who’s Jim?” I ask. I know the Winchesters have many connections, yet it still surprises me how many they do have, especially when my father had little to none. I think he only had John by the time he married Mom, and that was really only an ‘I owe you.’ Turns out no one wants to keep in touch or be friends with the guy who married a Witch. “He’s a Pastor that would look after us sometimes,” Dean explains. It comes back to me a little: Sam mentioned calling Pastor Jim for information on their father months ago, and Dean telling me memories long ago in the faint autumn sun.

“How?” Sam asks.

“His throat was slashed. He bled out,” John answers. “Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place.”

“A demon,” Dean concludes. His father nods. “The Demon?”

“I don't know. ‘Could be he just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do though,” I chime in. “Why suddenly change the pattern even if he does think you’re getting close?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do we do?” Dean asks. “Now we act like every second counts. There are two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week,” John orders. “Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?” Sam points out. “We check ‘em all that's how. ‘You got any better ideas?” “No sir.” John nods, satisfied with that response. He turns to his truck and stops, his head hanging low. The last few days might be the most I’ve seen him upset. “Dad?” Dean says softly. “Yeah. It's Jim. You know, I can't....” His face hardens, ridding his voice and face of sadness. “This ends now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes.”

I tug on the bottom of my blouse, adjusting how it sits on my chest before walking through the door Dean holds open. He’d been quiet the entire way to the hospital, even when we dropped off Sam at the medical center, I worry it might be about Pastor Jim’s death or the weight of the whole yellow-eyed situation but I’m not sure.

We walk over to the receptionist's desk, a pretty brunette sitting behind it. He doesn’t make a face or remark about her looks which is even more concerning. “Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks, shining a perfect smile.

“Hello,” I smile back, feeling a burning gaze on me. “I’m Agent Spears and this is my partner, Agent Taylor,” I pull out my ID from my pocket, showing proof of my lie. I look at Dean, his eyes shooting up to my face from wherever they were, his eyebrows raised and eyes a little wide. My eyebrows furrow and my nose scrunches a little with my confusion. He looks at my ID and then at the woman in front of us. “Right,” he mumbles, fumbling with the pocket of his suit jacket for his ID. He pulls it out, flipping it open quickly with a boyish smile. “We…” I look back at the woman. “We were hoping to look at some files…”

********

Our file reading had been cut short when we received a worrying call from Sam informing us of his vision. It hadn’t taken us long to get to the motel room to regroup and talk; Sam sitting with his head in his hands at the table while his father sat on the end of one of the queen beds. Dean sits on the edge of the other bed, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to his elbows; we didn’t have time to change into normal clothes when we essentially rushed over here. And I stand a little awkwardly by Dean, arms crossed against my chest after hearing everything Sam has to say.

“A vision,” John repeats flatly.

“Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling,” Sam explains through gritted teeth, messaging his temples.

“And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because…”

“Because these things happen exactly the way I see them,” Sam finishes.

“It’s almost like he already explained that,” I remark, earning a sharp glare from John. But, it’s not my fault he’s not getting with the program.

“It started out as nightmares. Then it started happening while he was awake,” Dean elaborates, rising from the bed and crossing to the counter behind his brother to get more coffee. Sam winces. “Yeah. It's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon the stronger the visions get.”

“Alright. When were you going to tell me about this?” John asks, his words directed at his eldest son. Both boys pause, looking at their father.

“We didn’t know what it meant,” Dean answers. “Alright, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me,” John replies firmly.

The coffee pot and mug slam back onto the counter, discarded as Dean strides towards his father. “Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence alright? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.” “You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.”

“I’m sure you can watch your own tone Johnny Boy,” I interject, an unamused smile on my face. I’ll give it to him, I never thought I’d hear him say he was wrong ever let alone multiple times in the last couple of days. But, I’m also not fond of his accusatory tone as if this was the boy's fault. “Look guys, visions or no visions, ‘fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight,” Sam cuts in. “And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through.” “No, they're not. No one is, ever again,” John reaffirms. Then, the ringing of a phone cuts through the atmosphere. “Hello?” Sam answers.

“Who is this?”

…

“Meg,” he states. The name is like a knife being plunged into my gut. It is a reminder of the cruelty I put her through, how it was my fault she died as she did. The boys tried to convince me that it wasn’t my fault but they were wrong. Her death may not have been on purpose but it was certainly my fault. And now she’s back. That night is a reminder of what I am and all that I’m capable of. No matter how much I try to hold back and no matter how good I am I can never get rid of what is in my blood.

“Last time I saw you you fell out of a window,” Sam answers. Again there is no blame put on anyone, it’s framed as an accident or something that happened and yet it does not feel that way to me. “...Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop.” She should be dead and yet she isn’t. Maybe this should feel like a second chance or rid me of some guilt, but it doesn’t. Sam looks over to his Dad before he answers whatever question he was asked. “My Dad. I don't know where my Dad is.”

He hesitates and then the phone is put into his father's hands. “This is John…I'm here” There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “Caleb? You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s torturing this man.

“…I don't know what you're talking about,” He answers steadily. “…Caleb. Caleb!... I'm gonna kill you, you know that?” The boys step closer to him. “Okay…I said okay, I'll bring you the colt.”

My eyes widen. “It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there…That's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane.” There’s a silence and a grim look on his face before John hands back Sam’s phone. He runs a hand down his face as he paces, explaining that Meg demanded he bring the Colt to a warehouse in Lincoln alone otherwise everyone they’ve ever known, every hunter friend, every loved one will die. “So you think Meg is a demon?” Sam questions. “Either that, or she's possessed by one. It doesn't really matter,” John replies.

“‘How else could she have…um… survived,” I mumble. “What do we do?” Dean asks. “I’m going to Lincoln,” John declares.

“What?” Dean exclaims. “It doesn't look like we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.” “Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over,” Sam points out. “Who said anything about handing it over? Look, besides us and a coupla of vampires no ones really seen the gun, no one knows what it looks like.” “So what, you're just going to pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?” Dean asks. “Antique store,” John clarifies. “Cause that’s so different,” I remark. I mean, it is but in this instance, there might as well not be a difference.

“You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?” Dean interjects. “Look, as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference,” he reasons. “Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?” Dean points out, his voice firm.

“I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.”

“I know you’re supposed to go alone but I can go with you and offer assistance from afar,” I offer.

“No,” he says firmly. “You need to be with the boys.” I never thought I’d hear him say those words but with the way he directs them at me so sharply I know what he means. I can offer a level of protection against the yellow-eyed demon that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?” Sam asks, figuring out what his father meant as well. “No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want...I want Mary alive. It's just...I just want this to be over.”

********

I can’t stop my leg from bouncing as we sit in the Impala, watching the house where the demon will strike next. The boys are better at hiding their nervousness, which may only be good in this instance, but I’m unsure.

John was long gone by now. His truck was packed with a fake gun and an arsenal of weapons. The real gun sitting between Sam and Dean in the front seat with only four bullets. Promises of “don’t die” and “finish this fight” were shared before he left.

Maybe I shouldn’t be nervous or maybe that’s a stupid remark. There’s a whole powerful and methodical demon to take down and a handful of people to protect in the process. I can’t mess up and I certainly can’t falter. I won’t. This is also why, for once, I chose simple clothing, opting for an all-black outfit that would be easy to move in. This had to go right.

And no offense to the boys but I’ve been tuning out most of their conversations. I don’t need “what ifs” I just need focus, my ears tuned to the radio playing music quietly and my eyes trained on the house, waiting for the telltale signs.

“You doin’ okay back there, sweetheart? You’re awfully quiet.”

My eyes immediately follow the voice; so much for tuning them out. “I’m always quiet,” I defend.

He smirks, somehow able to even at a time like this, “That’s not true.”

“Hey,” I frown.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he adds. “‘You nervous?” It’s a question, yet the way he looks at me through the rearview mirror makes me feel like he already knows the answer and is just asking out of courtesy.

“‘Course I am,” I answer. “And I know you guys are too…Which is fine! Nervous is good…probably.”

“Well, don’t worry that pretty head of yours, we’ll be just fine. I’ll protect you,” he declares, winking. He’s all smug in the way he says it and the way he smiles. Yet, I’m sure he’s just trying to get me to smile. And it works. I smile, scuffing and shaking my head even though I know for a fact that he wasn’t joking about protecting me. “There she is,” he drawls, eyes dipping down. My nervousness does ease, which should be stupid when all he did was talk to me. Maybe that’s pathetic and maybe I don’t care if it is.

“Dean...ah...I wanna thank you,” Sam says, joining in on whatever this is. “For what?” He responds, eyes breaking from the rearview mirror to look at his brother. “For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And uh...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, just in case.” “Whoa whoa whoa, are you kidding me?” “What?” “Don't say just in case something happens to you. I don't wanna hear that fucking speech man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except for that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?” Any softness Dean had moments ago seemed gone now. The light not-joking-joke was serious and ever so evident. This is a serious situation and I almost feel guilty for feeling a moment of ease, especially when the real fear of death lingers over all of us. Things can go wrong here really quickly; the Demon might not die tonight. The only thing I can promise and ensure, above all else, is that my boys aren’t dying.

********

“Dad’s not answering,” Dean announces, his phone held to his ear.

“Maybe Meg was late,” Sam suggests. “Maybe cell reception’s bad.”

Of course, he may be right, there's always the possibility; yet it feels like nothing more than an attempt to be positive, to see things optimistically.

“Yeah, well—”

“Wait. Listen,” Sam cuts Dean off. He rolls the dial on the radio, the breaking static getting louder.

“The lights are flickering,” I add, eyes trained on the house. My heart hammers in my chest at the knowledge of what lurks ahead.

“It’s coming,” Sam concludes.

Nothing more needs to be said and no more evidence needs to be presented for us to haul it out of the car. I beeline it to the front door, my hand on the handle and the lock undone before my body is fully near it. The boys take the lead, taking careful steps down the hallway. Then, a man lunges forward swinging a bat into a lamp. It shatters to the floor with a resounding clash.

“Get out of my house!” He yells, positioning himself to swing again. He has poor aim, a goatee, and a green sweater over a button-down, which doesn’t make for the most intimidating combination.

Dean surges forward, grappling with the man and the bat while Sam pleads for him to calm down. He fights against Dean who easily takes control, swinging him against the wall with a thud, the bat pressed across his throat. “Be quiet and listen to me,” Dean orders sharply. “Be quiet and listen. We are trying to help you.”

God, that was kind of hot—Wait. Priorities, I remind myself. “Come on, Sam,” I nod, moving to the stairs. Dean can take care of himself and we had other things to worry about.

“Charlie? Is everything okay?” A woman's voice cuts in just as I put one foot on the bottom step.

“Monica get the baby!” Charlie yells frantically.

“Don’t go in the nursery!” The Winchesters yell at the same time.

I rush up the stairs, taking two at a time, throwing back another, “Sam!” In an attempt to urge him along. I hear a faint threat from Charlie and some light commotion as I move down the long corridor, seeing a flash of white rush into a room at the far end. I push my legs forward, breaking into a run. I skid into the bedroom, catching only the syllables of a sentence before I throw myself in front of the dark-haired woman clad in a white nightgown. Immediately, I launch a burst of energy toward the dark figure sending it back into the wall. I don’t have the gun, all I can do is keep it busy.

“Get out of here!” I yell, looking back only briefly. But, suddenly I’m flung sideways, my shoulder hitting the wall hard before I fall to the floor, picture frames rattling above me. “Go!” I order, pain erupting in my shoulder and down my arm as I pick myself up.

“But my–”

Yellow eyes shine as it raises its hand.

“I’ll get your baby, just go!”

I intercept it again, throwing another blast that doesn’t seem to do anything more than halt and irritate it. Monica leaves the room. The baby erupts into tears, the commotion certainly startling it. The Demon tries to move me again with a flick of a wrist but I brace myself, using my powers to hold me in place as I lift my own hands and attempt to move it away from the crib. But, it barely shifts. And yet it feels like I’m fighting against gravity, a heavy invisible force trying to force me back as if weights were tied to my limbs. Even so, I push more of my powers forward, harsher and faster yet it still doesn’t budge even if it feels like a house was being thrown on top of me.

Then, Sam bursts through the doorway, freezing as he takes in the Demon. It seems to react to him, turning to him slightly. The Colt is raised and the shot rings in the air. The baby’s wailing becomes just as piercing as the gun. The Demon disappears into smoke, the bullet landing in the wall behind it, marking the wall.

I nearly collapse as the invisible weight is lifted off of me, my bones feel like jello–almost as if they too were giving up on me. I slump forward slightly, pulling myself toward the crib.

“Where the hell did it go!” Sam yells.

I ignore him, focusing on getting the kid out first. Before my hands even touch the wooden sides I can feel what is to come, the fire licking at my hands before there's one at all. I don’t know whether it's some sort of intuition or what Missouri had shown me all those months ago, either way, I quickly and carefully scoop up the crying baby, the crib exploding into flames as I step back and shield the child from it. The windows explode, flames crawling outwards—feeding on the oxygen.

The moment I step into the hallway strong arms encircle me. He’s behind me, urging me forward with a hand on my middle back as we race out of the house, smoke filling the place rapidly. Sam and Monica aren’t that far in front of us, I guess she only left the room before and not the house itself.

My lungs greedily take in clean air as we make it outside. The baby is taken from my arms and into the rightful one of her mothers. Charlie puts his arm around his wife’s, eyes scanning both his girls. “Thank you,” Monica says with tear-filled eyes.

I’m glad everyone was safe and yet I feel almost defeated, like there was more that could’ve been done. And I’m sure that same thought is going through the boy's heads too. All that we can do is watch as the house is consumed in flames, harsh oranges and reds licking at what is meant to be a place of safety. But, there in the burning nursery, through shattered windows, is a mocking dark silhouette that can only be one being.

“It’s still in there!” Sam yells, starting for the front door.

Dean grabs him quickly, holding him back, “Sam. Sam, no.”

“Dean let me go, it’s still in there,” he argues, struggling against his hold.

“No. It’s burning to the ground, it’s suicide.”

“I don’t care,” Sam yells.

“I do!’

And just like that, something changes. I can’t explain what it is exactly, but it’s heavy and it’s real. Once more, all we can do is watch as the flames rise again, the Demon disappearing.

********

Dean paces the motel room, his phone to his ear as it rings for the umpteenth time. “Come on Dad, answer your phone damn it,” he grumbles. Given the last year his disappearance doesn’t seem out of character but because he was on this whole mission his lack of contact is worrisome. He hangs up with a huff, “Somethings wrong.”

“Okay,” I sigh from my chair, “We’ll find him…again.” Whatever is wrong we can fix, or at the very least handle it better than the yellow-eyed demon (hopefully.)

Dean nods silently, stress and frustration clear in his features. Then, his attention goes to Sam who instead of answering stares at the wall with his classic bitchface. Dean tilts his head down, trying to get his brother's attention. “‘You hear me? Somethings wrong.”

“If you had just let me go in there, I coulda ended all this.”

“Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life,” Dean counters.

“You don’t know that,” Sam answers firmly.

“The building was going down you wouldn’t be able to see let alone breathe long enough to even get to it or do anything,” I add.

He shakes his head, “‘Doesn’t matter.”

Dean walks towards where Sam sits on the end of one of the beds. “So what, you’re just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?”

He stands up abruptly, towering over his brother. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re damn right I am.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen, not as long as I’m around.”

“What the hell are you talking about Dean? We’ve been searching for this demon our whole lives. It’s the only thing we’ve ever cared about.”

“Sam, I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it’s not worth dying over.”

“What?”

“I mean it. If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing,” he doubles down. “That thing killed Jess. That thing killed Mom,” Sam argues. “You said it yourself once, that no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back.”

Sam snaps. He grabs Dean by the collar of his shirt and shoves him hard against the wall. I stand quickly, ready to intervene but Dean throws me a quick look that tells me to not.

“Don't you say that, not you!” Sam yells, his voice breaking a little. “Not after all this don’t you say that.” Despite the anger thrown at him Dean answers with soft, quiet words, “Sam look. The three of us...that's all we have...and it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together man...and without you…or Y/N, or Dad…”

“Dad,” Sam slumps, letting go and turning away. He runs a hand down his face as he walks across the room. “He should have called by now. Try him again.” Dean presses a couple of buttons, then raises his phone to his ear. It’s quiet for two beats before his face contorts in anger. “Where is he?” He spits.

......TO BE CONTINUED......

(Next Chapter)

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