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alexandrite-dragoness · 9 months ago

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My Final Thoughts on Persona 3 Reload :)

Hello all! ^^

I just happened to finish Persona 3 Reload recently and wanted to give my own personal thoughts on it. Of course I won't go into many specific details and make this into an essay, so I'll just put in what I enjoyed, what I didn't like and what I'm looking forward to in a potential DLC.

Also on that note a good chunk of my thoughts will be regarding Strega (Jin and Takaya in particular), since they are personally my favorite villains from the game and I was looking forward to seeing any additional scenes they were given.

So let us begin (this does contain spoilers so be wary)

What I did Enjoy (or Absolutely Loved):

☑ Social Link Episodes (& the Full-On Voice Acting)

First off, I want to express my gratitude for Atlus in taking the time to apply some TLC to the less appreciated characters in P3. This is especially true for Shinjiro, who I felt was the least fleshed out among the rest of SEES (and, you know, for valid reasons). He did have more moments of his own specifically in Persona 3 Portable if you play as the female protagonist, but unfortunately that even had its limit. That also gave us a moment with Mitsuru to explain about her past with Shinjiro and Akihiko, giving us a bit of a flashback which I think is a neat touch! Strega also was given some decent amount of treatment in the remake as well, showing two (or was it three?) exclusive scenes with Jin and Takaya and lifting some of their mysterious past midway through the game rather than shoving all of it to the end (however I do my complaints regarding that still, but I digress).

The additional voice overs for the social links is an incredible touch, it made me even appreciate some of the characters even more (or even starting to like the ones I didn't care about before). Yuko after spending some time with her became one of my favorite SLs in the game, she has such a neat and endearing attitude in her voice and I dig it a lot! Hidetoshi came close to my second fave, when switching from a uptight attitude to some occasions a more softening/somber approach was when I started appreciating him a little more.

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☑ Additional Evening Activities (+Kitchen & Rooftop)

To be honest during my first and early experience in Persona 3 (FES) the evenings were a bit of a drag. There was no part-time jobs during that point (part-times didn't happen until P3P) and there were only two social links that appeared at night. So more often than not I'd be studying away at my desk or kill some time at the mall some other way (and I wasn't enjoying half the time).

Fortunately Reload (for the most part) fixed that issue by giving us the opportunity to hang out with our teammates in the dorm/lounge room in the evenings. This also added a new mechanic to give these team members a gauge/characteristic for battle. During those times too, even if they didn't raise their battle perk at the moment, they may either give you a useful item for battles or raise one of your social stats in the meanwhile.

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☑ QoL Additions (+Theurgy)

Trying to keep this part brief but I do enjoy the additional quality of life content they added to the same, some even adapted from P3P itself (this includes the part time jobs). As much as I enjoyed Theurgy and the perks it came with it, I was hoping they were going to do a "Showtime" gig with the team (having a Akihiko and Shinjiro duo attack would've been awesome ngl), but I'm pretty satisfied with what we have too. Also the fact they gave Fuuka abilities is all I ever wanted!! :D She's now more useful than ever, thank goodness.

Regarding outside-of-battle changes; one of them I noticed is how you were able to revive Chidori. Originally you had to talk to Junpei on four separate days on September just to convince him to visit her in the hospital. In Reload they completely changed it so you just had to buy the white flowers. It's a little more straight-forward and I actually enjoyed that change. One change I was indifferent on was Yukari's SL where, when reversing the arcana, they made the choice more obvious where you would say she is a girl rather than hugging her in hopes to make her feel better. While I wasn't the most thrilled on the change I can see why it was made.

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☑ More Strega >:)

Oh hell yeah!! I was super ecstatic when I saw the new scenes when I played through the game >:D not only was I ready to kick their ass again, but seeing what else is in store regarding their tasks and potential additional backstory.

We already know Chidori got enough screentime as is, so I was looking forward to seeing what Atlus has given to the male duo of the antagonizing group. A lot of them are the same, but some of the others definitely more focused on Takaya when he went to interact with the protagonist. Originally the protagonist never mingled with the villains (in fact it felt mostly ignored in every encountered they had), so when Takaya shows keen interest on the protagonist and how he wields multiple Personas, it gave Takaya his own moment of development as he tries to convince the protagonist to "not throw his gift away" and embrace the Dark Hour as is. Takaya already shows to have no interest or attachment with anyone (rip Jin), but the fact he did end up questioning himself whether or not he was feeling any attachment for the Wild Card, it was indeed a new look on how we see him as a villain.

ALSO BDJKVBJDS THEIR WHOLE FINAL BATTLES WERE WILD!! Jin stabbing himself with those enhancement drugs went raw, and Takaya having an unbelievable Thuergy attack surely took me by surprise!!! This is not without my own complaints for them, ofc...

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☑ T h e B u i l d - u p (& The Cinematic Experience overall)

When first jumping into the game it already gives a creepy-and-almost-horror vibe to the introduction of the game. You finally got off at your stop, making your way to the student dormitory only for the sky to turn green and the puddles of blood to appear all of the sudden. It's a real nice way to showing what the Dark Hour is, without telling you right away what (which makes it even more unnerving).

And then jumping to 3/5 being the final day of the game, the whole entire scene with you laying on Aigis's lap gives you time to get hit in the feels once the android gets to say what she finds in her meaning of life. Love that it was more of a cinematic experience, since I didn't have to click "X" to continue any sort of dialogue and therefore get to sit back and relax and watch everything happening. And the dialogue choices you choose... damn, the layout for that does a lot with the timing given too. I really enjoyed the ending a lot more than the original for sure, and seeing the cast running up the stairs to find you was such a great addition (That's how it went for the 2014 P3 movie as well).

Regarding the Social Links:

Another note I've taken is with the addition of voice acting, talking to everyone on the 4th day of March adds a lot more emotion to their dialogues, as you get to find out what some of them wanted to do with their life after school. The little details they added definitely adds a whole layer of accomplishment and knowing what you did to save the world was very much worth it, and being able to secure all your friends' futures. I love that emotional feeling when I went to talk all the SLs I maxed :')

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now unto...

My If's and But's:

⍉ The Voice Cast

I gotta admit: Since the start of my playthrough I wasn't a huge fan of few of the voice cast for certain characters (Akihiko and Ikutsuki were some of the big ones). Some of those however did grow on me, and I started to appreciate them more the farther I got into the game. Junpei and Mitsuru in my opinion were perfect on their own 👌 no complaints with them. Fuuka is also perfect, gives me Fluttershy vibes LOL. Yukari and Aigis took only a little time to get used to and I think they're almost perfect for their roles as well. Aleks Le as the protagonist was also a great choice!

Akihiko in particular took me a lot longer in getting used to- I've always thought Liam O Brian was perfect as the original VA for Akihiko. After some time getting used to it, he started to grow on me. Same for Takaya too, as I wasn't so sure what I thought of him at first but his evil laughs surely did him justice. Speaking of Justice- Ken also took some getting used to, since at first he didn't exactly sound like a kid to me at the start (there's a difference between sounding like a kid, or sounding like a woman trying to sound like a kid).

The ones I'm more 'eh' about is Ikutsuki and Jin. Ikutsuki sounds a bit too mature for my liking, as his lighthearted jokes doesn't match with his voice at all to me. And while Jin did sound like his snarky self in the Strega introduction and while facing off against SEES... he also has a shift of tone in other scenes?? It was a weird mix to me when I first notice it, I wasn't sure what that was about (could be me being very particular about it as a Jin fan myself). Best guess is he chooses to drop his act when he's around Takaya, revealing how he actually talks (also can we talk about the fact that Jin actually shows care for Chidori?? Like? This is amazing on so many levels??)

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⍉ Some Dialogue Changes

It was to be expected that the Reloaded script isn't going to be 1:1 ratio with the original (especially if it's a little outdated and out of touch), but I can't help but some difference in dialogue that I feel is odd or seen as unnecessary.

One of the first things I noticed is how much they toned down some of Yukari's dialogues in regards to her attitude. I get that some of her lines can come off as rude or maybe even uncalled for, but I feel like that adds a bit to her character. To only soften her up makes some of her conflicts with the other characters not as... compelling.

Another irk I had was when they have Akihiko say random outbursts of "What?" or "What was that?", which I don't recall hearing him say that many times- Huh? Oh, you thought I would be complaining about the protein mentions lol. Tho tbf the random 'protein' lines was indeed a bit much, but it wasn't as over the top as some hardcore fans put it as. It was tolerable, at worst, but it was the random 'what' lines he had that threw me off the most.

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⍉ No FeMC:

Now I'm not really down about the lack of FeMC in the game, since Reload is supposed to go off of the original games to start with. As much as I would love a female protagonist in Reload, I can live without one. Chances are, who knows, maybe there will be a potential DLC content with her in the future? Could be a long stretch.

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What I feel the Game Lacked (or no likey):

☒ The Iconic Animated Cutscene (Specifically: MC's Awakening)

Now this game isn't without some flaws, that's for sure!

When we got to the cutscene at the rooftop when Yukari and the protagonist were about to face the Magician Arcana boss, I thought the awakening scene would've been 2D animated- just how it was for the original (the P3 movie did this scene extremely well; in fact my favorite so far). While the cutscene we were given wasn't bad at all (I'm not trying to say it is), but I feel like giving that same scene the 2D Anime treatment would've looked a lot better! The animators could really push for some dynamic angles or animation movements that would've sold to be more epic than it being in 3D.

I would definitely understand if they wanted to balance out between doing two-dimensional and doing three-dimensional throughout the entire game, but in my personally bias the 2D animated scenes have a unique charm to their looks and I almost always prefer that over the typical in-game scenes (after all I did feel like there wasn't many 2D animated scenes throughout).

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☒ The Change of the Heart Items

Now this is more of a personal nitpick for me, playing FES as my first P3 game (techically I started Portable first, but then I fully switched over to FES), but I missed the original heart items I'd get by leveling up my Personas. From what I recall: The heart items you'd get would be accessories you'd give to your teammates that can indeed block certain elemental attacks. It was extremely useful to block certain weaknesses my team would have and it helped out pretty well. Speaking of, are they still in the game? Mhe, I may have to go through my NG+ to see if they do exist, cuz chances are I must've missed it.

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And now for my final nitpick...

☒ Lack of Jin/other Strega content (& his development in Reload)

Now personally, I like Jin.

Actually that's a lie: I love Jin! Both design-wise and as a character! So you can expect me to go off on why I believed Atlus wasted their potential to build his character up based on very little development he received from the games. First off: You only ever see him around Takaya 99% of the time (only time by himself is at the top of Tartarus, tho that's different given he's there for Takaya's wish). Second of all: Atlus really made it sound like they'd do Strega some good by giving them their much needed backstory that they lacked since the existence of P3. But instead, most of that effort went to Takaya, leaving Jin in the dust once more.

While I did feel I put my expectations a little too high for them to work with Jin on that matter, I believe it would've done some good if they chose to flesh him out as an actual character, starting by seeing him outside the Dark Hour and on his own typing away on his laptop or something...

And while I did mention already that Jin did show actual concern for Chidori in the game (that I'm very much happy about), I felt that quickly went away as soon as the two went to 'rescue' Chidori from the hospital (and Jin's "hurry up already" doesn't really help with that either). And when Chidori gave her life up for Junpei during that scene, Jin... didn't really show much reaction at all, which was very much a downer.

Meanwhile I also relaized they cut back on some of Jin's usual battle animations during the fight, which was extremely disappointing. So there was no backflips, no breakdancing out of a Knock Down, none of that. And he doesn't even toss his grenade in his walk cycle anymore (perhaps that was for the best if he's out in public). And after beating Jin at the top of Tartarus and leaving him behind with a bunch of Shadows that just appeared (now this is just me), they didn't even bother making an animation of him pulling out a grenade or whatever. Just a cut in at the team running off and hearing an explosion after that, leaving it to you to use your imagination how it went. I also realized Fuuka didn't turn her head to look at Jin before leaving off-screen, which is a shame too.

So yeah, tldr; real lack of effort put into Jin as he gets the short end of the stick like usual.

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Conclusion: What I'm Looking Forward to...

Now with my praises and rants out of the way, I do have some hopes for any later content Atlus may give for Reload in the upcoming future. Specifically any DLCs they may make, since I feel it has been hinted at (or rumored?) there will be new content in the future.

One of my hopes is for The Answer DLC. Given we've already taken a look at the Senpai Trio's past already in Reload and Aigis, after losing her beloved leader, would be going through a rough patch of phase of existential crisis. And the original Answer had some problems, as it became somewhat controversial within the fandom (particularly with Yukari). At this point it would give Atlus a good opportunity to fix some of the issues within the game (especially regarding the bosses and battles, like jesus christ!) and flesh it out better. And after playing through the game and seeing subtle hints that Aigis would be given future development post-Journey, I have no doubt The Answer will come out in a timely manner.

My other hope (which is more of a self-indulgent request, but whatev), if possible, that after expressing my issues and concerns with villains already, Atlus may take up the opportunity to create an exclusive Strega DLC! For that to be happening can indeed be very unlikely (I know), but if there's ever a possibility that they can perhaps take inspiration or rip a page out of the Shadow Cry novel that is about Strega, it would definitely help flesh them out and show what their routines are like day-to-day. They can even make it a short and cheap type of content, I wouldn't care, I'll take whatever they would have!

On that note: Some more Strega merch would be nice...

Anyways, thanks to anyone who took the time to read this (this took me a couple hours to write up), and have a good rest of your day :)

#persona 3 reload #thoughts #and prayers lol #strega

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werewolfoverlord12 · 2 years ago

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Rippling Reflections Supplement 2: Dangers in Plain Sight

Urabrask awoke for the sixth night in a row, dripping in a cold sweat and feeling as something was watching him.

The warm form beside him moved and Amelia placed her hand on his arm, "What's wrong?" She asked.

"Same thing as last night... dread and like eyes are on me," he placed his head in his hands, "I have to present our findings about the augementations tomorrow to the United Kingdoms of Dominaria... I need sleep."

Amelia sat up as he got out of bed, "Where are you going?"

"Lab 1. I can ignore those voices and eyes just fine," he leaned in and kissed her, "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, "You're not going alone. I know Watcher added a new room for us to stay in today; maybe it'll be safer there?"

"You don't think it's Watcher that's causing this, do you?"

"No," Amelia said, "I've felt those eyes too. It's not Watcher and besides, Watcher likes you; these eyes hate you."

Lab 1's door slide open with a familiar hiss, and immediately the four praetor's minds attacked him; snarling, he felt the Glimmering Oil in his body surge and the room was filled with golden light for a brief moment. The Praetor's retreated rapidly, as if burned.

A second door that hadn't been there three days earlier slide open on the wall entering the lab. Inside was almost perfect recreation of their bedroom, including the scent diffuser in the shape of a...

"What did you call that? The cutesy version of something?"

"Chibi," Amelia said, "it's big on Kamigawa right now."

... a 'chibi' version of him.

"Did you move that in here?"

"Yes," she said, "I had a thought this might happen, but i also didn't want you anywhere near them," she gestured over her shoulder at the Four Fallen Praetors, 'if we could help it."

"Right..." Urabrask yawned, and stretched, when two icy hands found there way onto his exposed back, "YAAAH. Grrrr AMY!"

Amelia grinned, "Sorry. But when you yawn your nightshirt lifts up and since i can't get your stomach, i went for the next best thing."

"The next best thing would be a little lower, dear," he said, smirking, "but either way, a warning would be nice."

"Probably, but doesn't mean you're going to get it," Amy said.

After getting into bed, Urabrask lay on his side facing the door, while Amelia lay just behind him, arm around his waist, face buried between his shoulder blades. When not in use, the spines laid down flush with his skin.

He fell asleep almost immediately, but Amelia waited until he was snoring softly before creeping out of the room and returning to their old one. Turning on the lights, she scanned the room,

"Watcher?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Watcher."

"Sorry... Yes, Amy?"

"Can you scan the room again, please? I know we did earlier but he still had those nightmares."

"Oh course," Watcher replied, "I've added additional search parameters. I assume you'll be searching as well like last time?"

"Makes both our jobs easier if we do."

Twenty or so minutes later, Watcher cleared it's throat, "Amy?"

She glanced up at the ceiling from her position on the floor, looking under the bed, "Yes?"

"Mantle piece."

"... ah... okay..." She got up and walked over to their fireplace, where an assortment of items were stored or displayed.

One was part of Vorinclex's faceplate, cleaned and sealed against contamination; but it was the object beside it that Amelia examined.

Rona's left eye from an earlier encounter Amelia had had with her.

"Is it still active?"

"Yes," Watcher said, "and the signal is coming from Dominaria."

Amelia picked it up and stared into it, "I wonder if she can feel pain..."

She morphed her hand into it's crystal form, "Watcher? A containment bucket please?"

"Of course."

A large, orange crystal bucket appeared on the floor; Amelia bent down, held the eye in her crystal hand and squeezed until it popped. The stench of Glistening Oil struck her nose which reacted like the rest of her; shifting to her Crystal form. She shook off what she could and burned off the rest as Watcher sealed the bucket and transferred it to the Quarantine Labs, where their study of Phyrexian mutations and how to reverse them continued.

"I think we'll keep sleeping in the new room," Amelia said, glancing around her, "just in case."

"Understood. Fortunately, it was sealed as well so nothing else was contaminated."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Any time. Would you like me to put on the sound dampers as you head into the room?"

Amelia smiled, "Yes, please. Thank you again Watcher."

#Urabrask #Fractured Pride #OCs #magic the gathering

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khashanakalashtar · 1 year ago

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A few months ago I would've reblogged this with no addition, maybe left a #felt or #mood in the tags, but in the meantime I've had my meds switched out.

The thing I was on before was great at making me not suicidal, I was on it for like seven years, I would have told you I loved it. The first sign that it had stopped working?

Was not being slightly dissociated literally all the time. Which was leaps and bounds a better place to be than miserable, but I had straight up believed real wonder and awe were something I had simply grown out of. I did not think I was capable of those emotions anymore, the kind that lets you stare at a grasshopper and go, "fuck, this EXISTS, look at it!" The mindful kind. If anything, I thought those were emotions reserved for people not living in a world falling to pieces around them, people who had real-life friends and partners and job satisfaction, people who made it to the gym and took walks and ate well-rounded meals.

My meds stopped working and I got back highs and lows, both, I got back wonder and awe and feeling alive and I got back lying in bed using all of my strength not to hurt myself. A whole range of emotions I thought I didn't have anymore.

The first thing they tried me on muted the highs and lows again, but it did nothing for my executive function, and I straight up told my psychiatrist, the amount of sugar I'm having to eat to get myself to do anything is not sustainable. Honestly I could probably handle the bad days if I could function on the in-between days, but I can't make dinner or take a shower or get through a workday without eating handfuls of chocolate, even if my mood feels fine. And I pointed out to my psych: My old medication was a dopamine/norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor. So she switched me to something with epinephrine in it.

Y'all, someday is now.

Someday I'll read this book, someday I'll paint that picture, someday I'll start job hunting, someday I'll schedule an eye doctor appointment--it's now. I'm doing it. I can do it.

I read a YA novel in one sitting. I haven't pulled that shit since high school. I can do more than one thing in a day now. I've scheduled like four things, done the household chores before they started gaining sentience, tried to visit the cobbler and an art exhibit, gotten my mother's Christmas gift, refilled my meds, made serious progress on three pieces of art, applied for several jobs, read that book, planned my Halloween costume, and voted within, like, the last week.

Because, now? I can decide to do a thing and just do it. There's minimal arguing with myself. It doesn't take effort to move from the "fine I'll do it" stage to actually doing it.

I keep cycling through a couple repeating thoughts. "Is this what it's like to be neurotypical?" "It was never supposed to be this hard?" "I've actually been disabled for my entire adult life, in the legal sense of significantly impairing my ability to do things in several areas of my life and not just the 'mental illness counts' sense?"

And also, "Every time I thought, 'Is this really all there is?' the answer was no?"

It's not perfect. Brain still requires more rest than I want it to. Couldn't leave the house today, or spend the daytime working on art or applications, but I took a shower and did the laundry, including the ironing, and that's more than I usually get out of days like this.

(And you know what, it's a lot easier to get exercise or eat balanced meals or clean your shower before it molds or do activism if you don't have to fight yourself about it for hours. It's like the opposite of a negative spiral. It's easier to maintain friendships and develop new ones and consider career paths and find things that give you joy and purpose.)

You know how we're always telling suicidal teens that they don't know what their life is going to be like yet, that they can't begin to imagine how different adulthood is going to be and the person they're going to become? I think we need to stop forgetting that this applies to every stage of life to some degree. Teenage Kieran had no idea what life was like, because they had only experienced a piece of it, but early 20s Kieran and late 20s Kieran also had no idea what life was like, and they would never have believed Kieran today existed. I can only assume that I still have no idea what life is like in my 30s and 40s and after. The idea that "you never know what the future might hold" has actual meaning to me now.

I don't want to imply that all of you just need to get on better meds, I know that's not the answer or even feasible for everyone. I just want people to know that it isn't a platitude when I say you never know what the future might hold. You might get to practically-30 and have the hopeless grind of a life that you can't look too far in the future of without depressing yourself suddenly look like an opportunity.

Also that "not actively suicidal" is a fine first goal for an antidepressant, but maybe don't stay on it for seven years without at least considering raising your standards.

Someday might come.

i thought my suicidal late teens were the hardest years of my life but nothing could’ve prepared me for my 20s waking up everyday with no purpose, feeling so lost, unable to keep up with friendships, watching everyone move on with relationships and careers and being unable to catch up. and I’m such a “life is not a race” type of person but damn I’m losing so hard rn

#long post #yeah I could have put it under a cut but my target audience doesn't always have one more button click in them

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billconrad · 1 year ago

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Riding A Bike Helps Everything

At age six, an enormous box was under the Christmas tree. When I tore off the wrapping, I saw the picture of a Toys Are Us Geoffrey Giraffe bicycle. Unfortunately, it was not all good news because several parts broke when my father and I assembled the bike. Yes, my bike was junk, but I loved the freedom, adventure, and adulthood that bike riding represented.

My bike was orange, with a striped banana seat and a flag. Of course, I needed training wheels and had difficulty mastering balance. During those early years, I had several accidents. Bike helmets were not standard gear then, and I was lucky I did not crack my head open. I still have two visible scars from crashing.

That bike quickly fell apart, and my mother bought me a black Schwinn from a church friend. What a machine. It got stolen a year later, and my mother purchased a red Schwinn from the classified ads. Not a great bike, but I rode it everywhere, including school. However, there were limitations, specifically the hills around our neighborhood.

I needed a bike with gears; five years later, my father gave me his ten-speed. It required brakes, shifters, and seat repairs, but I quickly fell in love with this new capability. My favorite activity was exploring the canyon behind our house. I took a weekly four-hour ride from 1985 to 1988.

That bike broke when I tried to jump a curb, and my dad purchased a chrome Raleigh mountain bike for my eighteenth birthday. This machine was incredible, and an entirely new level of adventures opened up. Plus, it looked fantastic. I rode that bike for many years, exploring canyons, and it followed me to Orange County, California, where I tried to get an engineering job.

At that time, there were few jobs in San Diego, and I hoped the larger cities around Orange County would have better prospects. But, alas, I ended up at Kinko’s making copies—a degrading and menial experience. On top of my job difficulties, not having a girlfriend or professional work stressed me out.

To ease my tensions, I began taking bike rides after work. This physical activity improved my mental outlook, plus it was healthy. But what is the stress reduction difference between a bike ride and some other physical activity? I have run, lifted weights, walked, swam, meditated, tried yoga, danced, skipped rope, hiked, and stretched for exercise. While these are excellent physical activities, I did not find they were good at relieving stress

Why? Cycling takes tremendous focus at some stages and almost none at others. It is a three-dimensional activity with scenery, challenges, danger, and physical exertion. The success is evident at the journey’s end because the rider has advanced from one location to another.

What is my stress-reducing process? At the beginning of a ride, I only concentrate on riding. Then, about ten minutes later, I relax, and my focus drifts from the ride to other areas. This supporting mindset allows me to think about issues, problems, friends, my job, solutions, life, and relationships. Yet, sometimes, my mind ends up going to baffling places.

Do I listen to music or a podcast to help me relax? No, this is a special time, and I do not want to experience somebody else’s creations. Instead, the scenery, other riders, trail challenges, and physical exertion provide entertainment and a natural distraction. Such genital distractions help my creativity and problem-solving by breaking up thoughts, which means that one thought does not dominate my time.

Do I recommend bike riding to others? Yes and no. Exercise has become a religion for many people. If a new person begins lifting weights, baseball, or boxing, they can be hazed by the experienced. I would never try to push my beliefs toward others.

I can attest that bike riding helps me, and everybody should be physically active for many reasons, including mental health. Bike riding is not for everyone because it is dangerous, and unlike a treadmill, riders must keep going when they get tired.

You’re the best -Bill

May 31, 2023

Hey book lovers, I published three. Please check them out!

Interviewing Immortality is a psychological thriller about a 500-year-old woman who forces a disgraced author to interview her.

Pushed to the Edge of Survival is a drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

Cable Ties is a classic spy novel about two hunters discovering that government communications are being recorded and the ensuing FBI investigation.

These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

#writing #bike riding #stress

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im4uworld · 2 years ago

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Thankful. Chapter 1 - Who am I?

I retired from a job in public service four (4) years ago as the Planning Director for the small City of Hood River, Oregon, located in the scenic Columbia River Gorge. I had spent most of my career here, twenty-eight (28) years with the City and another three (3) years with the county.

I was excited, nervous, and scared about this major life change, but most importantly, hidden below the surface was the thought, "would I be lonely?" I decided to travel for my first (1st) year in retirement. I toured throughout the United States, including Chicago, New York, Florida, Arizona, Minneapolis, and Northern Michigan. I even made a trip to Mexico. I created so many beautiful and lasting memories. I visited friends and family and saw Broadway Shows and magnificent art galleries. I basked in the Mexican sun, walked the beautiful shores of Lake Michigan, and attended many music concerts, a particular passion of mine. The sounds of Fleetwood Mac, Bonnie Raitt, Earth Wind and Fire, Chicago, Beach Boys, James Taylor, and others still play in my mind from time to time. I was enjoying a perfect time. Someone who had retired a few years before I advised, "don't wait to do everything you have ever wanted to do, because there is only so much time left."

That first year in retirement was a beautiful escape from reality. But when I got home, there I was. The thought that I did not have much time left depressed me. What would I do, especially if time was of the essence? I did some soul-searching and started on a different trajectory in retirement, one that has been personally and spiritually fulfilling. I am happy and optimistic and look forward to what a new day brings, something I could not always say when working a full-time job.

I asked myself what kind of person I had been and how I could be a better version of myself. That required an inventory, and that was quite enlightening. I discovered I could learn more about the qualities I yearned for by looking at people I truly admired. The attributes that I admire most in people are honesty, humility, selflessness, and contentment. I had these in my life, but I understood that I could manifest them to a greater degree and become a better version of who I aspired to be. Whatever my journey in retirement might be, I wanted it filled with activities that manifest greater honesty, humility, selflessness, and contentment.

Now, where did I want to make this vision a reality? I love where I live. It is a small town, a historical community with wonderful people. I have a cozy home I created and am part of a warm and friendly social network here in Hood River. Hood River is in the Columbia River Gorge, a stunningly beautiful natural and scenic area about an hour's drive east of Portland, Oregon.

So, I had two pieces of the retirement puzzle, who I aspired to be and where I wanted to realize that future. That is all good, but what will I do to make this a reality? I could see possibilities when I got quiet (I do it through meditation and a spiritual connection to a Power greater than myself). It was not long before opportunities presented themselves.

For much of its existence, Hood River was not well known. It was a quiet town on the Columbia River, an agricultural service and lumber town on a railroad line that provided one of the few level crossings through the Cascade Mountain range. An eclectic group of ex-hippies began to discover its recreation potential. They imparted a distinct and colorful character to the town. Its location on the river can be pretty windy, but those are ideal sailboarding conditions (such as windsurfing and kiteboarding). In the years that followed, more people began to flood into the Columbia River Gorge, and Hood River is at the center of it all. They were seeking adrenaline rushes with almost every type of recreation imaginable in this four-season scenic splendor. Sailboarding, skiing, hang gliding, whitewater rafting, and mountain biking enthusiasts, to name a few, came to the Gorge, and the recreation industry boomed.

The recreation industry was part of a larger tourism-oriented economy that grew up here. The fertile growing conditions for the county's large fruit orchards led to wineries and micro-distilleries. The historic town center of Hood River and other towns and the rich heritage of several nearby Native American Tribal Nations brought in people looking for a cultural experience. And, of course, the many beautiful and scenic waterfalls in the Gorge attracted people far and wide.

Soon a noticeable schism developed between the people who called this place home and those that came to visit. An influx of wealthy people looking for a second home outbid locals for housing. The average house price is too expensive for many local people to afford. The term 'dark streets' came to signify the large number of second homes that were unoccupied most of the year and were dark at night. Some could afford to live here, and they pushed out those who could not.

Both agriculture and tourism require farm and service workers. Latinos represented over 32% of the population and were some of the most affected. Most of them rented their homes and could be pushed out readily from their homes to more affluent people wanting their homes or property. Another affected group was younger adults who were born and raised here. They, too, were struck especially by skyrocketing housing costs and wages that did not even allow for the rental of an apartment. My hometown, since 1986, has become a place of the haves and the have-nots.

I knew I wanted to help those left by the wayside with this new infusion of wealthier people. I knew that I had to be part of helping those who the changes had displaced. I also knew that I could not just give money away and use that to justify my ego. I wanted, I needed to do something much more 'hands-on.' The only way to help was to get to know the people affected and their stories. What did they need?

I did not know the path forward precisely; it was more of an inside voice calling me in a direction. I got quiet and listened. I would make the discoveries I needed to make as I went along. My job was to start the journey. And so began the real story of my retirement, a life of service. It all started with a question, who am I? Little did I know at the time where it would take me or that this would become an amazing journey of self-discovery.

#retirement #service #charity #life meaning

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dokifluffs · 3 years ago

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You’re Safe | Sakusa Kiyoomi

Pairing: Kiyoomi X Reader (female)

Genre: MAFIA!AU, dad and husbando tehe, fluffy, action? thriller??

Author’s Note: mafia 🤝 protective 🤝 domestic father figure 🤝 SAKUSA

Warnings: k*lling, blood, vivid imagery, LONG, language

gif from @rivaillerose 🖤

“Y/N,” a husky voice spoke your name, pulling you from your much needed rest as life of being a new mother had been challenging though so far, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle

“Y/N, darling.”

You groaned in your sleep, not wanting to wake, to leave the warmth that you were so comfortable laying in

The edge of the bed shifted as a weight sat down beside you, making your body move toward the person

You brought yourself to open your eyes as heavy as they were, your vision clearing to find your husband sat beside you, his mask pulled down to his chin

The room was gloomy and gray though the curtains were open, not a bit of sunlight shining through as he looked down to you with gentle eyes

Despite his softer side with you, he was still the head of the clan - and his appearance matched him as well

He donned a black wool overcoat with the same colored turtleneck and mask

“What is it, Omi?” You asked sleepily as he cupped your cheek with his black gloved hand

His black gloves were always an accessory he had on him, whether he was wearing them or not

He had a thing with germs but he also saw no need to get his hands dirty when his men were always there to do the job for him

You nuzzled your face into his touch, very tempted to fall asleep holding him close but as your mind woke up more and more, you remembered what today was

What he had to do, where he had to go

“I’m leaving soon.. I’ll be back in a few days..” he whispered as he moved a strand of your hair from your face

You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear these words, that he never told you he had to leave or when he did

A part of you wished he left without telling you but an even greater part was so grateful that he woke you

“Do you really have to go again?” You squeezed his gloved hand as you sat yourself up straighter

“You know how my father is... He wants to make sure things are... under control.. I promise I’ll be back in two days.”

The way he spoke, the words fell so effortlessly from those lips, his voice low and cutting through the space yet he spoke at a volume as if he was telling you a great secret

“You said that last time and he kept you with him for a couple weeks...” you thought back to that time

You were seven months pregnant, almost eight, at the time and it was like he fell off the face of the earth

You couldn’t go anywhere or do anything but reside in the manor and you couldn’t even talk to him

You were alone again

“Don’t go...”

the nights in bed alone, the cramps, emotional rollercoasters, motion sickness, nausea

You at least wished he could have called you

The nightmares you had, the worst case scenarios playing in your head until you woke up with tears streaming down your face, only for you to cry yourself silently back to sleep as fear pooled and plagued you from within

He could see the sadness in your eyes and he could remember vividly the mental torture he was put under

No communication to you and all he could at most to see you was through the hidden cameras all connected to his phone

Even checking in on you had to be done in secret, all to make sure that he was strong enough to continue on the family business even if he had to lose you or be away for unpredictable amounts of time

It was unbearable then and it was still unbearable now

He never asked to grow up into the business of the underworld, let alone take it over from his father at the prime age of 20 four years ago

He never wanted your life to be taken away when you two had already been together when he was recruited

“I’m sorry, darling, but you know I have to,” he sighed. “You know how my father is.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your temple then lips before he stood

“Am I going to lose you?” Your voice broke the silence, breaking through the white sound of the downpour outside

But you had stopped your question early

“Am I going to lose you today? Tomorrow? One day?”

He stood frozen in his place before he could reach for the knob

“No, Y/N. You won’t.” His eyes paused for a bit on you as he thought about his response, the fatigue of being a mother was already showing. “I’ll be able to call you this time and I’m the head now. The only title my father has to me now is father.”

“You won’t.” He stepped back over to you leaned down to kiss you again. “Not today at least…”

“I’ll call you at supper time, darling. Have a good day.”

You did your best to hold onto his hand as long as you could, to remember his touch, his voice, his scent, the way he looked before he walked out those doors

Because some days or nights, you never truly know if you would ever see him again

And it terrified you

The sound of the rain only seemed to get more intense now that he was gone and you were here

But now your day was beginning now that you were awake

You slipped out of the king sized bed, leaving the warmth you had slept in as the soft carpet at your feet, your toes sinking into the fibers

Brushing your teeth, showering in the grand bathroom of the manor, it was a life you surely never expected but here you were

Kiyoomi’s father and his entire family had built their name from nothing to the global known corporation that it was today

You dried your body off, finding what to wear today through the walk in closet and once that was found, it was breakfast

“Good morning, madam, shall I bring you your breakfast to the master suite?” Your right hand maid had greeted you as you stepped out as she carried the laundry with her

“Oh, thank you, Olivia, but I’ll head down to the kitchen after waking D/N,” you smiled to the older maid that had worked for the Sakusa family for decades

All the staff that worked and lived in the estates on the property outside of the manor were trained security, men and women, whose jobs were to protect the main family, to serve them, and to keep others who would pose a threat away and out, even if it meant killing them

But you always tried not to think or wonder about how many people these staff have killed or beat up or anything whenever you interacted with them, especially when they greeted you with a smile

They were there to protect you and to make sure that nothing and no would would ever harm your life

You stepped into the nursery, the wide room decorated with warm lights and stuffed animals, some more than twice the size of your daughter

“Hi,” you smiled so brightly seeing your baby’s eyes already open, looking up to you as she sat in her crib, holding onto her blankie. “Good morning precious,” you lowered the front gate of the crib so you could kneel down to her level

Sakusa sat in the limousine as he watched the scene of you and your daughter in the nursery, wishing he could just turn the car around and to stay home

Things were in balance, he knew this already but his father’s orders were orders he still had to respect

He clicked off his phone, tucking the device into his pocket as he was to be in the car for quite a bit of time before he would get to his father’s

The biggest smile spread on her face as she laughed seeing you, her bubbliness seeming to make all the gloominess disappear

“Let’s get you changed~” you chimed as you lifted the baby girl into your arms, getting a whiff of her heavy diaper and finding an outfit for her day

“Olivia?” You called into the custom intercom by the nursery’s closet, though there was practically one in every room

“Yes, madam?”

“Sorry for troubling you, but could you actually bring breakfast for D/N and I up to the upstairs loft? You could even send it up the dumbwaiter and that’s fine too.”

“Of course, would you like the usual?”

“Yes please, thank you.”

You carried your little girl toward the upstairs loft, one of your favorite areas of the house since it was significantly smaller - well almost - than the living room downstairs

The loft didn’t extend all the way downstairs like how the ground floor’s living room ceiling extended to the second floor

More than ten thousand square feet of property, more rooms in the manor than you knew what to do with them

Four guest bedrooms with full bathrooms, a grand study and two story “little” library, two main bedrooms in addition to the master bedroom and a nursery

So much space, all sorts of technologies, gadgets and gizmos of all sorts in the house

All the systems in the house was made by the Sakusa corporation to ensure security

This even included your and Kiyoomi’s custom made phones

There was also the basement- all sorts of fun activities to be done: a pool, pool table, living room area that opened up to the backyard with the bar and barbecue, the fire pit

and finally, there was the cellar that was the only place Kiyoomi had requested that you never go - and you never did

You knew that look in his eye, that tone of voice and you knew he had requested this for your best

And most importantly, there were three safe rooms, all three upstairs with hidden entryways to protect you, official guests, and anyone in the family

Before you knew it, Olivia had made her way upstairs with the breakfast as you played with your daughter in the loft, bouncing her on your lap sat on the wide couch

The loft was brightly lit and open, toys of all types for your daughter to play with as the TV played the morning kids show

As filled as the house was with the special staff and things to do, it still felt so lonely and empty as you sat there

You had tried to chat and converse with them but they never loosened up, always keeping all the formalities but it was never any use

The storm outside seemed to be getting worse as your eyes gazed to the horizon, spotting the trees at the edge of the estate where all their branches had been swaying in the wind, the paler, underside of their leaves revealed

Thunder began to rumble in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning but both unbothered your daughter and you as the two of you remained in the loft

You watched as she rolled about on a blanket, playing with her stuffed animals and the other interactive toys that played music to keep her entertained while you watched the TV, finding nothing remotely as entertaining to watch

But just before you could change the channel to yet another disappointing channel, your attention was pulled to your phone vibrating beside you, your eyes lighting up as you saw the caller ID

“You seem so bored,” Kiyoomi’s deep voice sounded through the phone but he spoke the truth

You were tired and bored but you didn’t want to sleep - it would only make you unable to sleep later tonight anyways

“I am,” you sighed as you muted the TV. “How far out have you gone?”

“Actually, not too far. Only about half an hour since there was a major accident on the highway so we had to take a detour. But traffic is terrible so we were stuck for quite a bit before we could actually exit,” Sakusa almost groaned thinking about the terrible accident

How he was stuck in a single place for practically twenty minutes

“Wow, do you know what happened?”

“Well there was a…” his voice drowned out in your ears as you could hear something that didn’t sound like rain or thunder - they were too distinctly different

Loud bangs echoed in the distance, bringing your attention elsewhere though all you could look was outside the wall window to the dark skies

But you couldn’t see anything except the normal background of the property but it was just silent again with the white noise of rain washing down the glass, followed by thunder and a flash of lightning as the storm brewed closer and closer

“I’m sorry what? I missed what you said... I think I heard… something weird..” you spoke as you looked outside the windows that looked to the back of the property

You could hear echoes of movement downstairs, the bustling business of the special staff in the house but it sounded standard... or so you thought

“What did you hear?”

“..I don’t know.. maybe it was the storm and I’m just distracted...” you smiled into the phone as you spoke while your daughter happily crawled to you, laying her head on your legs, her puffy cheeks round as ever

“Well, you two were my only source of entertainment so far this trip,” the corner of his lips curled as he picked off small specks off his suit

“That makes one… of us-“ your thought died out in a matter of seconds

You heard louder, clearer bangs while the staff that had been stationed with you just outside the loft talked over their ear coms to another elsewhere

Before you could continue your sentence or call, the bangs only got louder and your body reacted faster than you could say or think

Clear gunshots began firing at the front entrance, echoing off the high walls and ceilings of the manor while the staff worked on securing the doors and all other entrances and possible ones

“Y/N?” Sakusa could only hear the subtle commotion happening but it was clear you weren’t on the phone. “Shit shit shit..” he stayed on the line as he changed to the security cameras he had access to he used to watch you and your guys’ daughter

Looking through the camera surveillance, he caught a glimpse of you disappearing with your phone in hand while your arms carried your daughter as you disappeared toward the bedroom

“Turn back now,” Kiyoomi howled as his driver did just that, not wasting a single second

You ran into the master suite’s walk in closet that led to the entryway of one of the safe rooms, your baby girl in your arms as she held on to you her whines already beginning before they would turn into cries

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, mama’s gonna protect you,” you smiled, whispering, your voice already shaky, lips trembling as you pressed a little kiss to the top of her head. “Even if it costs my life, precious.”

You moved, leaving the master suite and stayed low as you walked across the “bridge” that connected the loft to the other half of the house

Peeking down, you could hear groans of agony, puddles and splashes of of blood on the floor and walls, empty bullet shells on the ground, shards of glass and broken windows

“Search the house, find that bitch,” a deep voice yelled through the manor as for the first time since the loud bangs happened, it sounded so still, like any normal rainy day

But this was far from normal

You crawled across the marble flooring toward the library

There wasn’t any safe room here but the safe rooms were sure to be where they would look, whoever they were

They were able to get through the security, it seemed like the staff was dead

You silently stood as they scoured the lower levels - you could hear them and all the destruction they were havocking

The cars outside the window blurred into mere colors that passed as the limousine sped through the roads back towards the manor

To save time, they went toward the back roads — it was just the slightest bit longer but time could be shaved down since there were no cars anywhere

“Step on it!” Sakusa commanded as his men readied themselves. “Call in Unit 0,” he demanded as he kept his eyes on the cameras, trying to find you yet he couldn’t see you in the master suite’s safe room

Unit 0 being one of the few very highly trained professional assassins and killers who were at the disposal of the Sakusa family whenever needed

He scoured through the cameras, not even caring about all the destruction being done, all he needed to see was where you and your daughter were

You carefully entered the library, shutting the door behind you as you walked over the wooden floors carefully

Every step made your palms sweaty but your heart stopped after hearing a loud creak in the old floors

The worst part was that there was no way to lock the doors

outside of the door, you couldn’t hear too much but you could still clearly hear the storm as a great big window stretched from the floor to ceiling so all the lighting in here was natural

There was something about the walls surrounding the library that made it sound proof in a sense

You constantly bounced your baby girl in your arms to keep her calm as you tried to get a look outside as you approached one of the corners toward the window

“Search upstairs,” one of the men demanded as a handful of men ran upstairs. “Find her.”

The scoured through all the rooms, flipping every room apart, destroying things, tearing the curtains off, flipping the beds, wrecking the nursery

You peeked out the window that faced the front of the manor yet all you could see were broken things and to your horror, more lifeless bodies of the manor’s staff

But before you could look out any longer, a large rock was launched at the window, breaking the glass, shattering it

Your baby girl let out a loud cry in fear, making your heart drop

“No, D/N, shhhh, please, it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.” You quickly pulled open the latch to the library’s hidden passage where the door was one of the bookcases

As soon as you closed the bookcase, you heard the door to the library burst open

Several men, guns ready

You scanned your finger print for the room to be safely locked however it wouldn’t let you. All you could do to make sure the room was locked was to see your body to keep the door shut and still

They walked through the wide open doorway to the library scanning the two open floors that was connected by two black steel staircases that wound their way up and down, connecting the two floors

“Shh, please,” you whimpered to your daughter as she cried into your chest as you stayed by the passage’s door so you could look out the peephole

They pulled books off the shelves, throwing them from the second level to the first, knocking the paintings off the walls, ripping them by sliding their knives through the canvas’, kicking them, breaking the frames

The ground shook as you heard a a loud boom, making you jump in your spot, the ground rumbling and shaking below where you sat

It sounded like a bomb went off on the lower level but you assumed it was the cars in the garage since you could hear the repeating alarm sounding off

Your daughters cries began to start back up at the loud noise, as you did your best to shush her

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you whispered to her as you wiped her tears, keeping her face to your chest as you stroked your trembling hand down her back as tears trickled down your cheeks and dripped off your chin

The limousine slid on the gravel outside the manor as Sakusa’s men sprang to action from the vehicle

Kiyoomi stayed in his seat, continuously scouring through the cameras but you were yet to be found

He couldn’t find a single trace of you

His men, as well as unit 0, entered through the blown open entrance, broken shards of glass crunching beneath their steps as they surrounded the estate the best they could, splitting up to eliminate the intruders

“Where are you, Y/N?” His heart hammered in his chest as he desperately tried to find you yet nothing

But before he could look any further, his heart dropped seeing the red system failure message. Whoever these people were, they were impressive, but not fast enough

Kiyoomi now meant business now that he had no access to actually see if you were okay

He ran out of the limousine as gunshots could be heard all throughout the house as half his men made their way to the upper level while the other half wiped out the intruders on the lower level

He followed behind unit 0, making their way upstairs

He clung onto his gun tightly in his hand, finger ready on the trigger as he barged into the master suite, firing two bullets into the chest and head of a large man as he was pillaging the closets

All the precious jewelry he bought for you were now stained in the pool of the filthy blood of the man who had the audacity to enter the premises

His heart almost dropped seeing him in the closet in the first place but it didn’t seem like the man noticed the entrance to the safe room behind the clothes on the hangers

As he pushed the luxurious wardrobe aside opening the door and to his fear, you were nowhere to be seen

More gunshots sounded off, echoing through the halls, sounding off the walls

He couldn’t focus, his thoughts incoherent, unfinished sentences running in his head as he just ran, killing those in his way to find you

A gun war was going off throughout the library as Sakusa’s men fired at the intruders on both levels but they had great firepower too

Both sides hid behind the marble pillars, the different bookshelves and furniture in the room as the rain showered in

Your baby girl cried loudly, her shaken cries sounding off throughout the passage

“No, no, no, please, baby.” Your heart raced as you dared to look out the peephole, only for it to drop as you saw a man you didn’t recognize yell something to another man near him

The man he yelled to fired more shots while the other one approached the passage entrance, banging noises coming through the bookshelf

“She’s in here! Hold them off!” The man yelled

“No, no, no.” Tears welled in your eyes as you did your best to keep the door closed but there was no actual way to since this was just a simple passageway

Your daughter cried loudly in your arms while you gave it your all to keep the door closed

Amongst all the shots being fired, Kiyoomi heard the words the man yelled and then it clicked

He knew where you were

“No.” This one word repeated in his head as he pushed through the front, racing past the bullets being shot towards him as he ran on pure adrenaline

“Boss, no!” His men yelled but this only got the intruders to focus on him, giving them the opening to shoot them all

Kiyoomi shot the man closer to him in the legs before letting his body move on pure killer instinct as he grabbed the man who had fallen to his knees by his jaw, snapping his neck

The other man changed his focus to Kiyoomi as he stood to his feet while the other struggled to pull his gun from his holster

Kiyoomi towered over him as his body moved on his own

He kicked the man to the wall, pressing the barrel of his gun to the man’s chin, pulling the trigger without a second thought

You squeeze your eyes shut, facing the other way from the door, bracing yourself

“I love you. Mama loves you, baby,” you whispered as you cried, a loud rumbling filling your ears as you felt the door being forced open

This was it

You were going to die

Your daughter was doing to die

you let out a blood curtling scream feeling the hands of whoever grab onto you, pulling you, kicking your legs to try to fight

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Kiyoomi’s familiar voice sounded louder and louder over the rumbling you heard in your ears from clenching and bracing your body and your daughter’s

“It’s me, It’s just me!” He soothed you as he turned you

You couldn’t explain or even begin to describe the relief you felt wash through your body, your heart racing and slowing down at the same time as you broke down, your cries mixing with your daughter’s

“You’re safe, I’m here,” Kiyoomi pulled you into his arms, your body shaking terribly in his arms as you cried into his chest, all the fear you felt flooding your senses

“I know, I’m sorry this happened, but you’re okay. Everything will be okay,” he whispered as he pulled you into his lap, keeping the passage door somewhat closed

You were already put through enough today and he didn’t need you to see the second degree murder crime scene he had committed right outside

“I’m here, I’m here.” He reached up and pulled his mask off as he kissed the top of your head all over, wiping away your tears with his thumbs but you couldn’t stop crying

But that was entirely fine

“But Y/N,” he held your face in his bare hands, his normal gloves off as he stroked his thumb over your cold, damp cheeks

“Why didn’t you go into the safe rooms, darling?” His own voice was unsteady, his lips quivered, eyes teary. “I looked for you and I couldn’t find you and I thought I lost you..” His voice broke off as he gathered himself the best he could, taking deep breaths

Seeing Kiyoomi like this, it broke your heart even more

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what… I was just scared and- and-“ It hurt you so much

Everything about today did

But just this moment was Kiyoomi, it also touched you

He was such a stoic man, usually one to show a softer, affectionate side with you but this was the first time you saw him shed tears

A man who had taken so many lives was now showing his true emotions for the two lives he would give his own live for a hundred times over if it meant you and your daughter was okay

“I know, I know, but you’re safe,” he let out a deep, relieving breath as he hugged your head closer, your body shaking uncontrollably in his arms

“And hey, shhh, it’s okay baby. Papa’s here.” He stroked your daughter’s head as she sort of calmed down as the two of you sat together, doing your best as parents to shoo away her sadness while his men did their best to first and foremost clear the bodies and blood

You absolutely did not need to see that after today

“You two are both safe.” He breathed as he pulled you two impossibly closer, letting the shakiness of his own heart disperse

“You’re safe…”

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

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something-tofightfor · 11 months ago

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FIRST OF ALL.... you sneaky little sneak! You really had me going with snowmen and Joel .... so good job on that.

But honestly, how lucky am I get to get a story gifted to me by my best friend and one of my absolute favorite authors? EXTREMELY lucky, let me tell you. And you chose Frankie?! I... there's just something so friggin cuddly and comforting about him at all times and the idea of him at Christmas is a dream come true - especially from your mind.

But we're not even AT Christmas at first - it's Thanksgiving and we hosted (hope I didn't screw up the mashed potatoes and turkey) ... and Ollie was there, which I love because thinking of Frankie as a boy dad just makes my heart melt. AND HIM CARRYING HIM AROUND LIKE A FOOTBALL WITH A FOOTBALL?!??! i don't even like kids and that makes my chest hurt in a good way.

But I think what I love most about this is how in tune Reader is with him - she knows that something's wrong only a few seconds in. She sees it in the way he carries himself and in what he's not doing or saying. And it's because they know each other and she understands him without even trying to. I love that for him - and for them overall.

But ummm, honestly? The idea of getting to touch those curls whenever I want to is A DREAM COME TRUE. Their playful banter in this moment - and all of the ones that come after (and probably before) shows that their connection is only stronger after a couple years - which is something that he definitely needs and deserves.

This little family you've pulled Flamingo into - the guys and their loved ones and their kids (BENNY AS A DAD!!!!) - are an even bigger support system, and I would LOVE to be at one of these gatherings (or all of them) And of course he'd be sad about not having Ollie for Christmas, and even sadder that the change in location this year means he won't get to see him at all or be there for new memories. Because Frankie's a great dad, and he's doing right by his kid and I LOVE the idea of them coparenting because that's what's best for Ollie in the long run.

And I'm sure that hearing about split parents and the memories still being just as great even if they weren't made *on* Christmas helped, but that's not going to be enough for Frankie. (I always felt like Christmas was such a rush as a kid because we had FOUR places to go after my parents got divorced and it was just annoying.) But now Frankie's not alone, and he's got someone that understands what Ollie might think and feel... and she wants to be there for *his* kid - and I understand how much that might shock him. I understand why he might question it. I understand how much it mens to him to have this ... and I also understand how quickly that's going to make him feel ... other things. Which I will never question, because the idea of that man kissing me on the couch and letting his weight settle atop me and telling me he can't keep his hands off of me MAKES ME WEAK IN THE GODDAMN KNEES, ALYSSA. The laundry room? The liviing room? The kitchen? Our car? Our yard? Anywhere he wants me, that's fine. Will's superhuman hearing be damned. Finish what you started, Francisco, I'm waiting.

** I do like Black Friday shopping. It's like a sport for me, but I would trade it in two seconds flat for THAT Black Friday celebration. No questions. ** Benny and Frankie being BFFs is IDEAL. I know we've already talked about this, but it needed to be said again. And this DEFINITELY sounds like something I'd look for and find and plan. I love doing these little seasonal special activities, and this one sounds perfect for everyone involved. I love the idea of making this kind of memory, and including some of the most important people in Frankie's (and my) life. This one sounds super fun, too - nothing better than food and Christmas lights and warm-ish weather.... especially next to Francisco.

I hope someone took a picture of the three of them holding hands and walking toward Santa - because that's a Christmas card if I've ever seen one.

“Yeah! You’re on the good list already because you’re always really nice and fun and you’re always making my Dad and me happy.”

..... yes. YES. right here, this. This is ... this would not only mean EVERYTHING to hear ...but it would also mean so much for Frankie to hear - because kids always speak the truth. Ollie loving Reader is just as important as Frankie loving her.

CHRISTMAS MAGIC.

The snow - seeing it for the first time with the two of them and watching it fall and watching Ollie enjoy it... wow. What a visual. (side note it's my DREAM to see the snow at Disney during Christmas and I don't know if I've ever told you that before but now you know so that's something else you surprised me with here) Frankie's response is so understated, but that's exactly what it should be - it's a special moment with his kid, of course ... but it was facilitated by the woman he loves and who loves the two of them so damn much. Keeping it a surprise had to be hard, but that was the best thing possible. And I love that he thanks her - and means it. I love that he stays there and takes a moment with HER and just lets the two of them enjoy what's happening while MVP Benny gives them a few seconds alone. That's important, too.

This might have been for Ollie - mostly - but it's a huge deal for Frankie, too, and everyone recognizes that. I get the sense that he's still not used to people just going out of their way to do kind things for him, and I love that maybe he's starting to realize that this could become the norm. (Also like I said via text ... sorry, Tori. It might not be real snow, but Ollie's gonna remember his first flakes with his dad and not you... snarky? yeah, maybe. But that's fine. I love Frankie and I'd DEFINITELY want him to have this memory)

Highlights: - the casual touching - kissing the corner of her mouth, fixing her earring, her with her knuckles against his neck .... so many great examples of them wanting and needing to be close. - i love how WARM you make him. Frankie's always so comforting but he's got this wonder in his heart and when you make it shine through it's just gorgeous - like he's finally letting himself experience and enjoy things. - his hands. - his mouth. - his curly hair. - the sound of his laughter. - getting to spend time with him and his friends that isn't just hanging out somewhere. - holidays with Frankie. - the way you made me SEE this little celebration as I read it. Alyssa, I could go on about this and you forever, but I'll keep it brief. I could not be happier with this. I thank you so much for taking the time to write it and think of it and for sharing it. These moments with Frankie are the things I LOVE to read about. He deserves them all and so many more. This was the best Christmas gift I could have ever received. <3

A Little Christmas Magic

A PEDROSTORIES SECRET SANTA GIFT FIC

A/N: Huge thank you to the moderators of @pedrostories for organizing this event again! I had so much fun getting in the holiday spirit while writing this, and I cannot wait to read all of the other festive stories that others have written! This story follows along with the same Frankie/Reader pairing as a few of the other things I've written, but it can also be read as a one shot. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone who sees this!!

Gift Tag: SURPRISE @something-tofightfor - I deceived you with my decoy Joel story, because THIS was what I was actually working on. Sorry for the white lie, but I hope you like what and who I chose (you gave me some REALLY excellent choices in Joel, Frankie, Jack and Oberyn) to write about in the snow. And I hope you have the best, merriest damn Christmas ever. I love you!!

WC: 4,150

Warnings: some brief smut mentions, talking about having divorced/ separated parents

Summary: When Frankie needs a little help making Christmas special for his son, you are more than happy to step in and lend a hand. The again, you're more than happy to do just about anything for him.

As soon as he came through the door, you could tell that something was off.

All night long, while your home had been filled with friends and family, Frankie’s smile had been constant. You saw it in his eyes and in the way the corners of them folded into crinkles when he laughed. You felt it on his lips when they found your cheek as he passed you in the kitchen. You heard it in his voice when he thanked everyone for coming. It was the first time the two of you had hosted Thanksgiving since you’d started living together, it was his year to have Ollie for the holiday, and Frankie had been undeniably happy.

But by the time he got home from dropping Ollie back off with Tori, something had changed. What could have happened, though? He’s only been gone for twenty five minutes.

You knew that Frankie and his ex got along well, so you doubted that they had gotten into an argument. He didn’t seem annoyed or angry. There wasn’t a scowl on his face, he hadn’t thrown his hat. If anything, you realized, he looked almost sad, his mouth downturned slightly, a sort of distance in his eyes that wasn’t there when he left. You watched him lock the door and drop his keys into the bowl on the table beside it from where you stood in the dining room, your heart clenching as you pushed the last chair back into place. Oh, Frankie, what’s wrong?

“Hey, you.” You crossed your arms loosely and leaned against the arched doorway that separated the living room from the dining room, waiting as he stepped on the heel of one shoe to remove it before doing the same with the other, not bothering with the laces.

He sighed, the quiet sound a confirmation that something was amiss. But as he straightened up to look at you, there was a small smile on his face. “Hey, Flamingo.”

You huffed out a breathy laugh, your lips quirked to the side, and pushed away from the doorframe. “You know? I break my ankle one time, two years ago and…” You shook your head and rolled your eyes playfully, Frankie crossing the room to slip his hands around your waist. Yours landed on his chest, the right one sliding up his neck to twine your fingers through the curls behind his ear. “How long are you gonna call me that, hmm, Fish?”

You already knew what his response would be, but it still sent a rush of warmth through you to hear him say it. “Forever,” he mumbled, leaving a whiskered kiss to the corner of your mouth, his fingers curling in the fabric of your shirt. “Everyone else gone?”

“Mhmm. Pope, Yovanna, Will, and my sister all cleared out right after you. Benny and Alana just left about five minutes ago. Alana insisted on helping me get the kitchen cleaned, so she put Benny on dish duty and-”

That earned you a small chuckle and assured you that whatever had changed Frankie’s mood wasn’t something too serious. Good. I still need to know what it is, though. “Oh, I’m sure Benjamin was thrilled about that.”

One of your earrings had gotten flipped upside down without you noticing, and Frankie reached up to fix it. You closed your eyes and let out a hum at the brush of his thumb over the skin of your earlobe. “He didn’t seem to mind.” With a shrug you opened your eyes, and they were immediately met with his deep brown ones. “And Quinn had just fallen asleep, so they weren’t in a rush to leave because they didn’t want her to wake up as soon as they picked up the car seat. It was actually a really big help.”

“Good.” He gave you a half-smile, leaning in just long enough to press his lips to yours. “I’m glad Miller pulled his weight.” You felt him tighten his grip on your hip before he dropped his hands from your body and turned towards the couch, sinking into it with a groan.

“Hey...” You tilted your head and nudged his foot with yours, Frankie looking up at you. “What’s wrong?” Frowning, you sat next to him, pulling one leg up and tucking it beneath you. “Is everything okay with Ollie?”

He nodded, letting out a quiet laugh as his warm, wide palm came to rest on your knee. “Yeah, Ollie’s great.” He adjusted his position on the couch, making himself more comfortable and releasing a few small pops from his spine. “Your cornbread was a real hit with him. He told me again in the car how good it was.”

You leaned your shoulder into the couch cushions and laughed. “I’m glad he’s a fan.” Watching the little boy’s face light up with glee as he tasted his first bite had been among the highlights of your day. “Looked like he was having fun running around with you and the guys during your football game, too.” Watching Frankie scoop his son up under one arm while Ollie’s tiny hands gripped the ball to run them both into the endzone he’d set up in your backyard had been another. The whole damn day was a highlight. “He was very excited about his touchdown.”

“He was.” Frankie’s fingers moved lazily over your thigh as he sighed, the remnants of his smile fading. “He had a good day. We all did.” He gave you a light squeeze as he swallowed. “I’m upset because -” He stopped himself, closing his eyes with a quick shake of his head that tossed his curls. “No, upset isn’t the right…” Trailing off, he blinked and resumed the motion of his fingers. “Ollie was with us today, which means he’s with Tori for Christmas.” He rolled his eyes. “And, obviously, I knew that already.”

Nodding, you reached your arm across the backrest of the couch so that you could run your knuckle up and down the curve where his neck met his shoulder. “Right.” Eyebrows pinched together, you tilted your head. “You guys alternate. But you’ll still go over there to see him on Christmas morning for gifts, yeah?”

You loved how hands on Frankie was when it came to raising Oliver, how much he wanted to be involved in his son’s life, and you were extremely thankful that he had an excellent co-parenting partner in Tori. Given his past - especially the time period just before and after Ollie was born - you knew that the woman could easily make things difficult for Frankie when it came to shared custody. But despite the fact that it was too late for it to matter for their relationship, you also knew that Tori genuinely believed that he had put all of his mistakes and the worst of his demons behind him, and that he was more than capable of being the father that their son deserved. And she’s right.

But your frown returned when Frankie’s answer to your questions wasn’t what you were expecting it to be. “Not this year.” What? Why? Your expression asked the questions for you, prompting him to continue. “Remember when I told you her parents finally retired? Back in like March, I think?”

You did, so you nodded. “Yeah, I remember. But what does that have to do with Christmas?”

“Well, they weren’t sure it was going to happen until it did so they didn’t say anything earlier, but they pulled the trigger on a cabin. Steve’s been talking about it for years. Anyway, it’s officially theirs as of next week, and they decided they wanted to host Christmas there.”

You didn’t see the problem yet. You knew Frankie was willing to spend as much time as he needed to in the car even for just an hour or so with his kid. “Okay… Where is this cabin?” It must be pretty far if-

He let out a humorless sound. “Upstate New York.” Your eyes widened, brows jumping at his response. “Yeah. Usually it’s the New Yorkers buyin’ places down here when they retire, but they’re doing the reverse.”

There it is. You winced. “Oh.”

Keeping his hand on your knee, he brought the other one up to run it back over his hair as he blew out a breath. “And I’m happy for them, you know? Because I know they’ve wanted that for a long time. And it’s great or Ollie, too, because it means he gets to do new things. Maybe even see snow. I’m sure he’d go nuts for that.”

Oh he absolutely would. “Of course he would.” What kid doesn’t lose their shit at the first sign of snow?

“So I’m not upset, because I know he’s gonna have a damn blast. it’s just that… This is the first year I won’t be with him on Christmas. And now he's old enough to remember things, and…” He looked at you, and you could instantly feel the ache in his eyes as it settled in your chest. Oh, Frankie.

He didn’t want to be absent from Ollie’s first real Christmas memories. Even if it was out of his hands.

“Hey.” You spoke softly, still dragging your knuckle soothingly over the skin above his collar. “I get it.” Unfolding your knee, you repositioned yourself so that both of your legs were draped over his lap, moving your body closer to his. He adjusted by resting one arm over your thighs and the other around your back, never looking away from your face. “You know I grew up with the same every other holiday thing with my parents, yeah?” The huge difference being that my parents ended up hating each other and you two do not.

Frankie nodded wordlessly, but you explained anyway, wanting to make sure he got your point.

“I’d do a holiday with one parent on the actual day, and then I’d do it again with the other on a different day. And you know what that taught me?”

He shook his head. “What did it teach you?”

“It taught me that calendar dates don’t mean too much. Celebrating Christmas was just as good on the 26th or the 28th or the 30th as it was on the 25th. And some of my favorite holiday memories? They aren’t even from Christmas day. They’re from all the things leading up to it, like decorating the tree and baking cookies. Things you can do-” You lifted your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, quirking your mouth to the side. “Basically any time from tonight until the end of December, now that the turkey’s had its day.” You reached up to brush a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “Christmas magic doesn’t have to be a one day thing. We just have to make the most of it the next time Ollie’s with us, that’s all.”

Frankie stared at you for a few seconds, lips parting as he let out a breath. “We. Us.” He repeated your words, affection slowly changing the sadness in his eyes into something warmer. Yeah, Frankie, you don’t have to do things alone anymore. You have me. Always. “You’re incredible, you know that?” He reached up to encircle your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand away from his neck and lifting it up to kiss the back of it. His mumbled words and warm breath tickled your skin. “Fucking amazing. You wanna help me make things special for my kid?” Of course I do.

“I sure do.” You twisted your wrist to free it from his hold, Frankie letting go of you so that you could slide your palms over his cheeks, taking his face between them. “I love you, Francisco Morales. And I happen to be really fond of that kid of yours, too. So we’re gonna brainstorm and come up with some things we can do to make sure that he has some great memories with his Dad, and-”

He didn’t let you finish that sentence though, surging forward to catch your lips with his, his tongue slipping into your mouth to lick the rest of your words right out of it. Taken by surprise, you gasped into the kiss which only spurred him on more, and in one swift motion he had you on your back, laying you down on the couch and laying his weight on top of you. You still had your hands on his face, but they slid to the back of his neck and head, fingers threading through his hair to pull a groan into your mouth.

“I love you so goddamn much.” He murmured the words against your lips. “Been thinkin’ about how lucky I am to have you all night.” He nipped at your lower lip, then let his kisses rove behind your ear so that his next words couldn’t be missed. “You know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself while everyone was here?” You felt the tip of his tongue flick out to dampen your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the sensation. “Fucking impossible.”

He rolled his hips into yours on the last word, and you couldn’t keep a whimper from slipping out at the way the motion stirred heat low in your belly. “You didn’t keep your hands to yourself, Frankie,” you reminded him, though you doubted he needed reminding. One of his hands started moving down your body, his touch trailing towards your waistline. You let out another near-moan at the combination of what he was currently doing, and the memory of what he’d done earlier - when he pulled you into the laundry room, his deft fingers delving down the front of your pants while his mouth silenced any noises you made. Because we’d never hear the end of it if Will or Maddy heard and came to see what was going on.

“I didn’t,” he agreed, dragging the tip of his nose along your throat to drop a kiss to your pulse point. “But that was just the tip of the iceberg.” He caught you off guard again, the pads of his fingers sliding beneath your underwear and over your slick skin. “Now that we’re alone?” You felt his mischievous grin, felt the gravely rumble of his voice through his chest- and then you felt him plunge two fingers inside you. At that you cried out and he let you, no one left to keep quiet for. “I’m gonna finish what I started earlier.”

– – –

Two weeks later, you still caught yourself thinking about Thanksgiving night, and you knew that you would be for a long time.

Frankie had made good on his claim, making you come twice right there on the couch before he took you to bed and took you apart all over again. It was almost dawn by the time the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms, completely spent and sated, and since neither of you had to work the following day, you spent Black Friday with bare skin and lazy, lingering kisses instead of fighting with crowds at the shopping centers.

But on the Saturday after, an idea came to you - an idea about how Frankie could still make a special memory with Ollie even though he wouldn’t see him at all the week of Christmas. Oh, it’ll be perfect. Excitedly, you brought it up with Frankie, explaining what you’d thought of.

“So it’s about an hour away from here, but it’s worth the ride. They set up a whole Christmas town with a little train, and they hire sand artists to make these big elaborate winter-themed sculptures. There’s carolers and they do a big tree lighting event with ice skating and frozen hot chocolate and all kinds of activities for kids. I think Ollie would love it.”

Frankie agreed enthusiastically, arms winding around you from behind to hold you close. “Sounds great.” I didn’t even tell you the best part yet. He dropped a kiss to the line of your jaw. And I’m not going to. “Thank you. For coming up with something.”

You grinned, your arms covering his where they wrapped around your belly. “Told you, Frankie. We’re a team.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his beard scratching your cheek as he tightened his hold. “We are.”

He’d cleared the trip with Tori, even though she’d already okayed any activities or day trips Frankie wanted to take Ollie on when he had him, the woman agreeing with both of you that it sounded like something that the little boy would enjoy. And at your suggestion, the two of you had invited Benny and Alana to come with Quinn. She was just over a year old and would likely sleep through most of the festivities in her stroller, but you knew that the Millers wouldn’t pass up on a group outing, and you knew that Frankie wouldn’t view their presence as an intrusion on his time with Ollie. They’re family, too.

So when it came time for Ollie to spend the week with you and Frankie, the three of you climbed into his truck - Benny driving his little family separately in case they had to leave early - and headed east to a small town just outside of the Disney zone, called Celebration.

There was a 50/50 shot that the thing you were trying to keep a secret until the last minute would be spoiled upon your arrival, banners or posters advertising the wintery phenomenon that visitors were about to witness, but luck was on your side. There were plenty of signs and decorations, so there was no missing the blocked off area that the town had designated for the holiday event, and it was just like you told Frankie it would be - food stalls and little craft and gift stalls set up to look like gingerbread houses, carolers in Victorian era costumes walking the street and singing Christmas songs new and old, an enormous pine tree towering over everything in the center of the square and dripping in bright lights. Even though it was 65 degrees and there were palm trees lining the streets, it was almost enough to make you feel like you were in an old world Christmas market, or like it was about to start snowing at any moment.

And you were right about Ollie’s reaction to everything, his already large brown eyes going wide as saucers when he saw the big man in red waving and tossing candy canes to the crowd. “Daddy! Santa’s here!” He grabbed Frankie’s hand, pointing vehemently in the direction of the man in the Santa suit. “He came all the way far from the North pole! Do you see him?!”

The joy on his little face was mirrored in Frankie’s, and your heart swelled at seeing them both wear the same expression. “I see him! He did come a long way, huh?” Ollie nodded, curls just like his father’s bouncing as he did. “We should probably go say hi, then, since he came all the way down here to see you.”

“Yeah! C’mon Daddy! Let’s go! C’mon Uncle Benny!”

You had to take a breath when your name was added to the excited babble, Ollie’s empty hand slipping into yours so he was between you and Frankie, his gleeful grin beaming up at you. “Come and see Santa with us too!”

“Yeah,” Frankie spoke softly, stepping close and giving you a wink. “Come see Santa with us.”

Blinking back the unexpected tears brought on by Ollie’s enthusiastic inclusion, you winkled your nose and smiled down at him. “Do you think I’m on the good list this year?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he answered by springing up and down, still holding both yours and Frankie’s hands. “Yeah! You’re on the good list already because you’re always really nice and fun and you’re always making my Dad and me happy.”

You let out a chuckle at that, glancing up at Frankie, the sight of his smile enough to send a rush of warmth through you. “She sure does, Buddy.” He jostled Ollie’s hand. “Now let’s go before he has to get back to his workshop to finish making presents.”

Keeping Ollie between you, Frankie started walking towards the area designated for photos with Santa, but he leaned in over the little boy’s head to kiss your cheek and whisper in your ear. “You were right. This is great. And he’s gonna remember this just the same as if we were doing it on Christmas Day.” Ollie turned to say something to Alana, and Frankie looked down at him before finding your eyes again. “Thank you.”

It was your turn to lean over and brush your lips to his cheek. “Anytime, Morales.”

For the next hour and a half the six of you strolled the area, stopping occasionally at the different displays or to take pictures or grab a snack from one of the booths. But the highlight of the night, and what you were looking the most forward to since you remembered that this event existed, came at 7pm - when “snow” started falling, a chorus of gasps and shrieks rising up from the crowd.

“What! It’s snowin’?!” Ollie’s incredulous question joined the dozens from other children gaping in awe up at their parents and family members as big puffy flakes fell on their cheeks and noses. “How’s it snowin’ if it’s not even cold?”

Lifting him up, Frankie answered without missing a beat, leaning in to bop Ollie’s nose with the tip of his. “Christmas magic, Buddy.”

You snapped a picture of the two of them, making a mental note to find a photo ornament to put it in so that the moment would have a place on the tree for years to come. That done, you watched them play in the faux snow - a biodegradable non-toxic substance that would be gone in a half hour but that would provide a lifelong memory - until you felt Benny’s elbow nudge yours.

“Hey. You did real good.” Turning your head, you met Benny’s eyes, the younger man already looking at you. “Ollie’s beside himself, obviously, but I mean… with Fish.” He smiled, the expression soft and warm, a sort of platonic affection for you almost palpable in it that you weren’t expecting even though you were quick to call him your friend now, too. “I’ve never seen him happier than he is with you.”

He didn’t wait to let that sink in though, nodding over to his wife before clearing his throat and stepping up to where Frankie and his son were playing. “Hey, Olliegator, I think I saw penguins over there. You wanna come see ‘em? We can show Quinny.”

Just as Benny knew he would, the little boy ran over, shouting in agreement, leaving you standing in the snowfall with Frankie. There were easily a few hundred people around you, but as he came to stand in front of you, his hands on your waist and big white flakes fluttering all around him, it was as though the two of you were in your own little snowglobe, sharing your own private moment.

“Hey, you.” You spoke through a smile that pulled at your cheeks, your hands resting on the rolled up cuffs of his unnecessary for the weather but seasonally appropriate flannel, thumbs brushing over the worn material and into the crook of his elbow.

He smiled back at you, brown eyes brimming with affection. “Hey, Flamingo.” Reaching up, he plucked a flake from your hair, the substance vanishing as soon as it hit his warm skin, just like real snow. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

You moved your head from side to side to feign thought. “Maybe.” Pressing your lips together, you took the bottom one between your teeth. “Yes. I knew about this. My sister was really into chorus in highschool, and her music teacher suggested that she try out for the carol troupe one year so-” You shrugged. “I’ve been to this a few times because of that, but that was ages ago. I hadn’t thought about it in years. And then when you mentioned that Tori’s parents’ place was up in New York and that Ollie might get to see snow…” You lifted one hand from his arm, palm skyward to collect the sudsy white stuff. “I remembered this.”

The kiss he gave you then was brief, but you knew there would be much more where it came from when you were no longer surrounded by so many strangers. “Ollie’s gonna remember this forever.” He nodded, the curve of his forehead resting against yours. “And so am I. Merry Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet, Frankie,” you mumbled through your grin.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not. But with enough Christmas magic? Does it matter?”

You shook your head, nudging his nose with yours. “Nope. Sure doesn’t. Merry Christmas, Francisco.”

Fun Fact: The event that I based this fic on is real! It's called Now Snowing, and it's been going on for 25 years! I embellished it a little bit for the story, but you really can see "snow" (the same stuff they use in movies and TV) every night from the end of November through December :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @littlemisspascal @alraedesigns @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @Noisynightmarepoetry @Severin-proud

#frankie morales x reader #rachael reads and responds #pedrostories secret santa #fic exchange #gift fic #thank you alyssa!#pedro pascal character #frankie morales fan club #a little christmas magic #the-blind-assassin-12 #i loved this so much #fish and the flamingo #this was perfect #fic rec #my friends are so talented

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years ago

Text

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #hotch imagines #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #fic: undercover

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Text

Night Changes

This isn't based on an ask, but I've had some early-Cap ideas brewing and think about the first time the team heard him laugh a lot. His and James' friendship is so sweet in SW--the beginning of it must have been such a shock to them both. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

So maybe James had bitten off more than he could chew. It wasn’t the first time, to be sure, but coaxing (read: drag kicking and screaming) his new teammate out of the carefully-constructed mosaic of scowls that made up his entire personality was proving to be a little more challenging than he previously expected. With most rookies, all it took was some elbow grease and overenthusiastic inclusion in group events to get them to open up—with his brand-new soon-to-be best friend, he had to handle things a little more delicately.

Sirius Black was a puzzle wrapped up in one of those freaky code-breaking machines from World War Two Lily liked to talk about. He was one of the best hockey players James had ever seen, but off the ice he seemed to shut down. The intense focus on his face smoothed out into almost perfect neutrality, and in the four months since he joined the Lions, he had never once smiled for real in front of the team. He sat in his stall and padded up in silence, then went out and kicked ass before following Pascal home like a living shadow.

Naturally, James took it as a personal mission to pry Sirius Black’s closed-off persona open like a stubborn oyster. He tried including Sirius in group events—the rookie went along with a quiet “yeah, sure”, but sat at the table and nursed a single drink for the entire night. He tried getting into friendly banter with him on the ice, but it was like Sirius had never joked with anyone in his life. Hell, he even tried finding him a girlfriend, which tanked harder than the goddamn Titanic.

“Rookie!” James shouted down the hallway.

Sirius jumped and turned around, obviously confused. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” James laughed, jogging over to toss an arm over his shoulders. “What’s up?”

“Not much.”

He waited for Sirius to continue, then rolled his eyes and gave him a friendly shake. “C’mon, man, how was your weekend? Has Dumo coerced you into being a stay-at-home babysitter yet?”

Sirius’ frown deepened. “What? I come with him to practice every day.”

Change tactics, change tactics— “Got any plans for Friday?”

James knew the answer, of course; it was always no or not yet or a simple shake of the head. If he was a less observant man, he would have assumed Sirius didn’t actually want to hang out with the team. But the longing looks toward their easy rhythm and the way he always tilted himself toward locker room conversations told a different story. “None yet,” Sirius said with a shrug.

James gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Good, ‘cause I’m having a party at my place and you’re not allowed to miss it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you to be there, duh.” The bewilderment didn’t fade from Sirius’ face, but beneath it—well, maybe James was just seeing things, but he looked almost hopeful. He ruffled Sirius’ hair and headed for the locker room. “Friday at five, rookie! I’ll be waiting!”

The week passed in a slog of practices and cold weather. Sirius clammed up more and more as the party drew closer, but James didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered between the rest of them like he was analyzing a play. He would make one hell of a captain someday, if he could just relax a little.

“Hey, rookie, want a ride?” he asked when the big day finally arrived.

“Don’t you want to go home and set up first?” Sirius’ brow furrowed. For an eighteen-year-old kid, he was awfully thoughtful. James couldn’t wait to see him let loose a little. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” he teased, poking the bit of exposed shoulder through the widening hole in Sirius’ under armor.

“I…” He faltered, then the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the closest thing James had seen to a smile from him yet. One point for Potter. “Sure, Pots. Thanks.”

“No problem. Meet me at my car in five or so, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

“Oho, fancy French,” James laughed, turning back to unlace his skates.

It wasn’t until thirty seconds after Sirius left the room that he remembered he never told the rookie what his car looked like. Horrible, terrible visions of the poor guy wandering around the parking lot—or, god forbid, thinking James had left without him—flashed through his mind. It would undo everything he had been working so hard to build.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath as he shoved his gear into his duffel with reckless abandon and hurried out of the locker room. His legs would be stiff from trying to run so soon after a grueling drill practice, but it was worth it to save his friend. “Rookie? Hey, Sirius, you still here?”

There was no response. James cursed again and made a beeline for the door to the parking lot. Please, God, don’t let him get lost. I need him to trust me.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he panted as he burst out onto the half-frozen concrete.

Sirius looked up from his phone with a strange expression. “Are you okay?”

“Thought I lost you for a sec.”

“You said to meet at your car, yes?” He glanced between James and the car in sudden worry.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, I just—” He made an aborted gesture and dug his keys out of his pocket. “I realized I forgot to tell you which one is mine.”

Sirius blinked at him. “I know what your car looks like.”

“How?”

“Because you drive it here every single day and you gave me a ride three weeks ago.”

‘Dumbass’ went unsaid, but James could feel it hanging in the air. He coughed lightly. “Right. Anyway, you can toss your bag wherever and hop in the passenger seat. My place isn’t far from here.”

Sirius took his duffel as he unlocked the car and settled both in the trunk with more care than James’ poor, battered bag had ever seen in its life. That was another thing that confused him about Sirius Black—he was so careful. He walked quietly for someone so tall, and each movement seemed pre-planned.

Each movement, that is, until he tried to get in the car. “Uh, Pots?”

“That’s m—oh.” James covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as Sirius tried to fold himself into the passenger seat and failed miserably. “I’m sorry, my girlfriend was sitting there last. Uh, there’s a lever on your right—yeah, there, just give it a pull and—”

With a harsh ka-chunk, the seat slid all the way back. Both men froze. It took everything in James’ power not to burst out laughing at the deer-in-headlights shock on Sirius’ face.

“Yep, that one,” he managed. “Nice job.”

They drove in relative quiet—James chattered on about weekend plans and hummed to the radio while Sirius watched out the window with the occasional monosyllable response. It took James a bit by surprise how comfortable he was, even without a steady stream of banter. Sirius might have been stubborn and silent and determined to foil all James’ plans at getting him to socialize, but he was calming to be near, like an anchor on unsteady water. Despite his overall quiet air, he was obviously paying attention to every word that left James’ mouth.

“You’re a good guy, y’know that?” he said as they turned onto his street. Sirius glanced over in surprise. “Most people tune me out within, like, five minutes.”

“I’m a good listener.”

James opened his mouth to respond, then paused. “Was that—Sirius Black, was that a joke?”

Something akin to mischief—mischief!—crossed his face. “Maybe.”

“Were you roasting me?” James gaped at him. “Oh my god. The guys are never gonna believe this.”

“Probably not.”

“You sick bastard. They won’t believe me.”

“You can give it a shot,” Sirius said with a shrug as the engine turned off. Pieces began to connect in James’ head as he stared, incredulous, at the rookie he thought would never even crack a smile. Four months of work had not been wasted, as he had feared; every joke, every one-sided conversation, and every attempt to get Sirius involved had been seen and heard and taken to heart. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Sirius actively agree to something unless James asked personally.

“We’re friends,” he said aloud, too surprised and too happy to hold it in. Not friends in the way James was with the rest of their loud, over-the-top teammates, but friends all the same.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius said as if it was obvious.

James unbuckled his seatbelt and socked him lightly on the shoulder, barely suppressing a shriek of excitement. “Love you, man. Grab your shit, we’ve got a party to set up.”

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

As much as it pained James to say it, having someone around who was six-foot-three was a huge help. There was no blow to his pride as he dragged Lily’s stepstool out; no grudging acceptance that he simply couldn’t reach those last two inches on the wall. Instead, he could foist any and all responsibility on his brand-new best friend in the whole wide world and focus on the things that mattered, like putting anything breakable or important far away from the grubby hands of his inebriated teammates.

His success was still ringing in his ears when the guests finally arrived—throughout the evening, James rode the high of accomplishing his mission to pull Sirius Black into his tight-knit circle. Every minute of those four months was worth it.

Midnight came and went, and by one-thirty in the morning James’ cramped living room was packed with tipsy hockey players in a vague imitation of a circle. “Non, non, I’ve gotta good one,” Dumo said, hiccupping. The room fell quiet as he leaned forward. “What do you call a body of water with a chicken in it?”

“What?” Kasey whispered, starry-eyed like a kid at Christmas.

“A swimming pool.”

The room stayed quiet, and then someone started to laugh. Slowly, they all turned to the source of the noise, and James felt a ripple of shock roll through the team as Sirius snorted. “It’s a swimming pool,” he said around a smile, his accent thick from three drinks. He had a nice laugh; James could get used to hearing it. “Like—poule, like chicken?”

His whole face was alight with happiness. James wasn’t sure whether to cry or cheer. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. That look, right there. Sirius fit in among the group like a missing piece of their puzzle, snickering away as if he hadn’t been stoically silent a day in his life. His laugh was downright bubbly.

“I don’t think they get it,” Dumo said into the rim of his cup.

Sirius shook his head, trying to catch his breath. “D’accord, so—so ‘chicken’ in French is poule, yeah? So a chicken in a body of water is a swimming poule. Do you get it now?”

A few oh’s of understanding washed over them, but several people continued to stare. “Too drink for this,” Sergei grumbled, though James could see the smile pulling at his mouth as Sirius turned to him with bright eyes.

“But it’s funny!” Sirius protested, so earnest it made James’ heart hurt.

“I think it’s funny, rookie,” he assured him with a clumsy pat on the arm. “And it’s my house, so I say Dumo gets a point this round.”

Kasey hiccupped. “Hey, anyone who makes the rookie laugh gets points in my book. No offense, dude.”

“None taken,” Sirius said, though his cheeks were pink.

James nudged him with his shoulder as Talker started a knock-knock joke. “It’s okay,” he said under his breath.

Sirius picked at the label on his cup. “I know I haven’t been very social,” he muttered.

“It’s okay,” James insisted. “It always takes rookies a while to warm up, so we’re just glad you’re happy. I’m glad my best friend is having a good time at my party.”

A heavy silence fell between them as Sirius looked over, eyebrows raised. “Best friend?”

“What, like you didn’t see this coming?” James slung an arm over his shoulder. “Yes, you French-Canadian nerd, you’re my best friend. And that means I’m your best friend, and there’s no take-backsies.”

“What the hell is a take-backsie?” Sirius laughed. “Did you make that up?”

James grinned. He had the feeling this was the beginning of an excellent friendship.

#sirius black #james potter #pascal dumais #kasey winter #sergei ivanov #thomas walker #rookie #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #pre-cap #friendship

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nevermindirah · 3 years ago

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Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

#nile freeman #linguistics #TOG POC Love Fest #nileweek2021 #tog meta #tog #long post #mine #antiblackness #jewish things #hi i'm an antizionist jew no i don't really want to talk about it

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jess-unkommentiert · 2 years ago

Text

[5] It's a wrap!

-> Heartbeats 💕 Masterlist

That's kind of a filling chapter but we're gonna continue with the main story soon. It's important for me not to rush from peak to peak, because that's not how life is. I want the story to be as realistic as possible.

~~~

June 2022 – New York City Right after Christina's birthday y/n made a little bucket list for her weeks off. She tried not to be too lazy and just watching Netflix or Disney+ for the whole time, so she tried to find activities to do during that time. A few of her 'Want-to-do's' were things she always wanted to do but was never brave enough. "Now or never" she thought while copying her list from a random paper into a new bought notebook:

• Finish at least one book about mental health or self-motivation • Have a picnic at the central park • Visit a pilates class (Christina said pilates is THE workout for models and actresses. We'll see) • Order a dish you never had before at a restaurant you've never been before • Do all the necessary health check-ups

Not exactly a bad-ass list but good enough for the two and a half weeks off.

She started with a picnic at central park today as the weather started to become warmer in the last days. Y/n loved to see all flowers start to bloom in spring, but her favorite season was summer. Warm and sunny days on sets where she could just wear her sunglasses and watch the actors / actresses do their jobs while she was relaxing in between takes. Of course the warmer it got – the more make-up fresh-ups were necessary but as y/n really loved her job that didn't bother her in any way.

While laying on the green grass of central parc she enjoyed a ham and cheese sandwich and started to read in her mental health book "atomic habits". Working on two of her To-Do's at the same time: that's kind of badass. Right?

The next day she continued with her motivational behavior and went to a pilates class in the morning. She though pilates was like a yoga class but a bit more intense so she was shocked when she found herself in a room filled with so called "reformers". These are machines with a bed-like frame a platform and a set of springs. Equipped with straps, springs, ropes and a leather sliding carriage, the Pilates reformer may look more suited for 50 Shades of Grey than a workout studio.

After 45 minutes of torturing her body with those exercises she decided to go to a nearby Thai restaurant. She's never been to that restaurant before, so she was brave enough to ask the waitress to surprise her with her lunch. She just added that she was not used to eat too spicy – what made the waitress laugh. Wait why is she laughing? though y/n and started to become uncomfortable. But the waitress brought her an amazing green curry with rice and a lot of vegetables. She never ordered a green curry before – always a red one. Although she didn't even know the difference between a red, a green and a yellow curry. Sometimes being brave and order something you've never eaten before will bring you a delicious surprise! y/n thought before leaving the restaurant in a good mood.

Just two days off and already four tasks of her To-Do-list done. Well, three and a half because she hadn't finish the book. When she returned to her apartment in the afternoon (after a little stroll through the city) she called a few of her doctors and made some appointments to get checked for the next two weeks. Then she laid on her couch and watched some of the "make-up trends"-videos on YouTube.

Time flies by the next two weeks and y/n was able to finish the book and attended a lot of doctor appointments. She was completely healthy (thank god!) but one of her docs teased her by saying that she could do more cardio workouts for her endurance. She preferred weight training, but she decided to include at least one cardio day to her workout routine. But as running was never something she enjoyed, she decided to go to a kickboxing class every Thursday evening.

~~~

Mid of July 2022 – New York City

The movie y/n was working on was going to start filming in a few days but she and her team were already preparing everything. Every actress and actor needed to come in and they tried all different make-up looks – that would be needed throughout the whole movie – with them. Taking pictures of every look to make sure the look is exactly the same for every shot. She always liked those first days, because she was still able to influence the appearance of the movie. Most directors gave the hair and make-up team some kind of freedom and trust in their experience so y/n designed a lot of the looks on her own.

She started to laugh when she took a picture of a pastel green eye make-up she had done for the leading actress Sophia.

"Why are you laughing y/n. Does it look that ridiculous?", Sophia asked concerned.

"No, No, Sophia not at all. Sorry for laughing! A few weeks ago I discussed pastel colored make-up looks with a few actresses and I tried to convince them that I don't think this will be a lasting make-up trend. And now I am standing here and doing a pastel green eye make-up for your prom scene.", y/n answered while trying to soothe Sophia.

Sophia smiled and said: "I don't care if it lasts or not. It looks amazing. Can't wait to shoot that scene with that amazing dress and your make-up."

The prom scene was going to be one of the last scenes of the movie – a teenage romance movie of female sciene nerd (played by Sophia) and a basketball player who fall in love with each other. Yep, very cliché. But those kinds of movies work for centuries, so "never change a running system" as her father liked to say.

September 2022 – New York City

The next months were really intense for y/n but she did an amazing job with all hair and make-up looks in the movie and she was happy to hear a lot of compliments from the cast and crew. Although they didn't do any fancy stuff like alien make-up in SciFi movies, their styles help to underline important scene and gave the movie a specific look. So y/n was kind of said when filming was nearly over – having just the big prom scene left.

Sophia was in the hair and make-up trailer for almost 1,5 hours to get the pastel green make-up done and when she changed her clothes into the matching dress, y/n looked at her in awe. Dress and make-up matched perfectly – something she was never 100% sure about because the costume designer changed Sophias dress a couple times. But in the end all of them were happy with the outcome: the light green dress, the wavy hair and the pastel green make-up. Sophia happily said: "Well I don't need to act like I am the queen of the prom because I really look like a queen."

The whole trailer filled with the hair and make-up crew and the costume designers started to laugh. y/n walked slowly through the huge city hall like room – where they were filming the prom – and felt nostalgic. Every time when a project ended she felt sad about it. That's why she wanted to work on a TV series set someday so she has more time to work with cast and crew – hopefully for many years if the series has multiple seasons.

All of the prom scenes were shot in no time and so it was finally time to say goodbye to each other. Sophia organized some beautiful flower bouquets that where handover to everyone of the hair and make-up and costume designer teams. When she gave the bouquet to y/n she whispered at her: "I chose the one with the lilies because I know these are your favorite flowers!"

Y/n smiled at her with tears in her eyes. Yes, lilies are indeed her favorite flowers but she didn't expect Sophia to remember that. She's gonna miss to work with her every day. They exchanged their numbers and agreed to stay in contact but when reality hits and both of them move on to their next project they will probably forget about each other. Y/n experienced this quite ofter. Christina was the big exception as they were able to stay in contact and even became very good friends. Speaking of Christina, y/n took her iPhone and entered their chat:

Me Hey lovely, we finished my current movie today. Would you like to come over tonight and celebrate?

Christina Hey sweetie, so happy for you! Sounds good. What about pizza and movie night? Not in the mood for dinner somewhere else. Hate to look out for paps...

Me You know I would always prefer pizza and movie night to a fancy dinner. Still the lame ass ordinary girl that you like very much.

Christina Stop saying your lame. But indeed I like you very much. I'll be around at 7! See you later xoxo

Me xoxo

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ssahoodrathotchner · 4 years ago

Text

There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get kidnapped by an unsub and needless to say, it’s not fun

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: swearing, blood, injuries, stabbing, panic attacks, kidnapping, hospitals, angst and fluff

A/N: wanted to write something angsty with a happy ending and here we are! the longest thing i’ve ever written

Masterlist

---

In hindsight, things could have gone better. The case itself was pretty straightforward, with the biggest complication being where the hell Michael Robertson was hidden away. However, no man can hide from Penelope Garcia and within six hours of figuring out Robertson was the unsub, she had his location narrowed down to a small farm in the middle of nowhere. Of course, you thought, where else would a guy like him torture and kill seven women.

Pulling up to the seemingly small farmhouse, you and Reid exchange looks before tightening your bulletproof vests. Double—triple—checking your gun, you tune in to Hotch and Rossi giving directions to the team and local PD about breaching the home. Hotch and Prentiss will take the front door, Morgan and Reid the back, while Rossi and JJ have the barn—you’ll take the side door and meet in the middle, easy. Local PD will secure the perimeter and provide backup as needed. Giving Hotch a reaffirming nod, you disperse to your entry points.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your weapon and prepare to bust this door down in hopes that Robertson will surrender peacefully and you can all go home because fuck do you want to get out of Iowa. Hearing Hotch’s signal, you kick down the door in front of you—a welcome plus of your job—and announce your presence. However, you’re met with a hard elbow to the face. Reeling backwards and tasting blood, you only have the sense to cup your now bleeding—and most likely broken—nose with your free hand.

“Motherfucker,” you spit out in pain, the comms in your vest picking up your voice.

“Y/L/N, report,” Hotch demands, voice scratchy through your earpiece.

However, you are unable to respond as Robertson moves towards you and, taking advantage of your dazed state, hits you over the head with a fucking two-by-four once, twice, nope three times before the jagged wood floor is rushing up to meet you as you collapse into darkness. Oh, fuck. You’re out before you hit the ground.

---

As soon as Aaron hears you swear, he knows it’s bad, but one look at Emily has him forging ahead and clearing each room like he is supposed to. Checking in with the other duos, Hotch can’t help but worry when you don’t respond immediately. When he finally gets to the mid-point of the house and the exact spot where you were supposed to rendezvous with him, Emily, Derek, and Spencer, his worries spike exponentially.

“Where’s Y/L/N,” he spits out.

“We didn’t see her,” Morgan answers carefully. “We assumed she found you guys,” he adds, and Hotch grits his teeth.

“Clear in the barn,” he hears Rossi report, and he sighs.

“Y/L/N is missing,” he says, surprisingly calm. “Report to the house.”

Police officers shuffle through the house, and Aaron tries not to let his irritation show. Turning back to the team, he can’t help but notice how worried the rest of them are.

“Our one and only priority is finding Y/N,” he states.

“I’ll get Garcia onboard to coordinate what happens next,” Morgan says, excusing himself from the tension of the farm house sitting room. “Expect some very distressed calls in your futures,” he finishes with a shake of his head.

“Emily and I will re-check the rest of the house, just in case,” JJ supplies, and Hotch nods. Reid, looking uneasy, makes some excuse about double-checking the floor plans of the property before skirting out the door, leaving Dave and Aaron—and some police officers—to survey the bland artwork on the walls.

Grasping the bridge of his nose, Aaron tries to take a deep breath, but he can’t; not with you missing on the property owned by an unsub fucking known for mutilating women.

“Hey,” Rossi approaches from Hotch’s left. “We’ll figure this out. Y/L/N’s a smart girl; she won’t go down easy,”

Hotch can only hope that Rossi’s right, but he trusts you; trusts your instincts as an agent.

---

You come to in bits and pieces. Some part of your brain recognizes that you’re being dragged by your armpits down some rickety stairs and deep into the earth; another part recognizes that your hands are free, which means your gun is no longer in your grasp. Fuck fuck fuck. A particularly harsh blow to your head from the hands of your captor stops any further thoughts. Fuck you, Robertson.

---

Regrouping with the team outside the house, Hotch starts to get agitated.

“What do you mean there’s an elaborate tunnel system beneath the house, Garcia,” he almost yells. “How did you not catch this before.”

“Well,” Reid steps in, “the only plans that include this system are dated between 1910 and 1924 which means that they were built in at least the 1900s and the fact that they do not appear in any property plans since those dates suggests that the subsequent owners either didn’t know about the tunnels, or they actively chose to not include them for some reason which—”

“—which means that we don’t really have a clue as to what the current tunnels look like,” Morgan finishes for him, and Hotch internally blanches.

No, he thinks to himself. I will not lose her like this, not after Haley.

Taking a deep breath, Hotch tries to re-assess the situation, but finds himself unable to breathe deeply. At all. Gasping, he tries to communicate to the team the severity of their situation, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. Vaguely, he hears Morgan clear the room as JJ gently takes his upper arm and steers him out the back door of the house on to the porch.

“Hotch,” he can’t stand to listen to her voice; her calm demeanor only increasing his anxiety about your current situation.

“Hotch,” JJ tries again, harsher this time. “I need you to take a breath; only one, just now, that’s it.”

I can do that, he thinks. And he does; he takes one solitary breath.

“Good,” she encourages, “now do it again, just once.” And so he does, again, and again, for JJ.

Once his breathing is under control and JJ steps back with an appraising eye, he speaks.

“We need to find her,” he gasps out. “We have to; I can’t—” he trails off.

With a softness he has yet to comprehend, JJ looks into his eyes and sighs.

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” she reassures him. “She’s on the property, she has to be, and we’ll find her.”

With a shaky nod, Hotch allows JJ’s words to take hold of him, and he goes back to being the BAU’s Unit Chief. Gazing out on the field behind the house, his resolve is firm; Aaron Hotchner will find you, Michael Robertson be damned.

---

The next moment you remember—thanks broken nose and probable concussion—is your body being roughly thrown into a plastic chair, sans bullet-proof vest, and then your arms and legs being tightly tied down. A rag of some sort is crudely stuffed into your mouth, and you can’t help but gag because fuck does it do nothing to replace the gross taste of blood in your mouth. At least it’s me, you think to yourself, I’d hate to think of anyone else from the team in this position. And with that thought, you drift out of consciousness with Aaron’s face in the forefront of your addled mind. Love, I hope you find me soon.

---

It’s been three hours and Aaron Hotchner is losing his mind. Garcia, to her credit, is working furiously to uncover literally everything she can on Robertson, his family, friends as well as the closest neighboring farms to the one the BAU is currently ripping apart. Prentiss and Morgan have taken to meticulously going through each and every room of the house and barn in hopes of discovering some new and hidden passageway to the tunnel system that resides under the structure. Reid is creating an enhanced geographical profile of the property and those that encompass it, while JJ and Rossi discuss the nuances of Robertson’s profile somewhere with the local cops. Aaron, however, can only seem to scowl at the field of corn behind the house and remember the last moments he had with you before you disappeared.

“Hotch,” he turns when he hears Morgan’s voice. “We’ve got something.”

Heart racing, Hotch nods and follows Morgan out the side door—the one you entered—before stopping just short of the man in front of him.

“Local crime scene techs just confirmed that there’s blood here, and judging from the placement of the drops, it seems that Robertson got the drop on Y/L/N,” he states with a grimace, and Hotch can’t help but scrutinize the ground where your blood has fallen.

“Reid’s got a better handle on what might have happened, but I thought you’d like to see it for yourself,” Morgan finishes, and Hotch nods tightly before moving off in search of Reid. Finding the young profiler in the front room of the farm house, Hotch only has to look at him before he’s revealing all that he’s learned since your disappearance.

“It seems that the blueprints for the house were updated once since the 1920s, which was in 1953, so that’s our most recent map of what the whole underside of the property looks like,” Reid continues. “From what I can tell, there are at least five entrance points, three main walkways, and eight different chambers that appear to function as some form of bunker for the previous owners, and so my guess is that Y/N is being kept in one of the rooms, just like the previous victims most likely were,” Reid pauses. “Not that Y/N will become another victim, I’m just saying that for the sake of the case it appears that—” Emily enters the room and Hotch has never been so grateful for her presence in a room, ever.

“Hey, I don’t mean to disrupt Reid’s briefing, but local PD has found a possible way into the fuckin’ labyrinth out in the barn,” she states, curiously looking over at the map Reid has scribbled onto the property blueprints.

Turning his head sharply, Hotch nods at Prentiss and uncrosses his arms as she leads him out of the farm house as Reid continues to ponder the blueprints in front of him.

---

The next time you rise to consciousness, Robertson is dragging an ugly hunting knife across your collarbones, shoulder to shoulder, and cooing at you to wake up. Weirdo.

“Ah, there you are baby,” Robertson says sweetly. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up for me.”

You let out a groan and through the gag in your mouth—holy fuck does it taste like dirty socks—you attempt to cuss out your captor.

“Now, now, Sweetness,” Robertson chides. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” and with that terrifying statement, he leans closer to you and pulls the knife across your left shoulder, effectively slicing open your work shirt. Damn, you think to yourself, this was actually one of my favorites. But that’s the last coherent thought you produce because the combination of Robertson’s knife, the searing pain of your broken nose, and your own possibly concussed brain are unable to completely comprehend any more information as the man in question leaves light slices across your upper chest. Thankfully, the rag—sock? —in your mouth muffles your whimpers as you jolt in pain. Aaron, please find me soon you think before the feeling is all-encompassing and your mind shifts to merciful blankness.

---

“I wish I could do more,” Garcia states, but Hotch can only sigh in agreement.

“You’ve done well, Garcia. Let me know if you find anything else,” Hotch states, eyes darting over to the geographical profile Reid is standing in front of, conversing with Emily. The tunnel found by local PD had been a decoy, and they were no closer to finding you.

“Of course, Sir. I’m on it like Sergio on tuna. Garcia out,” and with that statement, the line goes dead.

Putting his phone in his pocket, Hotch walks towards Reid and Prentiss with purpose.

“Reid, have you found anything else about the tunnel system?”

“It appears that there are a series of false entrances that don’t actually connect with the full network of passageways,” Reid states gesturing wildly at the map. “The full system can only be accessed from four different vantage points, but given that this map hasn’t been updated since the 50s, I only have a general idea of where the entryways are given that the buildings on the property have shifted since the last accurate map was compiled.”

“The good news is that two of the entrances seem to be contained within this house, the bad news is that they may have been bricked over by renovations to the building,” Prentiss says with a grimace. “The other two entries are somewhere out in what’s now the fields, so we’ll have less luck finding them, even with all the extra help from the PD.”

Hotch’s shoulders sag under the weight of the new information and he frowns at the agents in front of him. Squinting hard at the blueprints haphazardly tacked to the board in front of him, Hotch tries to make sense of the possible entry points in the house he’s currently standing in.

“Get Morgan in here,” Hotch finally says. “He’s got experience with restoration work and may have a better idea on where the unsub could have taken Y/N from within the house given the structural changes.” And with that, Hotch strides out the front door of the house and leans on the porch railing. Y/N, I’m coming for you, just hold on a little longer.

---

Robertson is a bitch. And he has the knife to prove it.

“So, you’re impotent, that’s why you’re using such a big knife, right?” you taunt him after who knows how fuckin’ long. “You see, we thought you had, mmm, issues, but we didn’t know for sure; this just confirms it.”

He took the gag out of your mouth to hear you scream, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing so. However, instead of responding to your jabs, Robertson just drives the knife a little bit deeper into your torso and you let out a hiss in retaliation, throwing your head back.

“God, you sure know how to treat a girl, don’t ya?” you grit out between pained breaths. “No wonder a charmer like you had so many lady friends.”

“They didn’t appreciate me!” Robertson yells. “Just like you don’t appreciate me!”

The next slash glances off your ribs and yikes does it fuckin’ hurt. Jerking away as best you can, you contemplate your options. At this point, you know your only way out is to either escape—as if—or to make Robertson see some semblance of reason. Otherwise, you aren’t going to make it out of here alive. Fuck, you think, I’m so sorry, Aaron. I promise I’ll find you. Or you’ll find me. A particularly vicious cut to your cheekbone draws you back to reality, and once again, you are only able to focus on the pain and Robertson’s maniacal laughter. Creepy motherfucker.

---

Hotch has never seen Morgan so focused. Scouring the blueprints with Reid and Prentiss, Garcia on speakerphone, Morgan works to figure out where the hell Robertson could have disappeared to inside the house. With you. Hotch has taken to pacing the length of the house in order to keep his nerves and his temper somewhat under control; he needs to be alert and ready to get to you as soon as possible. Running a hand through his hair and over his face, Hotch sighs which draws the attention of Rossi and JJ who slowly drift over to him from their place by a window.

“Hotch—” JJ starts but is cut off by a hard look.

“We’ll find her, Aaron.” Rossi tries. “You know that she’s here somewhere, probably giving Robertson all sorts of hell.”

“We’ve seen what Robertson does to his victims, Dave,” Hotch retorts. “He basically slices women to pieces and beats them,” taking a breath, he tries to calm himself. “We need to find her alive,” he finishes softly.

JJ and Rossi share a concerned look before Rossi sighs and steps forward to place a hand on Hotch’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her. There’s no way—” he’s cut off by an excited yell and the three of them swing around towards the source of the noise which happens to be Prentiss.

Morgan’s already moving, stalking into another room and Reid, accompanied by Garcia on the phone, hurries to catch up.

“We found the door Robertson most likely used to take Y/L/N and we’re pretty sure it connects to the full system under the property,” Prentiss explains and that’s all it takes for Hotch to stride off after Morgan and Reid.

Head spinning, Aaron fluctuates between hope and hopelessness. He knows they’ll find you; Robertson can’t hide in the tunnel system, no matter how well he knows them, but he’s most worried about you. We’re coming for you, Y/N. I won’t let this bastard get away with this.

---

Your whole body fucking hurts and you’re pretty sure it’s not just because you started off your captivity with a broken nose and concussion. Your mouth tastes like blood again from how hard you’ve clamped down on your bottom lip to resist screaming as loud as you can. Robertson is cruel, there’s no question about that. You’d seen the photos of his other victims, and now you were undergoing the same things those women did in their last moments. Your entire body feels heavy, and if you weren’t tied down to a chair, you don’t think you’d be able to hold yourself up. Between the blood loss and head trauma, you’re surprised your thoughts are still relatively coherent.

Robertson is pacing in front of you, muttering to himself, shooting looks your way, and absentmindedly gesturing with the knife in his hand. Fantastic, you think hazily, he’s most likely devolving and I’m the only one around. Yay. Sucking in a breath, you wince as the action reignites a dizzying pain in your torso. Letting out a groan, you flinch as Robertson turns towards you, eyes shining with something that makes your heart race a little quicker.  

“Now, baby,” he states with a twisted grin—grimace? —that makes you grit your teeth even harder. “I’m not done with you yet, don’t worry. I still wanna hear you scream for me.”

Here we go again.

“Do your worst,” you snarl at him, and while that’s probably the worst thing to say to a devolving unsub, you’re too fed up and tired to care at this point; you can take it, you have to take it so you can survive. C’mon, Aaron. Where’s my knight in shining armor? Robertson descends on you with renewed vigor, and after the fourth slice to your leg, your ears rush and your head drops to your chest as you pass out. Fuck.

---

The trap door Robertson dragged you down can only be accessed by sliding one of the wooden floorboards back half an inch before it clicks into place and the adjoining boards lift slightly, revealing the way into the tunnels. How Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss figured that out is beyond Hotch’s current thought process because how many times had he paced over that exact spot? As soon as the hatch is lifted, all he sees is blood—your blood—sprinkled on the steps that descend into the darkened passageway. He takes a sharp breath and somewhere behind him, he can hear JJ gasp and Morgan swear.

“Medics are on stand-by,” comes Rossi’s voice from his shoulder.

Nodding tersely and setting his shoulders, he turns to the team.

“Stay alert and stick together. We don’t know where Robertson is, so clear the rooms and move on.” His voice is hard and leaves no room for debate.

“Let’s go get our girl,” Morgan adds, and with that, the team takes careful steps down into the hallway, following Aaron.

---

The first room they happen across is empty, as are the second, third, and fourth rooms. Forging ahead, knowing that they’re only closer to where you are, they continue. Turning a corner, Hotch can hear movement and his heart speeds up. Robertson. Signaling to the team to pause, he gauges the best course of action. He doesn’t know what state you’re in, or Robertson for that matter, and so he has to approach the situation with caution. Gun in hand and stepping to one side of the door, he lets Morgan and Prentiss move to the other. Backed by JJ, Reid, and Rossi, Hotch nods and Morgan kicks down the door before moving quickly inside, yelling at Robertson. Prentiss follows him and then Hotch steps through and freezes.

Robertson is crouched over your crumpled and bloody body looking wild-eyed at the agents in front of him. Hotch can’t breathe. You aren’t moving.

“She’s mine,” Robertson snarls, brandishing a knife at Morgan as he tries to get closer. “Mine!”

“Okay, Michael,” says Rossi calmly, “Let’s figure this out.”

“No. She’s mine! I’m not done,” Robertson’s reply is harsh, bordering on a yell.

“What do you mean you aren’t done, Michael?” Hotch’s voice is cold and flat. What more could Robertson possibly want?

“She didn’t scream! I need her to scream for me!” and with that, Robertson runs the tip of his blade down your already bloody cheek.

The team is stunned, but then Robertson raises the knife in the air over your chest and—

He falls.

Looking slowly to the right, Hotch sees Prentiss, gun raised, and then to Robertson splayed on the ground, blood pooling under his head. Vaguely, Hotch hears Reid calling for medics and alerting the local officers to what just happened. Morgan’s already at your side, turning you slowly, carefully, gently on to your back, and that’s when Hotch rushes to you, gun holstered.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. There’s blood everywhere. Aaron can’t tell if you’re breathing. He chokes back a sob. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.

“Hotch, she’s alive,” Morgan breathes, and with that, Hotch lets out a sigh of relief and allows himself to fully look at you, blinking a few times to rid his eyes of tears.

Your face is littered with shallow cuts. Your nose is bloody—definitely broken—and there’s already bruising around your eyes. Your shirt is torn and bloodied in so many places, as are your pants. He can see blood leaking slowly multiple places on your thighs, and even more from your arms and midsection. Your eyes are closed.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Hotch presses down on one of the lacerations to your torso, Morgan taking another, and JJ appearing to apply pressure on a cut that’s just a little too close to your femoral artery.

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” his voice shakes. “I need you to open your eyes, Y/N. Have to know you’re okay.”

There’s yelling from down the hallway, medics bustling into the room and taking over. Aaron can’t make himself let go of you, and it takes Rossi’s gentle but firm hand to guide him back and away from you. He can’t stop shaking.

---

You wake, briefly, when you feel yourself being lifted. Squinting, you try to turn your head, as the rest of the world comes crashing back in a wave of sound and movement. Vision blurred, you try and make sense of what’s going on around you.

“She’s awake!” calls a voice from your left, and you can make out the outline of… JJ? They’re here.

You’re shifted around more, and you get the idea that you’re being strapped down to a gurney as medics begin to wheel you out of the hellhole where Robertson held you.

Suddenly, there’s a hand grasping yours, and before your mind can comprehend what’s happening, all you hear is—

“Sweetheart…?” in the most relieved, reverent, adoring, tone you think you’ve ever heard in your life and it’s Aaron holding your hand. He’s here he’s here he’s here. He found me.

“Aaron,” his name leaves you in a sigh. “Y’found me,” you say softly, looking him over.

“Of course, I did, Sweetheart,” he says, just as soft.

“Where’s…?” you don’t want to say his name.

“Dead. Emily shot him,” Aaron answers in a low voice. Good fucking riddance.

You hum and ease back as the gurney jostles you particularly hard. Gritting your teeth, you groan as you head starts to pound even harder. Feeling yourself losing consciousness, you squeeze Aaron’s hand.

“Love you,” and before he can respond, you vision goes black and all is quiet once more.

---

After you get loaded into the nearest ambulance and speed towards the hospital, Rossi confirms that local officers have secured the scene. With not a moment to waste, the team takes off after the ambulance. Morgan calls Garcia to update her on your status and spends a majority of the ride to the hospital convincing her that she doesn’t need to fly over to see you. Hotch stares blankly out the window and replays the entire interaction with Robertson. He saw the damage Robertson did to you—I need her to scream—and can’t help but feel a little bit of pride at the fact that you didn’t give in to Robertson despite the obvious pain you endured.

The SUVs pull up to the hospital, screeching to a halt, before all the doors are thrown open and the team hurries into the lobby. The nurse at the desk looks up to find six disheveled agents crowding around the counter, worry across all of their faces.

“We’re here for Agent Y/L/N, she probably arrived twenty minutes ago,” Hotch states, voice surprisingly calm.

“I can confirm she arrived and that she’s currently being attended to, but I don’t know any more than that at this moment,” the nurse replies, looking at the computer screen.

“Do you know if she’ll be okay?” asks Spencer in a subdued voice.

“The severity of her injuries is yet to be determined, I’m afraid. She has obvious head trauma, numerous lacerations, and possible internal bleeding, but until I get another update, that’s all I can share,” the nurse says with a sad smile.

Nodding, Aaron steps away from the counter. C’mon, Sweetheart.

“Thank you,” comes Rossi’s voice from Hotch’s left, and with that, the team migrates to the largest cluster of chairs where they promptly collapse in exhaustion.

Sitting down heavily, Hotch rests his elbows on his knees and runs a hand over his face. Prentiss drops in to the chair on his left, Rossi settles in on his right. Across from them, Reid and JJ sit on either side of Morgan. Looking down at his hands, Aaron realizes that they still have your blood on them. He glares at them, somehow wishing that if he stares hard enough, it’ll vanish on its own. A hand closes around one of his, and he looks at Emily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says softly, then, louder, “You guys too, Morgan and JJ. Let’s go.”

It’s then that Aaron looks—really looks—and sees that like him, Morgan and JJ have your blood on their hands as well. With a nod, they all stand. Morgan and Hotch walking into the men’s room while Emily follows JJ to keep her company. Mechanically, the two men stand side-by-side and turn on the taps, starting the slow process of washing away the blood that’s dried on them. Glancing to the side, Hotch sees Morgan, brow furrowed in concentration, as he scrubs under his nails.

“Thank you,” he says, stopping his own motions to fully look at Derek, who turns at the sound of his voice.

“For what?” Morgan asks, slightly confused.

“For going over the blueprints with Reid, Prentiss, and Garcia. For figuring out where in the house Y/N had disappeared. For going above and beyond to find her and— “

“Hotch, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Morgan cuts him off. “I will do everything in my power to make sure this team is okay, you know that,” and with a small grin, he adds “I’m just happy that one of my hobbies was useful for the case.”

Hotch can’t help but smile a little in return, and with that, they go back to washing their hands in a more comfortable silence.

---

Walking back into the waiting area, Hotch is confronted with the sight of Reid and Rossi surrounded by a pile of snacks from one of the vending machines. He pauses for a second, shakes his head, and then continues back to the chair he was sitting in earlier. Once he’s seated, Reid tosses him a bag of something—chips? —which he dutifully opens under the watchful eye of Rossi. Morgan snags his own snack and then leans against the nearest wall, content to stand. A short while later, Emily and JJ return, Emily’s arm secure around JJ’s shoulders, before they too are digging in to the veritable mountain of food that Reid and Rossi managed to accumulate. Sitting in silence—save the crunching of whatever food they were eating—the team takes a second to contemplate and reassess the day.

The sound of Velcro breaks Hotch out of his trance, and he looks over to see Morgan undoing his bulletproof vest. The vests which the rest of them are still wearing. There’s a scramble after that, to rid themselves of their exterior layer, which are then haphazardly stacked on an open seat. Taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time in days, Hotch sinks back in his chair and closes his eyes, head tipped back against the cool wall behind him.

“Anyone want water?” Reid is the first to break the tenuous silence. There’s a chorus of hums and head shakes before he stands and wanders off, presumably in the direction of the vending machines where he first got the food.

“She’ll be fine, you know,” Rossi says looking at Aaron, whose eyes are now open, staring at the ceiling. “She’s tough, tougher than I think we gave her credit for.”

Hotch sighs in response, but Emily is the next to speak up.

“Robertson said she didn’t scream, which…” she trails off, looking at the floor before meeting Aaron’s eyes. “I don’t think I could have done that, not like that. I can’t imagine what that was like for her...”

“I wish we had gotten there sooner,” Hotch finally says. “I wish—”

“No.” Morgan says, a hard edge to his voice. “Don’t do that to yourself, Hotch. Or any of us. We did what we could and we found her alive.”

“I know, but—” Hotch is cut off by JJ this time.

“But nothing, Aaron. She’s going to be okay.” And with that, JJ moves from her chair to the one next to him and gently puts a hand on his shoulder. “She was awake and talking before they took her away, you know that,” she adds softly.

“Hey guys, so I talked to the nurse and—” Reid returns and with those words, Hotch sits straight in his seat, JJ’s hand falling away as his attention and that of his teammates focus on what Reid has to say next. “—and apparently, Y/N only needed minor surgery to repair some internal damage from three of the stab wounds and the other slashes were relatively shallow, so they just needed to be stitched up. She also has contusions on her head from where I’m guessing Robertson hit her to initially subdue her, and she does have a concussion and broken nose, but according to the nurse Y/N only has to stay here for a maximum of three days to make sure that there are no serious effects from the concussion and to keep an eye on her sutures before she’ll be cleared to leave.” Reid’s final statement hangs in the air, sinking in, and once it does, Aaron hangs his head as tears fall down his cheeks. You’re okay. You’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.

Derek immediately calls Garcia to give her the good news and her scream of excitement can be heard by the rest of the team even though Morgan did not have her on speakerphone. Rossi chuckles to himself before looking over at Aaron and his shaking shoulders. Putting a hand on his back, Rossi doesn’t say anything, but instead, provides silent support to the man who almost lost what little he had left.

“Agent Y/L/N?” comes a voice from the desk, and Aaron wipes his eyes before taking a breath and standing and turning with the rest of the team.

“Yes?” It’s Prentiss who replies.

“We’ve moved her to a room; you can see her now,” and with that, the nurse beckons for them to follow her through the set of double-doors that lead further into the hospital. Coming to a stop, the nurse turns and fixes Hotch with a look. “I’ll warn you now, she looks worse off than she actually is, so don’t be put off by her appearance. She shouldn’t move too much because there’s a risk she’ll rip her stitches, but other than that, she’ll be okay,” and with a nod, she opens the door and ushers them inside.

Aaron’s eyes rush to take in your appearance—butterfly bandages across your nose, a few on your cheekbones and forehead, bandages up both arms, and he’s sure there’s more hidden from view. For a moment, he’s taken back to the last time he saw you laying this still. Crumpled on the floor, bloody and unmoving, Robertson with a knife crouched over you, going to kill you—

Prentiss pushes past him, breaking his train of thought, as she moves to your side and gives a low whistle before gingerly taking your hand. Aaron walks to your other side, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head, and the rest of the team surround your bed, everyone gazing down at your sleeping form.

---

The first thing you notice is the pain in your head, followed by pain that slowly pulses through your whole body, and for a moment, you remember. Robertson, the knife, slicing, slashing, taunting, yelling, don’t scream can’t scream—

But then you feel it. The familiar pressure of Aaron kissing your head and it clears your head a bit. Not with Robertson, not with Robertson, I’m not with that fucker.

“Fuck,” you groan, mind still hazy, pain more intense, as you return to consciousness. “Wh’re am I?” you slur out next, as you blink away the tiredness in your eyes and try not to squint at the fluorescents or the shadows that are sharpening into your team.

Looking to your right, you lock eyes with Aaron, who pushes hair off of your face before smiling sweetly at you and you try to smile back.

“Hi, Love,” you say, voice low and rough. He leans down and kisses your forehead this time, before gently holding your hand.

Realizing you aren’t alone, you look around at the rest of the team, squeezing Emily’s hand in yours.

“You killed ‘im?” you ask, searching her face. She nods. “Good,” you sigh. “He was such an asshole.”

With that, Derek laughs, followed by Rossi. Emily’s shoulders drop as she lets out a chuckle, Spencer smiles, and JJ rolls her eyes with a fond grin. Almost the whole team.

As if summoned by the power of thought, Derek’s phone rings and he answers the call, Garcia’s voice coming through loud and clear on speakerphone.

“Y/N! My poor, poor, goddess divine how are you?” she questions. You clear your throat and attempt to speak, but before you can say anything Morgan is passing the phone to Aaron, who holds it closer to your face. You shoot him a grateful smile before responding.

“I’m fine, Pen. Just some cuts and scrapes,” you joke.

“That’s a lie, Y/L/N and we all know it. Don’t make me ask you again!” she chastises and you roll your eyes, holding back a wince as pain twinges through your side.

“I’ll be okay, Penelope,” you say softly. Another jolt of pain, this time in your arm, almost makes you whimper, but you bite your lip instead. An action which does not go unnoticed in a room full of profilers.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Y/N,” JJ says lightly before shooting a glance at Aaron and then looking at the rest of the team. “But we should get back to the hotel.”

“Bye my lovelies! I’m happy you’re okay, Y/N. Get home safe, please! Garcia out,” and Derek puts his phone away before smiling at you. Reid give you a small wave and Rossi claps a hand on Aaron’s shoulder before they all turn to exit.

With one last squeeze to your hand, Emily lets go and follows the rest of the team, save Aaron, out the door with the promise that they’ll return later.

When everyone is out and the door shuts behind them, you finally let out a pained breath and scrunch your eyes shut with a groan. You feel Aaron smooth a hand over your hair and you try to control your breathing, but it’s hard when your entire body hurts. Slowly, tears make their way down your face and Aaron’s quick to softly brush them away. Turning to look at him, you allow yourself to breakdown in the safety of his presence.

Your breath hitches as the tears fall faster, your head hurts, your chest hurts, everything hurts and you try not to break into a sob, but the tears won’t stop and eventually sobs wrench from your body and you let them. Aaron has tears of his own falling down his face and he holds your hand in both of his, kissing your knuckles, fingertips, palm, whatever he can as he watches you break. He wants to hold you, wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain but he can’t because your injuries prevent him from doing so and it pains him to see you this way. So he does what he can.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. I didn’t get to say it before you passed out and—” he pauses to take a breath. “I love you so much. So so much.”

“I was so scared—” you gasp through a sob. “Terrified, Aaron. I couldn’t—” you can’t speak through the force of your tears. Aaron shushes you and kisses your cheek, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I know, Sweetheart. I know, but you were so brave, so brave and I am so proud of you for being so strong and—” he breaks off in his own soft sob. “—and for staying alive. You’re alive.”

Lifting a hand to scrub at your face, you take a few deep breaths, but more tears escape.

“I can’t—” your breath hitches at what exactly Robertson had done to you. “He wanted me to scream so I didn’t, I couldn’t. I knew what he did to the others, and I just thought that—” you take another breath. “I just thought that if I could deny him that, not give in, it would buy you guys time to find me,” you pull Aaron’s hand to your lips, resting them on the back of his hand and closing your eyes to ground yourself.

“And you did,” he replies softly, gently. “When we found you—” he takes his own steadying breath. “When we found you, Robertson was angry, he said…he said he needed to make you scream, and hearing that…I just,” he moves his hand to cup your face, softly moving his thumb over the bandage on your cheekbone. “You astound me, Sweetheart. Everyday,” he finishes in a whisper.

“I love you,” you say just as softly.

“I love you more,” he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back.

You lean forward, then. And he meets halfway, hand disentangling from yours so he can cradle both sides of your face as he sinks into the kiss. One of your own hands finds its place on his cheek and you sigh into his lips. This. This is what kept me alive, you think when he gently tilts your head. I love you I love you I love you. Thank you. With tears slowly drying on both your faces, you and Aaron revel in the comfort of each other. In the words you don’t have to speak, and the touch of the one you love. Through the worry, pain, and fear of the day, this is how it always ends. You and Aaron. Together. Safe. Loved.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

By Your Doorstep (Part 4)

Summary: The reader and Dean celebrate Tessa’s birthday with a big surprise before making a drastic change to their relationship...

Pairing: Doctor/Neighbor!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 4,100ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentioned past sexual assault (not graphic)

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

_________

Dean’s POV

Two Weeks Later

“Oh fuck yeah!” said Dean, jumping up and down in the driveway as he read over the letter in his hands.

“Dr. Dean that’s a bad word,” said Emily, the five year old three houses down. Dean slapped a hand over his face as she rode past on her bike, her father laughing to himself.

“Hope it’s good news, Dean,” said Chris.

“Very. Sorry about that,” said Dean, Chris waving him off as Dean jogged back inside. He read over the letter again and looked through the packet. “Alright. As long as you keep a B average or above you’re golden kiddo. You get straight A’s anyways so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Dean smiled and gathered up all of the documents, getting them together with Tessa’s birthday present. Y/N had tried to tell him that giving away his old iPhone was too much but all it did was sit in a drawer now when it worked perfectly fine. He was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be thinking about the phone at all once she found out about the grant.

He looked back at the bag on the table and frowned. Maybe she’d take it the wrong way, like he was trying to save her sister or their family or something like that. He could have given them the application and had them fill it out. They would have probably gotten it still. Dean knew his letter he’d included didn’t hurt but he didn’t want to be that guy. He was already a doctor, already helped Y/N with a job, already paid for dates and things. It was no issue for him at all and he knew she didn’t care about the money but he didn’t want to rub it in her face that he could help more than she could.

Dean grabbed his phone and called Cas, Sam stuck in some network client thing all night he’d told him. It rang a few times before it picked up, the echo in the background telling him he was on speaker.

“Deano!” said Benny. “Gonna make it over tonight after all?”

“Hey guys,” said Dean, sitting down on his couch. “You got the crew together?”

“Nah, just us and the girls. They’re still out shopping. What’s up?” asked Cas.

“You know Y/N?” asked Dean.

“The girl you’re clearly in love with? Yes we know her,” laughed Benny. Dean was quiet and heard them shift on the other end.

“Everything okay?” asked Cas.

“I think I fucked it up. I think I’m going too far too fast.”

“What do you mean?” asked Benny.

“Tessa, her little sister, she’s in high school and I applied for a grant on her behalf for her college and she got it,” said Dean.

“That’s a problem how?” asked Cas.

“I don’t want it to come off as me trying to save them or anything. I’m nervous she’s gonna get mad at me,” said Dean. His friends were quiet and knew a teasing comment wouldn’t come. “Guys.”

“Tell her you applied on a long shot and a grant is what helped you with school. You’re not saving the day, just sharing a benefit you got,” said Benny. “Shit I wish I’d had someone do that for me.”

“What’s going on Dean? You’re normally the last person to freak over shit,” said Cas. Dean sat back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Talk to us bud,” said Benny.

“I like this girl and it’s been years and years since I had a girlfriend. You guys know I’m not good for more than a fuck,” said Dean.

“Lisa was a super bitch and you know that’s not true,” said Benny.

“I am in my thirties and I’ve never had a real relationship. I don’t even know how. I’m gonna fuck this up so bad. I know it.”

“Contrary to how often I call you a dick, you are one of the best people I’ve ever met,” said Cas.

“I agree and you know all our friends and especially Sammy would say the same thing. Brother you gotta relax. This girl from what you’ve said and everybody else says, well we ain’t never seen you so happy so stop freaking, go get ready for your date tonight and put some faith in this girl that she’s not gonna hurt you back,” said Benny.

“I didn’t say-”

“Dean, we’ve known you forever. We know when you’re scared. I know most people in your life end up hurting you but take it from us, not everyone will. I got a good vibe from her,” said Cas.

“Me too,” said Dean quietly.

“You doing okay?” asked Benny. “In general you know.”

“Yeah. Most of the time I’m great now. The past few weeks have been awesome. I think maybe that’s why I keep freaking out over this girl. It’s like, fucking finally, I understand what a good relationship can be.”

“You been to Ketch lately?” asked Cas.

“No, not as a patient. I’m okay.”

“Well still go for a tag up every once in a while for us,” said Benny.

“I know. Never would have gone without you assholes getting on my back in the first place.”

“That’s what friends are for,” said Cas, Benny chuckling. “So where you guys going tonight?”

“Monico’s.”

“Fancy,” they both said and Dean rolled his eyes, smiling to himself.

“Goodbye assholes,” said Dean, hearing them laugh before he hung up. He sat up and took a deep breath. “Alright. Shower. Shave and fingers crossed tonight goes well.”

Reader’s POV

“Okay, presents before or after dinner?” you asked as you carried in a bag to Tessa’s room.

“Before, obviously,” she said.

“Alright, well I know you wanted something really badly this year,” you said. “Why don’t you open the green one first?”

“This feels like an iPhone box…” she said with a big smile. She tore off the paper and grinned. “Awesome! What one is it?”

“It’s a ten. It’s used but in really good condition. I got you a case and extra charger too,” you said. “We can swing to the store and activate it tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Y/N, really,” she said. She grabbed the card next and her eyes went wide when she saw the cash inside. “Y/N.”

“It’s your money you gave me. It’s yours. Buy whatever you want, okay?” you said. She nodded and unwrapped a few more small things, a book she’d been talking about, some make up you knew she’d use, a new pair of her nike running shorts that’d been on sale thankfully. You smirked when she picked up the last two presents in the bag. “Alright. I hope these are...suitable for you.”

She tore off the wrapping on one and started to laugh.

“It’s hot pink,” she giggled. “Why is it hot pink?”

“Cause vibrators come in a variety of colors,” you said with a laugh. “I will let you read through the charging instructions on your own and same for the other box. There is toy cleaner because yes you need to wash these things properly and I got some water based lube. Go with water based. It dries up faster but it works better to me. Oh and wash everything like five times before it goes anywhere near anything, okay?”

“Okay,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you actually bought me this stuff.”

“Can’t get pregnant off a toy,” you said.

“Definitely can’t do that,” said Dean, Tessa wide eyed as he popped his head into the doorway. She shoved the boxes back into the bag and he laughed. “I’m a doctor. Sex doesn’t bother me and I think your sister has a point.”

“Oh my God, I forgot he was here,” she said, running her hands over her face.

“I was wondering where you two ran off to,” he said. He stepped inside and pulled out a box from behind his back. “Happy birthday, Tessa.”

“Thanks,” she blushed. She undid the bow and paper, smiling as she opened the box. There was an envelope inside but she picked up the headphones and shook her head. “Dean I can’t accept this. It’s too much. I already know the iPhone must have been yours.”

“You are smarter than you look,” he said. “But I can’t accept your refusal of my present. I have new ones and those never get used and I’m bigger than you so you’re gonna lose this argument one way or the other.”

“I’d listen to him, Tessa. He gets his way when he wants it,” you said. She rolled her eyes but smiled.

“Thank you. People haven’t been nice to us the past couple years,” she said. You glanced down to the floor, Dean leaving his arm wrapped around your waist.

“People weren’t all that nice to me either for a long time,” he said with a nod. “Someday when you’re able, you help somebody else out, understand?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod.

“Open the envelope. This one’s a present to you both,” he said. You cocked your head as she tore it open, reading for a long time before she pulled out a paper and handed it to you.

“Dean,” you said, sitting down on her bed after you’d read it a few times. “Dean this…”

“It’s a grant. It’s very similar to a scholarship. I’m an alumni of Elmdale and the medical school there. Tessa you qualify and so I applied on your behalf a few weeks ago and you were accepted. The grant will cover half of four years of tuition,” he said.

“What does that mean?” asked Tessa.

“It means we will have to pay very little with financial aid,” you said. She was beaming and you shook your head. “You applied weeks ago?”

“After I met you two. This house seemed familiar to me for some reason until I remembered. Y/N I told you someone helped me when I was eighteen?”

“Yeah?”

“I think his picture is hanging in the hall,” he said.

“Our dad?” asked Tessa.

“He got me a job and helped me pay for part of my school. I came here once when I needed his help. Your father was a very good man and it’s clear his daughters are the same. Neither one of you deserves to go through all the pain I did. I don’t want you to. It was no trouble at all to do, I swear.”

“Tessa, I work at Dean’s office as a lab tech,” you said. She turned her head and you saw Dean nod. “I lost my job before. We were scraping by. Barely. We’re okay now but without this grant...it would have wiped out our inheritance. That was for weddings and down payments for houses. We can keep it now...we can keep the house now.”

“You hate this house though,” she said. “I hate this house.”

“Tessa-”

“We can downsize,” she said. “Y/N, every night you stare down at their bedroom door. It’s like we live with ghosts or something. It doesn’t have to be so tight. Do we really need a five bedroom house?”

“It’s not as tight anymore. We’ll talk about it. Let’s go celebrate all the good news,” you said. “I’ve been dying for a Monico’s steak.”

“She seemed pretty happy tonight,” said Dean as you sat on the front porch a few hours later. You hummed and rocked in your seat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Did I overstep?”

“No. You were the boy in the mailroom, weren’t you. Dad used to talk about you sometimes. Mostly when I didn’t want to do something. He told me some people my age have it so much harder.”

“True. But you can’t compare one person’s struggles to another’s. It’s not fair to either one.”

“Would you sell this house if you were me?” you asked.

“I like that you live close by. I’d miss that. But it’s a lotta house for the two of you and it sounds like a change might be a good thing. You could downsize to somewhere else in the neighborhood and probably bank a good chunk of money for later on.”

“We could.” Dean was quiet, gears turning in his head. “What are you thinking of?”

“My house is a five bedroom too.”

“Yours is also newer,” you said. “And bigger.”

“Tell me if I’m crossing a line but...you guys...could stay there if you decided to sell this place. Temporarily. Or not temporarily,” he said. You stared up at him and he looked away. “Like I said, I’m sorry, I know it’s...I should go.”

“Hey. I’m not afraid of you.” His head turned back towards you and he swallowed thickly. “Tell me another secret and I’ll you one.”

“I think I I’m falling in love with you and I’m afraid I’m going too fast and that you think I’m creepy or weird deep down and I’m up to something when all I really see is me and my brother in you and your sisters places and I know how much it sucks and how much it hurts and I know you protect her from stuff she doesn’t even know about. I’m sorry for saying that about the house just now. I’d still like to see you though if that’s okay.”

“I think this is fast too but I also think that part of me fell for you the day you carried her home. You don’t want anything from us. Just to help and it’s not because you pity us or anything like that. If I’ve learned anything yet in life it’s that you don’t know when it’s gonna stop and there’s no use in wasting time.”

“What are you saying?”

“You willing to put up with a teenager, a service dog and someone who has not had a moment to themselves in two years?”

“As long as you don’t snore,” he smiled. You laughed and kissed his cheek. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t like this house anymore. If she doesn’t want it, I don’t want it. Maybe we can do some test runs, stay over for a weekend or two, see if we want to make it a not temporary thing.”

“That sounds great,” he smiled. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart.”

Two Months Later

“I’m home,” you said on the way back from the store. You’d been staying at Dean’s for two weeks now after a nice couple closed on your old house. So far it’d been great and you were perfectly happy to stay there with him and Tessa for the foreseeable future. “I picked up some-”

“He is not my dad. I am eighteen,” said Tessa as she stormed over to the foyer. You glanced back to where Dean was over in the kitchen and sighed. “I want to go to Paulie’s tonight.”

“Who is Paulie?” you asked as you kicked off your boots.

“A friend,” she said.

“You’ve literally never mentioned him before,” you said, carrying some groceries through the family room and to the kitchen.

“That’s what I said,” said Dean as he peeled a potato at the island.

“I thought I said you’re not my dad so you can shut the fuck up.”

“Hey!” you shouted, Tessa freezing up. “Apologize to Dean.”

“He-”

“We are stable for the first time ever because of him. I trust Dean to make decisions for you when I’m not home. If he said no, then the answer is no. Go to your room,” you said. She grumbled and pounded her feet upstairs. You washed up and gripped the countertop. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe she said that to you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be the bad guy,” he said as he picked up another potato. “Paulie what’s his face doesn’t sound like he wants anything other than in her pants so she can swear all she likes at me.”

“What’d she say exactly?”

“She wants to go over to Paulie’s tonight to hang out with some friends but I overheard her and Hailey talking earlier this week about a party and I don’t need a medical degree to put it together.”

“If she sneaks out I’ll kill her,” you said. You glanced down to Toast’s dog bowl and paused. “Dean what would happen if she drank on her medication.”

“She can’t drink alcohol on that stuff,” he said.

“What would happen if she did.”

“She could have a seizure,” he said.

“Tessa!” you shouted. You jogged upstairs and found her bedroom empty. “Tessa!”

The house was quiet and you put your hands on your head.

“Toast!” you shouted, the dog trotting out from Dean’s bedroom. You immediately ran inside, Dean already upstairs and you saw her sitting out on the balcony in a chair, her face in her knees.

“Can I…” said Dean and you nodded. You followed him outside, Dean walking over and squatting by her seat. “Tessa, what are you doing out here?”

“I wish I was normal, didn’t have a fucked up head.”

“I got one too,” he said.

“Do you have to take medicine for seizures? No?” she said.

“No but my dad used to beat me up,” he said. She turned and he nodded. “He would try to beat up my little brother too sometimes but I would take the hits when I could. Tessa, you can’t drink when you’re on your medicine. You just can’t.”

“I know that,” she said.

“You can’t sneak out and leave Toast behind either. It’s not safe.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Y/N and I get scared too is all.”

“You just pretend to like me cause you fuck my sister.”

“For the record, I don’t fuck your sister. Relationships are complicated. You might not realize this but I care about you for you. If I didn’t I would not want you in my house, in our house, and I wouldn’t get scared about you going to parties with guys that just want to use you for sex. I give a shit about you Tessa whether you believe me or not.”

“You don’t care,” she scoffed. “You feel sorry for us. Nobody on earth would ask two strangers to move in unless you-”

“Tessa you can think whatever you want about me. I’m not your father and I’ll never try to be him. But I sure as shit know how to be an older brother. So be pissed off and be rude and whatever else you want to. I’ve done this before with my own brother. You don’t scare me. The only thing that does is you getting taken advantage of or you getting hurt and Toast isn’t there to help. Someday you’ll get it through that thick skull of yours what the truth is but until then, I’ll be the asshole who doesn’t let you go to parties you’ll get hurt at.”

“You pity us.”

“I’m jealous of you.” She stared at him and you swallowed in the doorway. “Your parents loved you. Mine didn’t. You want to talk about being fucked up? I’m here anytime.”

She nodded and he sat up on the bench with her. You went inside and finished preparing the potatoes, mashing them up and saving them for later. It was nearly ten by the time you heard the stairs creak and Dean walked down them.

“Y/N,” said Tessa. You got up from the couch and walked to the bottom of the stairs, Tessa glancing down. “I’m sorry for how I’ve acted today and treated Dean lately. I was…”

“It’s okay,” he said quietly as he rubbed her back.

“I was scared when we moved in here a few weeks ago. I don’t want to lose you too and Dean takes up time that it used to be just us and I know the accident wasn’t my fault but I feel guilty still sometimes and I know your life is different because of it too and I want you guys to be happy, I do. I just get scared you’ll forget about me. I don’t wanna be alone. I’m not ready.”

“You don’t ever have to be alone, Tessa,” you said. She nodded and looked up at Dean.

“I know. I was silly. But I’m better now,” she said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said.

“I know,” she said.

“Why don’t you head to bed, Tess. Tomorrow I can come to your session with you like we talked about,” said Dean. She nodded and walked upstairs, Toast trotting into her room. You walked upstairs and into your bedroom with Dean, shutting the door after yourselves. “I should have...change is difficult on kids with PTSD. I should have realized that’s why she’s been so snippy. I thought it was just hormones.”

“Probably both,” you said, climbing onto the bed. He lay down next to you, staring up at the ceiling. “You care for her.”

“You two are a package deal, sweetheart,” he said with a light chuckle. “Can’t love one without loving the other.”

“Like you and Sam,” you smiled. “I can’t wait to meet him in person.”

“Me too.”

“Is Tessa okay? You guys talked a really long time.”

“She was afraid I would replace her, push her out. Granted I do like spending alone time with you and everything but she needs you and I’m not here to take you away from her. I think she understands that now.”

“Dean why haven’t we had sex?” you asked. He sat up and you shrugged. “We’ve dated nearly three months and you don’t even try to cop a feel. For how fast certain things are between us, that one feels a little slow. I just want to understand. I don’t...I’m not saying it’s a problem I just want to know.”

“You asked me on our first date, or you made a comment, that I don’t seem like the shy around women type.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t use to be. A smidge, especially if they were the one that seemed to be controlling the situation but it was always good. I had some girlfriends, had some hookups. More than my fair share of hookups. The girlfriends…”

“The bitch one?” you said, getting a chuckle out of him.

“I stopped thinking I was relationship material for a while. So I did hookups for a long time and that was good. Until about two years ago. I haven’t had sex since.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No. I just...I asked her to stop and she didn’t.”

“Dean she hurt you.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” he said. He put his back to you and you took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know we sleep in the same bed and…”

“And I don’t need to have sex with you. Would I like it? Sure. But my sister and I aren’t the only ones in this house that need to be taken care of. You’ve done a really good job of that lately and I’d like to start pulling my weight in that department. When you’re ready for sex, you tell me, otherwise, I will just cuddle you real hard until then, okay?”

“Alright,” he said quietly. He reached behind himself and wrapped your arms around him. You kissed the back of his neck, Dean taking slow breaths. “I don’t really know how to let someone take care of me though.”

“We’ll take it slow,” you said. “Like maybe with you being little spoon tonight.”

“Alright. I can try, sweetheart.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #doctor!dean #au!dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #dean #winchester #dean spn

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axwalker · 3 years ago

Text

If The World Was Ending: Even if he was wicked

Synopsis: When Bianca leaves her son without looking back, Drake has to live on the streets until he finds a home with Angelica Ortiz--Lexie’s grandmother and a foster mom. With the Ortiz, Drake finds a family and falls madly in love, until a tragic night changes everything, threatening the life Drake fought so hard to get.

To catch up (HERE)

Pairing: Drake Walker x Lexie O’Brien (MC) The Royal Romance.

A/N: This will be a very angsty, full of drama, small town romance.

Words: 4,120

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Pixelberry, except for Lexie’s grandmother and mother.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child neglect, abandonment, sexual assault, prison and a very entitled, “evil” Liam

Due to the several trigger warnings and some of the subjects I’ll be dealing with, I will only tag people who actively asked for it. If you want to be tagged in the following chapters --or untagged, please leave a comment.

Drake

2008

When I was 12 years old, my mother took off with my little sister leaving me in Cordonia with my father's best friend. I reminded her too much of my father, too much of a life she would do anything to forget. That "anything" included abandoning her oldest son. I'd like to say I was surprised, but the truth is I wasn't. Bianca Walker had never been a motherly woman. The only reason she had taken Savannah with her was that my Aunt Leona adored her. I was sure my mother would dump my little sister on her and never look back. I hoped that was the case, Leona despised me, but she was great to Savannah.

A short time after that, Bastien passed away and my mother was nowhere to be found. That's when I started to go from one home to another. The first year and a half were the hardest ones. I lived with four different families, each one worse than the last. First, the Lockes, where the family barely talked to me. Then, the Ruiz that made me take cold showers and sleep on the floor. The Godwins where the “mother” used the check the state gave her to buy alcohol instead of groceries. And finally the worse, the Fields. They seemed nice enough when I met them. Not kind but polite. The first few weeks everything seemed normal. Then one day, I got in trouble at school, and Mr. Fields --the pastor of his community, beat me up to “teach me some manners.” His punishments became a usual thing after that.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I escaped. Better to be on my own than believe some family was going to love or adopt me. Obviously, there was something very wrong with me. My own mother had left me, and I had never found my place anywhere else.

I lived on the streets for 6 months. I did all kinds of jobs. Not a lot of them were legal but there were few opportunities for a 14-year-old runaway kid. The most money I got was when I stole car parts that I got to resell to a gang called the Mercy Park Crew. The boss, Mr. Kaneko was fair and paid well enough. I could’ve kept living by myself if something hadn’t got terribly wrong at my last job. One of the boys from a rival gang decided to teach me a lesson and I ended up in the hospital with a concussion. A nurse called social services so here I am in a car with another social worker on the way for another foster home. It doesn’t matter, I know it won’t last anyway.

When you’ve been in the system as long as I had, you learned to look for certain warning signs when placed in a new home. Drugs, ulterior motives, threatening fathers, drinking mothers. After an hour, we drove through a town looking like something straight out of a movie. Valtoria. I’d heard of it before. The family my dad had been protecting when he died lived there. The house we pulled up to, was a large two-story construction with dark brown siding and an immaculate green lawn.

Joelle, my new caseworker had popped up out of nowhere in the hospital and told me I was coming with her. Just like that. From the way Joelle talked about the new place, I figured it was some sort of transitional home for rejects like me. Too old to get adopted and too troubled for anyone to voluntarily take on. I didn’t ask her anything else because I knew I didn’t have a fucking choice. Besides, I knew words don’t mean anything. I was a kid in the system. I went where they took me. Sometimes, I hated it. Sometimes, I really hated it. This time was different. In more ways than one. Usually, I was dropped off by my caseworker, and the people receiving me were about as excited as they were about junk mail. No one has ever come out to greet me before. As long as the woman at the door wasn’t sizing me up for a skin suit, it didn’t matter.

The social worker got out of the car as I grabbed the trash bag that I used to carry my shit around. She rang the bell, and a small, older woman opened the door. Joelle had told me in the car that the woman fostered several boys and I knew what that meant. She wanted the money the government gave her for keeping us. Well, I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. If she wanted to cash a check at the end of the month it was going to cost her. I’d make sure of it.

I had seen it all, but I still was caught by surprise when the tiny woman opened her arms at me and gave me a one-sided hug. A fucking hug.

“I’m very happy to meet you, mijo,” she said in a strong accent. “My name is Angelica Ortiz but everyone here calls me Abuela. Grandma in Spanish.”

The woman was deluded if she thought I’d call her grandma. She was obviously trying to impress the social worker with her fake kindness, hugs, and stupid names. I wasn’t going to be fooled that easily.

I didn’t even answer her as we stepped into the house. Another woman, a younger version of the one staring at me was waiting for us in the living room.

“Hi, you must be Drake. I’m Elena. Welcome.” She gave me a smile. Fake, I was sure but at least she hadn't tried to hug me. The older woman was talking to Joelle about me. Probably about my problems with authority, anger issues, and lack of communication skills. I knew my file by heart.

I barely nodded at Elena, and the three women exchanged a look. “Let me take you to your room, Drake. You’ll be sharing it with Maxwell. He’s doing his homework with my daughter in our house across the street. You’ll get to meet all the boys and my daughter Lexie tonight.”

She walked me to a room on the second floor of the house. It seemed clean and comfortable. Another ploy for the social worker. Two bunker beds with blue blankets and a wooden desk full of books were the biggest pieces of furniture. The left side of the room was covered in posters of who I figured were famous boy bands. There were a few of David Beckham, the only guy I recognized. Other than that there were clothes everywhere. That Maxwell dude was a fucking slob. Great.

“I told Max to take down some posters so you can decorate half of the room to your liking; This is your room as much as it is his. He's usually much more organized than this." I notice she speaks with a sort of fondness. "It was picture day for the school yearbook and he took hours getting ready. ”

I shrugged. I wasn’t planning to stay long anyway. I couldn’t care less if that Max kid left his posters on the walls or not.

She glanced at my garbage bag. “Are those your clothes, mijo?”

I scowled at her. I knew what mijo meant and I was nobody’s son. “My name is Drake.”

She smiled. “Of course, Drake. So, are they?”

I didn’t bother with an answer. A nod was enough.

“I cleared you this part of the closet, so you can keep them there. When you’re ready come downstairs; my mom and I will show you the rest of the house. The boys are out but we’ll all diner together tonight. Do you like Mexican food?”

I shrugged.

The woman smiled. “Shrugging is not an answer, mij- Drake. Either you like it, you don’t, or you haven’t tasted it in which case I can tell you, you’re missing out. Especially when mami cooks.” She winked at me as if we were friends or something. The woman was insane. “So, what is it, Drake?”

I’d never had it before, but she wasn’t going to tell me how to answer a damn question. “I hate it.”

She frowned --clearly disappointed, and I almost felt bad for her. Almost. “I’m very sorry to hear that. We already made Enchiladas for tonight and we don’t waste food. You can tell us your favorite dish though so we can make it for you.”

I shrugged again. Generally, that's when the person talking to me loses her patience but Elena Ortiz only smiled at me again. “Think about it. Every Sunday night, we pick someone’s favorite and cook it. It’s really fun. Next Sunday will be your first here, so you get to pick. Mami is a great cook and she can make anything from a mean chocolate cake to the best cheese pizza. See you downstairs, honey.”

Great. I’ve only been in this house for a few minutes, and I already hated it. The only thing worse than a home where you were beaten up as a welcome was a home where people pretended to care. My third foster home had been like that. Ms. Godwin had been all kind and nice at first. I almost felt like she cared about us. A week later, she had gotten drunk. For two days, neither I or the two girls she fostered had anything to eat because she hadn’t bought any groceries. I had to steal a twenty euro bill from her purse to buy food. She got angry and called the social worker who had come for me and taken me to the Fields. The worst home I ever lived in.

I wasn’t going to go downstairs but I decided that if I wanted a chance to escape it was better if I knew the house. Before I could explore a little, I heard my name from what I assumed was the kitchen.

Elena was crouching in front of the oven. “Drake has such sad eyes, mami. He’s only 14.”

The woman that had asked me to call her abuela, answered as she chopped an onion. “This boy has been living in the streets for more than a year. Do you realize it? Pobre angelito. So young and he has already seen more horrors than most people see in a lifetime.”

“Joelle told me that he had escaped from his last foster home.”

The older woman scoffed. “Home? If that’s how you call people that foster kids only for the money, they get in exchange. I don’t want to imagine why he fled those places." She turned to her daughter who had finished whatever she was doing in the oven and was drinking a bottle of water. "Stop watching me work, Elena and help me with diner, por Dios.”

Why was she pretending she didn’t care about the money? It was obvious. No one did anything for free. There was always a catch.

“Dónde está mi venadito?”

“Lexie and Max are at our house doing homework, mami. Be careful, though, if Lexie hears you calling her “your little deer” she’ll kill you. The boys called her Bambi for months after they heard you the last time.”

“Nonsense. She’s my venadito and that’s that. You two will come to eat here tonight. I want Drake to meet everyone.”

Elena rolled her eyes but patted her mom on the back. “Yes mami. Lexie is dying to meet him, she and Max made a chocolate cake for him. I’ll call her in a minute. Where are the boys by the way?”

“Bertie is trying to teach Leo how to drive. Poor boy, I hope he makes it alive.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Leo will be careful. Bertrand will be fine.”

“Oh, it’s not Bertie I’m worried about, it’s Leo. Bartie has no patience with him.”

I left the kitchen before they said anything else. I was sure I was going to hate this stupid place. I was angry. More than angry. Furious. After a year of successfully running away, I was back in the damn system. Back in yet another home where people seemed to care about me in front of the social worker just to ignore me –or worse, once she left. I had to admit that my new foster “moms” played their part better than most. The old one had hugged me and the other one had given me a smile that seemed real. But I knew better. No one really cared for me. No one gave a shit where I slept, what I ate, or if I was ill or scared. Not that I was ever scared. I had seen everything.

The front door was locked so I went to the backyard. I saw a small wooden house on top of one of the trees. I decided it was a good place to hide and be myself.

I sat there for a few moments when I heard someone climbing the tree.

“Hi!”

I looked up and saw a girl a couple of years younger than me. She had the biggest pair of brown eyes I’ve ever seen and was smiling at me as if I was her best friend.

“I’m Lexie! I live across the street. I’m Angelica’s granddaughter. You’re Drake, right?” I didn’t think it was possible to smile more but the girl proved me wrong when her grin widened. I simply nodded.

“Welcome! I know that it must be hard for you to feel at home because you like just arrived but you’ll love it here. I promise. Valtoria is great. We have lakes and the mountains and when it’s warm enough we can go camping all night. You’ll love the house too. I mean between you and me the boys are kind of a pain in the ass but they’re pretty great when they want to. Or when they're not teasing me. Especially Leo and Maxie. Bertrand is a know-it-all. He thinks because he’s sixteen he knows everything." She rolled her eyes clearly offended by the idea that someone could know more than her. "Abuela, that how we all call her because she’s Mexican and would murder us if we call her grandma, is amazing. I mean don’t get me wrong, she's super strict, and as my mom says the woman is never wrong but she’s the best person I know.”

I blinked. I didn’t know a person could talk that much without taking a single breath.

“Do you camp?” She asked as she folded her legs in front of her.

I did before. Before my dad died and my whole life blew up in a million pieces. Not that I would explain any of that to the chatty girl, so I just nodded again.

“Great! It’s getting warmer and Leo wants to go to a new camping site next weekend. Don’t tell him I said this but he’s like the worst camper ever. I have to double-check everything he does but I don’t tell him anymore because my mom said it wasn’t nice.”

I wondered how could someone carry a whole conversation by herself. I hadn’t pronounced a single word since the girl had shown up.

“I want to be your friend but I can see we’re about to have our first fight.” She told me in a teasing tone. “You’re wearing a Liverpool t-shirt. We worship Barcelona in this house. Well, Abuela, Leo and I do. The others couldn’t care less about soccer.”

I looked at the shirt she was wearing. It read "If they don't have soccer in heaven, I'm not going."

She noticed I was looking at her shirt and beamed. "Abue said my shirt was disrespectful to God but mom thought that was dumb and bought it for me anyway."

"Do you like soccer?" I finally asked.

“Like it? I love it! Did abuela saw your shirt? She hates European teams. She thinks Tigres is the best.”

“Tirgues?”

She laughed, and the sound of it did something weird to my stomach. “Tigres. It’s a Mexican team. She goes crazy when they play.”

“What team you like?”

“Barcelona, obviously.”

“Liverpool made it to the finals of the last Champion’s league.” I pointed out.

She shrugged. “They lost so it doesn’t count. Do you play?”

“Sometimes.” I tried not to show how much I loved it. It was something else my dad and I shared that had stopped when he died.

“I play too. How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I'm twelve. Well, almost thirteen, my birthday is in May.”

I frowned. “It’s November.”

“I know. I’m almost there.” She beamed. "I'm almost closer to thirteen than twelve anyway."

“Do you always talk this much?”

She laughed and my belly did that weird thing again. “My mom says I was a parrot in another life. I talk more when I’m nervous.”

“You're nervous?” I liked that I could make her nervous but I didn't know why.

She blushed and I liked it too. “A little. What happened to your eye?”

“I got into a fight.”

“Wow. You can’t do that here. Leo is always getting into fights and abuela has to ground him.”

She sure mentioned that Leo guy a lot. “Is Leo your boyfriend?”

“Gross!! Leo’s is like my brother. He, Bertie, and Max live with abuela. We’re a family. You’re family too.”

Fuck that. No matter if the girl was sort of cute. I didn’t have a family. “No, I’m not. I’m not staying.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t belong here.”

“Yes, you do; I swear. Plus, I need someone to coach me, so I can get into the school team next year. Leo promised he would, but he never has time.”

“I suck.”

She shook her head and smiled at me again. “Somehow I don’t think you do.” Then she gave me a conspiratorial look as she pulled out something from her jacket pocket. "You can't tell my mom about this but I took this from her room." It was a white iPod. After scrolling a little through the screen she settled on The Beach Boys. She couldn't possibly know it but they were my dad's favorites. She passed me an earbud and we didn’t talk after that. We just sat together for a while hearing music until we heard our names being called.

“That’s abuela. We should go. She hates to wait. Plus, I'm starving and we're having enchiladas. You'll love them.”

Lexie ran to her house to --as she put it-- 'hide the evidence.' I went back to her grandma's house and stepped into the kitchen.

“Drake, pass me the salt, mijo. It’s next to you on the counter,” Angelica said as she kept on turning the sauce she was making. “You like enchiladas?”

What was with all these women asking me what I liked to eat? I leaned against the black counter while she opened the lid of another steaming pot on the stove, and stirred its contents with a long wooden spoon. I shrugged. I didn’t know if I liked it. But it smelled better than anything I ever tasted, so it couldn’t be all that bad. My mouth started watering, and my stomach growled. Come to think of it, it had been a while since I’d last eaten.

“You know, I know you feel weird now. And you don’t like to talk a lot. Soon, you’ll learn that this is a safe place. We aren’t gonna judge a single word that comes out of your mouth or any of them that don’t.”

I suddenly felt like I owed her a verbal response in exchange for her kindness. Fake or not. Besides, I just knew the chatty girl I’ve just met wouldn’t be happy if I was rude to her grandmother. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled at my verbal response. “But just so you know. We do have a few rules in this house.”

Here it comes. The catch. Angelica put the lid back on the pot and leaned over the counter on her elbows. “You just need to go to school, find a hobby or sport you like, don't swear, respect the curfew and keep your room clean. Every child in this house has chores but it’s too soon to figure out yours. For now, you only have to get to know us.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me. At that moment the timer of the oven rang and Angelica took a huge dish out of it. She covered it with more steamy, tomato sauce, sour cream, and grated cheese and put it back in the oven. At least, I might get some good food while I figured what I was going to do next. Because no matter how nice and kind everybody acted, I was not going back to school. I used to be good at it without much effort; I had friends and a soccer team. But I had missed a lot in the last two years. I felt dumb and stupid.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open. “Cuidado muchachos! Be careful with that door against the wall, or you’re going be spackling and repainting this entire house,” Angelica yelled out. Three teenage boys filed into the house, followed by just as many apologies.

“Sorry.” “Oops.” “It was Max’s fault.” “

“These are Maxwell, Leo and Bertie,” Angelica introduced. “Boys, this is Drake.”

“Hi, man!” The blond one said with a shit-eating grin. “Abuela, Lena, you guys didn’t tell me you were buying a Liverpool fan.”

“Adoption is not a purchase of people, Leo” the oldest one --Bertrand, corrected.

“Yeah, cause if it was, then you got Leo from the clearance rack,” the youngest one joked, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror, smoothing back an out-of-place dark hair. “I hope you kept your receipt.”

“Fuck, off,” the blond one replied with a middle finger.

“Watch it, Leo,” Angelica warned. “Boys.”

Max kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, abue.” She forgave him with a smile, then swatted at his hand with her spoon when he dipped his finger into the pot.

“I’m glad you’re here, bro” Leo said. I stood, and he gave me a fist bump without touching my hand.

“Me too! And we’re going to be roomies,” the kid named Max said. He grabbed a stack of plates from the counter. I followed him over to the long dining room table and helped set the table for seven people.

2020

I lost count of how many days I’ve been in the hole. It wasn’t my first time in here and it sure as hell it wouldn’t be the last. It was always the same routine. Days and nights blended into one making it impossible to know what day it was or how much time I had been in here.

I have been in jail for six excrutiating years. I had known from the day I heard the sentencing that the only way I was going to survive was if I didn’t think about her. It was the hardest thing I had to do but after a while, my routine was running smoothly and when my head hit the pillow at night, I was too fucking exhausted. She haunted my dreams and my nightmares, but I didn’t think of her beyond that. Except for the hole. Locked up there, cold, hungry, and utterly alone her face, my memories of her were the only thing that helped me go on.

I replayed in my head our first encounter, our first kiss, our first time. I obsessed about her full lips, her expressive brown eyes, her gorgeous smile. I could spend hours picturing every single corner of her soft delicate curves. Sometimes, I wondered if --maybe, I didn’t start fights in the hope of being sent to the hole where I could spend my time fantasizing about her. It was pure torture, but I couldn’t help myself. The memories I had of her, of us and our short time together were the only light in my otherwise bleak life.

She still wrote me every week but I hadn’t open any single one of her letters. I didn’t want to know if she was moving on with her life or worst if she was waiting for me. Because that was what Lexie didn’t understand. Even if nothing happened and I was released in one year, I would never be that boy again. The Drake Walker she had known and loved was dead and she wasn’t going to like the man that had been left in his place. I was damn sure about that.

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#tw child neglect #tw child abandonment #tw children #tw child labor #axwalker writes #drake walker #drake walker fanfic #drake x mc #drake x lexie #trr fanfic #trr au fanfic

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