#and victim blamed him even though they met like less than a full day ago at that point

[calyroco]

The relationship building part of Undine has a very unsettling energy to it when Undine drops the truth bomb after her marriage.

Her husband came to the woods and got harassed by otherworldly creatures. Then he found this isolated house with two old people and their weirdly, but very pretty foster daughter. Then it turns out their daughter of mysterious parentage has a otherworldly birthfamily(who were also the guys harassing him in the woods and are now his in-laws btw) that helped create a magically induced natural disaster to trap him on an island with her and her foster parents to induce suspension bridge syndrome.

They did all this so that he would eventually love her because he was forced into a situation where there were no other bachelorettes. Then, after making sure they were all good and in love, her otherworldly relatives send a priest down to where that poor lovestruck man is trapped so that he could marry her and in doing so get her a soul because otherwise when she dies she will be condemned to oblivion since water spirits don't have souls naturally.

She only tells him this after he's married her and been trapped with her for so long that life away from her feels like a distant memory, and it's as if the whole world outside the place they were trapped in no longer existed.

I'm glad Undine got a soul and can go to heaven now, but the means she used to get there are incredibly unnerving

[apiratewhopines]

This one is a gift for @teamhook because she is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

Thanks to @jrob64 for giving me advice on artwork and to ultraluckycatnd for reading over this chapter

Midnight

Chapter 1 — The Prince

Summary: In which our heroine meets cute

Chapter 1 of 7 on AO3

“But don’t forget folks,

That’s what you get folks

For makin’ whoopee”

-Makin’ Whoopee, Eddie Cantor

Emma Swan had been in some tight spots, but she’d never been in a run out of gas on a deserted highway with a dying cell phone battery and a stomach as empty as her bank account kind of situation before. In truth, she blamed this unfortunate situation on the same person she blamed all the misfortunes of her adulthood. Neal Cassidy.

There was a time a few short months ago she would have done anything for the man responsible for her current circumstances. Neal had been too good to be true. A real Prince Charming, down to the supposed trust fund and a smile that made her believe in happy endings.

She’d been a sucker. She heard one was born every minute, she just never thought her time would come. After all, one of the few things she learned in the foster system was how to spot bullshit from a mile away. But he looked at her with his soulful eyes and whispered promises in his smoky voice and she fell for it. More than once, actually, and all she had to show for the wasted years was a voicemail box full of collection calls and a wolf at the door.

Because Neal Cassidy didn’t just leave her. He stole her identity, maxed out her credit cards, and took out half a dozen loans in her name. Then he proceeded to use the money to wine and dine a wide assortment of women, the sheer number of which would make Casanova blush. All the while professing his undying love and spending his days eating all her food and watching television from his favorite seat on the couch.

Seriously, you could still see the faint outline of his backside on the cushion.

As countless victims of his schemes started showing up at her door looking for the man who made them feel alive while killing them one dollar at a time, she listened to tears and rants and misery with ill-disguised impatience. How had she become the counselor to the trail of broken girls he left in his wake? When was it going to be her turn to moan and groan and swear she’d never love again?

Well, she did get around to the swearing to never love again part. Some mistakes don’t bear repeating.

The final straw happened two months ago. Neal had disappeared after their final fight. His righteous indignation at being called on his crap and inability to find a plausible excuse for the stack of overdue bills and statements she found stuffed in the back of his gym bag made it difficult to share the same space. She wanted him gone even as her hands itched to touch him one more time.

Unfortunately, leaving her drowning in debt with the knowledge he cheated on her for the majority of their relationship wasn’t enough for him. He decided to do some collateral damage on his way out of town.

He did the unforgivable. He went after Granny.

His target was meant to wound her. While he lied and schemed the entire time they were together, she had been an open book for the first time in her life so he knew Granny was the sole connection she formed as a foster. Her brief stay with the woman before she aged out of the system was a time of peace and healing. Granny was responsible for helping her get on her feet and the two maintained a friendship years later.

Emma received the frantic call from Ruby explaining her grandmother had been tricked into giving Neal a blank check so he could do her grocery run. Hours later, she received a notification from her bank saying her checking account had been wiped out. At that point, the tenuous control Emma had on her emotions disappeared. She sat on the kitchen floor of the apartment she was about to lose, staring at empty walls that still echoed with his laughter in her weaker moments, and she broke into a million pieces.

So it was no wonder she vowed to have her vengeance. To do anything and everything to make him pay. Luckily, since he skipped out on a court date, catching him would also get her paid.

Tracking him had taken more time than she liked to admit. She was good; even penniless and running out of options, she recognized her worth and knew she possessed hard to find skill sets. But she had a sinking sensation that he might be better.

Now she was stranded on the side of the road with nothing except her most uncomfortable shoes to keep her company. But damn did they make her legs look good and with everything else in her life collapsing around her, somehow that seemed important.

Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car and pondered her next course of action. She was unfamiliar with the state road connecting the two small towns on the Maine coast, so she had no idea what the odds were that a good samaritan would happen along. She had just enough juice in her battery and lettuce in her account to call for an Uber to take her to the seedy nightclub where Neal was last seen. Or she could walk the rest of the way in her mile-high heels knowing she never looked better, even though she would probably not be able to move the next day without a significant amount of pain.

What she would do if she found him or where she would stay if she didn’t weren’t questions she was ready to entertain.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and with a huff of frustration opened her app. Pleading with whatever powers that be to let her last long enough to see herself through to the other side of this, she leaned against her beaten down yellow Bug and waited for the black sedan to show.

Of course, her phone died immediately after she booked her ride, finally giving up the ghost even though she didn’t get a chance to see the name or license plate of her hired car. Getting more anxious by the minute, she paced along the shoulder, careful to keep on the pavement since the ground was soft from recent rain. After what seemed like forever, but had probably not been more than half an hour, the headlights of a lone car crested a nearby hill.

“About time,” she muttered. To make sure the driver knew she was not pleased with the delay or the prodding pace he maintained despite the fact the sky seemed ready to open at any moment, she moved out into the middle of the lane and placed her hand on her hips. Pride kept her from squinting even though the bright high beams made her eyes water as the car approached.

Slowing from a crawl to a stop, the driver put the car in park and jumped out. It was dark and the man was dressed all in black, but as he moved around to the front of the car, she got the impression of blue eyes and a stubble-covered jaw that could probably cut glass. Great, just what she needed. A sexy Uber driver.

“Alright there, love?”

With a British accent. He probably smelled like bacon, too.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting all night.”

Moving closer, he smiled with a hint of confusion. “Had I known you were waiting for me, I would have been along sooner. Tell me, do you always accost strange men in the dead of night on empty roads?”

“Only when I’m paying them to take me where I need to go,” she grumbled, walking toward the back door on the passenger side. She pulled it open as he protested, and glared at him over the top of the car.

“Love, I think there may be a bit of a mix-up—“

“It’s fine. I won’t give you a bad rating for being late as long as you don’t talk to me. I’ve been driving for hours to get here and I need to think.”

She heard him sigh and saw the flash of his teeth as he smiled at her again. “Very well. Would you like me to get your bags?”

“You’d have to go to a pawn shop in Boston to accomplish that,” she joked, dropping into the leather seat and noticing for the first time the expensive luxury of her rented carriage. She supposed if she was going to spend her last dime on a ride, she could have done far worse.

She resisted the urge to use the low ambient lighting of the dashboard to get a better look at her temporary chauffeur. The glimpse she got outside was more than enough to know she needed to keep her distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling the weight of his stare as he peeked over his shoulder while clicking on his seatbelt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw his tongue flicker slowly over his bottom lip before he turned his attention back to the road.

“Nice dress. Where are we heading this fine night, Miss…?”

“You’re really terrible at this. Is it your first time being a driver for hire?”

“What gave it away, love? It’s quite an unexpected development that came about just this evening. But you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

It was everything she could do not to laugh. She had a feeling it would only encourage him and if she was heading into battle, she needed her wits about her. “The Snakehole Lounge.”

“At the risk of sounding cliche, why would a nice girl like you want to go to a place like that?”

“I’m not a nice girl,” Emma informed him without a hint of irony or bravado. “And your rating is going down with each syllable out of your mouth.”

“Tough lass,” he murmured. “But do yourself a favor. Stay away from the Snake Juice.”

Little did he know that even if she wanted to have a drink, and boy did she ever, she used the last of her meager funds to get to this backwater place and she wasn’t sure where her next meal would come from. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. She spent the time looking out the window at the trees flying by and trying to ignore how every time she looked away, her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

Honestly, it was probably a good thing they were the only people for miles around or he would have gotten them both killed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of a shabby nightclub. Even the multitude of neon lights flashing “Girls! Girls! Girls!” and “Half-Price Beer Buckets” did little to enliven the dingy exterior. They didn’t bother with a bouncer, probably because no one actually wanted to get in.

Before she could say anything, her driver was out of the car and rounding his way to her door. She didn’t have a chance to object as he opened it and looked at her with avid curiosity. She had to admit she was impressed he didn’t give into it and ask any questions.

“Since we’re out of the car, am I allowed to speak again?”

Perhaps she had been too hasty in her internal praise. “Thanks for the ride. I hope your next passengers are more chatty since that’s what you’re into...overall, a solid three stars.”

“Three stars? I’d be surprised, but I had a feeling you were warming up to me between the baleful stares and eye-rolling.”

Gifting him with another of the said eye rolls, she adjusted the hem of her skirt to show a little more leg and walked away. She knew if she stayed a second longer she would give in to the almost magnetic pull of him and say something foolish like, ‘What’s your name?’

—

The inside of the establishment was every bit as horrible as the outside. The low lighting obscured the grime and wear that would be glaringly obvious otherwise. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed like the kind of place Neal would gravitate to since he was a dirty little rat.

Music heavy with bass pumped out a rhythm entirely too fast for the energy of the place. The few patrons who persevered this far into the night looked anemic as tired dancers did their best to act like they wanted to be there. Pulling her ID from the scrap of a bra she wore under her dress, she flashed it at the lone employee who manned the entrance and the bar. He gave it a cursory glance and turned back to his phone.

Snapping her fingers under his nose to get his attention, she pulled out a grainy photo of her quarry from the same location and asked, “Have you seen this man recently?”

“I’ve never seen anyone. Ever.” The man grumbled, not interested in the slightest. She wondered if he would stop her if she walked behind the counter and helped herself to a drink. She was leaning toward no and tempted to try.

“Tell you what buddy, take a good look at this picture. Then look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t seen him and we’ll end the night without any trouble.”

Something in her tone must have penetrated his disillusionment and he gazed at her with more interest than he’d probably shown anything in years. She waited as he glanced at the photo for a few seconds. “No, sorry. If he’s been here, it wasn’t during any of my shifts. Is he your husband or something?”

“He’s something alright,” she muttered. Defeated, she turned around without another word. She used the last of her resources to fund a wild goose chase, but at least it got her into town. Only thing left to do was find a park or quiet bench somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours and then she would tackle whatever came next. It wouldn’t be the first time she roughed it, although she had never attempted it in formal wear before.

Pushing the door open with unnecessary force, she immediately froze. Her three star driver was waiting at the curb as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she hadn’t given him the brush off.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yes, especially since I’m pretty sure our business is done,” she replied, walking past him and wishing the man could be a tiny bit less handsome. Now that the streetlights of the small town were there to illuminate their interactions, she couldn’t deny he was ridiculously attractive and exactly her type, complete with a black leather jacket and messy hair begging to be pulled. And, heaven help her, he was determined to extend their acquaintance apparently.

“It’s just good sense, love. I figured you’d be in need of transportation again, so why waste the gas to leave when I’d have to turn around after you called for your next ride.” He matched his stride to hers as she did her best to increase her pace.

Sighing, she stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Listen, I could tell you my phone is dead and I need to make a few more stops, that I’d pay you when you drop me off at my place at the end of the night, but it would be a lie. I’m chasing down a bounty. I need the money to pay for a ride and I need a ride to make the money. A smart man like you can see the problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

She turned away again but felt him leap into action behind her. He moved to cut off her escape and said, “Double or nothing.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Double or nothing, sweetheart. I take you to wherever you need to go tonight and when you collect your fee, you pay me double whatever the normal fare is for jaunts like these.”

“What if I don’t find him?”

“That’s where the nothing comes in, lass. A smart woman like you can see the benefit of such an arrangement.”

She studied him, hoping to find some ulterior motive in his seemingly selfless offer, but all she saw in his expression was an earnestness bordering on being painful and a thirst for adventure barely contained. Perhaps this was how he got his kicks in an isolated town. He propositioned strangers and gambled on fate. “No strings? No funny business?”

“This whole business is funny, but I’ll behave myself if you will. We’ll have much less satisfaction that way, but I’ll do my best to rally my spirits and overcome my disappointment.”

With a rueful shake of her head, she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. “I guess we’re doing this. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones, driver extraordinaire and captain of this fine vessel, at your service. Where’s our next stop?”

“I need to go to every seedy bar and filthy dive in the area so you tell me, Captain.”

—

She wasn’t sure what it said about her newfound companion that he was able to rattle off several places in a matter of seconds, but as the night stretched on and the miles racked up, she found she rather liked her tour guide. Which was probably a good thing since at this rate, she would be splitting the bounty fifty-fifty with him. Who knew the twin cities of Storybrooke and Misthaven had so many sleazy places to hang out?

“I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of the line, Swan. Are you sure he’s in the area, because every traveler worth his salt makes a point to stop by Moe’s Tavern while visiting our fair city.”

“I can see why. The thrift-store ambience is delightful and the watered down drinks are to die for,” she murmured as she rested against the side of his car. She was tired and weak from hunger and as much as she wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep, she was scared she’d get used to the comfort he was offering and do something she might regret later.

She was trying to figure out how to cut and run without seeming ungrateful when her stomach growled loudly.

In a playful tone belaying the concern in his eyes, he asked, “Was that your stomach? Bloody hell, am I in danger? Are you going to try to eat me to satisfy the beast within?”

Feeling a blush color her face, she avoided his gaze as she said, “Sorry, I...um, I skipped dinner.” And breakfast and lunch for that matter.

Taking up a position next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Tell the truth, when was the last time you ate something, lass?”

“Hmm, what day is it again?”

“As I suspected. Come on, I know just the spot.” Pushing off from the car, he gently moved her and opened the door to the backseat.

She wanted to fight, to tell him she could take care of herself. She would have too, if she had any energy at all. Meeting his eyes for the first time, she joked, “You lost a gamble, Captain. That doesn’t mean you have to feed it.”

“I consider it an act of self-preservation. I figured you for a man-eater the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’m afraid you might prove me right in unexpected ways if we don’t get some food in you soon.”

“As long as eyes are all you plan on laying on me, I accept your gracious offer,” she replied with a narrowed stare. Before Neal, she trusted her instincts. She would have insisted they were infallible, but he had shaken her confidence. She couldn’t risk being wrong about Killian Jones of the electric eyes and perpetual helpfulness.

“No strings. No funny business, Swan. Those are the rules. Get in, your chariot and dinner awaits.”

He stood a few feet from her, urging her into the car and she wasn’t sure what drove her to say it, but before she could change her mind, the words were out. “I’d rather ride in the front this time if that’s okay with you.”

His smile could have melted metal, tempted angels to fall, and inspired devils to repent. It was probably lack of rest and food causing her stomach to do flip flops. Or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have…” He closed the back door with a firm finality that echoed through the night and somehow felt momentous in the thick air of summer. When he opened the passenger door, the light seemed warmer and it bathed him in softness and shadows. He waited patiently as if he knew something had shifted between them and he didn’t want any sudden movements to break the odd spell.

Then her stomach growled again, angry at the promise of food being delayed while she gawked at the man who was determined to rescue her in every imaginable way.

“And dinner, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, taking care not to make contact with his body as she slid into the seat. She was glad the door was already closed when she left out a huff of air. Good thing she had sworn off love or she may be in some danger.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin�� too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[afoolnottoloveu]

maybe i’m imagining things ♡

Summary: You don’t really feel like you belong at the BAU just yet (WC: 2.1k) {Masterlist <3}

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral!Reader

TW: smoking, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of alcohol

A/N: i dont smoke so theres highkey gonna b smth wrong with the description,,, but it just felt right okay, also it was a song reference as well >:(( also, this is for lucy’s fic contest! congrats on 3000 sweetheart <3

Song Pairing: Why Am I Like This? - Orla Gartland

--

You could remember the feeling, how it started that night at the bar. Despite the conversations of your new team swirling around you, you felt like a stranger. You didn’t think much of it at first, you just thought you were imagining things. You’ll grow into it, you told yourself. 

After exactly a year at the BAU, you still couldn’t decisively say you were part of the family. As cases came and went, you felt the same. An outsider. A guest living with a family. You couldn’t blame them, really. As you should, right? They weren’t like this with any of the other newbies; it was you who intruded.

The last case felt no different. It was a family annihilator, and all you could think about were the victims. Unbeknownst to the team, except Aaron, you knew almost exactly what the family of the victims were going through. Your feelings were taking a toll on you, and everything from the jet ride to heading back to the office was a complete daze. Your mind was somewhere far off in the distance, only snapped back by the soft touch of JJ placing her hand on your shoulder before you could walk through the glass doors.

“Are you coming tonight?” She asked as if you already knew of what was happening tonight.

“Uh, w-what’s tonight?”

“We’re going to-”

“O’keefe’s!” Penelope squealed, running out of her batcave with the clicks of heels following.

“Oh, um-” you hesitated, but you remembered how badly you wanted to be a part of their family, and a drink didn’t sound too bad at the moment, “yeah! Yeah, I’ll just meet you guys there alright? M’gonna just grab some stuff.”

“We’ll see you down there!” Penelope bubbled, before sweeping everyone else into the elevator. You gave a small smile and wave, catching Spencer’s gaze  just as the doors shut. Maybe you had learned to hide it well after all these years, but for profilers, they really had no idea what was going on inside your head.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Aaron’s office through the glass doors. Everyday you debated if the BAU was really for you, every day for a year, now. Not knowing if this was a mistake or not, you slipped through the bullpen and made a beeline for his office. Relatively quickly, you found the papers you were looking for after a quick search through his cabinets. You didn’t want to have the conversation with Aaron, but he was the only person on this floor with them. You shoved them in your purse, just in case. In case of what? You didn’t know either.

- 

You tried to enjoy yourself, you really did, but your head was just filled to the brim with thoughts you couldn’t bear. The fuzzy, stuffy feeling of the bar would usually help you blend right in, but right now it made you sick. You excused yourself from the table, not like you were part of any of the conversations that were happening anyways, and stepped out.

Through your work blouse and slacks, the October wind nipped at your skin. You opened your purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Your habit started young, smoking being one of the only things that could effectively calm you. Your dad was a smoker, but he really tried his best to stop. He wouldn’t be proud of you for following in his footsteps, but so be it.

Placing the cigarette between your lips and lifting your lighter to the end, you failed to notice someone approaching from behind you.

“6 minutes.” 

Startled, you fumbled and dropped your cigarette from your lips and it hit the concrete, causing you to loudly mutter a curse. You whipped around to cuss out whoever made you drop it, but you’re met with the same eyes you saw before the elevator closed.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer. I just lit that!” His expression doesn’t change, so you rummage through your purse pulling out the box of cigarettes once again. “And I know what that means, 6 minutes off my life for every cigarette I light.” Faced towards the street, you tried to light it, but failed. As the wind kept blowing out the tiny flame, you kept trying. “To be frank, 6 minutes isn’t a whole lot of time in the grand scheme of things. It’s like, one less shower. I could live with that I think.”

Still not hearing a reaction from him, you turn his way, naturally. He seems to be finding your purse very interesting, and for a moment you think, is pretty boy gonna rob me?, but you finally realize he can see the bold print title and FBI logo on the papers that you grabbed sticking out from your purse.

“Why?” is all he asked, his voice dripping in devastation. You look up to meet his eyes and there’s a gloss over them that you know too well. “Why would you wanna transfer? The BAU is-”

“-the crown jewel of the FBI. I’ve heard it.” You take the cigarette out of your mouth to reply. Unable to meet his eyes anymore,  you fixed your eyes on the street once again, but you minded your voice, careful to not let it crack nor reveal too much, ���I can’t explain it, Spencer.”

“I think you can, but you don’t want to.” The hurt in his voice was still evident and you had to wonder, why was it there in the first place? He doesn’t really care, his family’s inside the bar.

You brought the joint back to your lips and tried to light it one last time, and you successfully did so, inhaling the smoke and letting it encase your lungs like a blanket. “It’s just-” A long pause lingers in the air before you come to your senses, removing the cigarette from your lips. Blowing out a cloud, the wind carried the gray smoke down the sidewalk, with your eyes trailing. “You know what? No, nevermind. It’s nothing, Spence. I might not even transfer.”

“You wouldn’t grab the papers unless you were seriously considering it, Y/N,” he huffed, intent on finding out the real reason, “Come on, you were gonna have to tell us at some point. Why not start small? Why are you leaving us?” You were getting frustrated from the simple fact that he was right, and suddenly you were very sick of the cigarette you were holding. 

“Fine Spencer, if you wanna know so goddamn bad then I’ll just tell you! I just- the BAU isn’t for me! And it’s not the job, it’s- it’s you! It’s all of you! I can’t be in the same room with all of you for anything other than a debriefing without feeling like I don’t fucking belong! You guys are a family, and I still feel like it’s my day one. If you guys can do this job so well without me, then why shouldn’t- why should I even be here?” You didn’t know when the tear slipped, but they just kept coming, and you were over this cigarette, throwing it to the ground and stomping on it a little too hard.

There was a silence. A cold, heavy silence, filled with nothing more than the gentle breeze, a couple cars passing in the distance and leaves falling. You suppressed your sobs as much as you could and wiped your face repeatedly. 

Oh god, you thought, did I really just say that? Fuck, fuck, shit, why am I like this-

“If I asked you to stay,” His voice was soft- you knew your response wasn’t the one he was expecting. All you could do was glance at him, not knowing where he was going with this. “Would you?”

“What’re you talking about?” The words were a whisper, you wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was just the wind. You genuinely didn’t understand what he meant, but in your head, you had already answered his question.

“Y/N, I--I just wanna talk, okay? Can you listen? Is that alright?” His voice was comforting, and with the way you were feeling, it was music to your ears. It reminded you of the way he spoke to children, but you were just too damn exhausted to call him out on it; so you nodded, but you kept your eyes on the street in front of you, watching a taxi pass by.

“You know, when I first asked you ‘why?’ a few minutes ago, when I was saying that the BAU was the crown jewel of the FBI? Well, that wasn’t what I was going to say at all. I was gonna say that the BAU is where you belong, Y/N. We don’t only want you to stay, we need you to stay. You were the one who talked down that unsub today. You can defend yourself better than almost any of us. You treat us like family, with the coffee every Wednesday and checking on all of us regularly. We notice these things, Y/N. Do you? Because it’s almost like it’s second nature to you.”

You had to take several deep breaths before you could gather yourself enough to respond; you closed your eyes as you spoke. “Do you know why I so badly want to be so close to all of you? My- my parents were both killed by- by a sociopath. I was 15. I started smoking then. My aunt took me in and I lived with my cousins. They were closer to each other than to me, though. I- I don’t know, I had a family, I guess. I mean, my aunt and her two daughters were my family, but- I don’t know, I’m not making sense.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know that at all, I thought they were your sisters. I get it. Well, I don’t, but I know what you’re trying to say. You didn’t have one as a teenager, but you have one now. Everyone inside of that bar thinks of you as their family. I know you don’t see it, but I can assure you that they do.”

You forgot your eyes were closed. They opened to the touch of Spencer’s hand on your arm, and there he was, standing in front of you. You wanted to cry more, but the sight of Spencer in front of you made you smile and your heart swell. You knew every word that left his mouth was genuine, full of love and understanding. You rushed forward and hugged him, burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and cradled your head. It was almost funny, you were sure this was the most you had touched the germaphobe like, ever.

Into his sweater you sniffled and mumbled, “What about you Spencer?”

He pulled away from the hug, both of you still clinging to the other, but enough to have to look in each other’s eyes. He tilted his head as if he were asking what you meant.

“Do you- are we family?”

His only response was an airy chuckle and a swift, soft peck to your forehead. Huh, that’s new. You weren’t saying you didn’t like it though, no, not at all. He pulled you back into the hug and said into your hair “We don’t have to talk about that right now. But honestly? I think of you as something else, Y/N/N.”

And that was okay. The warmth of his breath on your hair and his sweater wrapping you neatly like a gift, it was more than okay.

-

Spencer led you back into the bar after you had fixed your makeup. Luckily, the wind actually helped to dry your tears pretty quickly. The team was gathered around the table, blocking something from your sight. As the two of you approached, you heard Penelope say “Oh, oh oh! They’re here! Y/N’s here!”

The rest of the team turns to you and in front of you, JJ is holding out a red velvet cupcake with a candle in it. “Happy one year!” The team cheered as a chorus. Your eyes widened and your face lit up. Your shock rendered you almost speechless.

“How’d you remember? Oh my gosh, you guys!” you smiled. With everyone egging you on, you blew the candle out, causing an array of cheers and claps.

“Honestly, some of us didn’t. But you know who did remember?” Morgan commented with a wink. You turned to see Spencer scratching his neck, smiling down at you, the look making your heart swell just a lil’ bit more. 

You grabbed his arm and pulled him over with you to the table, the team clearing a spot for the two of you. Conveniently, shots for everyone had already been poured out, readily awaiting your consumption. You grabbed the shot glass and raised it towards the middle of the table.

“To family,” you beamed. Maybe I was just imagining things.

--

Taglist (send an ask to be added): @prettyboy-reid @eusuntgroot @veraiconcos​ (congrats on 3k again!)

[vampiregirl1797]

Love Blossoms

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

GIF Not Mine.

Click Here To Find My Masterlist.

Warnings: mentions of murderers, panic attack, some light smut near the end, otherwise FLUFF and Aaron allowing himself to be less serious and more happy around Y/N.

Word Count: 15,065– It’s a big ole one.

Summary: A collection of moments between Aaron and Y/N, documenting the journey they took to come together.

When I had started working at the BAU, it had been just after Agent Greenway transferred to another unit. I had no idea why she’d made the decision, but I sensed it was better not to ask, due to the tense behaviour that appeared the few times her name had come up in conversation. It took a while for the team to warm up to me, but even then they were still polite and professional. But for a good six weeks, I felt a little... left out, which sounded almost juvenile, but it was the truth. It didn’t take an expert in behaviour to notice that the BAU team were like a family, and after just losing a member made it easy to understand their hesitance in letting me into the fold. 

I don’t know what made the decision for them, but it seemed that my relationship with each and every one of them went from polite and professional to open, honest and familial overnight. But I wasn’t going to complain, they were the most wonderful people I’d ever met and I was grateful for being accepted into their little family. There was only one problem, and that was Aaron Hotchner. The man was incredibly stern-faced, hardly ever smiled and he led the team like a drill Sargent. He had the most expressive eyes I’d ever seen, when he was actually willing to let his guard down for people to read them, he cared deeply, deeper than anyone would ever think, and I swear to god he knew about the crush I’d had on him since the moment I’d been introduced by Strauss on my first day at the BAU. That had been almost a year ago now, and my feelings had flourished, the flowers blossoming, the roots digging deep inside me to a point that extraction would cause me immense physical pain. I was in love with my boss, and I was certain he knew. How could he not? He was the unit chief of a team of profilers for goodness sake. And after we’d all witnessed JJ unsuccessfully hide her relationship with Will from us, well let’s just say I wouldn't be surprised if the whole team knew too. But I tried not to give it too much thought, after all Hotch was married and he was my boss. It wasn’t like I could do anything about it if I wanted to.

I needed to get over it, that much was clear. Which was why I was open to accepting Garcia’s offer to set me up on a blind date with one of her gamer friends. It could be good, couldn’t it?

//

‘Garcia, I swear I’m never letting you set me up on a date again!’ I complained, waving my hands around in my frustration, but somehow managing not to spill a drop of the coffee in my right hand.

‘Come on, Y/N! Randell is a catch!’ Garcia argued, linking her arm through my left in an attempt to calm my erratic movements.

‘A catch? Honey, there’s a reason they say you should never trust people you meet on the internet!’ I quirked my brow, lightly elbowing her when I noticed the smile she was trying to hold back as we stepped into he conference room, ‘you knew he was a creep!’

‘No I didn’t, I swear. Seriously though, what happened?’ She asked as we took our seats at the round table— we were the first to arrive for the briefing. 

‘He was only capable of talking about sex, which was ironic because he kept flinching and crossing his legs every time I so much as reached for my wine.’ I rolled my eyes, sighing, ‘not to be overly negative but that guy wouldn’t have lasted thirty seconds if I’d taken him up on his offer.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She winced, her expression softening with sympathy.

‘Oh, I’m only getting started, he kept degrading me.’ I took a sip of my coffee to get my anger under control, ‘saying things like: “I’ll bet a girl like you likes it real hard and rough, huh? I’ll bet you’re a dirty little slut.” And then he proceeded to ask me to call him “Daddy” so I threw his wine in his face and left.’

‘His wine?’ Pen frowned, and I didn’t notice the way she glanced over my shoulder and took a sip of her own hot beverage to hide her smile.

‘I’d already drunk mine.’ I shrugged, my smile becoming a full grin when Penny started to laugh.

‘Well I’m sorry that he was a jerk, Y/N.’ Garcia said, her voice sincere once she’d recovered from the humour of my story, ‘he may or may not find a hardware wiping virus on his computer at some point today as a punishment.’

That startled a laugh out of me, and she chuckled with me too, my hand squeezing hers briefly in gratitude before releasing her. 

‘Don’t worry about it, it’s my own fault really.’ I bit my lip, knowing that she could have put the perfect guy in front of me last night and I still would have found him to be lacking in some way. Because he wouldn’t have been him. I shook that errant thought away before it could show on my face.

‘We’ll find someone for you, Y/N.’ She patted my arm and lowered her voice as the rest of the team joined us, ‘or at the very least someone for you to blow off some steam with.’ She winked.

Her sudden suggestiveness took me off guard, so much so that if it hadn’t been for me raising my cup back to my mouth in time, there would have been coffee all over the round table, and a few agents sitting around it. I gave her a look that was a mixture of annoyance and mirth, but she only winked again as I wiped my mouth free of the excess beverage that had spilled onto my chin.

‘Are you gonna share what you’re talking about over there, Baby girl?’ Derek asked, a smirk painted on his lips as his eyes flittered in between the both of us.

Garcia and I shared a look that was full of mischief and mayhem— the usual concoction that resulted in us being together. Pen leaned forward and opened her mouth to say something that was going to be incredibly suggestive and most likely inappropriate, but as if he sensed a verbal war he wouldn’t be able to stop unless he got ahead of it, Hotch bought the conversation to a stop.

‘We’re going to Louisiana. They need our help with an unsub who’s mutilating women aged 25-30.’ He started, his authoritative tone garnering the teams attention immediately— I personally felt incapable of not paying attention when he spoke, he was so... captivating. 

I felt myself subconsciously crossing my legs together, a vain attempt to quell the ache that started to form whenever I lost myself in his dominant personality. I pulled my eyes from him with great effort, and focused on the file in front of me, but it was for nought as my mind ran wild. Generally alpha personalities guaranteed a handful of the same qualities: arrogance, narcissism, dominance to a point of control and over confidence. I’d met, and even dated, more than my fair share of men with those same characteristics. But Aaron was different, and up until I’d met him I had no idea there was another kind of alpha male. He wasn’t arrogant, he was most certainly intelligent and confident within himself, but not to the point of parading his greatness in front of anyone and everyone in an attempt to boost his ego. He was quietly confident, but still willing to listen to others, still willing to accept blame if he ever did something wrong. He was about as far from a narcissist as you could get— getting him to talk about himself for more than a few sentences was taxing, he was much more comfortable and happy with the topic of conversation being on anyone but him. And as for being dominant... he most certainly gave of an aura of authority that you couldn’t help but notice or pay attention to, but rather than be flippantly commanding like the other alpha males I’d known, he always took other’s feelings into account. In other words— he’d never make you go through with something he could tell you wouldn't be comfortable with. Without meaning to, I couldn’t help but think Aaron Hotchner would most definitely be dominant in the bedroom— but I had a feeling it would be tailored to whoever he was with. He was a caring dominant personality, I was sure of it, he was the type of alpha personality to get off on getting his bed partner off, to care about fulfilling her fantasies and desires. The type to care about keeping his partner safe, to care for them physically, mentally and emotionally. 

Hayley was a lucky woman.

I shook myself out of my thoughts with a sigh, actually taking in the details of the case in front of me and hearing Reid reel off the square footage of Louisiana. 

‘Seeing as we already have three victims I’ll get started in a geographical profile when we arrive.’ Spencer finished, offering Hotch a small smile as he offered an approving nod.

‘Very good. Wheels up in ten, if this unsub follows the same pattern, he’s about to kidnap his next victim. Time is of the essence.’ Hotch said, I didn’t notice him frown when I didn’t catch his eye before leaving the room like I usually did— I just couldn’t bring myself to look at him just yet given how my thoughts had wondered off. 

I needed to get my reactions around him under control, because this was getting ridiculous.

//

‘He has to be finding the girls at this club, following them home, and kidnapping them before they get their keys in the door.’ Morgan said, running a hand over his head as an exhausted sigh escaped him.

I leaned next to him on the table, my arm knocking against his as a silent offer of comfort, he nudged me back and smiled with gratitude.

‘I think our best bet is sending someone undercover.’ One of the cops at the Louisiana station proposed, and not for the first time. 

At first he’d been dismissed because when we’d arrived, there had already been another woman reported missing, and we knew he kept them for a minimum of three days before disposing of them. So it would have been pointless to send someone out to seduce him when he already had someone to keep him busy. Her body had been found this morning and the friend who’d been with her had confirmed they’d been at the same club as the others the night she’d gone missing. We had no idea who he was, or how to find him, but we knew where he was going to be, now we had to lay the bait, but who was it going to be?

‘It’s not a bad idea.’ Prentiss said, looking over to Hotch, knowing that nothing would go ahead without his approval.

‘We’d need a woman who fits his type.’ Spencer pointed out, looking over to me.

‘Why are you looking at me, Doc?’ I raised a brow, frowning when I noticed everyone’s eyes on me, all except one pair.

‘Y/N, would you be comfortable with going undercover?’ He asked, his brown eyes meeting mine directly for the first time that day.

I felt my heart beat pick up in my chest as I answered, ‘of course.’ 

His eyes remained on mine for a few more moments, holding me captive while he studied my expression to determine if I meant what I’d said, or if I was simply agreeing because I felt I had to. What felt like hours later, he looked away, and I felt like I could breathe again as I lifted my coffee cup to my lips to hide my shallow breaths as I worked to return my heart rate to normal. 

‘JJ and I will go with her, all the other victims were in groups, it would be suspicious if she was on her own.’ Prentiss murmured, her words somehow still sounding like a question even though she hadn’t worded it as one.

‘Fine.’ Hotch nodded, sweeping out of the room and leaving the team to prepare for what was most definitely going to be a long night.

//

‘I look ridiculous.’ I complained, not for the first time but I couldn't help it— I had never wore such revealing clothes and I felt exposed and stupid.

‘No, you look like a knock out, trust us we know what we’re doing.’ JJ said, her voice gentle and patient— I assumed she could see the discomfort in my eyes.

‘Don’t forget, we need to attract the unsub’s attention, and all of his victims so far have been party girls so we need to appeal to his type.’ Prentiss reminded me and I sighed, closed my eyes and resigned myself to my fate.

This isn’t about me. This is about stopping a psychopath and preventing anymore women dying.

‘Okay, thank you both.’ I offered them a shaky smile as I stood, trying to walk in the heels they’d dressed me in. It took a few minutes of pacing, but I got it.

Before I knew it, we were heading to the club the victims were last seen in, JJ and Prentiss linking both of my arms, and a deceivingly bright smile plastered on my lips. This was going to be hell. But I sucked it up and headed over to the bar, signalling for three drinks that were most likely going to be nursed for as long as possible. I was waiting for my drinks to be prepared when I felt a presence behind me. I attempted to ignore it until I felt a hand on my waist, the feeling sending a shiver of dread up my spine. I looked up into the darkest eyes I’d ever seen, and I didn’t just mean in colour, though they were a dark brown, but there was no emotion behind his iris’. They were completely void of any emotion aside from a sadistic shimmer that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This was the unsub, I was sure of it.

‘What might your name be?’ He asked, his hand moving back and forth on my waist.

I knew from the profile that this man’s ego led him to kill when he was rejected by the women he sought out, so I took great pleasure in twisting his arm behind his back.

‘My name is none of your business.’ I sneered, gathering up the drinks and carrying them over to the table the three of us commandeered in the corner.

‘We saw you had company.’ Emily commented, her tone light but her eyes held a seriousness to it that hinted at what she was really asking.

‘That’s him. I’m sure of it.’ I said, relaying what had happened to them, and the rest of the team on the comms. 

‘Give it thirty minutes, then leave. Remember, you’re leaving separately. Y/N first and we’ll see if he follows you.’ Hotch murmured, his voice a quiet, seductive tone in my ear. 

I took a deep breath and pushed away the cocktail in front of me— anymore alcohol and I would end up revealing more than I wanted. I knew from experience that I was a chatty drunk, and incapable of keeping any secrets to myself. 

‘Got it.’ JJ answered for all of us and we lapsed into casual conversation for the next half hour.

Despite my intentions not to, half of my drink was gone before I’d even realised I was drinking it, but by that point I couldn’t remember why alcohol wasn’t a great idea.

‘So what happened with that asshole Garcia set you up with anyway?’ Emily asked, sipping her own cocktail.

I snorted, ‘he was awful, honestly. Wouldn’t talk about anything but sex, but every time I reached for my drink he flinched and kept shifting in his seat.’

‘No stamina there then.’ JJ snorted and Em and I nodded in agreement.

‘Honestly I’m just so sick of it.’ I rolled my eyes, swirling my drink around with my straw, ‘I can’t remember the last time I had satisfying sex.’

JJ snorted into her drink and Emily loudly agreed with me.

‘Tell me about it! The ones who are loud and proud about being able to get a woman off have—.’ Em started but I cut her off, happy someone knew what I meant.

‘NO IDEA WHAT THEY’RE DOING!’ I held my hand out for a high five, and sober I would have never considered high-fiving over something like this, but drunk me thought it was a great idea and apparently Emily agreed as she slapped her palm against mine eagerly.

‘Well, lucky for me I got one of the good ones.’ JJ smirked, flashing her wedding rings.

‘Lucky bitch,’ I gave her a mock glare that had her winking at me.

‘Seriously, you don’t know how lucky you are. Good guys are so unique and rare.’ Emily sighed, ‘I went on a date last month with a guy who spent the whole night talking to my breasts and when he was clawing at me when he dropped me back off at my place, I ended up kneeing him in the crotch.’

‘Men our age suck.’ I squeezed her hand in agreement, ‘most of them only care about getting themselves off, some to the point of aggression if you try and push them off when you’re not enjoying it.’

‘Amen.’ Emily cheered.

‘Do they know we can still hear them?’ Spence’s voice over the comms had us all breaking into laughter.

‘Sorry Spence.’ JJ apologised, wiping the moisture from her eyes.

‘No don’t apologise!’ I shook my head, holding up my hand to stop them from commenting, ‘he’s right, it’s sexist to exclude him from the conversation, do you have anything to add, Doc?’

I could practically hear him blushing from inside the club as he floundered for a moment, and someone— probably Derek— chuckled. 

‘I know that in 2015, only 6 percent of women said that they always had an orgasm during penile-vaginal intercourse, 40 percent said they had an orgasm nearly always, 16 percent of women had an orgasm half the time, and 38 percent had one infrequently.’ Spencer reeled off, always eager to share information he’d absorbed.

‘Thank you, Spencer for proving my point.’ I smiled, finishing my drink, ‘you’re herby invited to the next girls night.’

Emily and JJ cheered, our glasses clinking together as they finished their drinks too, signalling for two more.

‘Thanks,’ Reid mumbled, actually sounding quite touched at the invitation.

I cleared my throat and stood, careful to keep the nerves now bubbling in my gut off my expression.

‘Well ladies, this has been fun, but I have to go.’ I pretended to pout, winking when they groaned in disappointment, ‘sorry, I have an early day tomorrow. Goodnight, I love you both.’

I hugged them before I departed, and both murmured a “be careful” into my ear before I left them. As I walked out of the club and headed for my car, I couldn't help but put my phone to my ear to talk to the others— the further away I got, the quieter I became and the more nervous I was.

‘Hey, this is unexpected, it’s so nice to hear from you!’ I greeted brightly, being careful to keep my eyes trained forward—if he thought I was on to him I might scare him off.

‘You’re doing great, sweetness.’ Derek murmured, his voice calm and comforting, though it didn’t dissipate my nerves completely.

‘That’s amazing, congratulations. I’ll bet your fiancée is so proud of you!’ I gushed, unlocking the rental car they’d commandeered for me and sliding inside, tossing my phone into my purse and placing it onto the passenger seat and putting on my seatbelt. 

‘Just a little further, Y/N.’ Hotch’s voice soothed my anxiety like a balm and I felt my white knuckle grip ease a little from the steering wheel as I settled into the drivers set, suddenly more at ease.

‘Thank you.’ I murmured, hoping he didn’t hear how breathy my voice sounded as I headed for the address that had been pre-programmed into the GPS. 

I drove in comfortable silence, knowing the team was on the comms offering me a sense of security. I was about five minutes from arriving when a cop car lit up behind me, wanting me to pull over.

‘Uhhh... did we clear the Louisiana police?’ I asked, not pulling over just yet.

‘Why?’ Hotch asked, his voice urgent.

‘Because someone is trying to pull me over now. What if that’s how he got them? Coming to the club in his cruiser and following them to pull them over when they were on their way home?’ I suggested, trying not to panic as my heart suddenly felt like it was beating in my throat. It made sense, and I might have recognised him had I been paying more attention to the cops around the station. It made me wonder if he knew me, but then again I’d barely been at the precinct the past few days, Hotch had me on activities that led to me being outside the station.

‘Y/N, listen to me do not pull over. Garcia just checked with Louisiana police department and there aren’t supposed to be any cars in patrol in that area.’ Hotch ordered, and I wondered if I imagined the tremor of concern in his voice as I sped up a little.

‘If I don’t pull over then we won’t have anything on him, remember? We have no way to tie him to the women he killed, and if he’s a cop that makes sense. If he doesn’t take me, he’ll try to take someone else, someone who doesn’t have an FBI team and SWAT to back her up.’ I argued, but I didn’t like it anymore than he did.

He didn’t respond for a long time and my heart beat became so loud that it was ringing in my ears. I almost didn’t hear Hotch when he responded.

‘Give it one minute and then pull over, I’m redirecting SWAT to your location and we’ll be there as fast as we can. Keep him talking, Y/N and don’t hang up the phone.’ He murmured, his voice dripping with so much authority that it made the hairs on my arms stand up.

‘Yes sir.’ I answered, watching the clock on my dashboard and pulling over exactly one minute later. 

I put a bright smile on my face as the same man from the bar came up to my window, signalling for me to wind it down. I lowered it an inch. His smile was dark and I had to physically hold myself back from flinching.

‘Hello there darlin,’ he greeted, his attempt to be charming having the opposite effect, ‘I didn’t just see you come out of that club back there, did I?’

I pursed my lips, deliberating on whether to lie or not, I knew he’d find a way to get me out of the car either way, but I needed to buy myself some time.

‘You did, officer.’ I admitted, biting my lip in what I hoped was an enticing way, ‘but I only drank water.’

‘You wouldn’t mind proving that, would you?’ His hands rested on his hips as he pushed his chest out, attempting to emphasise his brawny shoulders, but he just looked like he was pecking like a chicken.

‘Prove it how?’ I attempted ignorance.

‘Take a breathalyser test for me, if you’re under the limit, I’ll send you on your way.’ He winked, his eyes glinting dangerously at the prospect of what he could do to me as soon as I stepped out of the car.

‘How long would that take, exactly?’ I asked, but I wasn’t talking to him.

‘We’re two minutes out, Y/N.’ Derek promised.

‘No more than five minutes.’ The man promised and with a sigh, I climbed out of the safety of my car, slamming the door shut loud enough to be heard over the comms.

‘Okay then.’ My words ended in a scream, because even though I was hyper aware of every move he made, the fucker was fast and had stabbed a needle into my arm before I could so much as attempt to defend myself.

‘What did you just—what did you—what’s happening?’ I groaned, my voice consumed with panic as I started to lose feeling in my limps. He caught me under the arms when I fell forward and laid me on the back of his cop car. 

‘You and me are going to have so much fun, not that you deserve it, you uptight bitch.’ He snarled, his hand wrapping around my throat and squeezing just enough to make me aware how easy it would be for him to kill me then and there.

‘No,’ My eyes were wet with tears as I felt his hand roaming across my chest, ‘stop.’

He grinned, his eyes reflecting how much pleasure he was taking from this, and he watched my expression as his hand started drifting lower and lower...

I gasped in relief when he was roughly pulled off me. I couldn’t lift my head, but I heard the thump as he was pinned to the car and cuffed, most likely by Derek. 

‘I can’t m-move.’ I said, worried that my voice would be to low to hear as even talking was taxing and took maximum effort.

‘Y/N,’ Hotch’s voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I noted the relief in his voice as his hands wrapped around my waist and lifted me into sitting position.

‘I can’t move.’ I murmured, as if he didn't know that already, my forehead rested against his shoulder as my body slumped forward.

‘I know. You’re going to be okay, there’s an ambulance on the way,’ he reassured me, and I must have been on some heavy drugs because I could have sworn I felt him stroking my hair. 

‘Will you stay with me?’ I said, fear returning to my voice at the prospect of being in a cold, sterile hospital without a familiar, comforting face.

‘Of course I will.’ His warm breath against my ear would have made me shiver, had I been able to.

It was crazy how easily I slipped into unconsciousness with Aaron’s arms around me, holding me up and murmuring reassurances into my ear. His hand continually stroked over my hair, and I wondered if I fell asleep because of the drugs, or because Hotch had soothed me so well that I was powerless to stop it.

//

Months passed after the case in Louisiana, and nothing much changed, aside from Hotch announcing to the team that he and Hayley were getting a divorce. And I couldn’t muster up anything other than sadness for him, despite my nowhere near platonic feelings for him, I knew how much he loved her, how much it must have been killing him to be separated from her. So I tried to help in anyway I could, I took half his case files so he could go home sooner after cases and be able to spend a little time with his son before he was put to bed. I bought home cooked meals for him to take home, knowing he was less likely to take care of himself if he didn’t have a wife and son to cook for. And the whole team made an effort to get him to come out with us at least once a month. Usually I avoided the drinks on those particular outings, not knowing what my liquor fuelled brain might make me say to him, but tonight was one of the rare nights he said no, having promised Jack he would swing by and listen to his stories about his trip to the zoo. 

No one had been able to argue with that, and after we all went home to change— well JJ, Emily and I got ready at Penny’s place— we met up at our usual bar and started ordering the drinks. The conversation flowed with ease, and as the alcohol intake increased, the topics became more... private... between the girls anyway. Reid, Morgan and Rossi were having a separate conversation of their own about past cases by the sounds of it.

‘What’s your number?’ Pen asked.

‘My number? You have it in your phone!’ I frowned, genuinely confused over what she was asking.

‘Not your phone number, the number of people you’ve had sex with!’ Emily shoved my shoulder playfully, the other girls giggling when I flushed in embarrassment at the miscommunication.

‘Three.’ I held my fingers up for JJ, who was furthest away from me and possibly unable to hear due to the loud music.

‘26’ Emily said, winking and throwing back a shot of whiskey.

‘14’ JJ chirped.

‘11.’ Garcia admitted last.

‘Wow, I’m such a prude.’ I mumbled, taking my shot and throwing it back.

‘Nah, you’re young! At 25 my number was around the same as yours!’ Garcia assured me, downing her shot with a grimace. 

‘I’ll get the next round!’ I announced, standing from the table and trying not to fall on my face as I walked in the heels JJ insisted I wear. 

They were strappy platform heels and apparently they went perfectly with the flowing black skater dress I was wearing. It was a lacy material and I loved it because it was dressy but also comfortable. I reached the bar and ordered another round of the usual for our table, asking for it to be put on our tab. The bartender assured me he’d have my order ready in a few minutes and I’d just slid in a stool to wait when I felt someone groping my ass. 

I turned around so fast I almost gave myself whip lash, ‘hey, asshole what exactly do you think you’re doing?’ The first thing I noticed about him was the cockiness that seemed to seep from his every pore. His hair was a bleach blonde, his eyes a cold blue and his arrogant smile made my hand twitch.

‘Nothing sweetheart, pure accident I swear.’ He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. I assumed he was trying to draw attention to his obviously athletic frame, but honestly I didn't think there was anything he could do to make himself attractive to me.

‘Hmm, see it doesn’t happen again.’ I warned, glaring at him, but his smile didn't waver, of course it didn't. This was the kind of man who saw women as property, as a plaything for him to do what he wanted with, whether they enjoyed it or not. To him, I was inferior because of my gender, and honestly there were few other things that boiled my blood like sexism.

He stepped closer, so close that I could smell the excessive amount of cologne he was wearing, it made my nose scrunch up in distaste that he refused to see, because as far as he was concerned he was god’s gift to women.

‘Back off.’ I said, preparing to defend myself if he laid a finger on me.

He laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. He opened his mouth to say something but it snapped shut again when he spied something over my shoulder. I studied his expression for a moment, and when I saw the genuine fear in his eyes I determined he wasn’t faking just to deter my attention. I was just about to turn to see for myself what was scaring him, I idly wondered if Rossi or Derek had seen the commotion and come to offer assistance, but before I could I was overwhelmed with a familiar scent. It was the woodsy cologne that I’d gifted him for Christmas, having found it and insisting that it smelled of Hotch. It smelled comforting, safe and strong. That was the scent that surrounded me, and I felt my eyes flutter shut for a second, overcome with the calm that came over me. When he wrapped an arm around my waist, I was sure my knees would have buckled if I hadn’t been close enough to grab onto the bar for support. I vaguely registered his deep, authoritative voice saying something to the arrogant blonde in front of us, but all I could think about was how warm he was and how good the heat felt seeping through my dress and onto my skin. So good.

‘Y/N?’ His voice bought me back, his tone soft with concern and a little humour.

‘Sorry, I was out of it for a moment there.’ I shook my head, knowing I should step out of his hold, but I couldn’t bring myself to.

‘Are you alright?’ He asked, his free hand twitched and I wondered if that was because he wanted to touch me with that one too.

‘I’m fine.’ My chin jutting in the direction the boy had been standing, ‘but for future reference, that is an example of the assholes men my age can be.’ I mused, signalling for one more beer for the new addition to the party.

‘Hopefully he’ll grow out of it.’ He said, his tone was dry and I found myself laughing with him as we headed back to the table.

‘What took you so long, sweetness? I’m dying of thirst here!’ Derek complained, chuckling when I rolled my eyes at his antics.

I placed the tray in the middle of the table and everyone helped themselves. I tried not to show how pleased I was that Aaron ended up sat next to me, his arm over the back of the booth and close enough to my shoulders that I could feel the heat radiating from him. As everyone drifted to their own conversations, I found myself falling back to talk to Hotch, his dark eyes focused on me and only me. That was the thing about him; he had this way about him, of making you feel like the only one in the room when he looked at you. I didn't know if he had this effect on everyone, or if it was just me, but either way it was overwhelming.

‘How was Jack’s trip to the zoo?’ I asked, shifting a little to face him better, and trying not to visibly show how my heartbeat quickened as my legs became pressed up against his.

‘He loved it and he’s already begging for his birthday party to be there.’ He chuckled, his brown eyes sparkling with the fondness he held for his son.

‘His birthday isn’t until October though, I’m sure he’ll change his mind a million times before then.’ I reminded him, smiling because I knew how wonderfully indecisive Jack could be, as all kids his age were. 

Hotch stared at me for a moment, and for all my BAU skills as a profiler, I couldn’t identify the soft emotion swirling around in his eyes. Before either of us could attempt to continue the conversation, Rossi commandeered Aaron’s attention for help in recalling details of a particular case. I leant back and just observed everyone, happy to be silent for a moment and enjoy the atmosphere and multiple conversations around me without actually participating. And if I was secretly happy that Hotch’s arm stated behind me on the back of the booth, well no one needed to know.

As the night wore on, people started to leave. First Reid, then JJ and Prentiss, then Derek and Penny, until it was Rossi, Hotch and me. But when the exhaustion started to seep in despite my buzz, I decided it were best if I went home too. 

‘I’m calling it guys.’ I announced, standing and stretching out my tired limbs before I grabbed my purse and jacket.

‘How are you getting home?’ Hotch asked, standing with me.

‘I’m gonna call an Uber.’ I said, reaching into my bag for my phone, but his hand on my wrist stopped me.

‘Let me drive you, I’m heading out now anyway and it’s on my way home.’ He murmured, his eyes boring into mine. I could see that he really wanted me to accept his offer, but I knew if I said no he’d drop it and let me go.

‘Okay, if you don’t mind.’ I smiled, much preferring to get a ride home with someone I knew and trusted rather than have to wait in the cold for a stranger to pick me up.

‘Do you need a ride, Dave?’ Hotch asked as he slid on his own jacket.

I missed Rossi’s knowing smile as he answered, ‘nah, I’ve been on water for the most of the night, I’m fine to drive.’

‘Okay, see you in a few days!’ I kissed his cheek and walked with Aaron out of the bar, wondering if I was imagining the warmth from his hand seeping through my dress into my lower back. 

He led me to his car, opened the passenger door for me and gently closed it before moving to the drivers side. I felt a smile form on my lips at the chivalrous act— I didn’t know people still did that anymore— and I was surprised at the butterflies that formed in my stomach from his actions. He turned the heat up as he drove, noticing the subtle way I was rubbing my upper arms in order to generate some warmth. I found myself falling asleep, which was surprising seeing as I had trouble falling asleep when I knew someone could see me. Call me crazy, but it was the truth. I didn’t realise just how close I was to being completely immersed into unconsciousness until we arrived at my apartment and Hotch murmured my name, softly, sweetly.

‘Hmm?’ I jolted awake, my cheek feeling like ice from where it had been resting against the window.

‘We’re here.’ He smiled, and if I’d been more awake, more focused, I would have noticed the fondness behind it. 

‘Thank you.’ I blinked, trying to wake myself up a little more, ‘love you.’ I said, stepping out of the car and into my apartment building, which was coincidentally the same building as Emily’s. I was on the eighth floor and she was on the third. 

It wasn’t until I was tucked up in bed, on the brink of falling asleep again that I realised what I’d said. To Hotch. To my boss. To the man I was secretly in love with. Suddenly completely awake, I sat up, my eyes wide with mortification. 

It’s fine, you tell the team you love them all the time, he wouldn’t have interpreted it any other way. He wouldn’t. I took a deep calming breath and lay back down again.

It would be fine. Right?

//

When we returned to work, I came in a little earlier, determined to catch Hotch alone and offer him the cookies I’d made for him and Jack as a thank you for the ride home he’d given me. I also wanted to clear the air, test for any awkwardness that might be lingering from my surprising declaration. I was still clinging onto the hope that he hadn’t seen it as anything more than me confessing platonic love. 

I placed my coat and bag onto my desk and continued on to Hotch’s office, expecting him to be here already. But I was surprised to find it empty. I frowned when I noticed his coat and briefcase weren’t here yet, meaning he wasn’t somewhere else in the building. With a disappointed sigh I placed the box of cookies on his desk and took a post it note and pen from one of his drawers and scribbled a note before sticking it onto the box.

Hotch,

A thank you for taking me home the other night, I really appreciate it.

I made chocolate chip and walnut for you. 

The chocolate chip ones I decorated in a spider man theme are for Jack, and you if he wants to share.

Thanks again,

Y/N.

I walked to the small kitchenette and poured myself a cup of coffee before heading to my desk. Seeing as no one would be in for another hour and a half— at the earliest— I decided to get started on some paperwork. I was surprised at how quickly I got through it, being as a stack so large would have taken me all night any other day. I guessed doing it first thing allowed for maximum concentration, and I was just moving the final file over to the done pile when the first agent arrived.

‘Spence!’ I cheered, my smile melting into a sheepish expression when he jumped, ‘sorry! I’m just so happy to see another person, I’ve been here since 7 and the empty room was really starting to freak me out.’

He chuckled, placing his satchel and jacket on his desk before coming over to mine and accepting the hug I offered him. I loved hugging Spence; he was almost a foot taller than me, so when his arms wrapped around me he made me feel tiny and safe. He was like the twin I’d always wanted— we were similar in age, we liked the same movies and we were both a little socially awkward and trying to figure out who we were.

‘Why did you come in so early?’ He asked after we’d pulled apart, the both of us heading to the coffee machine, his arm around my shoulders.

‘I made cookies for Hotch and Jack and wanted to drop them off before the team could see and complain I hadn’t made them any.’ I told him, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

‘Smart.’ The genius snorted, pouring some coffee into my mug and then his own.

‘What did you get up to yesterday?’ I wondered as we headed back to my desk—I’d actually seen him on one of the days we’d had off as we’d had a Star Wars marathon. It was something we made a point to do at least once every three months. 

‘Nothing really, just boring domestic stuff.’ He shrugged, wheeling his chair over to my desk.

‘Same, well that and baking,’ I shrugged.

‘What’s the matter?’ He explained when I frowned in confusion, ‘you sighed, that’s your tell.’

I sighed again, biting my lip and looking over to Hotch’s still dark office, ‘can you keep a secret?’

‘You know I can, Y/N.’ He assured me, and I knew he was right.

‘I’m having certain... feelings for someone I shouldn’t be, and I’m just struggling to get over it.’ I admitted, looking down at my coffee cup to avoid his observant eyes.

‘You mean Hotch?’ He clarified, and my gaze found his, shocked and surprised at his casual question.

‘You know?’ I squeaked, putting my mug down before I dropped it, ‘does anyone else?’

‘I don’t think so, I mean I’ve known for a while now, but I didn’t say anything because I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.’ He shrugged and his calm attitude quelled my anxiety a little.

‘Okay well yes, I’m in love with Hotch and I don’t know how to make it stop.’ I sighed, running a hand through my hair, ‘I know he’ll never look at me that way, plus he’s my boss everyone would see it as inappropriate and that’s not even factoring in the age gap. I’ve tried dating other men but I just compare them to him and find them lacking, or they end up being total jerks and well you know about the guy Pen set me up with.’

He nodded, his brow crinkled with sympathy.

‘I know what you’re going through. Well, kind of.’ He bit his lip, running a hand through his chocolate locks, ‘it took me a while to get over JJ.’

‘I didn’t know you liked her.’ I admitted softly, my hand reaching out to squeeze his.

‘I did, for about a year, until I realised that she was never going to see me that way. Then she met Will and had Henry so it was easier for me to move on.’ He explained, taking a sip of his coffee, ‘how long have you been in love with him?’

‘I’ve had feelings for him since I met him, but I never really paid them any mind until we were on our way back from a case on the jet. Everyone was asleep and Hotch was on his way back from the bathroom, on his way he stopped and covered JJ and Prentiss with blankets, and got you a pillow and put it under your head. When he saw that I was still awake he just smiled at me and sat down next to Rossi. He didn’t say a word and in that moment I realised I loved him.’ My voice was low, but still loud enough for Spencer to hear, and though neither of us knew it, it was loud enough for Hotch to hear from the kitchenette, neither of us aware of his presence, ‘that was almost two years ago.’

‘You should tell him.’ Spence said, his hand entwining with mine, knowing the warmth of his hand would offer me some comfort.

‘Why? It won’t change anything for the good. He’ll tell me I’m his subordinate, that a relationship would be inappropriate, that he’d never be interested even if I didn’t work for him. I’ll be heartbroken and embarrassed and it could change the whole team dynamic. I don’t want that to happen.’ I sighed, looking down and fighting to stop any tears from falling. But like I said, Spence was like my twin, he knew when I was upset and I was bundled up in his arms before I could take another breath. The tears fell in earnest then as I sobbed against his chest, knowing I needed this moment to pull myself together before the rest of the team arrived.

‘So what are you going to do?’ He murmured against my hair.

‘Suffer in silence and hope I don’t die alone.’ I said, sarcasm heavy in my tone, but it wasn’t enough to completely disguise the fear in my choice. 

‘Hey,’ he pulled back to look into my eyes, to allow me to see the sincerity behind his next words, ‘no matter what, you’ll never be alone, I promise you that. We’re all a family here, Y/N. You know that.’

A soft smile formed on my lips, ‘thanks Spence. You’re the best twin ever.’ 

We chuckled together and I pulled away to wipe the moisture from my cheeks before looking at the time on my watch. 8:45. The team would be arriving soon.

‘I’m gonna go and clean up.’ I murmured leaning over to pick up my bag and missing Hotch making his escape to the hallway so he wouldn’t be seen when I stood up. 

‘Okay.’ Spence’s voice was soft and he returned the smile I sent him as I left for the bathroom.

By the time I’d ran some cold water over my face, reapplied my make up and ran a brush through my hair, I looked like I had when I first stepped through the doors this morning. No evidence of my morning heart-to-heart with Dr Spencer Reid remained as I made my way back to my desk, placing my bag onto my chair and joining the others in the conference room. 

‘Sorry, I was just in the bathroom.’ I murmured, feeling the embarrassed flush form on my cheeks. Only I could arrive two hours early and still be late for the briefing.

‘It’s no problem,’ Hotch replied, nodding at Garcia to continue relaying the case.

 I didn’t notice his eyes flicker back to me after I’d opened the case file, his dark eyes swimming with adoration, concern and sadness for a moment before his guards rose again and his attention shifted back to Garcia. 

Reid however noticed the glance and felt his heart squeeze with hope. Y/N might not have noticed Hotch’s behaviour towards her, but he certainly had. He doubted anyone else on the team had observed the same things he had, because his eidetic memory didn’t allow him to miss anything. The glances, the fond looks, the concern for her during cases, how his expression softened at her happiness, how he made sure that there was always a supply of chocolate pop tarts in the kitchenette at work, because Y/N often forgot to eat during cases and he knew the sweet treat would offer her at least some nutrition and a pick-me-up for the particularly hard days. 

Y/N didn’t know about any of it, and he’d considered telling her, but he knew she wouldn't believe him, and also it wasn’t his place to reveal. If Hotch wanted her to know, he’d tell her himself, he didn’t want to cause her any pain if he did reveal his observations only for Hotch to shoot it down and hurt her. He shook his head and focused on the briefing, reiterating some statistics on Florida.

He just hoped it all worked out for his friends. They deserved happiness.

//

A weary sigh left my lips as I wondered to my desk, eyeing the stack of paperwork and deciding to stay late and get it done; it was better than letting it build up to obscene levels. We’d just returned from Florida after ten days tracking a man who kidnapped families, held them for a week and then murdered them all. We’d managed to catch him before he killed the new family he’d abducted and I was beyond relieved, as was the rest of the team as we always were when we managed to save someone. 

I glanced over to my right, eyeing Emily’s tired eyes with a soft smile. She’d stayed behind to finish paperwork like I had, but I could tell she was about ten minutes away from passing out. Seeing as I’d already managed to finish the few I’d accumulated on my desk, I wheeled my chair over to her desk and snatched up her remaining six files. It would take me another hour and a half, but it was worth it if she’d go home to sleep.

‘Y/N, what are you doing?’ She yawned, pushing her chair away from her desk.

‘Go home, Em.’ I told her, my voice gentle but firm. I continued when I saw her hesitate, despite her desire to take me up on the offer, ‘I’m serious, go home and snuggle your cat. Get some sleep.’

‘Are you sure?’ She murmured, another yawn escaping her lips.

‘I’m sure. Get outta here.’ I winked, turning and hiding my own yawn in my fist as I placed her files on my desk.

‘Thanks Y/N. Love you.’ She hugged me from behind and left with a kiss to my cheek.

‘You better.’ I yelled after her, smiling at her tired laughter. 

I turned and started to work, I vaguely registered the elevator open and close as I filled in the report efficiently and quickly. I was determined to get through the remaining files before the exhaustion seeped in and took me over, too. I could feel it lingering in the back of my mind, just waiting to strike, but I hoped my concentration and the coffee I was drinking would hold it off long enough for me to finish. I also put Taylor Swift’s new album ‘Folklore’ on shuffle quietly in the back ground, hoping to prevent the empty floor freaking me out for as long as possible. 

I was humming along with my tears ricochet as I signed the last file, tossing it onto the separate finished pile for Emily. I placed them back onto her desk and sat back down at mine, yawning as I turned off the music and just took a moment to relax. Of course in hindsight, that was a mistake, because I was exhausted and vulnerable to sleep. I didn't remember my head falling to rest on top of my arms, nor did I remember closing my eyes, but the next thing I knew was a large, warm hand on my lower back, gently rubbing back and forth to carefully rouse me from sleep.

‘Hotch?’ I murmured, my voice thick with sleep as I blinked, trying to wake myself properly. I looked down to my watch and saw the time: 2:45am, the last time I’d looked it had been 1am. 

‘You should go home and get some sleep.’ He said, his voice gentle as he rubbed my back once more before moving away.

‘Yeah.’ I agreed, standing and stretching, a yawn leaving my mouth as I did, ‘what about you?’

‘I’m heading home now.’ He assured me, a small fond smile on his lips.

‘Okay.’ I offered him a grateful smile as he helped my uncoordinated, still partially unconscious self pull my jacket on. 

‘Did you get my cookies?’ I wondered as we stood in the elevator that would take us to the parking garage.

‘I did.’ He smiled again, his eyes sparkling with that soft emotion again. I found myself returning the gesture, hoping he didn’t notice the flush that had most definitely formed on my cheeks.

‘Good.’ I said eventually, my brain apparently incapable of coming up with anything better as I leaned back against the wall, too exhausted to stand properly.

‘Jack will love the Spider-Man cookies. He’s still massively obsessed with him, I’m sure he’ll be his Halloween costume this year.’ Hotch mused, a small smile on his face as he spoke of his son. 

People always assumed because Hotch was so authoritative and serious at work, that he wasn’t capable of smiling ever. But that wasn’t the case, sometimes his humour did find a way to integrate itself at work, but whenever a case was over, he became much more relaxed and smiled a lot easier as the responsibility from his job eased from his shoulders for a little while. What I didn’t know, was that he never relaxed around anyone else as much as he did around me.

‘I don’t know.’ I pursed my lips to hide my knowing smile, ‘Jack might have already mentioned what he was going to dress up as for Halloween this year last week over the family picnic.’

Hotch had invited the team to spend some time at the park with him and Jack. Garcia had insisted on turning it into a picnic, and had insisted on my help for preparing the food, seeing as I’d been preparing meals for Hotch, and sometimes Jack, for months now so I knew what they would like. It had been a huge success, and I had been reminded again what an amazing father Aaron was to Jack, he was an amazing kid. 

‘Really, what’s that?’ He asked, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

‘Sorry, I’m sworn to secrecy.’ I winked and then blushed immediately after when I remembered exactly who I was winking at. I cleared my throat, ‘but something tells me you’ll love it.’

‘I’m sure I will.’ His voice became soft as his eyes stared into mine, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was talking about something else.

I was as powerless to look away from him as I always was, he had this captivating aura around him, this powerful personality that you couldn't help but submit to. Or maybe it was just me who felt his bewitchment so strongly because of my additional feelings for him. Either way, he didn’t look away from me until the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival to the parking garage. Even then, it took him a moment longer and I found myself wondering what he saw when he looked at me that made him so reluctant to break eye contact. When he did, look away, I became aware of how fast my heart was beating, how erratic my breath had become and as I walked to my car I was overcome with embarrassment, because it was something that wouldn’t have escaped his notice. 

‘Goodnight, Y/N.’ He didn’t speak above his usual volume, but it was easy to hear him in the near empty garage.

‘Goodnight, Sir.’ I replied, climbing into my car and taking a deep breath, before turning on my car and driving away.

//

When Foyet had attacked Hotch, I had been the one to track him down at the hospital. I had refused to leave his side while I waited for him to wake up, tears trailing uncontrollably down my face as I took in his weakened state. I’d hated seeing him so pale, so vulnerable, and when the rest of the team had been informed after the new case had been solved, so had they. It had been awful, even more so when he woke and immediately went into profiler mode. He discovered that Hayley and Jack were in danger and ordered for them to be taken into protective custody before he passed out again. I’d stayed while the team went to retrieve them both, holding his hand until he regained consciousness. 

‘Hey,’ he murmured, his dark eyes on mine. I went to remove my hand from his, but he tightened his grip and prevented me from doing so. I saw the soft look in his eyes again and relaxed my grip, looking down to hide my tears.

‘Hey.’ I replied, realising I’d said nothing in response to his greeting. I winced when I heard how rough my voice was, a sure sign I’d been crying.

‘You’ve been crying.’ It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact.

‘Only Aaron Hotchner would be profiling from his hospital bed.’ I teased, my heart feeling a little lighter at the amusement that formed on his expression.

‘Not profiling, just paying attention.’ He said, his voice low and weak and it made my heart hurt.

‘Of course I’ve been crying, you’re in a hospital bed, I walked into your apartment to find blood on the floor, and found you here with multiple stab wounds.’ I frowned, the images replaying themselves through my brain.

‘Hey.’ He squeezed my hand and my gaze returned to his, his dark eyes soft and reassuring, ‘I’m okay, Y/N. A little beat up, but I’m going to live and that’s all that matters.’

I started into his eyes for a long moment before nodding. That’s all that matters. He was right of course, but we both knew the only reason that was true, was because Foyet wasn’t finished with him yet, he wanted to watch him fall apart without his son and ex-wife in his life. But I refused to even think about that, because we were going to find him, and until we did, the whole team would be there for him. We wouldn't let him lose himself like the previous detective Foyet made a deal with had. 

‘I’m really glad you’re alive.’ I admitted with a whisper, my eyes glazing over with tears, and I knew that my eyes were essentially an open book in that moment, my guards had crumbled to rubble over the past twenty four hours. I knew he could see just how relieved I was that he was okay, as his eyes glimmered with that unidentifiable emotion again as he squeezed my hand, telling me he was glad too.

My hand stayed grasped in his until Hayley and Jack arrived. 

//

When we found Foyet, it hadn’t been before he’d managed to track down Hayley and Jack. Without a doubt, it had been the hardest case any of us had to work, hearing Hayley tell Hotch goodbye before we heard the gunshots that told us she’d been murdered. We all raced to the house to find Hotch beating Foyet beyond his death, not letting up until I placed a hand on his shoulder, the soft touch making him pause immediately.

‘He’s gone, Hotch.’ I murmured, squeezing his shoulder as he sobbed, ‘where’s Jack?’

‘Jack.’ He sobbed, jerking up from the ground and sprinting upstairs. I followed him, knowing he wouldn’t want Jack to see him the way he was, covered in blood, long enough to ask questions.

He ran to his office, falling to his knees next to the window seat and lifting it up to reveal a smiling and proud Jack.

‘I worked the case, daddy!’ He cheered as Aaron lifted him from inside the seat before pulling the lid back down.

‘You did a good job, buddy.’ He smiled through his tears, gripping his sons shoulders and kissing his forehead.

Prentiss stepped into the room behind me, her eyes soft with sympathy and heartbreak— the same look held in everyone’s eyes in that moment.

‘Hey Jack, why don’t we leave your daddy to clean up, huh? I’ll take you downstairs and you can play with the sirens in the car.’ Prentiss said, forcing her tone to appear cheery.

‘Can I daddy?’ Jack pleaded, his smile bright.

‘Of course buddy,’ Aaron said, squeezing his sons shoulder once more before Jack darted to Prentiss. She took his hand and led him from the room.

I didn’t remember moving to kneel in front of him, but I suddenly was, my arms wrapping around his neck as his head rested onto my shoulder. I held him as he sobbed, his tears trailing down my neck and shoulder, my hands moved comfortingly through his hair as he held me in a rib breaking grip. I held him until his throat was raw from crying, until his tears dried up, until he felt strong enough to pull away from my hold. At that point, no one had stepped into the room. I assumed the team had deduced that Aaron would need some time, and had kept everyone away knowing Hotch would hate anyone to see him vulnerable.

‘I’m so sorry, Hotch.’ I murmured, my eyes glazed over with tears at the sight of his pain.

‘I know.’ I could see the small spark of gratitude in his eyes among the pain, the grief, the worry, ‘we should clean up.’

I frowned at his use of ‘we’ until I glanced down and saw that I was covered in blood too; it must have transferred over as I comforted him. I nodded and took the hand he offered me to help me from the floor. He led moved to the small closet in the corner— I assumed he kept clothes in his office during his marriage to Hayley to avoid disturbing her if he got called into a case at odd hours of the morning. He pulled out a shirt and dress pants for himself before turning to me.

‘I think Hayley still has some clothes here.’ He said and it took me a second to understand what he meant. When I did I shook my head, almost a little to vigorously, but I couldn’t help it, wearing her clothes, when she was lying dead in the other room just didn’t seem right. 

Hotch nodded in understanding, handing me a plain grey T-shirt that obviously belonged to him. I wondered into the en-suite, taking off my vest and unbuttoning my blouse before tugging the shirt over my head, tying it in a knot at my waist to make it more form fitting. I then washed my forearms and hands, watching the water run a light pink as I scrubbed away the blood. A few tears fell while I worked, but I forced myself to get it under control before I left the bathroom— this wasn’t about me, it wasn’t acceptable for me to fall apart right then. When I emerged from the bathroom, Aaron entered. As I waited for him to return I took deep and even breaths to keep myself in control of my emotions. While none of the team had been particularly close to Hayley, we all loved her because she’d loved Aaron, our leader, the man we looked up to, the man we trusted to make the tough decisions. And so, his grief, his loss was going to be felt by the entire team. I couldn’t even imagine how this was going to effect Jack, who was young enough to potentially not understand that his mom was never coming home. 

I wiped away my tears and cleared my throat as the door opened and Hotch joined me in his office. I could see the concern in his eyes so I must have looked bad. I felt myself shake my head, amazed that even while he was feeling the worst pain he’d ever felt, he still took notice and cared about those around him.

‘Come on, you should get to Jack before he drives the neighbours insane with those sirens.’ I managed a smile that became more genuine at his breathy laugh as we walked down the stairs.

Everything was going to be okay, I’d make sure of it.

//

It had been six months since Hayley’s passing and life was starting to form a new normal for all of us. The team all offered their help once him and Jack had settled into his apartment. Aaron had respectfully declined, insisting he wanted to find out and adjust to being a single parent without the help. We all acknowledged his wishes, but made a point of us all going on a day trip at any available opportunity— that ended up being once a month. 

Despite what he said, I continued to bring in prepared meals to work, more often than before and always for him and Jack, knowing that the last thing he’d have the energy for when he got home would be cooking. Plus, this meant he had more time to spend with his son before he tucked him in, and well I didn’t need to explain why that was a plus. He thanked me gratefully every time, and after a few months, he started inviting me over for dinner with him and Jack at least once a week. Sometimes it would be on one of our rare days off, or it would be after a long case before we started a new one the next day. Either way those dinners became the highlight of my week, primarily because of the company; I loved seeing Hotch relaxed and happy, which he always was around Jack, and I loved hearing Jack’s endless stories about school, or the imaginary world he’d created in one of his drawings. At first the domesticity of the gatherings threw me for a loop, but I continually reminded myself that I was there as a friend and nothing more until it sunk in. And so, we settled into a comfortable routine where I was blissfully ignoring the way my love for him only seemed to grow deeper the more time I spent with him. How was I to know that it was all going to go up in flames?

It was any other Monday morning as I rode the elevator up to the BAU floor, but when I stepped out and noticed everyone already gathered around the conference table, a bad feeling started to form in my gut. I dropped my jacket and purse off at my desk before heading into the room, not liking the way everyone’s eyes turned to me.

‘Am I late?’ I frowned, sliding into my usual seat in between Reid and JJ.

‘No, you’re right on time.’ Rossi assured me, his eyes flickering over to Aaron.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, noticing there weren’t any files in front of anyone that would indicate a new case.

‘Johnathan Rivers is going to be put to death next week.’ Hotch started, and I felt myself tense at the name, ‘he’s revealed that there are more victims we didn’t even know he’d taken. He’s offered to reveal their names and locations in exchange for something.’ He continued when I didn’t ask, ‘he wants to be interviewed by you and me.’

‘Why?’ I couldn’t fathom why he would want Hotch there. Me I could understand— I was the victim that got away, he probably wanted to taunt me with details of what he’d done to the other women we hadn’t saved, to torture me with the guilt and knowledge of what I’d escaped when so many others hadn’t.

‘I don’t know.’ Aaron admitted, knowing that I wasn’t asking about me, but I got the feeling he wasn’t being completely truthful when his eyes darted from mine after he spoke, ‘if you don’t want to do this, I understand.’

‘Of course I don’t want to do this.’ I huffed a laugh, but it was void of humour, ‘but I’m not going to put me being uncomfortable above providing families with closure. When do we leave?’

He studied my expression for what felt like a long moment before he nodded and dismissed us with, ‘wheels up in ten. The rest of the team will remain behind to assist on any cases that come in.’

Everyone nodded and stood from the table. I headed for the bathroom, needing a moment to compose myself before I grabbed my go back from underneath my desk. I ran my hands underneath the cool water, taking a deep breath and trying to keep the memories from the forefront of my mind. 

His sadistic smile. His hands running over my body. Not being able to move to stop him. No. Stop it. Get off me. 

My breath caught in my throat and I braced my hands on the sink, ignoring the tears falling down my cheeks in favour of getting my breathing under control. If I didn’t I was going to hyperventilate and have a panic attack. But that knowledge didn’t help, it only seemed to make the invisible noose around my neck grow tighter and I fell to my knees, my vision becoming spotty and the shallow breaths I took feeling like fire in my throat. 

‘Y/N.’ I’d know that authoritative voice anywhere, but at the moment I couldn’t bring myself to respond. I felt his hand envelop my right, squeezing it tightly as he continued, ‘you need to take deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Match your breathing to mine.’ His voice was low, commanding and impossible to ignore, as he took his breaths I tried my best to mirror him, encouraged as he whispered soft reassurances to me whenever a deep breath broke into several shallow, panicked breaths. I don’t know how long he stayed there with me for, my hand in his, whispering encouragements and continually reminding me to match my breathing to his, but eventually I regained control and a long, relieved sigh left me when I realised it was over.

My forehead fell against his shoulder, exhaustion falling over me as I soaked his suit jacket with my tears. I hated panic attacks. They sucked, in truth I’d forgotten just how much. Hotch’s hand stroked my hair while the other rubbed soothing circles into my lower back. He never once complained, never gave the impression that he was getting impatient with how long it was taking me to pull myself together. 

But when I did lift my head from his shoulder, my hands resting on the tops of his muscled arms for support the first words I said were, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’ His eyes were sincere and reassuring, and I felt the tension in my chest ease a little.

I nodded, my head falling back to his shoulder. In the back of my mind I knew there was no need for me to still be clinging to him like this, that we were shifting more towards inappropriate behaviour the longer he held me in his arms, but I couldn’t bring myself to care, and seeing as he wasn’t in a hurry to pull away I didn't either. We stayed there for a few minutes longer but the moment was broken when his phone started to ring in his suit jacket. I reluctantly pulled back and stood with him as he pulled out the device and answered it.

‘Hotchner.’ He said, his voice slipping back into his usual stern work tone.

I tuned out of the conversation, wiping my cheeks and running some cold water over my face. I didn't have my bag with me so I couldn’t apply fresh make up to make my face look less tear stained, which was frustrating but it was what it was. I blotted my face dry and offered Hotch a reassuring smile as he examined my expression once again.

‘I’m fine.’ I told him once he’d hung up the phone.

‘Are you sure? When I said you didn’t have to do this, I meant it.’ He murmured, his eyes softening with sincerity.

‘I know you did, but I meant it when I said I wouldn’t put my discomfort above giving families closure.’ I sighed, gesturing towards the door, ‘we should get going.’

He nodded, guiding me from the room with a hand hovering above my lower back. I grabbed my go bag and purse from my desk, relieved the rest of the team was in the conference room again, most likely being briefed on another case. If they’d seen me in my current state, I was sure I’d have more people to convince that I was up to this. 

We boarded the jet, taking one of the double seats next to each other. We spent most of the flight in silence, Hotch spent time going over the past cases, but I couldn't bring myself to, worried seeing what he’d done to those other women would trigger a panic attack. I took time to properly pull myself together, knowing I couldn’t sit across from a psychopath anything less than guarded and prepared. By the time the jet’s wheels touched down on the tarmac, I was ready to face him.

//

‘It’s nice to see you again.’ His smile was the same, it still sent a slither of discomfort down my spine, but I refused to let it show on my face.

‘We’re here as you requested, now give us the names and locations of the victims we missed.’ Hotch said, I could see him out of my peripheral vision, he was sat straight, quietly confident and his tone was stern. But Rivers hadn’t stopped staring at me, and I wasn’t about to break first.

‘Names,’ Hotch prompted after a moment, his tone hardening.

He finally looked away and I took in the smug upturn of his lips and the malice that glittered in his eyes. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

‘I’ll tell you what you want to know.’ His eyes flickered to me again, and when Aaron cleared his throat to attract his gaze, the smile that grew on his face was that of a sharks, ‘if you tell me something first.’

‘What do you want to know?’ He asked, a confused frown forming on his face.

‘What I would like to know is how you function so well as a team when you’re clearly in love with one another.’ He said and I felt my blood run cold. Of all the ways I’d pictured Hotch finding out about my feelings for him, this was most definitely not on the top ten list.

Neither of us spoke, and he took that as a sign to continue as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed arrogantly against his chest, ‘I noticed the night you arrested me. While I was cuffed and led away by your brawny agent you rushed over to her. Now love is not something I understand myself but I’ve witnessed it on others, specifically on the two of you that night. The way you held her, the way she relaxed with your arms around her, the way you refused to leave her alone and carried her over to the ambulance when she passed out.’

I’ve witnessed it on others, specifically the two of you that night.

Specifically the two of you that night.

The two of you.

He didn’t mean... did he?

I banished that train of thought before it could run away from me. Rivers didn’t know what he was talking about, he just wanted to rile us up, to exert the minimal control he still had to play with us and feel some form of accomplishment. I took a breath and leaned back in my seat, making a show of rolling my eyes. I’d be damned if I was going to let this psycho see just how well he’d pin pointed and played on my insecurities. 

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ I examined my nails, knowing not giving him my full attention would play on his superiority complex. Like I said, most domineering personalities were arrogant and incredibly narcissistic— Johnathan Rivers possessed that particular characteristic in spades, ‘but the way I feel for Agent Hotchner is no different than how I feel for the rest of my team. I love them all and they’re like family to me. Now I don’t know what you think you witnessed, but I assure you, your assumptions are false.’

I leaned forward to look him in the eyes and when he suddenly jolted forward, to make a grab for me, I refused to flinch and continued to meet his eye. I felt Hotch lean forward too, slamming his hand onto the metal table and once again demanding the names.

‘What’s the matter Agent Hotchner? Nervous about sharing your own feelings on the subject?’ He asked, but chuckled at Aaron’s dark glare, ‘fine. Wendy Grooves, Sarah Jones, Victoria McMillan and Melinda Hewitt. All of them can be found buried underneath concrete in the basement of the house I owned. I had to move the dumping site when I ran out of room.’

Without another word Hotch and I stood, so simultaneous that it was almost as if we planned it, and strode from the room. He pulled out his phone to call Morgan to put together an extraction team to recover the bodies that we’d been given. We both headed for the jet afterwards, neither of us wanting to stay any longer there than we had to. I could feel the tension that crackled between us and how it seemed to intensify the longer we didn't talk. As much as I hated it, I didn’t want to be the one to break the silence, and so we stayed quiet until Hotch shifted in his seat across from me half way through our flight. 

‘We should talk.’ He said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it, and when I looked up into his eyes I could see his hesitation along with that ever present soft emotion.

‘Okay.’ I reluctantly agreed, taking a deep breath and steeling myself for rejection, ‘I’ve been in love with you—.’

‘I know how you feel about me, Y/N.’ He cut me off, continuing when I blinked in confusion, ‘I had my suspicions before, but when I heard you talking to Reid almost a year ago, that confirmed it.’

‘You heard me.’ I repeated, feeling embarrassment swirling in my gut, ‘why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Because at the time, I was still dealing with getting over Hayley, and then she...’ he trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment, ‘then she died and I didn’t realise how much time had passed. And I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure I was ready to move on, until I was sure I could be completely invested in the relationship and not feeling guilty for moving on and being happy.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. The way he was talking it sounded like... like he had feelings for me too?

‘But I am ready to move on, Y/N. If you’re still willing to give me a chance?’ He asked, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, the most prominent being hope. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward and taking his hands in mine.

‘I am absolutely sure I want to give you a chance, Aaron.’ I murmured, his following smile was contagious.

He leaned forward, his hands pulling away from mine to caress my face, gently wiping away the happy tears that fell down my cheeks. His forehead fell against mine, and I knew he was giving me the chance to pull away, to change my mind, and when I didn’t he leaned forward and sealed his mouth over mine. The kiss started off tentative, as all first kisses did, and when we’d become more familiar with one another, his hand lifted to my hair as he deepened the kiss. My hands slid into his midnight locks, enjoying the softness and tugging on the strands. I felt a groan vibrate in his chest and he pulled me closer, both of his hands lifting me by my waist and onto his lap. One hand trailed down my back, the other fell to the side of my neck, his thumb moving back and forth over my pulse point. Before the kiss could deepen any further, we reluctantly pulled apart, our lungs in dire need of oxygen. Our foreheads rested against each other, our erratic breath mingling as we worked to get it under control. Once we’d recovered more, he placed a chaste kiss to my lips, then my nose, then each eye lid before finishing with my forehead. I chuckled breathlessly, my heart picking up again, as his hands rested on my cheeks and he stared at me with that soft emotion again. Only now I could see what it was, now that my mind wasn’t clouded with fear of misinterpretation. It was love. 

‘We have some things we need to discuss.’ He murmured after a while, ever the boss.

‘I know.’ My hand covered his left on my cheek, shifting it so I could kiss his palm before I entwined our fingers together.

‘I don’t think we should tell the team right away, while we figure things out and get into our own rhythm without having to worry about being over assessed when they know.’ He said, his other hand moved through my hair, a smile forming on his lips when I leaned into his touch, ‘and we’ll have to file a relationship form with Strauss.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ And it did, hearing him talk about what we would need to do once we’d found dynamic as a couple, made it seem more real and long lasting. 

After that, we didn’t talk much, and I didn’t move from his lap. My head rested against his shoulder, my face nuzzled into his neck. His hand moved through my hair while his other held a case file that he was reading, apparently it was one JJ had asked for a second opinion on. I didn’t remember exactly when I fell asleep, but the last thought that ran though my mind was one word.

Safe.

// 

It was three weeks later that Aaron and I went on our first date. We’d spent time together in between of course, but we’d only had the odd day off since and that time was meant for Jack, which I understood. I loved the little guy so if spending time with Aaron meant spending time with Jack too, it was hardly a hardship and more of a blessing. Which is why I didn’t push for us to have our first date, knowing that he cared for me as I cared for him practically had me walking on air. But when he asked me out to dinner and a movie, and told me that Jack was with is aunt for the night, I found myself feeling nervous with butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I’d dressed in a form fitting slinky dark purple body con dress, paired with some black flats. I’d curled my hair and clipped it back so it fell down the centre of my back, my make up was light and I was wearing lip balm over lipstick— I didn’t want to have to worry about topping it up throughout the night. 

His knock at the door made the butterflies swarm again and I opened the door with a smile. I felt my eyes dilate with attraction as I took him in— he was wearing his usual dress shoes and pants, but the way he wore his shirt made me want to drool. It was pale blue, his top two buttons were undone, allowing me to spy some chest hair, and his cuffs were rolled up to his forearms. I couldn't help the way my gaze lingered on the veins that protruded from his arms, and when I finally managed to meet his eyes again I noticed they were alight with attraction and pleasure at my reaction to him. 

‘You look...gorgeous.’ I said, for lack of a better word. His smile grew on his lips as he reached forward, taking my hand in his. My free hand fell to his forearm, running along his veins and enjoying the softness of his skin.

‘Thank you, honey.’ He murmured, his hand moving to the side of my face, his thumb moving over my cheekbone, ‘you look breath taking.’

I blushed at the compliment, placing a kiss to his palm in thanks. As I grabbed my keys and my card wallet, I realised I hadn’t grabbed a bag to carry them in, before I could Aaron took them from my hands and placed them in his back pocket with a wink that made my heart skip a beat.

As we walked to the elevator, he told me about how Jack had taken his FBI badge into school for show and tell, without telling him about it first. He’d worried that he’d misplaced it, or left it in Detroit— the last place we’d gone to for a case—until Jack had come home and told his dad about his day. He’d told him he shouldn’t take things without asking, but he’d been more touched than mad. 

When we arrived at the restaurant, we sat next to one another in the privacy of a booth, eating Italian food and drinking wine. We spent the night basking in each other’s company, sharing stories, laughing and deciding to order dessert when we realised we’d lost track of time and missed the movie. But I didn’t mind, I preferred it actually instead of being in a place where we couldn’t share conversation. We stayed until an apologetic waiter told us they were closing and asked us to leave. And we drove back to his apartment, his hand entwined with mine and his other on the steering wheel as music from the radio played quietly. 

‘Jack has a play date tomorrow morning, so Jessica won’t be bringing him home until the afternoon.’ Hotch murmured to me as we stepped into his apartment.

‘Oh really, so no early start tomorrow?’ I grinned, a sigh of contentment leaving me as his hands rested on my waist.

‘Which is good, because when I’m through with you, I think you’ll need your rest to recover.’ He spoke quietly against the skin of my throat in between kisses. 

There was no arrogance in his voice, he was confident but quietly so, and I assumed he had a reason to be. He wasn’t the kind of man who was self assured without knowing it to be true.

‘Hmm... I think you’re all talk, Hotchner.’ I teased, but it was rendered pointless as a quiet moan left my throat when his lips latched onto the sensitive spot behind my ear.

He chuckled against my skin, not bothering to respond as my behaviour had already told him everything he needed to know. My hands wound in his hair as his lips continued their exploration, grateful for his grip on my lower back, as without the support I was sure my knees would have buckled. My head fell against the back of the front door as my breathing became erratic, while his lips trailed over my collarbone and down between the valley of my breasts. His hand slid the thin strap down my arm, and allowing him to move the fabric of my dress and close his mouth around my nipple. I moaned, feeling myself grow hotter as his hand moved down my legs, slipping under the satin fabric and trailing up my bare leg and stopping behind my knee. He lifted my right leg to hook around his waist, and then did the same with my left, his lips never stopping in their pleasurable torment on my chest. I barely noticed him carrying me to his bedroom, until my back was met with the cool temperature of his sheets. His lips returned to mine, the kiss full of passion, lust and when our tongues met, a battle for dominance that he won with minimal effort.

As we became lost in each other, as he moved inside of me, as he whispered praises and encouragements in my ear, as we reached our climaxes together, I found myself fall that little bit more in love with him. Because, he was gentle, he took care of me and my desires, and he found pleasure in doing so, just as I knew he would. 

Much later, as we both lay back to regather our breath and exhaustion overcame me, I found myself thinking— there was no way us being together would feel so natural, so right, if we weren’t meant to be. And in that moment, I knew we were. 

Aaron Hotchner was my soulmate. 

A/N: This came to me after I read of terrible coffee and late night rides by @venusbarnes​ It’s absolutely wonderful and if you haven’t read it yet, and like Aaron Hotchner imagines, you can find it on their Masterlist. Trust me, you’ll love it. 

I hope ya’ll liked this one, I know it’s long, but I just couldn’t bring myself to stop. Whoops.

[kohakhearts]

can I get some zukaang please? maybe like a meet the family thing with Iroh 🥺🥺

i did not follow this prompt well at all i'm so sorry bro

send me 1 or more character (+ a prompt, if you like) and i'll write a short fic!

wc: 1 184

The first time Aang meets Iroh after the war is over, he is thinking of Gyatso.

Not in a sad way, exactly. More, he wonders what his old mentor would think of this world—a world which everyone keeps saying is like this because of Aang, though he isn’t sure that’s a wholly good thing—and if he would agree with the choices Aang has made to get here. He wonders if he would still see the child he was so determined to take care of, or if he too would see the Avatar. Maybe, for Gyatso, “Aang” and “the Avatar” were never different people anyway.

It’s hard to say, when one hundred years have already passed.

Aang has met Iroh before, of course. They met in Ba Sing Se. Before then, technically. But it was in Ba Sing Se that Aang thought he was, really, just a caring uncle. He never pinned any portion of the blame for what happened there on Iroh. The man was just as much a victim as any of the rest of them. More, even, maybe.

Zuko left him, after all. Zuko did not trust him to keep him safe.

But, Aang has to remind himself, though there was lightning that day, there was no storm. Zuko is not—has never been—the Avatar. Iroh is not Gyatso, because Gyatso is dead.

The Jasmine Dragon is a nice little shop. At any given time, there will be an ongoing game of Pai Sho in one of its corners, while the owner waltzes around the dining room humming a tune so pleasantly full of joy that none can even complain of its lacking melodic structure. Zuko is more fond of it than he lets on; he doesn’t need to say the things Aang can see perfectly well in the way his posture softens as soon as they enter the door.

Iroh is as warm a host as ever. As he pours out three cups of tea, Aang’s gaze is drawn to the men playing Pai Sho on the other side of the shop. The last time he played the game was over a hundred years ago. With no one to play by them anymore, at least he can rest assured the rules he grew up with haven’t changed any.

“Aang?”

His head jerks around. He meets Zuko’s furrowed eyebrow with a fleeting smile.

“Sorry,” he says. “Were you saying something?”

Between them, Iroh chuckles, while Zuko lets out a sigh of exasperation.

“I was just telling Uncle about the past week.”

“Oh. That.” Aang frowns down at his tea. It smells very good, but his stomach is oddly twisted up. “Well, it’s not that I don’t like to hear what you have to say, Zuko, but it’s pretty boring.”

“Much less exciting than your adventures of the past year, I would expect.” Iroh lifts his cup and takes a short sip of tea, then adds, “But my nephew is more grateful for the break than he says.”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a break,” Zuko mutters.

“That’s true,” Aang says. “It’s been busy. Looks like you’ve been busy here too, though. I’m amazed this place has picked up again so fast.”

“Some may have been incentivized by free tea for a week,” Iroh allows.

Aang’s lips twitch. Zuko makes a face, like he is trying not to roll his eyes.

“But,” Iroh goes on, “sometimes a break is merely a break from an established norm. Busy though you may be, Avatar Aang, it is busy in a different way, and so…it is still a break. Besides,” he adds brightly, “there is far more time for you to come by for a warming cup of tea these days. The atmosphere here is excellent for clearing one’s head, I have come to see.”

Aang’s head is clear. That’s sort of the whole problem.

Ever since the day he discovered Gyatso’s corpse, he has had something to distract from it. If it wasn’t Zuko, then it was other Fire Nation baddies out to get them. If they weren’t fighting for their lives, then he was trying to learn Waterbending. Or Earthbending. Or Firebending. If they got a “break,” he was still thinking about eclipses and comets and a world transformed by one hundred years spent in an iceberg. He is not angry at himself for running away, not anymore. He has already told Katara more times than he can count—he does not regret anything.

But he sees the way Zuko looks at his uncle, and he knows it isn’t the truth.

“I hope it will get easier to come by,” Zuko’s saying. “I guess I took it for granted a bit before, but sometimes it’s pretty nice to get out of the Fire Nation for a while.”

“Yes, the people there are quite hot-headed, aren’t they?” Iroh strokes his beard thoughtfully. “It is no wonder you might be their Lord.”

Zuko really does roll his eyes this time, but just as he is opening his mouth to retort, he stops. His eyes dart back across the table, towards Aang. Just when Aang thinks he might question why he didn’t laugh at what was an honestly very funny joke—made funnier at Zuko’s expense, as most good jokes are—he says, a bit awkwardly, “You should really drink that, Aang. My uncle’s tea is the best.”

“I know.” Aang tries for a smile. He largely fails. Though it is a phony gesture at best, he drinks some.

“I suppose,” Iroh muses, “that there is more to catch up than just rest once one is offered a break from his hardest duties.”

Aang winces. Some tea sloshes out of the side of the cup, searing over his hand. He hardly feels it. Ceramic clinks together as he sets the cup back on its saucer.

“Sorry,” he says, perhaps redundantly. “I wasn’t really thinking about it that much before, but…” He shoots a furtive glance at Zuko, who is frowning, then meets Iroh’s sombre gaze straight-on. “I’m really glad Zuko had you.”

Whatever they both were expecting, it must not have been that. Zuko splutters, while Iroh blinks slowly.

And then he smiles, just a bit.

“Then, I hope you know,” he says, “that should you ever want a cup of tea, or a game of Pai Sho, Avatar Aang, The Jasmine Dragon’s doors are always open to you too.”

If Zuko is sitting across from him a little flummoxed, Aang doesn’t notice. He returns Iroh’s expression, more genuinely than he has managed to smile all day.

“I bet no one’s ever taught you how they played it in the Air Temples, have they?”

Zuko’s groan is nothing next to the enthusiasm brightening his uncle’s eyes. He might not be able to understand, but Aang thinks that Iroh, the man who saved the last of the dragons so very long ago—he thinks that he might.

And, really, that is all Aang can ask for. It is not as much as he wishes it could be, but it is enough. It has to be.

[spencers-renaissance]

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Summary: Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hotch, Spencer Reid Whump, Major Illness, Angst, Fluff, Medical Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending

Pairing: Gen, Paternal Hotch

Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

A grotty police department in rural Illinois was really not the time and place for Spencer’s body to decide to have a minor breakdown, but really, what was he expecting at this point? For things to go right for once? 

It’s the kind of headache not even two paracetamol and a cup of coffee can shift and he sort of feels like his head might split in two. Not ideal when he had a complicated geographical profile to work up to help the team locate an enraged killer who was flitting between various small towns in the northwest corner of the state. 

“Spencer?”

He’s shaken out of his depressing thoughts by Derek’s slightly concerned voice, causing him to pull his hands away from his head and force himself from squinting against the light. He’d felt fine this morning and he can’t really put his finger on what exactly is wrong besides the headache he just feels… off.

If he can help it though, Derek will most definitely not find out. His coworkers don’t need to think he’s anymore weak than they already do. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says, feigning a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

Derek doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway. “JJ and I are headed to interview the most recent victim’s family but Rossi and Blake will be back from the ME’s office shortly. Hotch is just in the break room talking to some LEOs, alright?” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of one of the chairs. “See you in a bit, Spencer.”

Spencer has to stop himself from physically falling on the floor and rolling into a protective ball as soon as Derek leaves the room. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain, the last thing he wants to do is gather around the table and have to propose valuable theories about the case to build the profile. He just feels like such an outsider sometimes, and it’s been even worse recently. He’s felt himself withdraw from the group, sheltering himself from the prying glances and teasing comments, but he just can’t help it; he doesn’t even know why, really. 

Honestly, he’s desperate to crawl back to the hotel room and bury himself under the covers and never resurface again, but he can’t. The only time he really feels valuable is when he’s working, when he’s tangibly contributing to solving the case, and he can’t sacrifice that for a little head cold or whatever’s going on. Besides, nobody needs to hear him whinge about his stupid problems. Everyone has enough to deal with without him as an added burden.

Hotch is shooting him concerned looks and it’s only making him feel worse. He really doesn’t need to be berating himself for making his team members worry on top of already feeling at death’s door. The real problem, however, is that it’s only getting worse. He’s struggling to concentrate and feels hot under the collar, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the swirling nausea in his tummy. But his health cannot be the priority right now and surely Hotch must realise that: there’s a killer on the loose and he knows that he can be an immensely useful resource, headache be damned. 

Focus. He tries to look back towards the board -- he knows there’s something in one of the pictures that’s not quite right, not that he can remember which one or what it was -- but his neck protests as he tries to move it, stiffening up in response to the pain. Keeping his head down instead, staring at the case file he has open on the desk in front of him, he notices his pen quivering a little in his hand as it shakes. His glance upwards to check if anyone saw is immediately met by Hotch, whose muted concern has clearly morphed into full-blown distress, and he quickly looks away. 

“Spencer?” Hotch says gently, trying not to attract the attention of the other team members who are quietly discussing the case at the other end of the table. 

It’s the jerk of his head to look back up at him that does it. He feels his head loll and his stomach drop out from under him, nausea pouring into his insides as his eyes lose their focus. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, though it comes out far too slurred to be intelligible, and everything fades to black. 

★

Hotch is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he watches Spencer slump forward in his chair, falling to the side a little as his muscles give in to what’s clearly been plaguing him all day. The others snap out of their conversation fast, Alex rushing to his side. “Spencer?” she asks, voice insistent and full of anxiety. “Spencer, wake up, come on.” She pauses to press two fingers to his pulse point as her other hand feels his forehead before looking Hotch in the eyes, urgency filling her voice. “His pulse is weak and he has a serious fever.”

“Call an ambulance and explain what’s going on,” Hotch says, feeling the colour leave his face as he takes in the situation. “Dave, I need you, Derek and JJ to carry on working the case, Blake and I will go to the hospital with Spencer.”

The paramedics arrive quickly, by which time everyone in the PD is nosily peering through the windows, eager to watch the macabre theatrics of a medical emergency. Hotch backs away from where he’d crouched to hold Spencer’s hand, as does Blake and Spencer is quickly hooked up to the portable monitor. Hotch didn’t miss the grave glance that was shared between the two of them; he’d given and received enough of them in the course of his career to know they meant not good.

“Blake, you drive behind,” he murmurs softly as he watches an oxygen mask be placed over Spencer’s nose and mouth. “I’m riding with.” 

He hasn’t felt so sick to his stomach since he was driving to his own house to meet his wife’s dead body, and God, did he absolutely not miss the feeling. Spencer’s hand is freezing cold, and he’s still shaking slightly through the deep slumber that has overtaken his body, though luckily he’s stable enough that the paramedics don’t seem to be able to do a lot more for him until he is admitted to the ER. 

Seeing Spencer lie so small and frail under all the wires as he’s jolted about slightly by the ambulance’s fast pace cuts deep into an area of his heart he usually keeps so closely guarded, reserved for moments with his son and the grief that lingers cold and heavy from Haley’s death. Spencer is family: he’s watching the man he considers a son teeter far too close to the edge of death, and all he can do is remind himself how to breathe. 

“Hang in there, Spencer,” he whispers, gently pulling the cold hand he’s holding to his face and holding it there a moment. “You’re going to be okay.” He has to be.

The nearest hospital is thankfully close, and Hotch sends up a prayer of thanks that they were sent to a city and not on a rural, buttfuck nowhere case. The paramedics waste no time wheeling Spencer’s gurney into the ER, reeling off his stats in code Hotch couldn’t hope to understand to the awaiting doctors, admitted immediately for further tests to establish treatment while he’s steered by a patient nurse to a quiet waiting area. 

Alex rushes in less than five minutes later, filling with relief when she clocked Hotch sitting in the corner. “Any news?” she asks, cautiously optimistic. 

Hotch grimaces in response. “No, he was only just admitted,” he sighs, emotion creeping into his face in a way he usually staves off at work. A hurt Spencer Reid warrants that much, at least. “He was stable in the ambulance, though. They’re running tests now for a diagnosis.” He looks down at his clasped hands. “I should have noticed it sooner.”

Alex sits down next to him slowly and sighs. “There’s no use in blaming yourself,” she says gently. “Spencer wouldn’t want that. We all could’ve picked up on the signs sooner or been more persistent in asking what was wrong, you’re not in the wrong here. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.”

“I know,” Hotch says eventually. “I just feel so responsible for him. He’s still so young and has so much in front of him, if-- if something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, pressing her lips together. “None of us would.”

“I just couldn’t live in a world where Spencer doesn’t exist.” His voice chokes off as the dam breaks and he cries quietly into his hands, pain blossoming in his chest as the thought of Spencer dying and the crushing agony of muffled sobs collide. 

“Oh, Hotch,” Alex murmurs sympathetically as she watches her boss crumble in front of her. “No-one’s told us to prepare for Spencer dying, okay? You said yourself that he was stable in the ambulance and aside from a thready pulse and a fever we don’t know anything else about his physical state. Don’t torture yourself with a future that frankly looks unlikely as of now, it’s not worth it.” 

Hotch nods, taking a deep if shaky breath in and wiping his eyes one last time, looking back at Alex. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“Don’t apologise,” she dismisses him gently. “It’s a scary situation, and Spencer is like a son to you.”

“This must be even harder for you,” he says, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I should have stayed stronger for you as well as Spencer.”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “We all have our ways of coping. Ethan died a long time ago and although the grief I feel for him is like glitter I can’t brush away, I’ve learned how to move forward with my life, carrying that gorgeous shimmer with me.”

They share a small smile over that, and Hotch pats her upper arm with his hand softly before patting his knees and standing up. “I’m going to step outside to call Dave,” he says, a new resolve and determination finding its way into his voice. “I expect that it might be a while, but find me immediately if anything happens, I’ll be just outside the entrance.”

“Aaron?” Dave asks, voice a little tinny and muffled down the phone, swept away slightly by the midwest wind. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice grim. “He was admitted immediately for tests but he was relatively okay the last time I saw him, I think. Alex is here now, and we’ll keep looking over the files while we wait, seeing if we can build on the profile. Ring me with any developments, alright?” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Dave says. “Morgan and I have come to follow a lead we got on a possible associate, and I’ll give you a ring when we leave. Sit tight and give my love to the kid when you see him, Aaron.”

They don’t have to sit in vigil for long before a middle-aged doctor calls Spencer’s name in the waiting room. “Unfortunately, Spencer has bacterial meningitis,” she explains gently as soon as they approach her. “It’s been caught relatively early so his chances are good, but this is a serious disease that needs to be monitored closely so he’s been moved to the ICU. He had a seizure shortly after the lumbar puncture we performed which is a sign of an escalation, but we’ve adjusted his meds accordingly and I can assure you he’s getting the best treatment possible. The ICU is limited to one visitor at a time, but you can see him now; he’s awake though a little drowsy.”

Alex smiles at him and ushers him forward while she goes to sit back down without a word, leaving Hotch to follow the doctor. He wishes desperately to have Spencer walking next to him, rapidly reeling off statistics and fast facts about the disease, because he feels a little in the dark, here. All he remembers is that bacterial is the most serious manifestation of meningitis and it has a high fatality rate. The same heavy sickness from the ambulance sinks deeper into his stomach, weighing him down. Spencer could die. 

He looks small on the hospital bed. It’s such a cliche but it’s true, his already small frame and the spacious bed combined with his pale face and outfit of wires make him look so tiny and all Hotch wants to do is climb into bed with him and wrap him in a protective hug and never let him go. 

“Hotch?” Spencer murmurs as he approaches the bed, smiling gratefully at the doctor before she leaves them to it. 

“Yeah, Spencer, it’s me,” he says gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and scooching it as close as possible. “How are you holding up?”

“Hurts,” he says, voice weak. “A lot. Bacteria sucks.”

“It does,” Hotch chuckles. “It definitely sucks. Big time. I’m sorry this is happening, Spencer. And I’m sorry we didn’t catch on to you sooner and get you here faster.”

“Please,” he laughs, wincing a bit as the movement settles an ache deeper into his muscles. “I wouldn’t have let you. I can be a little stubborn.” 

Spencer’s voice is slurred slightly but the relief settling into Hotch’s bones at how lucid he is feels almost euphoric. “You’re definitely stubborn,” he says fondly, caressing Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “Our stubborn little mule.” 

“Not little,” he pouts in response, eyes drooping slowly closed.

“No,” he reassures him. “You’re not little. You’re strong, and you’re going to fight this, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles. “Fight it. Hotch… stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me stay, Angel.”

“Angel,” Spencer whispers, a happy smile playing on his lips as he finally gives in to the sleep tugging at his body. 

★

It takes Spencer another three and a half days before he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time and satisfactorily lucid. Thankfully, the anticonvulsants had staved off another seizure and his temperature was slowly but surely dropping as his body fought off the infection, aided by the intravenous antibiotics being steadily dripped into his bloodstream. His oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal cannula and he was no longer trembling. 

Hotch spends the majority of visiting hours sitting beside his bed, texting or phoning the team while working as many angles as he could with only a laptop and the case files Alex is bringing him, but it seems so trivial everytime he looks up and Spencer is lying there looking small and peaceful as he sleeps, meningitis ravishing his body. He’d been worried for the first day at how much Spencer was sleeping, but a kind nurse explained that it was normal; his body was just fighting off a brutal infection and could do that best when he was asleep. Now it just makes him happy to see him dreaming away, knowing that his body is doing the best to help him get better.

He’d tried to avoid googling ‘bacterial meningitis’, but he gave up on the second day and scrolled through endless sites, torturing himself with statistics and facts and prognoses. It gave him a newfound respect and empathy for Spencer: he knows these about pretty much everything and has to live with them all the time. He knows his own survival chances very well, can probably recite specific cases and studies and has no escape at all. 

Spencer manages to sit up on the third day and Hotch pulls out a portable chess board that Dave had gone out and bought specifically for this moment. 

“You play?” Spencer asks sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve dabbled,” Hotch replies lightly, a smile playing over his lips as he takes in Spencer’s doubtful but eager expression.

“I’ll probably win in under twenty moves,” Spencer challenges, matching Hotch’s smile. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hotch chuckles. “But I’ll put myself through it anyway.” 

Spencer stays true to his word and wins in 17 moves, making Hotch throw his hands up and lean back in his chair, smiling at the other man before packing the board back away. Spencer looks miles healthier, the antibiotics clearly starting to do the trick, but he’s still seriously fatigued and shuffles down the bed to lean his head back and relax a bit more, sitting up for a few minutes tiring him out. 

Hotch pauses for a moment before deciding to broach the subject. “Spencer,” he starts softly, meeting the man’s hazy gaze, “why didn’t you say anything to us sooner? You clearly had a crashing headache, muscle pain, nausea. You said you felt the fever come on. You could have said something sooner and I would have helped you. Your health should come before a case.”

Spencer closes his eyes in shame for a moment, a blush blooming over his cheeks as he looks back to Hotch. “I’m sorry, I just-- It was a grisly case and I thought that was the most important thing, I guess. I’m no use stuck in a sick bed. I just felt bad making everything about me when in the grand scheme of things, a headache is pretty menial. Felt… isolated, maybe.”

“Oh, Spence,” Hotch says sympathetically, reaching back over to grip Spencer’s hand in both of his. “This is really serious, okay? If we’d left it much later or you hadn’t passed out but continued to suffer in silence, you could have died.” He has to pause for a moment as he chokes on the word. “Missing one case and being better for hundreds more is better than working yourself to the bone on this one and then not being around for anymore, isn’t it? You are so valuable, Spencer. Not just your eidetic memory or IQ, you. Spencer Reid is special and loved and important, and I don’t want you to ever think that a case is more important than you, or that we’ll be annoyed by anything that you need to talk to us about. If you ever feel alone, you come and find me and I’ll do my best to banish that feeling, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs again. “I guess I just find it hard to believe that people care about me for more than what I can offer them. I never had anyone value me the way you do, and I still struggle to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry for scaring you, but I promise I already feel better. I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Hotch.”

“You’d better not,” he replies, letting himself smile a bit. “I know it’s hard for you to trust us, Spencer, but we’re your family, okay? Any of us would drop anything for you, stubborn little mule.”

Spencer doesn’t correct him this time, opting instead for a wide smile. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers intimately. “For being here, I mean. It’s scary on my own and having you next to me makes me feel safe.”

“Good,” Hotch says, smiling at Spencer’s use of his first name. “You’re always safe with me. You should rest now, you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

★

Once Spencer’s moved out of the ICU on day five, the team are finally allowed to come and visit him, bringing Penelope, presents and smiles and noise. And reprimands. Many reprimands. 

“If you ever put a case above your own damn health again, it won’t be meningitis you have to worry about but Penelope’s wrath, alright Spence?” JJ scolds as she gives him a gentle hug, though her smile betrays her. Penelope is stood at the foot of his bed trying her best to look scary, but like JJ her eyes are far too soft and relief colours her body language. Plus it’s hard to look domineering in a bright orange floral dress and flowers in your hair. 

“Sorry, Pen, JJ,” he says sheepishly, looking at each of them apologetically. “Bacterial meningitis will definitely teach you to listen to your body.” 

“Well if that’s the only good thing that’s come out of this then so be it,” Penelope says with finality, before she melts away her faux stern look and smiles at him. “Now, we bring you gifts and cookies.” 

He opens each of the presents with the wide, open smile he doesn’t let cross his face very often, feeling deeply loved and cherished by his found family. His hospital room is covered in flowers and chocolates and academic books as well as endless gift bags and wrapping paper by the time he’s finished, and although he’s still in a lot of pain and knows he might never fully recover, in this moment he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time. 

The doctor tells Spencer and Hotch a week and a day after his admittance that he’s been lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed. “You need to look out for any of the long term effects of bacterial meningitis such as concentration issues, hearing loss, visual disturbances, chronic pain etcetera but our tests seem to suggest you’re in the lucky c50% of survivors who escape without a permanent disability and we’d most likely have caught it by now. You need to take it easy for two weeks, make sure you’re resting and drinking plenty of fluids, and if you feel any symptoms coming back or becoming more severe you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she says, handing him the discharge paperwork. 

“Spencer, I think you should come and stay with me for those two weeks, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you and keep you company while you finish recovering. How does that sound?” he asks as Spencer signs the sheet of paper and hands it back to the doctor who smiles at them before turning to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks. “I don’t want to impose on you and Jack.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m offering. Besides, Jack will love having his own personal encyclopedia in the house. He loves you.”

Spencer grins widely at that. “Then that sounds like a plan.”

He sleeps for the majority of the two hour flight home, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder buried under the blanket JJ always carries with her in case anyone gets cold while the older man fills in some paperwork for the case they’d wrapped up a few days prior. The gentle noise of his family chatting around the plane and the comforting smell and feel of his protector surrounding him lull him into a sense of safety and reassurance, resting in the knowledge that his family loves him unconditionally. No matter what happens next, even if a long term condition was going to hit him like a ton of bricks, they weren’t going to leave him, and he was valued. Not for his brain, but because he was Spencer Reid, loved and cherished member of the BAU. 

[thisdreamplace]

Hey!

I met my sp almost 2 years ago (2019) and since then i fell in love with him. we went on some dates tho, he rejected me later. at that time i didn't know about the law so i reacted a lot to the 3D and manifested some 3rd parties and arguments with him. he blocked me tho and we went no contact. i found out about loa and it confused me a lot cause everyone said smth different. also i was focused on manifesting a text message rather than living in the end. altough i always tried to shift my focus, i lived in a lot of anxiety. also his social media acc is a trigger point and i try to avoid it for my best.

so he texted me in may 2020 and i was shaking so much (what a dumbass) and we messaged all night, it was some nasty sh*t. at the end of the chat he said that it was all a joke and that it was all his buddy. i felt so hurt and was so shaken up by the fact, that he played me like that? also really naive of me to let it go so far. so i went no contact and texted him one week later with alot anxiety. as u guess, he was so mean and told me some hurtful things. so i let him. i didn't know about neville back then. i went no contact, til he texted me in dec 2020, it was bc i saw his story) he apologized and he was really kind to me. we messaged again at night, but it was some fwb thing again. he told me he wanted to meet up but then he ghosted me. yea.. i texted him and he said he writes with another girl. and i was like "???" i told him good luck and went no contact.. he then unadded me a month later in jan 2021 which threw me away from my mental diet and so on.

What i am trying to say is that i am really disappointed that i can't seem to reach a point where he sees me more than a chick with a body. i wanted him to be interested in me, to show me love. to open up to me, a relationship! i tried all things, methods, meditations, sats. i am always feeling like i am not doing enough , i am searching for evidence i trigger myself with his socialmedia or some things that happened.

i dont know what went wrong. one thing that bothers me also is that he makes music and wants to gain fame which means that girls have his attention or he thinks he is something better. i also have a feeling of i can't reach him cause i feel like i am not that good for him. he is the kind of guy who had a hard life which messed him up.

also i am feeling nostalgic as soon as i am going somewhere. it's a feeling of " i rather be here with him than alone or with anybody else" time is also a factor which messes with my mind. i wanted to move away and idk how that will mess with my manifestation and his music career is also a thing which makes me anxious.

even now i am trying my best, but it seems like everyday is the same day. i wonder if our relationship will even happen..

i am not living in the old story, i just wanted to let it all out and u seem like a person who would get this. i hope u can give me some tips. i don't wanna sound dumb but yea my story is a bit messy. thank u for reading it, i appreciate ur time. u are my last hope!

Hey!!

Thanks for feeling free to share all of this. Sometimes it really does help just to get all this out, so you can continue moving forward freely.

The truth is, I can see where you went wrong clearly. In all honesty, your self concept has been neglected. And remember, when speaking of self concept it is much deeper than self esteem, but of course, why wouldn’t you want a high self esteem too? Anyway, you have put all of your effort into him. Every technique you did was for him, everything you have done has been entirely for him. And yet, the gag is, you are the one who has to change. He cannot possibly change without you having changed first. Because this is your reality and that’s just how the law works.

So, for example, all those times you took anything he’s willing to give you. You listed everything you wanted... but you quickly settled for less. What does that say about your self concept? It has nothing to do with him, although I know we do like to feel comfortable pointing the finger. When it comes to sp manifestations though, I will be completely honest in this way. There’s a big responsibility we have to take that may feel uncomfortable to do, since we are used to living in a world where people hurt us and we feel sad and blame them. We expect them to do something to make us feel better or we cut them off. Though, there is no one to blame here. There’s only full responsibility to take. There’s just you who will need to choose whether you are worth taking the responsibility of changing your life.

So all that being said, here’s some tips, based off what you said. Firstly, I would fully suggest you take a step back and focus on yourself. It’ll be scary, for sure. It’ll be uncomfortable, for sure. Especially because you spent so much time on him. But you have to be honest with yourself. Has that time paid off? The truth is, you have nothing to lose. Either things will stay the same or you will finally experience all you ever wanted to. But you must decide you are worth the risk of leaving those comforts behind.

So, as you focus on yourself you need to be thinking about how you see yourself in relation to the world, first. Are you worth it? Are you able to have anything you want? Are you limited or limitless? Do you see yourself as creator of your reality or a victim to your reality? Do what you need to do to begin answering these questions. You want to move into a state where you are able to answer positively to each of these questions. You do that through persistent practice. Through reminding yourself of who you truly are and how you can have anything you want. How you are worth all of the effort. How your desires are yours already, so you truly have nothing to worry about it. Remember, you do all this for you. Not for anyone or anything else.

As you get comfortable with your self concept and who you truly are as creator of your reality, you could allow yourself to start thinking of your sp again. Not as the center of your world, because you are already the center of the world. There is no one to change but self. But you can begin to lift him up in your mind, as you have lifted yourself up. You wrote exactly how you feel he is, and the truth is, if you continue seeing him like that he has no choice but to play that role. So, choose a new story. How is he really? He is successful in his music career and so what? He is so lucky to have you by his side. All those options you mentioned? They never meant anything, because you are the only one he wants. He doesn’t see anyone other than you. You are first best, you are the only best. He treats you like the God you already are. Because you have been God this entire time, and focusing on your self concept as the first step will help you to accept all these wonderful things about your sp.

I understand your feeling, of feeling nostalgic and just wanting to be with your sp. Let those feelings come up, don’t feel the need to run from them. They’re so valid. People in relationships still miss their person when they’re apart, no? It’s not a big deal. In fact, it’s important not to run from those feelings. Cry it out, throw a fit if you so feel the need to do so. Then brush yourself off and get back into your God energy. Because it’s always waiting for you, at all moments. The unconditional love that your Godself is, is always welcoming you in. You just have to remember to choose to allow yourself to feel it. Time seems so scary in the outer world, but the hard fact is you can be worried about time all day and it’s not going to change anything. So, benefit yourself and actively work on letting it go. Accept it’s not even real, no matter how much your ego will want to hold onto believing it is. Time isn’t running out, everything is happening perfectly Your relationship with your sp is yours and everything has it’s own appointed hour. All you have to do is accept it and allow yourself to enjoy the journey, or even dislike the journey some days if that’s what you’re feeling like. Stop judging everything and allow it to be instead.

You got this!! Hopefully you find this helpful. We all cannot wait to hear your lovely success story!! 💖

[cant-blink]

Half-Life

Summary: My first written story for Gigan and Showa Ghidorah. Gigan is trying so hard to go the honest route in earning Ghidorah’s forgiveness, but one’s true nature will always come to light eventually.

-

Never before has he felt so frustrated over one person...

Or was it three people...?

Eh, it was one person, all three heads spoke as if they were one, so...

He’s getting off track. He casted a glare at the golden dragon, wasting his time destroying plants of all things. This planet drew the serpent in with the promise of life, but the only life here were boring ass plants. Ghidorah didn’t seem to care, he was wiping them out anyway like it was the only thing he could think of.

Gigan wondered if there was anything else better for this three-headed asshole to do.

Guess he shouldn’t expect different. He heard about Ghidorah through his masters. He knew the dragon was created by another race, specifically to destroy. Not that different from himself, actually. He still remembered the days in the nest, back when he was all flesh. And fluff. And eyeball. And more fluff.

He would rather not be reminded of how cloyingly cute he looked, but alas, his masters thought it necessary to keep baby photos of him. And download them into his memories, never to be erased...

Point was!! He used to be mortal, whole, before he was old enough to leave the nest for his first hunt. He never got to enjoy that first hunt, for his Masters came and took him. Changed him. Kept him under that blasted mind-control Ghidorah hated so much. Blamed him for.

As if it was his fault. He wasn’t the one who studied Ghidorah’s creation. He wasn’t the one that got the bright idea to enslave him. Sure he was involved in his capture, but it wasn’t like he was in control of that.

The damn dragon and his damn grudges.

Not that different from himself, actually. Gigan can hold a mean grudge if he ever cared enough to.

Hell, he would probably hate Ghidorah more if it wasn’t for their shared past. Both created, made the way they are, by unnatural means. Both had their Masters destroyed (though from Gigan heard, it was Ghidorah that turned on his own creators, as well as destroyed Gigan’s Masters as revenge). Both were free of the mind-control and free to do and roam as they please.

And here Gigan is, spending that freedom following a dragon that didn’t even want him there.

But it’ll be worth it. He was never one to take “no” for an answer, and he admits, he saw something in Ghidorah. Perhaps it was his massive wings, resembling his own sails but much larger. Or perhaps, it was the gold scales that resembled the original gold feathering of his species. They were beautiful, the way they caught the light, as if from a well-preened female.

Gigan lost his own gleaming feathers a long time ago, gone was the last remnants of what he truly was. In the back of his mind, he wondered if THAT was the true reason why Ghidorah didn’t lust for him the same way.

He shook his head. He knew that was bullshit. He’s been following this dragon long enough to see that he showed no such interest in ANYONE. Not even fellow dragons, it seems, ones that resembled him far more than any other lifeforms he had stored in his memory’s database. No doubt, those draconian creatures served as blue-prints for Ghidorah’s creation. But even then, Gigan saw no courtship behavior, no attempt at casual conversation even. No interest outside of the usual “kill them all”.

Gigan loved the kill as much as the next person, but Ghidorah REALLY needed a hobby.

“Hey,” he called out from his seat upon a sizeable pile of boulders, his voice holding a mechanical edge to it. Ghidorah’s response to his voice was immediate and already full of tension so thick, Gigan can slice through it.

“Leave me alone.” Those words again, Gigan’s heard it plenty and it just sounded like noise to him at this point. So he ignores it, as he gave a casual stretch of his arms and tail, before leaning back on the larger rock behind him.

"Whaddya say we get outta here and go to the bar? Grab some drinks, have some fun. Kill a few folks."

"No."

"Heh, bet you don't even know what the bar is."

"Nor do I need to know." Ghidorah hissed, clearly not amused by the cyborg’s playful tone as he turned back to the forest blazing around him. “If you’re there, I want no part of it.”

Gigan frowned, but he doesn’t lose his cool yet. This was all a game of patience, a battle of wills, and he will not be the first to break. He will continue to wear this dragon down until he gives in. 

“You’re destroying plants, of all things!” he pushed. “The bar is a much better time than this place. I’ve sharpened these bad boys-” He lifted the blades on his arms for emphasis. “-for the past hour just hoping for something interesting to happen.”

“Then go,” Ghidorah grunted. “Do something useful for once and stop distracting me with your half-life.”

“Oh~?” Well, this was new and served as a confidence boost as he pulled himself up from his seat and stepped over towards the golden dragon. “I’m distracting you, am I? Tell me more about my ‘half-life’ then.”

Ghidorah’s left-most head turned to glare at him, while the other two Gravity Beamed the forest around them.

“I grow tired of having to filter out your presence when I’m looking for new victims to destroy. My crests constantly detecting you and throwing off my hunt for lives more worthy of my time than you will ever be.”

“More worthy?!” He shouldn’t feel so insulted by that, but he does. Especially when the three-headed monster turned away fully. “These are nothing but damn trees you’re wasting time on! They don’t even scream and you think this is more fun than I am?!”

“These trees,” Ghidorah continued without even looking at him. “It gives me great pleasure to snuff out their life-force. They scream in their own way. You, on the other wing, only give me annoyance with your constant blabbering and useless ‘apologies’.”

“Useless apologies?!” Gigan sputtered, his sails fanning open wider with indignation. “You’re lucky you’re getting ANY apologies from me! You know how many others I’ve apologized to? A grand total of ZERO!! But, nooo, apparently that’s not good enough for you!”

“Because I know what a real apology looks like,” Ghidorah growled. “I have seen many who fall at my feet, seeking forgiveness for whatever crime they felt they committed to earn the fate I bestowed on them. I see more genuine regret from those pitiful creatures than I see in you.” 

Gigan said nothing for a long moment, the red glow of his eye growing brighter as his anger begins to build. But his voice remains calm.

“So basically, you want me to beg at your feet.”

Ghidorah turned his heads again, watching him for a moment before a cruel look grows upon all three of his faces, his own red eyes gleaming.

“That would be a start, wouldn’t it?”

The cyborg’s tail tip clicked loudly with agitation before he broke eye contact. He should just leave, track the dragon down another day and avoid this bullshit altogether. But if this is what he had to do to finally make some sort of progress...

Ghidorah better be the best lay he ever had.

Swallowing his pride, he stepped closer and with another moment’s hesitation, he lowered himself down. One knee, then both knees. All three of his sails flatten to his back. It was the single hardest thing he’s ever done, and he dared not look up at the dragon. He didn’t want his embarrassment to be seen on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled through his teeth.

“For what?” Ghidorah pressed and Gigan’s tail tip gives another sharp spin. It takes another moment to respond, resisting his body’s urge to upper-cut the tip of his blade into one of those stupid chins. But he doesn’t and his voice softens.

“For what my Masters did. For what I did. I wasn’t in control, but I’m sorry anyway.”

“Hm...” was the only response he got and he finally gives a single glance towards those three faces. And no sooner than he did that than a golden foot slams itself right into his exposed chin and throat, causing him to fall back. He was stunned for a moment, his senses both organic and mechanic struggled to get back online. He almost missed the words being shot at him with venom. “As if I will ever accept anyone’s apologies, much less yours.”

.....

The amount of sheer rage that boils from within his core was unbearable. This game, he lost it. He broke as he pushes himself up with his elbows to glare seethingly at this good-for-nothing, piece-of-shit lizard!

“That’s it! I tried playing the nice guy with you, but I’m done.” He pushes himself to his feet, storming over to the three-headed asshole who stands his ground. “I’m done with your damn attitude!!”

“Then leave, or die.”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? But I’m not leaving empty-handed. I’m getting what I want, whether you like it or not!”

He swiped for Ghidorah’s middle head with a scythe, the dragon pulling back with the slightest of nicks. Without hesitation, he slammed all three heads into Gigan’s chest to push him away. But the cyborg was not so easily swayed, as he kept his footing and jumped for him with an arm raised. His sights remained on the dragon’s middle head and he just needed one good hit to-

A Gravity Beam met his chest, causing him to fall to the ground. More beams around him brought rubble exploding from the ground and onto his face and chest. Before he can recover, he felt a heavy weight crash onto him, Ghidorah’s feet planted on his shoulders, wisely avoiding the buzzsaw on Gigan’s chest.

Those red eyes glared down at him, those three mouths opening to no doubt unleash another blast of energy. Gigan wasn’t giving him the chance and lifted his tail up, lunging it forward to stab the end into the dragon’s back.

This got a shriek, as a spray of blood escapes from the wound. Gigan gathered his strength, pulling his tail back to get Ghidorah’s weight off his shoulders. He shifted to get to his feet and swung a blade towards the middle head, but it struck the side head that thrashed in the way.

But Ghidorah can’t pull away from Gigan’s grip, those sharp ends fastening onto his spine. One wrong move would cause irreversible damage and clearly, Ghidorah was unused to having blood drawn. Those scales were hard and durable but even they were no match for the weapons the cyborg yielded. 

Such a shame though, that he had to stain those beautiful scales.

It’ll be worth it though, as he makes another swipe and successfully landed the tip of his blade directly into the base of Ghidorah’s middle skull, behind the horns where his mane met scales.

Got it!

The jolt that went through the dragon’s body can be felt, and Gigan couldn’t stop a smirk on his face as he met the wide eyes of his newest victim.

“What’s wrong, Ghiddy? Did you forget?” He opened the blades of his tail tip, and pulled his tail free of Ghidorah’s back violently, with another spray of blood. Ghidorah lets out another shriek, but he doesn’t run. “I know far more about you than you’re willing to admit. Have you never wondered how I’m able to track you down so well? You think being mind-controlled left you unscarred?”

The cyborg struck again with a blade; this time, across the dragon’s chest to draw more blood, causing Ghidorah to stumble backwards. Gigan snickered, stepping forward.

“You still have that chip,” He lifted a scythe once more, tapping the pointed tip right into the wound he left in Ghidorah’s head. He can see the blood already beginning to mat into that oh-so-luxurious mane. “The same chip my Masters and I activated when we first met, remember? Of course you do, that’s why you never tried to kill me, huh? Because you knew that I can do it all over again.” 

The blade tenderly moved from the wound left down to the dragon’s mane and all the way down that neck, tracing the dragon’s blood onto those scales. “I wanted to go the honest route for once, thought you would be worth the trouble. Figured it was the least I could do.”

Ghidorah still does nothing to fight back, even when Gigan kicked him and sent him crashing down onto his wounded back. Another shriek escapes, but this one was filled with anger. Gigan can see it, the way the dragon’s muscles convulsed beneath those scales. Ghidorah was fighting the chip, a battle sure to be lost.

“I guess I should thank your Masters as well as my own,” Gigan continued as the dragon carried on his mental struggle to keep control. “For being a rather stupid bunch, they chose such a strategic spot to ensure you can NEVER truly be free. For all your grandeur, you always were just a pawn for someone else. Even without the mind-control, all you’ve ever done was follow the programming given to you like a goddamn robot. Yet you call me the half-life?”

He planted a foot onto Ghidorah’s chest, staring down at those six eyes that began to lose focus. “Well, this ‘half-life’ owns you now. So let the fun begin~.”

[pigeontheoneandonly]

For your WIP list: Childhood Friends AU and Collateral Damage?

Thank you!!

Childhood Friends AU answered here.

Collateral Damage is a one-shot fic about Nathaly’s first real deployment after training, on a planet called Aonia, which was mutually claimed by both the Alliance and the Hegemony.  Their two colonies were separated by an open battlefield, and locked in a stalemate.  (Laine is her C.O., which is how they got to know each other well, though they met in N1.) 

Shepard, who is still enlisted at this point, but working her way towards being admitted to OCS, eventually comes up with an idea to break the stalemate, based on exploiting a tactic the batarians have used to great effect on other battlefronts.  The Alliance is victorious, and are in the process of mopping up batarians, when the batarians learn who orchestrated their demise-- and that it was a lowly corporal.  Furious, they decide to take revenge.

The story is told after the fact, as Shepard relays it to Anderson.  It came out of a challenge to write a story backwards, and became a key part of her backstory.

(It’s also how Nathaly caused Laine to lose his leg, if you remember that little anecdote from one of the early flashbacks in Labyrinth-- he got hit by a grenade during the action, and he playfully blames her because it was her idea.)

Excerpt:

Shepard plunked the cigarette between her lips.  Her lighter flared against the twilight.  She inhaled, to convince the flame to catch, and blew out smoke.  “Where the hell is Cheng?”

Private Brill scratched under the neck of his hardsuit.  “Only thing less likely than us getting daylight patrols again is Cheng strutting out on schedule.”

The fourth member of their squad, Kozlow, snorted a laugh and stubbed out his own cigarette, grinding it into the Aonian dust.  The trees carpeting the Relagris river valley undulated in the light breeze. The wind was welcome; local high summer at this latitude usually meant steaming flat days that left even the water too hot to offer any relief.  Body armor only made it worse.

Shepard took another drag.  “Last time we had a daylight, three guys got shipped back to Arcturus with missing bits. The colony brass may be thick but they’d never be that stupid.”

“Never say never. You are talking about the guys who backed the L.T.’s crazy-ass plan to get at the batarian base.”  Brill paused.  “I’ll grant you it worked, though I don’t know that Lieutenant Laine’s too happy about sitting tight for a few months growing out the new leg.”

Shepard buried the flinch of guilt, and tapped off the cigarette.  “Cheng had better get her ass in gear.  Bravo Squad left more than ten minutes ago.  If I have to order a hold there’ll be hell to pay.”

Private Cheng emerged breathless from the barracks, slapping together the last pieces of her grenade launcher.  Shepard rolled her eyes.  “If you bothered to oil that thing once in a while, it might not take eons to assemble.”

“Fuck off.”

“I wouldn’t want to encroach on your specialization.”

“At least I’m not some bitch who thinks she’s an officer ‘cause she got some kind of probationary MOS change to N.  They give you little spec ops training wheels with that?”

Shepard regarded her evenly.  “Keep talking, and I’ll show you just how much of an officer I’m not.”

Cheng held her eyes a brief moment, and glanced off.  Shepard drew her rifle.  “This patrol won’t walk itself.  We’re due for rendezvous at Checkpoint Delta by 2100, so let’s move it.”

At approximately 2015, Shepard ordered a halt.  Two months after putting boots on the ground, the navy built a bridge over the river.  Since then, the batarians had blown it up three times.  The bridge was currently in its “intact” phase, and after the beating their main base recently took, Shepard doubted the batarians had the appetite to try again.  But it remained a choke point, albeit one she’d traversed a hundred times, and tonight something about it made her uneasy.

Kozlow’s brow furrowed.  “Shepard, what—”

“Shut up.” She took a few steps forward and raised her gun.  The wrongness was an itch at the back of her neck.  The bridge wasn’t much to look at— a cheap composite span three marines wide, no railing, maybe thirty meters long.  Thick shrubs clustered near the riverbank.  Further back, where they stood, trees rose up, their roots nibbling at the path and the thick march of trunks obscuring line-of-sight.

Cheng hiked her pack up higher on her shoulders and made a sound of exasperation.  “The longer we stand here the more my boots hurt.”

A puddle sat near the edge of the span.  This time of year, the river ran low and sluggish.  She could smell the algae bloom from here.  “Why is the bridge wet?”

Shots exploded out of the bushes on the far bank.  There was a pop as her shields collapsed.  She dove for the trees and plastered her back to a trunk.  A quick scan showed her team likewise positioned, all still standing, returning fire.  Her hand pressed to her ear, activating her comm.  “Alpha squad taking fire by the bridge!  Requesting backup!”

She knew full well this would be over before help arrived.  Shepard snuck a look over her shoulder.  Batarians pounded across the span.  It shook with every step, drumming the water up around their knees.  One slipped.  His comrades leapt over him and kept charging.

She angled her rifle low and let off a stream of shots at knee-height.  There was no aiming, just as many bullets as her weapon could supply, enough to overwhelm their shields and do some damage.  They were outnumbered two-to-one.  “Cheng!”

“Working on it!” The private couldn’t leave cover for even the few seconds it took to set the grenade launcher and light them up.

Another batarian collapsed, a victim of Shepard’s kneecapping.  Her cooling indicator slid towards the red.  She cursed, and switched to targeted shots, quick bursts to avoid overheating and losing the weapon entirely.  A lucky shot to the head took out a third.  Almost at even odds.

Cheng took a breath, swung out of cover, and sunk to one knee to brace herself, bringing the launcher up to her shoulder as she moved.  Even this economy of motion was too slow.  She fell back with a scream, her grenade launching high into the air.

Shepard never saw it explode.  A bag dropped over her head.  She whirled in place, wielding the rifle like a club at anything in range, felt it connect and heard a grunt.  But then other hands had her arms.  Something wet and foul pressed against the bag, over her face.  The fight disappeared, and though she started to fall, she never felt the impact of the ground.

Velvet black. Fuzzy pinpricks of white light. Blink.  Stars.  Sour stench— slime on her face, vomit— and the acrid tang of scorched grass.  Murmuring voices.  Alien. Batarian.  

The urgent realization was a shot of adrenaline.  She blinked again, trying to clear her head, trying to ascertain even a little of what was going on.

She came back to herself flat on her back, in a small clearing she didn’t recognize, with no sense of time at all beyond “later”.  Much later, judging by the darkness.  The bag was gone.  Someone had zip-tied her hands and feet.  Shadows moved in the meager moonlight, none of them paying her any mind at all.  Her translator was useless at these volumes. After eighteen months on this rock, she’d picked up a decent amount Dherak— the Hegemony state language— but not enough to catch much meaning from whispers.  

Somewhere to her left, she heard the low hum of a shuttle.  Her heart’s pounding accelerated.  She wriggled her hands, but found no slack in her bonds.  Shepard could get her feet under her and stand, she was certain of it, but hopping away would never work.  If she could reach her knife…

She rolled onto her side, ignored the nauseous lurch in her stomach, and curled into a ball so her hands could reach her boot.  She could have died of relief when her fingers brushed the haft.  But the position was awkward, trying to grip it with her arms lashed behind her, and she fumbled it into the grass.  Shepard sucked in a breath and wriggled in a circle, searching.

“Stupid bitch,” said a voice from across the clearing, loud enough for her translator to pick up.  Not that she needed it for curses.  Everyone learned those first.

She scrabbled at the ground.  If she could just get her legs free before he reached her—

Her fingers closed around the handle.  She bent backwards, slashing at her bonds, not caring whether she stabbed herself, because that was better than staying here and much better than being packed onto that shuttle.  Footsteps stomping towards her.  The blade stuck in the dirt.  She tried again—

A hand grabbed her wrist, none too gently, and jerked the knife away.  Shepard stared up at him with eyes that could burn holes through steel.  He turned the knife over in his hands.  “Clever. I won’t ask where you hid it.”

She spat at him, but lacked the necessary projection.  It fell on her shoulder.  He chuckled.  “You won’t make a fool of me twice, little girl.  You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

“Moon’s just about set,” said a second batarian.  “We need to move.”

“First things first.”  He shoved her shoulder, hard and without warning, pushing her onto her stomach. Before she could roll any further, his knee crushed into her spine with all his weight behind it.  The air went out of her.  She couldn’t move.

“Fuck you,” she wheezed.

That he ignored. His burly hand gripped the back of her head, holding it still.  “Can’t have your pesky Alliance tracking you.”

She felt cold steel press against her ear and had barely a moment to comprehend what was about to happen before he began to cut.  Her body bucked with all its might, as much a reaction to the searing fire engulfing the right side of her head as a fight for survival.  He grunted his irritation and increased his grip.  “Blame your navy for wiring you with an internal comm.”

Blood spilled down her face, filling her mouth with hot iron.  She made a second, feebler attempt to throw him off.  

This time, he lifted her head by her scalp and slammed it full force into the ground. Her nose splattered.  An odd ringing filled her head, and she found she couldn’t focus her eyes, or string even half a thought together.

“Stop squirming,” he said.

She lay still, too dazed to offer even a curse, as he resumed his work.  At some point she blacked out, and the second time she came around, she was bundled on the floor of the shuttle, staring at batarian legs.

They’d wrapped wire about her, an improvised rope to prevent all but the smallest movements. She took some grudging pride in that. Her ear and nose still hurt terribly, but that had gone on awhile now, and she found she could think past it.  A similar, less urgent pain in her forearm suggested they took her omni-tool as well.  And she was dressed in only her thin undersuit.  Her hardsuit, and its biomonitoring suite that was perhaps her last hope of being quickly located, was nowhere to be seen.

The same batarian spoke a few sentences, to general laughter.  She caught maybe a third of it, her translator gone with the rest— something about a woman, her, and something about not being dead.  

Shepard concentrated on counting her breaths.  Once they got wherever they were going, when they had to move her again, she’d find an opportunity.  She just had to hold together until then.

[darquedeath4444]

The Pain We Share

Chapter SIXTEEN

No one looked any more reassured by the additional information Sasori had managed to pry from Sakura, and honestly, he could not blame any of them. If what Sakura said of Gaara's prowess was true, and she really had no reason to lie, the fact that there was little to no intel about him was honestly worrying.

He could control sand, could shift the very earth they stood on if he so wished, and had apparently used this power to kill people at Orochimaru's command. Sakura's powers, while impressive, were easier to miss. After all, many different kinds of power would create the destruction her fists could rain down. The power to make the ground turn on someone was less easy to disguise.

"Gaara and I were both located at the Southern Hideout. There was...something happened, something I wasn't privy to, that required a change around in stations. I covered the Northern base while Kimimaro was sent to the South in my place. If your invasion had been any other time, you would have found Kimimaro where you found me."

"Kimimaro is the one who created the bone barricade, correct?" Konan asked. "You mention he helped the other occupant escape."

Sakura nodded. "The North is Jugo's domain," she explained. "He's more like Gaara than me, I guess, in that he can't fully control himself. Kimimaro is to him as I am to Gaara; Kimimaro helps him control himself."

"How exactly does helping someone who suffers from a lack of self-control driven by overwhelming chakra work?" Kisame asked.

"Honestly speaking, it's more like making sure the damage doesn't get too out of hand when they do lose control," Sakura admitted. "Kimimaro's body is close to indestructible with his bone abilities, and I am similar with my chakra manipulation. Gaara's chakra is extremely erratic, but it's not something I cannot disrupt with waves of my own. And we're close, so I guess Orochimaru-sama...Orochimaru hopes that the thought of putting us in harm's way will make them more docile and obedient."

"Both Gaara and Jugo require you or Kimimaro," Itachi says slowly. "So when Kimimaro was sent away, you were sent in to replace him?"

Sakura nodded.

Sasori watched Nagato watch Sakura. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, had a feeling everyone here more or less had a general idea of the announcement to come. He was honestly a little surprised Sakura was currently present, but he was as pleased about that as he was that Sakura was willingly divulging information.

Perhaps Gaara's appearance had shaken her more than he had initially thought.

"Sakura, am I correct to assume you can help Jugo control himself?" Nagato asked.

Sakura nodded hesitantly, probably not understanding where this was going. "Yes," she said. "We have all been together for a long time."

Nagato glanced over at Yahiko, who pulled out a map and spread it out on the table in front of them all. "Two weeks from now, we will commence an operation against the Tani Hideout located along the western border."

Sakura sat up straighter and a murmur passed through the gathered members. Sasori glanced down at the papers that had been handed out. "That's the one said to be the research lab, right?"

"Medical checks and physical testings, everything along those likes are usually held there," Sakura supplies. "The smaller ones are done at the subject's home hideout, but the Tani Hideout is one of two with all the large equipment."

Yakiho smiled reassuringly. "Orochimaru is not stupid," he said slowly. "I doubt he'd stick to his past schedules and whatnot after we so cleanly took down the North. Still, we have an inside source that relayed to us the times of an upcoming medical check of the Jugo you mentioned."

Sakura's eyes widened and Sasori felt a weight on his sleeve. He glanced down and blinked at the small hand clutching at him. He wondered if Sakura even realized she had reached out to him.

"You're going to get him out?" She breathed.

Nagato nodded. "According to the intel we have, Kimimaro is still located at the South. We are assuming this is a continuation of what you mentioned earlier that had him being set South in the first place. Jugo's status has been observed, and we will continue to receive update up until the day. This operation will consist of taking over the Tani Hideout, the rescue of the victims and the extraction of our spy."

Sasori grabbed something to eat on his way back to his room. Sakura trailed behind, lost in thought. Sasori half wanted to prompt her to ask, he knew she had questions, but he waited for her to gather the thoughts. Even if she probably could have asked people who would most likely know the answer at the meeting, the fact that she had waited until they were alone to ask him filled him with warmth he was unfamiliar with.

It wasn't a bad feeling.

"Will you be a part of the infiltration team?" She asked, after a while.

Sasori thought for a second. "I don't know yet," he said honestly. "Probably, though, because you'll be going."

There was a hitch in Sakura's breath, but he didn't turn her way. "I am?" She asked, a little incredulously. "Did Nagato say?"

Sasori smiled a little as he shook his head. "No, but it was a little obvious. He wants you along to pacify a possibly violent Jugo."

"Oh."

When he glanced over he could see that her brows were furrowed. "I don't see why not," he said slowly. "You were at the heart of the planning, Sakura."

Sakura still looked doubtful, but she did not argue against him. "Jugo is really kind," she said softly instead. "He really likes animals, and they like him too. He told me they talk to him, tells me what they say sometimes."

There was a small smile on Sakura's face, like she was looking at something he could not see, something in her mind. Perhaps it was a memory of the past, and from the way she looks, it was of something good. It was reassuring to know that in the pits of the snake pit, surrounded by murder and blackmail and pain and torture, there were things that could make her form expressions like that.

Sasori found himself smiling as well.

Sakura enthusiastically accepted when Nagato relayed to her further details of the plan a few days later, the most important of which being that she would be a part of the team. Sasori nudged her knowingly as they left the man's office and he was met with the rare sight of a full-blown smile on the girl's face. He spent the rest of the day helping her pack her supplies, knowing that unlike their previous outing to the Northern Hideout, this was several times more dangerous.

This was an attack against a fully functioning base, after all.

Sakura turned towards him, the hilt of a knife held out towards him. Sasori blinked, then realized what it was. "Keep it," he told her.

"I can use chakra now," Sakura pointed out, but she lowered her hand.

Sasori shrugged. "Nothing wrong with having extra weapons," he pointed out.

Sakura tossed the knife into the air and caught it by the handle. "Right." She spun in absentmindedly in her hand before she slipped it back into its sheath and attaching it to her thigh strap.

He had seen her watching Itachi spin one of his own knives around and attempt on her own in the comfort of their room. It was amusing if anything, and if anyone could be considered not endangered playing with knives, it would be a girl capable of healing herself through the worst injuries possible even while unconscious. It appeared she had managed to grasp the skill.

Sasori watched Sakura hold up the spare uniform she had been given, the one that was a few sizes too big despite it having been the smallest they had available. "Your size arrived, by the way," he said, but he had a feeling she had something else in mind.

"Is the uniform mandatory?"

"I doubt there is an official rule stating so," he said slowly. "Though I doubt anyone's ever been against wearing it."

Sakura looked down at the uniform again and Sasori felt himself smile. He turned to the bag he had retrieved while Sakura had been seeing Nagato and tossed it onto the bed. "Here," he said. "I went to pick it up earlier today; we kind of forgot."

Sakura tipped the bag over and stared at the clothes they had retrieved from the Northern hideout ages ago. They had sent it off to be cleaned, then Sakura had used chakra, and things had gotten hectic very fast. In all the excitement, they had both forgotten. "I can wear this?"

Sasori nodded. He folded up the uniform she had disagreed and folded it up. "You can."

Sakura hugged the article of clothing to her chest and closed her eyes. "We will rescue Jugo?" She asked quietly.

Sasori turned away from her, allowing her the moment. "Yes," he replied. "And Gaara, and Kimimaro. We'll stop Orochimaru so that no one is hurt by him again."

Chapter SEVENTEEN>

<Chapter FIFTEEN

Chapter List

[angelkurenai]

Hurricane - Dean Winchester x Reader (Detective AU) - Part 11

Title: Hurricane

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word count: 5,580

Warnings: None

Summary: With one of the most dangerous serial killers on the loose and in your tracks you have no choice but to rely on the help of the police to ansure your safety. It doesn’t hurt that the detective in charge is the one of the most skilled there is and probably, well, definitely the most charming one you have ever seen. Or that his flirting with you takes your mind off the danger waiting for you right around the corner. & Based on: Imagine detective Dean Winchester flirting with you while working on your case.

Read Part 1 here! l Read Part 2 here! l Read Part 3 here! l Read Part 4 here! l Read Part 5 here! l Read Part 6 here! l Read Part 7 here! l Read Part 8 here! l Read Part 9 here! l Read Part 10 here!

~8 hours ago~

“God knows I needed this.” you moaned softly when you took a sip of your coffee and the man on the driver's seat gave you a soft grin “Hey, are you- are you gonna eat that?” you asked shyly as you pointed to the box holding one last donut sitting between the two of you.

He shook his head with an adoring smile “Nah it's all yours, sweetheart.”

No sooner had he finished his sentence than you caught yourself taking hold of the donut and with a very bright smile, taking a bite out of it. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment in pleasure “Seriously-” you spoke mouth still almost full “I don't know how you found that place, Winchester, but I swear this straight out heaven!”

“Perks of the job.” he chuckled, his eyes roaming your face as he stared at you with a fond smile. He reached out and wiped out some frosting from the corner of your mouth but he froze in his place when he realized what he was doing. Your wide innocent eyes met his as you looked at him in surprise and in that moment he swore he was a goner because of how insanely beautiful he found you even more with your cheeks puffed out because of the food.

You looked away from him and he took notice of the blush creeping up your cheeks “It's green.” you mumbled and he cleared his throat, not saying a word but rather pressing on the petal to put the car to move.

It didn't take long for you to reach the police station but from the way his brows furrowed you couldn't help but get worried and ask “What is it?”

“Uh” he blinked, glancing at you “I don't know yet. We'll see, come on.” and you didn't need him to say it twice before you opened the passenger's door and followed him. He was impatient to talk to the younger man that was apparently waiting for him but he was also not willing to leave your side so he waited until you could catch up with him. He placed an arm around your waist and, trying not to pay too much attention to the way you felt when his skin came in contact with yours when his fingers brushed past your shirt, you followed him towards the police station and the man you thought looked familiar but couldn't pinpoint exactly where.

“Hey, kid.” althought Dean's voice gave out some of the exhaustion he felt, he still held some warmth in his eyes for the man in front of you “Thought you were still busy with that case you'd taken up, I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Yes, but Castiel said this is very important and you needed all the help you could get. And I didn't want to be away when I could actually do something to be of use.”

“Yeah, well-” Dean offered him a tired smile “Your old man's not all that wrong, we need all hands on deck. So thank you for coming, kiddo.”

“Don't mention it.” he shook his head with a sincere smile “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew I could help you save... the woman of your life from such a dangerous criminal and not do something about it.” the words sounded so simple and easy on the man's lips but they were anything but that to Dean who choked on thin air. You on the other hand couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and give him a perplexed smile.

“What?” you breathed out a small laugh and he nodded his head.

“Yes” he nodded his head with a smile “The woman he loves... Or at least it seems like it. The Winchesters have a hard time saying it, Dean calls it the 'L' word for a reason I don't understand.” he whispered to you before speaking normallyagain “But he always uses it to refer to her.” he shrugged slightly “I don't know much but I am sure it is because he cares a lot about her. Do you know her? He can't...” the young man frowned, squinting when Dean made frantic hand motions and expressions to stop him “Stop... talking about her. Sam says it's because he's fallen hard for her but I- I don't see any injures so that... confuses me a little bit.” his eyes trailed down for a moment as he frowned, but then looked back up at you with those same big innocent eyes “She- she's unfortunately in great danger, you see, because of a very dangerouswoman called-”

“Jack. Jack!” Dean nearly exclaimed so loud everyone around heard. He cleared his throat and as you were trying very hard to hide the smile from your lips you took notice of how the top of his ears got a little more red “I think that's enough, Jack. I'm pretty sure she's very much filled in on her case.”

“Oh you mean-” he blinked, eyebrows raised in surprise as Dean grumpily mumbled a response.

“Yes” he mumbled, obviously thinking he could have avoided the embarrassment “Jack, this is (Y/n). (Y/n), this is Jack, Castiel's son.”

“Hello!” he said cheerfully and you grinned in the end, giggling softly “It is so good to meet you! Dean has told me so much about you, I couldn't wait to meet you myself!”

“Nice to meet you Jack, it's a pleasure for sure!” you glanced at Dean who was awkwardly looking away from you “I didn't know Cas had a son.”

“Well, adopted but- family is family.” he shrugged and you nodded your head with a smile.

“That it definitely is. And let me tell you one thing: you are certainly just like your father. Amazing at embarrassing Dean in the greatest way possible.” you said with a smirk.

“Thank you!” he said ever-so-cheerfully “Although... I- I wasn't really planning for that. I was and am being honest when I say-”

“Alright!” Dean piped in “I say we go inside right now before things become any worse, and you and I will have a talk later kid.”

“Oh sure! Follow me, we have some really important news on your case you wouldn't believe!” he said and you both did as told. This time with Dean avoiding eye-contact a little more than he should and you didn't blame him, in fact you caught yourself smiling more than you had in days.

“Do you think you can wait here?” was what he said when he finally met your eyes “I want to take you with me but- that office is only for authorized stuff and you know I don't give a shit about what they say but we-”

“Have enough on our plate as it is.” you completed his sentence “Yeah, I get it. Don't worry I'll just wait here. Hope we have good news.” you reassured him with a soft smile and with a sigh he nodded his head.

“I'll be back soon.” he whispered, hesitating for a split second before kissing your temple and in fact it shocked you more than it should have any other time. Not just because of what Jack had said but before you were standing nearly in the middle of the police station and you had more than a good amount of eyes staring at you. After what happened last time there was no way they would have forgotten you that easily.

“Kate's gonna take care of you. Don't be shy, yeah? Ask her anything you want.” you gave him a small nod and giving your hand a squeeze, he turned to give a small nod to his assistant as if to remind her what she had to do and off he went.

“Would you like anything to drink, Miss (Y/l/n)?” she didn't hesitate a minute to ask but you shook your head.

“No, no I'm fine. I just- Maybe some water? I need to take a painkiller for my foot, that's all.” you mumbled and she gave you an eager nod, ready to do what you asked her to.

You chewed on your lower lip as you looked around and indeed yu spotted many eyes on you that looked the other way when you spotted them. You could sort of sense it from the first moment you entered the police station by Dean's side. Your friend's words would echo in your head and as you took notice of the way some women scoffed when they looked at you, you couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. You looked down at your hands as you shifted in your seat, wishing you could somehow disappear so that you wouldn't have to deal with their looks. It somehow reminded you that no matter how Dean treated you, you were nothing but another victim for an important case, not his girlfriend and not his wife – sadly, you thought – to ask, much less demand, for anything in here.

“Don't mind them, yes?” a soft voice said next to you and looking up you meet Kate's eyes as she hands you a glass of water “They're just jealous, that's all.” she shrugs and you offer her a shy smile.

“Not that they have a reason to, though.” you mumbled, fetching your meds from your jacket to swallow a pill very eagerly.

“Are you kidding me?” she scoffs a laugh “Have you seen the way that man looks at you? Dean Winchester is the world's biggest flirt I've ever known, he can have any woman he wants any freaking moment he wants to, yet when you're in the room, heck even mentioned, it's like everything else around him disappears.” she giggled as you chewed on your lower lip. You didn't want to believe her words but deep down you couldn't help the flutter of your heart.

“I'm sure it's just your idea.” you played with your finger awkwardly.

“Just my idea? Do you even remember what happened last time you were here? He went all protective Alpha mode in a split second! And let's not mention how he nearly fired half the police station when you had that argument. Domestic much, already?” she grinned as you breathed out a nervous laugh.

“We're not-” you shook your head “We're only friends, that's all. He's taking care of my case but still, that doesn't mean we're-”

“Sure, sure try to tell that to yourself.” she rolled her eyes with a playful smile “But let me point out that you don't sound that convincing. And I'm not the only one that's noticed that. In fact-” she looked around “They all have, and that's why they're looking at you like this. They wish they were in your place but they can never be. So the only thing they can do is hate on you, because you're far up above them as well. Dean sees that, I think that's why he's all smitten with you too.”

“So...” you bit on your lip “Are you saying I just... what? Get used to it?” you wanted to deny that Dean wasn't really by your side in that way but you couldn't find it in you.

“Heck yeah, girl! It's not like he has eyes for anyone else, anyway. And even more-” she leaned in with a smirk “Show them who that man belongs to! Mark you territory, if you get what I mean.” she winked and giggled, and you couldn't help a laugh yourself.

“Well... might as well!”

~*~

“Get up, we're leaving.” Dean says in a hurry as he strides in your direction. Your laughing with Kate is cut short and you frown when you look at him.

“W-wait- wh-what happened?” you breathed out in worry, getting up to met his eyes. You didn't need to walk that far away before you felt his arm around your waist supporting you... on one hand, on the other it was a little too protective and it felt like he was making a point by being close but you didn't have the mind for that at the moment.

“We need to hurry, I'll fill you in in the car. Kate-” he turned to face her "Reschedule any meetings and write down any phone calls or messages. I'll call you in every morning to check up on what's going."

“Y-yes, of course but... where will you be if not here, detective?” she questioned and he turned to look at you that were equally eagerly waiting for an answer and he breathes out something that scares you more than it should.

“Far away.”

~*~

“You know, I understand that you said you'd fill me in, but a bossy 'Pack some clothes, we're leaving.' is not that detailed.” a small huff escaped your lips as you followed him outside the Impala. After a long six-hour drive to God-knows-where you needed desperately to stretch your legs. But when you spotted the motel in front of you, your mind couldn't stop racing with thoughts.

“What?” he looked up from Baby's trunk “I thought you liked bossy?” he smirked and you rolled your eyes, still with a fond smile.

“My preferences in bed are none of your business, detective. But-” you took hold of your duffel bag that he was ready to carry, leaning closer to him with a smirk “If they were, you'd be surprised what this little sub could do to a tough dom like you. So much... you'd question if you're a dom in the first place.” you winked, and before he could say another word you turned around to make your way to the motel you were apparently heading to.

“This woman.” he breathed out in awe, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

He grabbed his own bag and followed after you, not hard to catch up with you, and spoke “We're gonna be staying here for a couple days.”

“A couple days?”

“More or less. Depending on how long it takes us to find him.” he pushed the door open for you “Cas said they've gotten sight of him around here, he's trying to stay under the radar but Jack caught sight of him when hacking in one of the cameras around this place for a case of his own. We can't lose sight of him again which is why we're here. Thankfully enough the town is small so starting by tomorrow I can cover up lots of ground by questioning the locals.

“All alone?” you questioned and he paused for a moment, worry showing on his face before he gave you a slow nod.

“Strictly. He's not just the one that will be able to explain all of this but also...”

“Give us a solution.” you nodded your head softly as you approached the reception “But it's not just that, is it? The reason why we're here. I noticed you've been more quite than usual, even from me, in a world of your own if I might say. So it must be serious.” you asked softly, raising an eyebrow and he gave you a fond smile for a moment; his eyes lingering on your face.

“You gotta stop doing that you know.” he whispered “Reading me like an open book, it ain't makin' it easy for me to hide how I feel for you from you.”

“Well, there are always things I can't read in you as we both know.” you mumbled a little bitterly and when you saw his face fall you felt a pang in your chest “'M sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“No, I-” he licked his lips “You're right.” he cleared his throat and despite how much you wanted to take it back and tell me you could begin to understand it was hard on him as well but didn't get the chance to “Anyway, you were right about it. There is more to it, things that I... I didn't tell you and I probably should have, from the first moment.”

“Things... like?” but you didn't get an answer as the receptionist appeared behind the desk with a cheerful smile.

“Hello! How can I help you?” she was talking to the both of you but her eyes were shamelessly only on Dean and for that moment you completely forgot what you were talking about.

“Uh yeah a room would be nice.” he handed her his credit card and ID “For two of course.”

“Sure thing... Mr Ackles.” she read, winking at him; turning to grab a key “Two doubles is nice?”

“One” you nearly hissed “Doesn't matter the size, we're gonna end up a tangled mess anyway and it's not meant for sleep.” you gave her a small smirk that was by no means friendly. She blinked a little in surprise, her smile vanishing, as she nodded her head and took another key.

“Sure, Miss. Room 221B, second floor.” she mumbled and you took the key with a smile.

“Thank you very much!” you said cheerfully “Oh and it's Mrs.” you corrected her “Ackles.” it was very satisfying to see the look on her face at the moment, especially as you turned to Dean.

“Shall we, baby?” you asked him and with a soft chuckle and a grin he couldn't contain as he followed right after you to the elevator.

“Mrs Ackles, really?” he raised an eyebrow and you shrugged, not even looking at him.

“The less suspicious we seem, the better. Who the heck would suspect a couple that just wants to have some time for each other? Nobody.”

“Hmh but for a moment I could swear you were... enjoying it?”

You looked at him from the corner of your eyes and scoffed “You'd wish.” but you didn't seem that convincing to him because he was still grinning from ear to ear as you two exited the elevator and started making your way to your room.

“Only... one question.” he bit his lower lip as he opened the door to the room “Did you you really think about it when youasked fo another room or...?”

“Oh fuck me.” you groaned when realization set down on as you took notice of the only double bed sitting in the middle of the room.

~*~

“Gosh I could so use a shower right now.” you mumbled, coming out of the bathroom, rubbing your eyes “How would you do that all the time, Dean? I got so sore in like that first hour. The only good thing about it was the pie and burgers.”

“You get used to it at some point, I don't expect it to be easy for you.” he shrugged “But you gotta admit, I'm pretty awesome at getting amazing fast food.”

“Amongst many other things, I'll agree.” you gave him a soft smile and he smiled to himself ass well “Ho... what's the word?” you asked and sat down on the bed.

He looked up from his computer for a second, letting out a heavy sigh before shutting it closed “Unfortunately not much. I called Sam, contacted Cas and Jack to see what else they can find. They're gonna be joining us anytime now but until then... we swing with it on our own.”

“That's good then... right? Get all the help we can find I mean.” you spoke softly and he hummed absent minded, more like in a world of his own so you tried your best to get him to speak more.

“Especially with Jack, I mean.” that got his attention because he raised an eyebrow at you, and you smirked “He's a great guy! I mean, certainly sweet but even more funny.”

“Forget it.” he grumbled after a small pause and you giggled “No! Nope, not even a word! Zip it!”

“I- I didn't say anything about it!” you raised your hands in surrender “But I mean, if I was going to, I'd say that Jack cluelessly calling out on your-”

“Aha!” he pointed a finger at you, cutting you off.

“Alright alright. I just-” you cleared your throat, looking down at your hands “Think... you look pretty cute blushing, that is all.” you bit your lower lip, playing with the end of your flannel but looked at him through your lashes.

He groaned, throwing his head back “(Y/n)!”

“Fine fine.” you snickered “As long as... you promise to relax a little bit.” your look softened “You're real tense, D. And I know- I know that what we're dealing with here is serious but... we're safe at least for the moment. I am. Isn't that enough?”

“Yeah, no that is very important.” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours “It's better if we just sit now and the only thing we do is wait for a word from any of the two siblings.”

You bit on your lower lip, your eyes casting down “It was about Amara, wasn't it?” you whispered softly, referring to what he had not had the chance to say earlier.

He got up from his chair with a soft sigh, loosening his tie even more out of habit “Cas found a letter waiting on my desk this morning.” he approached you, sitting next to you “It was from her. She-” he ran a hand down his face “She knows that you're living with me, (Y/n).”

A gasp left your lips “H-how did she find out?”

“I- I honestly don't know. I'm- I can only think that she...” he trailed off, clenching his jaw “She must have come to my place and saw you there.”

“Bu-but she's pissed off with me. Why would she be at your place when...” you trailed off when you saw the man avoided looking you in the eyes, making realization down on you “Oh” you breathed out, because although you didn't know about the history between the two of them you still felt like it had to do with it.

“Yeah” he licked his lips “In the letter she- she said she was coming for you and I wouldn't be able to save you, not this time. That's- that's mostly why I wanted us to leave immediately.”

“So we're not just looking for Chuck... we're also hiding.” you concluded and he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

“I'm not- it's not what I do. It's not my thing to run. Whenever I've had the chance to, I've stood my ground and faced her but right now I- I don't have just me to think about and that's what scares me even more.” he turned his head to face you “(Y/n), I know you're gonna say I'm being paranoid but unless it's not urgent I would like you to not leave this room. Especially without me knowing or being by your side.”

“If it was any other case I would have objected or reacted but-” you gave him a weak nod “I know you're right and I will try my best not to risk it. Especially after what happened last time at my place, I promise you.”

“Good. Good.” he let a sigh of relief, taking hold of your hand and giving it a squeeze “How-” he cleared his throat, getting up on his feet “I know we're hiding but I spotted a cute very secluded restaurant downstairs, near the reception that nobody will even see us there. What do you think? Considering we won't be getting out much otherwise.” he tried to offer you a smile but it showed how tired he was.

You returned it to lighten the mood “Why don't you just ask me out already huh?” you managed to get a soft chuckle out of him and that was enough at the moment.

“I try to but-” he licked his dry lips “I trip over my words when I see you.”

“Alright, you smooth asshole.” you laughed breathlessly and felt your cheeks heat up “I was just kidding. And yes...” you breathed out, fixing his tie back in place as his eyes followed your every move “I would very much like that, Dean.”

~*~

“Do you think it's gonna be easy to interview locals when we should be hiding?” you ask gently, walking by his side with your arms wrapped around you holding his coat over your shoulders. You were in such a rush you had forgotten to take a thicker jacket with you but now you were almost thankful to yourself for that because if you were to be addicted to a scent that was definitely going to be Dean's.

“Easy? No, by no means.” he shook his head “But at least I will try to be careful. I mean we have some time before she tracks us down, and yes she will, so we gotta use that to our advantage as long as we have the chance to.”

You let out a heavy sigh, closing your eyes for a minute as you waited for the elevator to arrive “And... what if she does before we're prepared for it? What will happen if she- if she finds you? I- I don't want to have to go through that too, I don't think I can take it if you-” you stopped yourself, taking in a shaky breath.

“No, (Y/n), hey, look at me.” he placed his hands on your shoulders “Listen, I know we're under a lot of pressure here but I need you to keep faith, I need you to keep swinging... for the both of us, sweetheart. I'm gonna be as careful as I can beand I'm not gonna let her have it her way this time. She's not going to do anything to me, no matter how much I hate to say it.” he sighed “But you need to hold on and keep giving me that gorgeous smile every chance you can to keep me going. Don't lose any sleep over it, that's my job here, to keep you safe.”

“It's not your job to-”

“But it is what I want to do.” he whispered, cutting you off, and tucking few strands behind your ear gently; and the only thing you could do was look down with a shy smile. He was ready to speak but something else caught his attention. You saw him narrow his eyes and take a few steps towards the direction you'd come from.

“Wha-” you blinked, following after him “Dean? Dean where are you-” you started but he shushed you by placing a finger over his lips.

“Follow me and don't make a sound.” he whispered to you and you did as told without realizing what he was really after. The entire hotel seemed like a maze so the only thing you did was follow him without having any idea where you were going. Only when you heard the sound of footstep behind you and felt Dean's hand tugging at you did you realize you were after a person.

“Dean, what are you-” you started but he placed a hand over your mouth as after some running he opened a door and pushed the two of you inside. You didn't question him and even if you couldn't see him in the utter darkness of the small closet you held your breath as well when you heard the footstep approaching. You had only been able to catch a glimpse of the man before Dean hid the both of you inside the closet. You were holding your breath not just because of the man outside, though, but even more so the man you were currently pressed against in the darkness.

You didn't even swallow for fear that it would make things worse than they already were. Not that your mind wandering to how wonderful it felt to have him pressed against you along with how well your every curve fit with his, was making it any easy.

Dean made one single move of his hips and a gasp left your lips as your eyes widened. There really wasn't any space as it was but with the big man pressed against you it just wasn a thousand times harder to be in there. But you had to.

“Sorry” he whispered and you sighed, shaking your head.

“Doesn't matter. Do you know him?” you whispered back and he hummed.

“Yes, very well at that. He's just what I needed this moment. But first-” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat “We gotta... wait until he's gone.”

“Oh o-ok.” you cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up dangerously. But with Dean Winchester pressed against you in such an intimate way you felt as if seconds turned into hours and were growing impatient.

“All I asked for was some safety, some security and... to have you close again to feel alright.” you huffed, closing your eyes and wanting to rub your temple but it was actually impossible in your current position “This is not what I bargained for.”

“Sweetheart-” his voice came slightly restrained as well, and the movement of his hips against yours got a groan from you “Trust me, if I could have it any other way I would gladly take the option.”

“Would you now?” your said slightly out of breath, the smirk evident in your voice and Dean grinned on his own “And can you stay in one fucking place, please? He'll hear you.”

“Hmh elevator's taking too long for your own good?” he licked his lips “And no, no actually I wouldn't.” and him shifting made you bite your lip.

“Detective” your voice came out equally strained “Not that I don't like the position we're in right now, cause oh trust me I do.”

“Really huh?” the smugness in his voice made you glare at him.

“Dean” you hissed his name but couldn't fight a moan when his hands squeezed your hips.

“Sorry, just kinda got distracted. Tryin' to realize this is not a dream is kinda hard.” he gave you a chuckle that died out too soon but you actually laughed, letting your head fall on his shoulder.

“There better be no pun intended, detective. And speaking of which-” you bit your lower lip “Please tell me that is your gun.”

A small pause followed and Dean didn't give you even a small laugh before he whispered in a husky voice that made shivers run down your spine “And... what if it's not?”

A squeak left your lips, perfectly timed with the sound of the elevator's door clicking open and just as you were ready to exclaim Dean's name, he placed a hand over your mouth. When you were sure he was gone you pushed the man and along with him the door burst open. You took a deep breath when you were out of that suffocating small room and even more importantly not pressed tightly against the green-eyed detective.

You were surprised when you saw a full grin on his face and heard his laugh, even if he was laughed at your flustered state, flushed face and surprised expression “Very funny. What are you, five?” you placed your hands on your hips.

“Sweetheart, you were the one that asked.” he winked “And just to reassure you, yes I always keep my gun close with me. Not that it would be that hard with you pressed against me in that way.” he shrugged with a cheeky grin, actually preparing his gun and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Alright, spill. What just happened? You were all serious and worried up until five minutes ago, you freaked out over that guy not seeing us and now you're all happy go lucky. Who- who was that Dean?”

“The lead I needed.”

“Lead to-”

“Chuck.” he breathed out in a haste “Metatron is- he can lead us straight to him. And I've gotta follow him. Sweetheart, dinner's cancelled but I'll make it up to you with candles next time.” he winked and before you could question him on how this man could be connected to Chuck – you were also more relieved to know he was in town and you'd found a lead so soon – he spoke up “Go back in the room, tell Sam where I am and contact me in case something happens. Even if you hear a single sound, yes? Don't forget to lock. And I'll brig food when I come back, promise.”

“I- I ye-”

“I'll text every 15 minutes to check in with you. Gotta go, be careful.”

“Ye-yeah take ca-” you didn't even so get finish your sentence because he cut you off... in the most unpredictable way ever.

You knew it was probably supposed to be a reassuring kiss, just like all the ones he'd given you times and times before that either on the temple or on the cheek. But this time his lips didn't press on your cheek. You knew it was partly because of the rush, because he hurried down the stairs without even realizing what he'd done, but you couldn't help but think that just because of the rush he had let more of his feelings pour into the action. He had not kissed your cheek, temple or forehead but the corner of your lips, and that was so different from any other time. You were left stunned in your place, staring with wide eyes and burning cheeks in the direction he left.

“Oh dear” you whispered, wondering what else could happen while you shared a motel room and a bed with the older Winchester.

~~~

A/N: Chapter 11 is here and there are about four left at this point! Tags are officially closed but feedback are always welcomed!

@getlostinthedark @cap-just-said-language @catwithyellowwings @word-scribbless @carryon-doctor-lock @nightriver99 @timelady1140 @spideyxstan @agentstarkid @all-will-be-well-love @simpleboox @jaylarkson @cookiechipdough @alltimekp @a-dorky-book-keeper @givemebooksorgivemedeath @skeletoresinthebasement @sammy201d @akshi8278 @amandamdiehl @hobby27 @deans-baby-momma @musiclover1263 @feelmyroarrrr @sofreddie @skymoonandstardust @babygabrielle-blog @woodworthti666 @gunpowder-and-smoke-inofficial @erule @lizwinchester16 @itslunabitches @itsquies @justkending @fiftyshadesofrebel @love-my-not-natural-babies @outsider-underwater @deanmonandnegansbitch @kaylinfayezink @x-waywardaf-x @keshaia @moonlight-on-her-skin @happy-little-marvel

[7-wonders]

Everything All At Once

Summary: Summers are supposed to be fun, not stressful. Whatever deity is pulling the strings in your life never got that memo, apparently.

Word Count: 3651

A/N: Sorry for how long it’s taken me to post this! Life has been crazy lately. Enjoy, and if you did I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblogged!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE | Read Naked & Afraid (part seven) HERE | Read Ironically Alive (part eight) HERE | Read Blame It On My Youth (part nine) HERE

The process of moving, while normally quite stressful, is made simple with magic on your side. Boxes are packed according to room in a matter of minutes, dirty floors are cleaned with a glance, and the need for a moving truck is eliminated when items can just be transmuted to your new home. Even dealing with the bigger pieces of furniture that you no longer need, such as your bed and the couch, is an easy task when your new Antichrist roommate can just snap his fingers and send them to a thrift store in need. That last act is done much to Michael’s chagrin, who presents the admittedly tempting option of dropping them on your enemies. In mere hours, your once-full apartment is now completely empty. You’d be lying, however, if you said you were going to miss it. If anything, you’ll miss the certain sentimental value that your first apartment holds within its walls, but the cons of this place (a shower that never heats up, testy thermostat, that one time there was a family of mice living under your kitchen sink, and so much more) far outweigh any pros that could convince you to stay.

Adjusting to living with Michael full-time, however, proves to be the main challenge of your move. Just redecorating your room caused his face to turn a sickly shade of white, horrified that the once-pristine black and silver color scheme has been taken over by tapestries and fairy lights. It was especially painful for him to comply with your request to remove the large pentagram on one of the walls, but you suspect he did it because he doesn’t want to make you mad. He’s already aware of just how monumental a concession of living with him was, and he would rather not push his luck. Your new living arrangement, though, is going to be the only victory you give him if you have anything to say about it.

“No school for three months, then?” Michael had asked when you were hanging clothes up in your closet. 

“Thankfully.”

“So I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you since you won’t be darting in and out between classes.” His tone was all too hopeful, and you hid a smirk at the meaning that he wasn't doing a good job of hiding.

“Well yeah, when I’m not working.” You weren’t looking at him, but you knew that his jaw was clenched tightly.

“Why would you be working? You’re aware of how much money I have at my disposal; there’s no logical reason why you need to have a job.”

“How else am I going to pay you rent?” He breathed in harshly through his nose, and you buried your face is a shirt to keep from laughing.

“Excuse me? You--you don’t have to pay me rent, (Y/N), you’re my wife.”

“You’re letting me live with you, it’s the least I could do.”

“If,” Michael stopped, choosing his words carefully, “if that’s what you would like to do, then I suppose I cannot stop you.”

“Thank you!” you said cheerfully, going back to the task at hand while humming a song that had been stuck in your head.

It’s not like you’re that determined to keep paying rent now that you live with Michael. In fact, if this was any other person and not the Antichrist insisting that you don’t need to pay to live on their property, you would happily oblige. With Michael, though, things have to be made a little difficult for him. Ever since the contract negotiations during your first weekend at what you’ve come to refer to as Langdon Manor, you had remained adamant that nothing would change just because you were now bonded in unholy matrimony. For the most part, that has remained the case. It’s also just fun to see how mad you can make him before he needs to go be alone in his office, but that’s besides the point.

Nannying, although not glamorous work, pays better than any other job you’ve had. Getting to look after cute children is also a plus, and they keep you busy enough where there’s never a dull moment. The two kids that you nanny, sisters Maggie and Sarah, love going to the pool and playing make believe. They play so well together that you often find yourself just reading a book and keeping an eye on them while they decide to run a daycare or start a school. Easy work, even if the hours are sometimes less than ideal. Their parents, a doctor and a police officer, work odd hours and have a penchant for date nights on Fridays, which is often their only time off without the kids. It’s not an inconvenience to you; extra hours equal extra money, and the girls go to sleep early enough that you can just watch videos on your phone until they arrive home.

The only one who has a problem with your hours is Michael, of course. You’ve suspected since the house party three weeks ago that he’s been trying to figure out how to ask you out on another date, but obstacles have managed to shake up any plans he may have. He’s not the most subtle, asking you on every Wednesday what your plans are for Friday while trying too hard to look like he’s not invested in your answer. By this week, your third straight Friday date night shift, he’s over it. 

“But tomorrow you don’t work, right?” Michael asks from the speakerphone. Your phone is resting on the kitchen counter, the girls in the living room while you make a dinner of chicken and rice for everybody.

“Nope,” you say, leaning back to make sure the girls are still watching their movie instead of beating each other over the head. 

“We’re having a movie night tomorrow.”

The tone of finality in Michael’s voice makes you laugh. “A movie night? Michael, have you ever even seen a movie before?”

“Yes, (Y/N), I have seen a movie before.” You can almost hear how he’s rolling his eyes right now. “You can pick the movies, and I’ll worry about the snacks?”

“No. Knowing you, your snacks will be something like pickled eyeballs washed down with a tall glass of ice cold blood. I’ll be the one in charge of snacks.” You can’t resist slipping a joke in there, and Michael sighs heavily. 

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home?”

“Yep, bye.” You hang up the phone curtly when the oven beeps, more focused on pulling the chicken out than crafting a sincere goodbye.

Turning around to put the pan down so you can slice the chicken, it’s not at all surprising to see the girls sitting at the table and staring at you. The two love to eavesdrop, especially when it comes to people talking on the phone.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sarah asks, her blonde curls bouncing in her ponytails. 

“No, he’s not, and you shouldn’t be listening in on other people’s conversations.” It’s impossible to be serious, and a smile plays on your lips as you dish up three plates and put them on the table. 

Right as everybody starts to eat, Sarah gasps and bolts up from her chair. “I forgot Aunt Stephanie!” You look at Maggie for an answer as Sarah runs off, but the older girl just rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do you have an aunt coming over? Your mom didn’t tell me anyone else was going to be here tonight,” you ask. 

“No, it’s a picture that Sarah keeps in her room, sometimes she likes to have it with her.” Sarah comes back as Maggie explains her sister’s actions, clutching a framed photograph to her chest. Setting it down next to her, you see the senior portrait of a smiling blonde girl staring back at you. Her hair is crimped in some places and straight in others, reminding you of the 90s, and she’s wearing classic goth makeup. 

“She’s pretty,” you compliment, smiling as Sarah digs in.

“She’s up in Heaven, so we never met her,” Sarah replies in that easygoing tone that all young children use to reveal information in.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly, not really sure how to respond.

“Dad hardly knew her, either,” Maggie retorts. “He was little when she was killed.”

“Your aunt was killed?”

Maggie nods, smirking since she knows something you don’t (ten year olds are going to be the death of you), “uh huh, she died in that school shooting, the one at Westfield High School?”

“Well, at least you get to hear some neat things about her from your family.”

The girls both nod and go back to eating their food, but you just stare down at your full plate, pushing the food around with your fork as your hands shake imperceptibly. Like a puzzle, the pieces all click together. You nanny for the Boggs family, the patriarch of which had a sister named Stephanie, who was killed in the Westfield High massacre. The massacre that was perpetrated by the unwilling sperm donor from which Michael sprung, Tate Langdon. Everybody knows about the infamous Westfield shooting in the way that everybody knows about Columbine or Sandy Hook. You just didn’t know that the family of one of the victims was now employing you.

It’s something that sticks with you long after the girls have gone to bed, and even as you drive home after their parents (the Boggs’, you remind yourself) arrive back from their date. Whether Tate was influenced by the Devil or not, he is still ultimately responsible for the choices that he made. This legacy, the dark thoughts and the murders and the horrible things, extends far beyond Michael. Tate may consider Michael to be the penultimate evil, one who he could never be associated with, but it’s true when they say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. 

Michael’s still awake when you get home, having gotten in the habit of waiting up for you since you still lived at your old apartment and he would wait for your text to let him know you had made it safely. He’s sitting in the main living room (of which there are three), reading a book and petting your cat, who’s curled up peacefully on his lap. You toss your shoes and bag in your room before sitting down next to him, picking up your now-disgruntled cat and cuddling her to your chest.

“What are you reading?” you ask him, not able to see the cover that’s obscured by his hands.

“One of those Harry Potter books you told me to read. I must say, I am enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.”

“Goblet of Fire, that’s a good one. I’m glad you like it.” 

Michael marks his place in the book, setting it down next to him before giving you his full attention. “How was your day at work?”

“It was...okay?” Michael frowns slightly, not pleased with that answer.

“Did something happen? Did the children finally act out with their parents gone?”

“No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just--something they said,” you trail off, picking the skin around your thumbnail instead.

“What did a ten-year-old and a six-year-old say to you that rattled you this much?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, especially when you’re looking at me with those eyes,” you mutter, looking up at him. “Their aunt, I guess, was killed in a school shooting. The Westfield High one?”

Michael looks at you seriously, your recollection of the girls’ words obviously catching him off-guard. “And that got you thinking--” “Not in a bad way or anything, you know I don’t blame you at all for Tate’s sins. It just...got me thinking, I guess.”

“About how much fate must hate us?” Michael laughs bitterly.

“Tate,” you ignore Michael’s last comment, too lost in your thoughts, “loves acting like he had nothing to do with you and that you two couldn’t be more different when, in reality, you’re more alike than he cares to admit. I mean, he shot up a goddamn high school and set his stepfather on fire years before you were born. It really should not have surprised him that he fathered the Antichrist, whether it was willingly or not.”

“I wouldn’t shoot high schoolers, that’s far too messy.”

“I know that, but what I’m trying to get at is that everything, in some sick and twisted way, all comes back to you. I can’t even go to work now without being reminded of you and the carnage that the Langdon name has wrought upon the world. The same name that I carry now too, I guess.” You laugh bitterly at your misfortune, knowing that you can never escape Michael wherever you go.

“You’re being too introspective for your own good tonight, (Y/N). You need to breathe, okay?” Michael takes your hands and forces you to focus on him, making you realize that you’re barely huffing out shaky breaths. “Like you said, you don’t blame me for Tate’s sins. While I have done bad things, they are all to serve a greater purpose. Tate--he was just a dumb kid who hated the world and wanted to kill people in an attempt to feel something.”

You stare at him, repeating Michael’s movements and taking deep breaths while trying to calm down. You’re not sure why this has freaked you out so much: maybe it’s because you’re married to the sire of this mass shooter, or it could be concerns that any future children that you may have with Michael (God forbid that ever happens) would carry a bit of that darkness in their souls.

“We’re having an impromptu movie night tonight,” Michael says suddenly.

“Why not wait until tomorrow?” Maybe it was a distraction tactic, but it certainly did its job. 

“You’re too worked up to sleep, and I worry about you being alone with these dark thoughts swirling in your mind. You need something to take your mind off of it.”

“But we don’t even have snacks.”

“Go check in the kitchen, the staff tends to overstock it with food I would never eat. I’ll pick the movie. Put on some clothes to watch a movie,” the thought of sweatpants calls your name at that, “and meet back here in ten?”

You nod, running your hands over your feverish cheeks before standing up and walking towards your room. As you throw on your favorite sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, you can’t stop thinking about your outburst. The knowledge that you were babysitting the nieces of one of Tate’s victims shouldn’t have messed you up like it did, and maybe it’s just you being overly paranoid. Whatever the reason, you’re more than eager to find some candy and popcorn and eat enough sugar to make your thoughts go numb. 

There’s plenty of candy hidden on one of the shelves of the staff pantry, and you leave an apologetic note explaining that there was an emergency and promising to restock tomorrow. The popcorn selections are endless, and you end up popping two bags when you can’t decide. Carrying the goodies back to the living room, you see that the lights are dimmed and there’s a nest of pillows and blankets on the couch. The movie’s already cued up on the television, and you smile at the familiar music playing through the speakers.

“Sorcerer’s Stone?” you ask, sitting down next to Michael and pulling a blanket over your lap.

“I’ve never seen the movie before, and since I already finished the book I want to see which one I like better,” Michael explains sheepishly, stealing some popcorn from you and pressing ‘play’ on the remote.

It’s easy to get lost in the magic of Hogwarts, even though Michael keeps making snide comments about how he doesn’t need a wand to do more impressive magic than that. You let them slide, not too bothered about it when you constantly point out differences between the book and the movie. You both finish the first movie strong, albeit with a lack of snacks, and eagerly pop in the second to continue the marathon. 

Throughout the course of the movie, you had inched closer to each other ever so slowly. Using the excuse of forgetting to move back after stealing a snack, or having to move in order to have an equal amount of blankets, results in the most awkward move you’ve ever seen someone pull. Michael, under the guise of shifting to get more comfortable, tries to sneakily slide his arm around your shoulders. You notice the ploy almost immediately, and smirk at him when he thinks he’s pulled it off.

“Really? What teen movies have you been watching lately?”

“You knew?” Michael asks, withdrawing his arm from where it’s sitting around your shoulders.

“Michael, that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Of course I knew.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks bright red as he looks back at the screen.

“Just because I called you out on it doesn’t mean that I’m not fine with it.” You’re not sure where this sudden streak of bravery came from, but you’re going to take it and run with it. Grabbing his hand, you place it in the previous position of being draped over your shoulders. Leaning into Michael’s side, your head rests on his chest as your eyes go back to the movie. “This good?”

“Yeah, this is--it’s fine,” Michael’s voice comes out at a higher pitch than normal, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

It’s a lot more difficult to continue watching the movie as the night wears on, and you find yourself more focused on just trying to keep your eyes open than on how Harry and his friends are going to figure out what’s petrifying the students. Michael can tell that you’re on the verge of sleep, nudging you gently every time you start to nod off. “I’m up,” you’ll always reply, “just resting my eyes for a sec.” It’s amusing, and he would send you to bed were you not so adamant that you’re completely awake.

“(Y/N)?” Michael calls gently, your tired eyes flickering up to him. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that...well, do you think that you could ever, uh, like me?”

“I do like you, dumbass. Why else do you think I’m sitting here watching movies with you?”

“I know you like me as a friend, but I mean--could you ever see yourself thinking of me as something more?”

“Is this because of what I said earlier, about your legacy?”

“Yes and no. This is something that has been on my mind for quite some time.” You’re awake now, and you sit up and pull yourself out of his embrace.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” 

“I’d rather we discuss it now,” Michael says carefully, knowing that you’re starting to get stand-offish. “(Y/N), you’re very aware of my feelings for you and that I believe what my father has told me about the two of us. I just want to know--I deserve to know how you feel about me.”

“Do you even know how hard it was for me to trust you after you kidnapped me?” you ask, standing up and clicking the TV off. Michael stands up with you, making sure you don’t run off before he’s gotten some answers.

“I thought we were over that by now!”

“We are, but--”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that you’ve been in love with me from the moment you first saw me, and I don’t even know if I can let myself have romantic feelings for the fucking Antichrist!” The anger in Michael’s eyes is extinguished, replaced with a crushing sadness.

“You told me that you didn’t blame me for how I was born,” he says quietly. You bite your lip, realizing you just hit him in his weak spot.

“I don’t, Michael, but you’ve also done a lot of bad things, you’re doing bad things, and you’ll continue to do bad things.”

“I would never do those bad things to you. Everything I do is to benefit the plan that my father has.”

“But what if one day his plan changes and you have to kill me?” you shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself to protect against the sudden chill in the air. “You can make all of the excuses you want, but at the end of the day you’re still the Devil’s son, murdering and plotting the end of the world.”

You should have stopped long before this, but the words just won’t stop flowing out of you now that you’ve spilled them. Michael runs his hand down his jaw, nodding slowly. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

He’s thrown you off, and you’re sure it’s obvious that he has. “What?” You’re expecting him to yell, throw things, and maybe slap you again. Instead, he’s eerily calm.

“I asked for you to be honest, and you were, so thank you.” He turns to leave, his movements stilting and robotic.

“Michael,” you reach for him, unsure of what you should do.

“Get some sleep, you’ve had a long day.” Michael smiles weakly at you, his hand resting on the door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod dumbly, mutely, unable to do anything but watch as he leaves. Suddenly, you’re entirely too aware of how he must have felt all the times he wounded you with only his words. It’s a bitter feeling, one that replaces the lingering sweet taste of candy with sour words you had spilled so recklessly. It’s a taste that won’t go away, long after brushing your teeth and falling asleep with the taste of salty tears on your tongue.

/////////////////////////

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[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 8 - Absence

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Word Count: 3,128 words

TW: Violence and Gore.

A/N:  Hi guys!! Sorry for the super long wait! I've had writers block for the longest time and also life gets in the way, as usual. This one's a short one, sort of a transition into the next chapter- which will definitely be more intense! Thanks for being so patient with me as usual. 

 Read the previous chapters of Red Who? here: Masterlist

Normal people would probably compare what you felt to some time when they were a kid, where one of their parents surprised them with some sort of wish they always had. A trip to Disneyland or that red bicycle they’ve always wanted.

Or maybe to a time where some crush said they liked them back after a confession, or even being offered a cookie by a new friend.

Whatever it was, those were everyone else’s comparison.

You didn’t have any great childhood memories to refer to the feeling you felt right now. But the closest would be the first time Bruce ever said “Good job” to you.

Your first kiss wasn’t all that you expected it to be. To be fair, you didn’t really expect much from a first kiss. To you, it was all unnecessary distraction from the things that mattered.

But Jason didn’t make you feel that way. He made you feel giddy and excited, he made you feel like you were being pulled upwards by a whole bunch of colorful helium balloons.

But then you walked inside the manor, changed into your Robin uniform, and started to approach Bruce who was at the Bat computer.

“What are you doing?” he scrutinized you.

“I’m ready to go?” you hesitated, before mentally slapping yourself. You suddenly remembered your fall out yesterday, bursting your bubble of joy before. He was still mad at you. Of course he was, you hadn’t done anything to fix it.

Yet you felt like you didn’t need to apologize.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he gave you a cold look that made you feel like shrinking, “You disobeyed a direct order last night. I can’t just ignore it.”

“I went with my instinct, Bruce,” you tried to reason with him, “You always said to-”

“No, you went because you are fixated on him,” Bruce cut you off and glared at you. A look you’ve never been on the receiving end of.

“What? What are you talking about?” you sputtered, taken aback by his remark.

“I don’t know why, but you’re fixated on the Red Hood,” he continued, “You went and disobeyed me because you wanted to see him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce,” you retorted, straightening your back into a cold stance, “You’re talking as if I have a crush on him.”

“Do you?” he demanded, “I know for a fact that you hide things from me regarding your encounters with him.”

“How dare you assume that of me, Bruce,” you coldly replied, despite the nervousness of getting caught. You needed to shift the blame to him somehow.

“Then why?” he urged, “You have never before disobeyed me. Why do you always get excited when he’s involved?”

“I get excited because it’s exciting!” you argued, “He’s a new criminal who came out of nowhere, taking over the underground in the span of a couple of weeks! Who wouldn’t be?”

“Do you know who he is?” Bruce suddenly asked.

“No. That’s what I’ve been asking you, remember? How dare you accuse me of hiding things from you when you’re the one who refuses to trust me enough to tell me who he is,” you ranted, finding a way to finally shift the blame on him to reduce your own faults.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t lie to me, Bruce. A guy who randomly appears and fucks shit up, knows everything about the both of us, our identities probably included- don’t tell me you out of all people haven’t figured it out. So why haven’t you told me?”

“Because I don’t want to believe it myself!” he yelled, making you jump slightly at the sudden change in volume.

You stared at him for a few moments, before saying, “Who is he, Bruce?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Do you want to patrol or not?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning away from you, “But you stick by me the whole time. If he happens to appear, you stay in the Bat-mobile.”

“But-”

“Do you want me to put you under house arrest?”

“Fine,” you admitted defeat.

***

You honestly thought the decapitated heads on spikes were the worst you’ve seen, and that the next bad thing would wait at least more than a week before it threw itself at you.

But there you were, mouth slack in shock at the scene before you.

It was a bright night in Robinson Park, coincidentally where you were earlier, the moon was full and there were no clouds blocking its gentle light. The additional lights that the GCPD brought also gave plenty of illumination that fell onto the three bodies hanging on tree branches.

All male, all naked, all hanged by the neck with a rope. Purple faced and tongues lolling out, you were thankful for taking Dick’s advice by expecting the worst. Yet, it still shocked you.

Because if it were just three people hanged by the neck, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But this time, there were three people hanged by the neck, their bellies slashed open horizontally, intestines spilling out and trailed all over the well kept grass like large alien worms bursting out.

And along with the gruesome scene, of course, came the smell. It wasn’t just the metallic smell of blood this time. It was closer to the smell at the club the first time you met Red Hood. A mix of blood and feces and urine. Thankfully, it was outdoors with plenty of ventilation.

“Batman,” Gordon huffed when he saw the two of you approaching. Batman rushed to arrive to the scene when he heard the traffic on the police radio. The crime scene was already taped off, forensics were everywhere, flashing lights from their cameras as they took pictures of the bodies.

As you got closer, you could see in detail how the bodies looked like. The gashes were clean, you could see the layers of skin, fat, and muscle that made up the cross section of the gash. Hell, you could even see the bits of fascia and peritoneum that were damaged by the trauma.

“Black Mask’s men,” Batman pointed out without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Gordon sighed, “Like I said before, gang war. Red Hood himself must have done this. Looks like we’ve got another sadistic bastard running around. This was done to them while they were alive.”

You grimaced.

“What we think is rope fibres were found underneath the nails, so they were struggling and scratching at it to escape before they got strangled to death,” Gordon continued, “We still gotta wait for forensics, but I bet my money the coroner’s report is going to confirm it. He must have had them stand on the park table here, tied the noose around their necks, gutted them, and then pushed them down. The momentum from the fall must have forced the intestines to spill like this.”

You had to hand it to Red Hood, he was very theatrical. If you weren’t so disgusted by his lack of empathy, you would have perhaps thought that his works were art.

“How do you know it was him?” you voiced out.

“There isn’t anyone else that have the guts to directly attack Black Mask,” Gordon explained, “I don’t think these would be the last bodies we find.”

True enough, the week after that, another two bodies were found in a similar state, but this time, you noticed the nail of one of the men’s pinky fingers were pulled out. A piece of information that you didn’t know you stored at the back of your mind came to resurface.

When it came to torture for information by denailing, if the victim could handle getting one nail pulled out without breaking, they most probably could handle it all. The strongest ones are the ones with all their nails pulled out- which meant that they probably did not reveal anything.

Judging from the body before you, you guessed that Red Hood probably got whatever information he was looking for.

And if he did, why did he have to kill them both in such a way?

Truly, you couldn’t comprehend his love for cruelty.

You stuck with Batman on the days you patrolled, as per his orders. You weren’t allowed to go on your own anymore until you gained his trust again. Not that it mattered, because even though you were investigating a string of Red Hood’s bloody murders- he was on his twenty-third victim by then- you didn’t get to meet the culprit himself.

He was keeping to the shadows, yet making his presence still loud and clear by leaving bodies everywhere.

You didn’t want to admit your disappointment.

Red Hood wasn’t the only one leaving bodies, though. Black Mask also was under investigation for retaliating by attacking and murdering Moehler’s men, though less creatively and dramatic.

Before you realised it, Gotham City was in the midst of a gang war that Gordon had predicted those weeks ago.

After a particularly exhausting patrol on a Saturday night involving yet another one of Red Hood’s victims, you laid on your bed, and stared at the ceiling. You glanced at your phone- no notifications.

It had been approximately 3 weeks since your kiss with Jason, and it was the last time you saw him. He had been texting you less and less, despite it all. The last message you sent him a week ago read was just a GIF of a Shiba Inu’s backside while it walked. You didn’t want to seem desperate.

You probably scared him off. I told you so, Mother said.

You pushed her away like you always did.

You tried to not overthink it. Perhaps he was busy with getting into the police force, perhaps he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, because God knows even you have long periods of time where you wanted to just shut out the world.

You tried to be understanding and patient.

But you still couldn’t help but think about him. His smooth voice, how sexy he sounded when he swore. His grunts and moans of pleasure over the phone. And his lips. How they felt against yours, how they would feel in between your legs. You always noticed his smell too.

His cologne, fabric softener, the smell of leather and… fireworks. You didn’t know why. But his smell reminded you of fireworks.

But you were restless. And Jason wasn’t the only one that was on your mind.

You hadn’t seen Red Hood for about as long, too. It irritated you. For some reason Red Hood felt like an itch on your back that you just couldn’t reach far enough to scratch. As the nights went by without hearing from Jason, you strangely thought of Red Hood more.

Especially at night when you were alone in bed.

You wondered about him. Some reasonable, some completely random. Where was he from? Did he have siblings? Does he play music inside that helmet of his? He looked like the heavy metal type, but you entertained the idea of him humming along to Taylor Swift while he gutted men.

What was wrong with you? You were unintentionally humanising him, giving him more meaning and sentimentality than he deserved.

But most importantly, you had a feeling that he was preparing for something, in addition to the gang war he started. You didn’t have any evidence. It was just your gut. And you trusted your gut, no matter what Bruce said.

Shit.

You started to think that Bruce was right. You felt like you were beginning to be obsessed with him. You groaned into your pillow before trying your best to fall asleep and not think about Red Hood’s flexing biceps.

***

The familiar lurch of the batmobile going from stationary to full speed never failed to excite you to your core.

Both you and Batman were on your usual patrol in Otisburg District, before hearing a large explosion just a few blocks away. He frequented the district a lot, since The Stacked Deck was overtaken by Red Hood, it made sense to patrol in the area.

You wanted to patrol in the area. It meant the chances of meeting him was higher. Not that it mattered, because Batman was still keeping you on a tight leash.

What you didn’t expect, though, was to see the club itself engulfed in flames.

You hacked a cough the moment you exited the batmobile, the soot and smoke enveloping the area in heavy clouds. People were running in the opposite direction, away from the building. If there was anyone inside the club, it was too late to save them now. The alcohol must have contributed to the rapid burning, and somewhere along, a gas pipe must have burst, because the roof and part of the outer walls were in ruins already from the explosion you heard before.

The fire department came. You saw the familiar face from all those weeks ago. Parks, was it? The cute one. You saw him order his men around and climbed onto the lift with a hose. You overheard someone say it was going to take them more than just a couple of hours to extinguish the fire.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m already here,” you heard a voice behind you, “Yes, sir. No, sir. With all due respect Mr. Mayor, you don’t just stop a gang war- understood, sir.”

You turned around and saw a very distressed Commissioner walking towards the two of you. He was on the phone, his other hand pressing at his temples.

“Understood sir,” he huffed, ending the call, “Batman.”

“Commissioner,” Batman nodded.

“Of course you got here first,” he sighed, “I’ve already told my people to pull up the traffic cameras and every other CCTV nearby- which you probably already have access to. Whatever it is, I put my money that Black Mask did this.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes, not that Gordon could see them behind your white lenses.

“Oh, I also have another update,” Gordon suddenly remembered, “Regarding the Gotham University Public Library case. According to the two we caught, there is a third. He managed to get away. Jerome Miller, 8 cases of arson, 11 attempted arson, 2 theft- but I guess it’s below your paygrade, Batman. Hey, do you even get paid?”

“Where is he now?” you interrupted, feeling your blood boil at the mention of one of the people who burned down your safe haven.

“We put an APB on him. He’ll turn up eventually. But we have bigger things to deal with now,” Gordon explained, “Red Hood will retaliate. And soon. God have mercy on whoever he gets his hands on next.”

*** It was hard to wish for God to have mercy on whoever Red Hood gets his hand on next, especially since the victim this time was none other than Black Mask himself, who has killed and tortured hundreds.

But when you saw the state of Black Mask’s body, you found yourself taking back that thought.

His mask was a feet away from his body, which was still positioned in a sitting position on his leather armchair, facing the massive window of his office building which showed the city skyline. His face?

On his desk behind him.

Literally. His face was skinned messily, clumsily, and then placed on the glass desk behind him in a mound of bloody flesh. Red Hood did not take his time to skin Roman Sionis’ face off, that’s for sure.

Sionis had his neck slashed ear to ear, his carotids and jugular sliced through.

“Did he-” you started, “Did Red Hood do this to him alive?”

“We would need blood test results for that,” Batman said next to you, taking out a syringe to extract blood from the body. Where he kept it? You didn’t ask. You didn’t know he carried around a syringe and a vial to take blood.

“If the forensics saw you,” you giggled.

“Good thing they’re too slow,” Batman smirked.

He actually smirked.

You felt inappropriately happy, given the scene before you, but Batman had been cold to you these past few weeks. This was a step to him getting over it.

You heard people approaching.

“Jesus Christ!” you heard Gordon’s muffled voice behind the door. Probably counting the 31 dead security on his way up and outside.

“Let’s go,” Batman commanded, pushing open the door right before Gordon opened it.

“Batman-”

“I’ve got what I need,” he simply said and walked away, with you giving Gordon an apologetic smile and following behind him.

***

“Positive for suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce announced from the Cave computer as you walked towards him, freshly cleaned and changed.

“What?” you asked.

“Roman Sionis’ blood has traces of suxamethonium chloride, a neuromuscular-blocking drug,” he explained, “Induces paralysis for about ten minutes.”

“Jesus,” you whispered, “Red Hood injected him with that, and then peeled his face off while he couldn’t move?”

“Yes.”

“And does this sucks- suxo-”

“Suxamethonium chloride,” Bruce helped you.

“Yes, that,” you rolled your eyes, “Is it like, an anesthesia as well?”

“No,” Bruce replied, “Only a muscle relaxant. It’s used to perform quick medical interventions in emergency departments. When a muscle relaxant is induced, doctors would have the patient under a ventilator, since the diaphragm is also paralysed. But Red Hood did not have a ventilator, meaning Black Mask did not only feel the pain while he was being skinned, but was also suffocating.”

“Good thing he didn’t use a ventilator, though,” you shrugged, “At least since he couldn’t breathe, he would have passed out after a few minutes.”

“I see you have gotten used to his methods,” Bruce commented.

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

“You used to be more surprised after learning Red Hood’s brutal rituals,” Bruce pointed out.

Huh. He was right.

“I guess so,” you responded, “I would have had to get used to them eventually. Plus, it’s not like Black Mask was a saint, either. He deserved what he got.”

“We are not the ones who decides who deserves what,” Bruce reminded you.

“Just saying,” you shrugged again, “I’m heading to bed. Night, Bruce.”

“Hmm.”

You lied in bed that night, for the first time not thinking about how brutal Red Hood was. You just wish you could see him already. The past few weeks- for some reason you felt lonely. You felt like you were being deliberately ignored by someone you wanted attention from- while they were still flaunting their presence to you.

You missed him.

Fuck.

You finally realised that you missed the fucking asshole. Were you so bored that you were now craving the sight of a criminal?

Where was he, anyway?

You scoffed.

Right. Probably celebrating. With Black Mask gone, you just remembered- that Red Hood was now technically the ruler of the underworld.

[aeyolia]

Chapter 9 - Erik

“But why is her name Pearl?!” Erik exclaimed.

“Because all of them are named after gems. We've been through this.” she laughed, shaking her head at him. They were five episodes in and that was the thing he couldn’t let go of.

“But that's the thing a pearl isn't a gem! A pearl is a composite of Aragonite and conchiolin. Gems are solely minerals with no organic compounds.” he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. The door rang, catching his attention. Most likely, the pizza they ordered not to long ago.

“You are putting too much thought into this.” She sat up and went to answer the door. He watched as she walked away, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he needed to zero in on something other than the fact he was in nothing but boxers and a robe, alone with Anya. She had insisted on throwing his clothes in the dryer and now was regretting telling her okay. Well half way regretting. He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the pink that had found her cheeks when she saw him come back out barely dressed. His phone buzzed for about the tenth time and he decided to finally glance at it. They were mostly from Jess and the team wondering where he was. Another text sent at that moment.

Tatertot: Is Anya okay? Rumors are spreading like wildfire about her right now. And your coach is pissed.

Golden Boy:  She's fine. How did you know I was with her? Was it Landon?

Tatertot: Let's see if X = Rumor about Anya losing it + Erik getting the urge to skip (both of them missing)

Tatertot: X= Erik is with Anya.

Golden Boy: Must you be so annoying?

“Is everything alright?” Anya asked walking back in the room, pizza in hand. Erik shut the ringer of the phone off and placed it back in the pocket of the robe.

“Yeah. Just my teammates looking for me.” he lied. He didn't want to but he figured it be best if she didn't know there were rumors spreading about her.  He wanted to protect her from that. “Apparently, me skipping was a bigger deal than I realized.” he shrugged moving over so she'd fit easily next to him. She climbed up on the couch, sitting on top of crossed legs.

“People don't like change. It's a proven fact. Skipping a class is one thing but the entire day?  Your fan club is probably losing its mind.” she teased him.

“My fan club?” Erik asked opening the box up and taking out a slice and handing it to her.

“Oh please, don't act like you don't know. I've been there two days and I know.”

“Know what? I'm genuinely lost here Sterling.” he pushed, feigning obliviousness.

“Come on, you are way too smart to be this dense. I KNOW you know how much everyone loves you. Everyone thinks you're attractive, talented, smart, the whole package.” she spoke taking a bite of her own slice. Erik watched her and she scrunched her eyebrows together. “What?”

“So...everyone thinks that huh? Even you? ” he asked trying to hold back a grin. She rolled her eyes in response, but the flushing of her face gave her away. “Well I'm not all that golden you know.”

“Oh yeah? Name one thing.” she said pausing the show and turning to face him.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.” he offered.

“Deal. You first though.” she egged on.

“Okay. You want to know what I'm actually really bad at?” he said putting the pizza down. “Romance.”

“Way to tell the truth.” Anya rolled her eyes.

               “I’m serious!” Erik played with the arm of the sofa, as he spoke, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had girls interested. Hell, even guys. I've taken a few out here and there for like dances, formals...prom was a must.”

“You were Prom King weren't you?” She interrupted, trying not to smile.

“NOT the point right now” he said rolling his eyes.

“That’s not a no.” She giggled making the teasing more endearing than annoying. He smiled.

“Really though. I just never met that person you know? And I didn't want to just lead anyone on. My life is busy. I never have any idea what I'm doing. People call me the Golden Boy. The All-American Dream. But it doesn't come without work. I barely have free time. I didn't want to ask someone to deal with that without really knowing that I liked them. Without knowing it be worth it.” he stopped talking, waiting for her reaction.  

“There's nothing wrong with waiting until you find the right person.” Anya replied, taking his hand. “You put the care of others before yourself. You sacrifice yourself to live up to people's expectations. So you're not perfect? Doesn't make you any less Golden. In fact, it makes you a diamond.”

“Is this about to be a Steven Universe pun?”

               “No! I'm being serious. Diamonds form after extreme amounts of pressure. And real, raw Dqiamonds have flaws. And yet we still think they are beautiful.” she explained. “See? I know a bit about geology too.”

               “I never doubted it for a second.” he smiled back. “So, what about you? Is there a guy waiting for you back in New York?”

               “Well, no. I had a boyfriend once but, we broke up pretty quick.  Most people steer cleared from me. ” she sighed softly. Now she was the one who was nervously playing with the couch.

“How come?” Erik asked, turning to give her his full attention.

“Well, when I was younger, weird things used to just happen to me all the time. I'd wake up at the docks every morning. My dad even used to lock my bedroom door but it didn't matter. And I couldn't ever tell them how I'd end up there because I'd be sleeping. And then things of coincidence always happened around me. Pipes bursting or windows shattering. Eventually, people just avoided me. Not that I could blame them. Then one day it all just. Stopped. I thought it was finally over. I could be normal. But then I moved here and it’s starting again.”

“And that's why you freaked about the dreams.” he said and she nodded solemnly. “You were worried we’d reject you too.”

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to be so this.” she began to tear up, and Erik’s heart crumbled in his chest. No wonder she reacted the way she did. Something like that could be traumatic for anyone.

“Hey, no tears.” He said, wiping one stray drop one from her cheek. “I know what it was like to feel alone, we all do. Even with my family, as close as we are, I always felt like I'm still catching up. Like I must work ten times harder just to fit their perfect family image. Xander's basically a single parent to his siblings. His parents work their asses off all day and night. And Jess well...she's an orphan. A victim of a failed system. We all have felt alone. We all have our demons. That's why we're so close. The worst things about our lives, they are what keep us together. Being a little different won't push us away Anya.” Erik stroked her face lightly with his thumb. “We’re your friends.”

“You've only known me two days Erik.” she said eyes closed, face leaning into his hand.

“Yeah, but it feels like longer doesn't it?”

Anya nodded and opened her eyes. Erik swore his heart skipped the moment their eyes locked. A thick air of tension now laid between what once was an innocent conversation. God, he wanted to kiss her. Correction. Every nerve in his body was fighting the urge to kiss her.

“Anya...” he spoke her name softly, one thumb rubbing across her cheek.

“Yes?” she answered, and his eyes flickered to her lips and then back to her eyes. Those damn aquamarine eyes stole every piece of reasoning and logic he had.

“Would it be okay, if I-.” He stopped talking when she nodded, moving closer to him. Their mouths connected and Sparks flew in every direction, and the world disappeared around them, along with all of their worries, thei troubles and their problems. She made him feel like none of that mattered. It was a small yet warm kiss. Erick honestly never knew a kiss so innocent could be so intimate and electrifying. Their lips were moving in perfect sync, his hands feeling her waist. He pulled her closer, the kiss deeper, more passionate.

He intended to just kiss her once, take things slow. But when she didn't move away, the kiss grew hungrier, desperate. She moved to straddle him fingers running down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. Erik's fingers ran through her hair, causing it to cascade down around her shoulders.

God she was beautiful.

He wanted to slow down, but he couldn’t. No girl ever, would ever, take his breath away that she had. It was petrifying as it was mesmerizing.

The doorbell rang, snapping them out of their passion infused state. They separated their lips, foreheads pressed together as their chests rose and fell, lungs begging for oxygen. The bell rang again.

“I should get that.” she finally said, a smile on her face, lips red and swollen.

“Or we could ignore it?” he smiled back, pulling her back to him. Emboldened by the rush of hormones running though his system he began to kiss her neck and shoulders. She sighed, one hand running through his hair before gripping it and pulling his head away from her body. The bell rang again and Erik let out a frustrated groan. Anya giggled, placing one last kiss on his cheek before untangling herself and walking towards the door.

Erik laid his head back on the sofa, taking deep breaths as he regained his composure. Never had he ever been pulled so strongly to a person. He hoped she didn't think he was lying earlier. That he was just trying to make a move on her. Because that wasn't the case. Anya was different. He knew it the moment she saw her.

The creak of the door echoed and he heard Anya gasp. He quickly sat up to peer into the foyer.

“We decided to skip in solidarity...and bought apology donuts! Please say you don’t hate me?” Jess' voice echoed down. “I'm sorry we pushed all that on you. It was stupid...Can we come in?”

Anya looked over at Erik who shrugged in return. Your choice. He mouthed.

“Well...how can I say no to apology donuts?” Anya smiled. He watched as Jess jumped happily into Anya’s arms. “Okay, okay! Come in.” She took a step back and in walked Jess and Xander.

“We weren't interrupting anything were we?” Xander asked, one eyebrow raising at Erik who suddenly realized how this looked. He pulled the robe tighter around him.

“Not at all. My clothes are in the dryer. Pipe burst remember?” He explained, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips.

“I'm sure there was. “ Jessica smirked and Anya's face turned red.

“ANYA was introducing me to the world of Steven Universe.” Erik changed the subject.

“Help yourselves to the pizza.” Anya said, taking a seat next to Erik. He lifted his arm up and without missing a beat she snugged against him. It made his smile grow into a full-on grin.

“Oh no...they’ve imprinted.” Jess said falling to the ground dramatically. “I can see what's happening. And they don't have a clue. They'll fall in love and here's the bottom line. Our trio's down to two!”

She and Xander continued to quote the Lion King earning a hard pillow toss from Anya,

They all laughed, Anya catching them up on the show.

And just like that it was like that morning had never happened.

[swannsjack]

Oh my god, can you people stop making things up and distorting facts about the Johnny Depp vs Amber thing just so that you can keep defending her??

(I’m pretty sure this will not reach anyone who actually needs it, but I’m still doing this) 

People are so allergic to admitting they’re wrong, or at least giving someone the benefit of the doubt, that y’all making up absolute bs. Calling Depp racist, misoginistic, homo/bi-phobic, and worst of all a p*dophile.

There’s literally zero evidence backing up any of it and if you fell for that, I feel sorry for you. This is all bs made up by Heard stans to make him look bad in front of people who know nothing about him. And for some people literally all it takes is when someone says something and they’re like “really?” “YES, i have no evidence to support this except for my nonsense hate and me being an awful human for making sh*t up, but IT’S TOTALLY TRUE”. and people just believe it. it’s ridiculous.

I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he’s never been any of the aforementioned things. I’m not even going to touch much on the p*dophile thing because that was made up by a Trump stan and JD hates Trump and they’re so pressed about it they have to make disgusting things like that up, and now people who were shocked by his evidence proving they were slandering him for no reason, repeat it just so that they don’t have to admit they were wrong.

No woman, except for Heard and her hoax-assisting friends, have ever said a bad word about Depp. Quite the opposite, everyone’s who met him say he’s a gentleman, kind, caring. Saying things like “there’s no one else like him” and claiming “he doesn’t belong in show business, he belongs somewhere better” -  by Sarah Jessica Parker. His first wife is not only still in contact with him, but even spoke against Heard and said Johnny never even raised a voice at her. Vanessa Paradis wrote a hand-written note defending him. So many women spoke in defense of him. 

Some people are even lying and saying he has been accused by his previous gf of abuse. HE HAS NOT. No one had ever accused him of that and no one came out during the last three years saying “oh yeah he abused me, too” they DEFENDED HIM. Please, if you someone tried to convince you that he had been accused, do not believe it, do your own research, you’ll see it that it’s not true and people are just making up rumours to support their “Heard is a victim” story.

Or her stans saying he abused her because she’s bisexual is like?? There is literally nothing to back it up. He’s never said a bad word about other sexualities. He made a decision that Jack Sparrow is bisexual. His very own daughter is not straight and have you seen how proud he is of her? He supports her and adores her with every ounce of his being. Stop turning him into something he’s not.

"If there's any message to my work, it is ultimately that it's okay to be different, that it's good to be different, that we should question ourselves before we pass judgement on someone who looks different, behaves different, talks different, is a different color."  - Johnny Depp, y’all

But guess who was arrested for abusing her FEMALE partner? Amber Heard.

Guess who accused the gay FEMALE cop that arrested her of being misoginistic? Amber Heard.

And guess who accused the same GAY female cop that arrested her of being homophobic? Amber Heard.

And guess who made a racist tweet? AMBER HEARD.

Isn’t it funny how Heard stans are accusing Depp of everything that can be said of and proven Amber Heard is??

Now for the distorting of facts:

I’ve seen a few posts/tweets being like “ya’ll jumped at some UNsourced info” blah blah. IT IS NOT UNSOURCED. They’re legit lawsuit with clerk stamps on them. And Johnny and his lawyer have referenced them!! Johnny literally said “which is why I’m suing...” and there’s been a recent statement reacting to people’s support how he’s determined more than ever to fight for justice and he WANTS his day in court to prove all that he’s saying is true. And his lawyer has been giving statements to the press for almost a year now. All of this is legit info from legit court documents. Just because you’re too lazy to look for the actual link for the whole document, that doesn’t make them false. It’s like you people think a Depp fan wrote two fake 40 page lawsuits, are you really that pathetic to suggest something like that? Waldman, his lawyer, has confirmed what the lawsuit says, it’s not just screenshot from some “unsourced” lawsuit, he repeated what the lawsuit says: 87 surveillance videos, litany of neutral witnesses, including the police, photographic evidence, audio, and sworn testimonies, as well as Heard’s admission.

And furthermore, people saying just because the lawsuit claims she confessed, doesn’t mean it’s true. Well, okay. However, she has not denied the claims. Read through her statements reacting to the lawsuits, she or her lawyer/publicist or whatever, have responded several times. But never with “I deny this”. It’s always something to make Johnny look bad. “that’s mental abuse” “he’s hell-bent on self-destruction” “ms heard won’t be silenced” “frivolous lawsuit” “just read his latest interview to see he’s delusional” blah blah blah. 

None of that includes any denial whatsoever. And some people are saying “well, so she was just defending herself!!” yeah? so why hasn’t she said that either?? Instead of accusing Depp of mental abuse, she could just say “I confessed to ‘attacks’ that were pure self-defense.” That’s literally all she’d have to say. She hasn’t. The first “she admitted” claims came out several months ago last year (y’all just noticed only this week for some reason). And in all those months, she has not denied anything. Whereas Johnny has ALWAYS maintained he didn’t abuse her, he’s always denied it. Why hasn’t she?

My second point is people saying he’s still an asshole even if he was a victim, because *references some out of context bs* blah blah, I’ve been over a part of this at the beginning. Yes, he was arrested in the past, for trashing a hotel room (no violence on people) with his then gf Kate Moss, and for chasing away paparazzi after politely asking them to leave him and his family alone. They didn’t, so he PROTECTED his family. Trying to distort that to make him sound abusive is gross. And lastly, stop using the “he punched a guy on a movie set” allegation. First of all, the guy literally ditched court, I wonder why. Secondly, multiple people have come out saying Johnny was neither drunk, nor did he punch the guy. A script supervisor even said they have time-stamped photos to prove he didn’t. However, I would not blame him if he did because HE WAS DEFENDING A HOMELESS AFRICAN-AMERICAN WOMAN. That’s right, the accuser was being RACIST. And according to witnesses:

Danoff says they were shooting outside and Brooks (the accuser) berated an African-American homeless woman with "racial and derogatory slurs" because she was in his way. Depp was sitting next to her about 25 feet away when it happened.

"He immediately stood up from our shared seat on the edge of a planter bench and went over to Brooks to stand up for the woman," Danoff says. "Mr. Depp said to Mr. Brooks, 'You can’t talk to her like that. You think she is something less than you? Who do you think you are? How dare you?'"

What an as*hole Depp is, right?

And stop using his addiction struggles to say that proves he’s abusive or that it means he deserved the abuse. Addiction is an illness and it’s disgusting to use it against him, when he’s been so opened and honest about it his entire life /but guess who’s pretending to be perfect even though she’s in fact known to be a drug addict but she pretends she’s not, at least JD’s open about it. He’s always been an honest guy. He is not a liar/. I beg you, watch this video “I was trying to calm the brain. I was trying to feel better.” and tell me, how can you use it against him?? And note, that this was two months before Heard’s accusation, a year into their marriage, look at his appearance. He was being abused. 

He was also abused as kid, by the way. If you didn’t know.

And what’s also annoying is “none of that proves his innocence, they were both abusive then” GO AWAY WITH THIS NONSENSE. She’s been openly mocking him for almost three years now.

1) Guess who starred in a pirate film. 2) Guess who played the Mad hatter in Alice in Wonderland? Oh yeah, that would be her former “abusive” husband. 3) And the last photo is literally so disgusting. Johnny changed the tattoo with her nickname that he had on his fingers (and he wears a lot of rings on his fingers) and this human garbage posted a picture of herself with fist punching, fingers full of rings and the caption #NoInkNeeded. She is a garbage, openly mocking her victim. 

And she RECENTLY posted several photos of herself that were taken while she was with Depp (x, x - both taken years ago by Johnny’s friend Greg Williams) One on the roof of the building they lived in together where she was allegedly being violently abused. Oh the nostalgia, am I right? Her friend literally commented they miss it. WTF? They miss the place their friend was “abused” in? Oh and guess who demanded the three of their formerly shared condos in that building? Our perfect angel “abuse victim” miss Heard. I’m sure it’s very normal for an abuse victim to want to keep the place in which they were abused. Johnny Depp is the weird one for selling it and wanting no memories of it.

Stop the mental gymnastics to defend Heard and paint Depp as the worst human ever.